#R; Bail Cell
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Riptides
I'll take your loneliness, 'cause I know what it feels like
All your uncertainty, I'll make into mine
I'll take your punishment, 'cause I think I deserve it
All your never ending condescending arguments
So lay me out on your table
Let's get straight to the heart of this.
The problem with anger, is that it’ll pull you down, eventually. Rory’s is righteous- October’s is bred into him- The tides clash here and now- may the combatants come away... alive?
TW: Violence, Blood
“I just don’t know why you’re taking it so fucking hard- It’s a joke not a dick, brokeback mountain.” Rory knew better than to think this was going to be easy. October was stubborn at his best moments, and Rory pushing back against his norm was likely to get the older vampire up in arms. He’d tried to be gentle about it- as gentle as one could be about the fact his so-called ‘best friend’ treated him like shit on the regular- had waited until everyone else had left the clan meeting, until it was just the two of them sat in The Hive well below his home. He’d hoped, in privacy, the usual bravado that colored October’s presence would soften the way it often did, dropping the ego and bravado to be the friend he’d made in college, a bit terse, sarcastic and rude, sure, but he’d never been cruel- Callus and unkind and willing to jump to the physical the way he’d become now. He’d hoped that therapy would have made him better- He realizes now that perhaps he wasn’t something October saw as important enough to mention, because the mistreatment had continued, even as the other vampire became more visibly kindhearted toward others, his children, the clan, his other friends.
Everyone but Rory. So perhaps he was angry, perhaps he was angrier than he had ever been, when October pushed genuine concern, a request for peace, to hang up the way he’d broken the man’s bones for little more than a minor infraction and be treated like his friend again off to the side like it was some kind of passing thought, a fleeting, momentary want after a joke that he couldn’t take.
“Are you fucking shitting me?” Comes the response, and Rory loathes the way his voice breaks on the words. “A joke? You punched me so hard I saw stars, you coulda cracked my skull, Eight!”
“And I didn’t. and if I did you would have healed. Why’s this such a big fucking deal for you now? Christ, you start spending more time with your bonky sister and fainting couch and you start actin’ like I’m some kind of supervillain.” October doesn’t grasp it, but who could expect him to? He’d spent nearly 20 years with things working... this way. Rory taking a beating, an insult, and declaring he’s okay, bouncing right back. He’s not seen the mental wounds left behind, the younger vampire desperate to keep them tucked away- Would he have stopped if he saw the ache in dark eyes? The desperate want to be accepted keeping Rory from standing his ground? Would he have been kinder if he knew that the other man’s submission to suffering was a self-inflicted punishment brought about by October’s violent tendencies?
Neither of them know, because now, with October stubbornly digging in his heels and Rory’s temper flaring, is the first time either have spoken to the dynamic they’ve served for three decades. Patience finally strained too thin, with hospital visits and the stress of someone having attacked Edgar (A fact that certainly made something in Rory hunger for revenge, so he could only imagine the way it made Felicia feel) and Kirby’s true parentage bearing on him in tandem with the constant stress of being an estranged father desperate for time with his daughter, it’s hard to place which straw broke the back of the camel- but the beast is lame, and the gate it guarded is straining open once more.
“When’d you become such a little bitch, man?” October questions, finishing his drink and rolling his eyes. “I’m going home.” He declares, pushing away from the bar to leave- only to find himself held fast, Rory’s grip at his wrist sudden and tight. “Fuckssake.”
“I’m askin you to stop treatin’ me like shit, and you’re just gonna leave? Felicia and Edgar have names, I have a name, but you don’t respect anybody who isn’t you enough to fucking care about that, do you? Have to find the first fucking thing you think of about somebody’s looks, or personality, and then that’s their name from then on with you, right? God damn it’s no reason you don’t have any fucking friends who aren’t beholden to you by a fucking band contract! Face it, nobody would put up with you if they knew the real you the way me an’ the other guys do. But fuck me, right? Stupid fuckin’ Rory, some simple fuckin’ idiot who can’t take care of himself, can’t think unless you tell me what to do? But which one of us was top of the class in college, October? because it wasn’t you.”
October yanks his hand free, angular features darkening with a scowl. “What, get your feelings hurt and now you need to brag about shit that happened 30 years ago? Come the fuck on, Riordan, I was kidding.” October snaps, Rory letting out a manic laugh.
“You punched me in the head! You threw me through a glass cabinet two weeks ago, and oh, for the sin of spilling a little liquor on the new object of your fuckin’ obsession I got my arm broken and my jaw fractured! Yeah- kidding.” The last word is dagger sharp, the younger’s fists clenching at his sides. “Admit you’re a dick! for fucks sake! I’ve given you a pass for years because I thought you knew! I assumed anybody as fucking awful as you knew he was the absolute worst! Now you’re pretending to be some paragon of good and kindness and a good father when I- I know you. Whichever one of you is the real October, I don’t fucking know anymore, but the guy I know isn’t a good fuckin’ person and I gave him a pass on that because he was my friend and now I’m watchin’ you parade around like you’re some kind of kindhearted leader only to haul off and hit me because you think it’s funny. It’s fucked up! you’re fucked up! Don’t look at me like I’m crazy- You’re a dick October. The least you can do is fucking admit that so I don’t feel like I’m going insane for being upset!”
The older vampire arches a brow, runs a tongue across the fronts of his capped fangs. He seems about to say something, crosses broad arms over his chest. Rory hopes beyond hope that it’s an admission, maybe an apology. What he gets makes him see red, instead: “Are you finished?”
Maybe he overreacts, because with a shout, he throws himself at October, cocking back and punching the other vampire in the nose, planting one steel-toed boot against his knee and kicking sharply, not letting up until it buckles back, October hitting the floor of the speakeasy with a snarl and a hiss. They scuffle for a moment, Rory landing a few solid swings to October’s face- feeding regularly had its benefits, he supposed, the pop of cartilage under his knuckles a thrill he’s not soon to forget- before his anger is quickly overwhelmed by a flame more frequently stoked. He doesn’t realize what’s happened at first, head suddenly ringing, nose suddenly bleeding, but by the time October snaps his nose back into place and wipes his own blood on his sleeve, Rory’s well aware whatever follows will make the fight in the motel room 17 years ago look like chump change. He staggers, coughs and watches as one heavy, ring clad fist cocks back, closing his eyes and turning his face down and away- at the very least, he’ll deserve this one.
October’s about to punch his lights out, jaw aching, nose likely broken in a way he’s going to need to feed to heal- and then Rory folds in on himself and there’s recognition, perhaps, a faraway look in his eyes for a minute. Which is just long enough for Rory to haul off and hit him again. “Ow! motherfucker-”
“I’m still angry!” He manages, spatting blood on October’s boots. “You- You don’t get to do shit like this and be a good guy! You don’t! You don’t get to pretend my suffering means nothing, you don’t get to abandon a kid an’ pretend they don’t exist, okay! you don’t.... You don’t get to be what I’ve been trying to be for so fucking long so fucking easy when you’re still a monster underneath it all. You don’t get to retreat into being somebody kind when I’ve spent 2 centuries feeling like I’ll never measure up to being good.” He spits again, cocking back to punch October again only for the older vampire to catch his fist.
“Rory...”
“You don’t get to be good if I’m not, god damn it! If I deserve the way you treat me then neither of us are good men and we’re both doomed to our suffering so I need you to quit pretending to be a good person and admit you’re a dick.” The last word comes out on a sob, accent decidedly german and voice breaking. “I have tried so long to attone for what I did and you just decided you weren’t that guy anymore. I watched you do what you’ve done- you can’t just hang it up, if you can just move on then I should have been able to and-” There’s no trace of anything from the American south left behind, rambling desperate and german afflicted as he tries to wrench free from October’s grip.
“RORY!” He barks suddenly, the younger vampire jerking to attention. “I’m a dick, okay? is that what you needed to hear? Christ! Yeah, I treat you like shit because you let me. But you’re not me.” He insists, forcing the shorter’s fist back down to his side. “You’re a hell of a lot better than me, in fucking... everything. So yeah, maybe I... Maybe I took it out on you.”
“Definitely.”
“So I definitely took it out on you.” He sighs, wiping a trail of blood from his nose once more, a cut on his cheek from Rory’s scant rings dripping absently. “I didn’t know, you know.”
“You wouldn’t have stopped if you did.”
“no, I wouldn’t have.”
“So the point is moot.”
“I suppose.”
“Then why won’t you let me beat the shit out of you for catharsis?”
“Because I make money with my face, and I don’t think beating each other up solves any of this?”
“Terribly rich statement, guy who broke my jaw on a whim.”
“I’m sorry. I know it means shit, Rory, but I am.” October sighs, eventually releasing his grip on the younger’s hand. “It’s fucking weird that you sound like this.”
“Yeah, well, it is usually only temporary. I’m not doing it on purpose, you fucking dummkopf.”
“So I’m gonna... turn around and leave.” October insists, Rory sighing, shaking his head. “And I’m... I’m gonna let up. okay? Clearly you’re serious about this and you’re under a lot of stress with everything that’s happening for you and-”
“Don’t act like you care, October.” Comes the response, voice flat. “You’re my friend, I love you, but don’t pretend like you give a shit just because you got called out for this.” He sighs, October frowning, but nodding slowly. Stopping at the doorway and turning to glance over his shoulder. “What?” The younger questions, dropping himself into a booth.
“I didn’t abandon anybody here in the city- the kids are... Well, it’s complicated but they’re... around.” Rory swallows hard. “What do you know, Willingham?”
“I’ve been asked not to tell you.”
“And we can go back to beating the shit out of each other over something different, if you’d like.”
“....”
“I can always reset a broken nose a second time, Rory.” October warns, and the other man sighs. “I don’t want to fight you, man, but that’s not something you should- that you should keep from me.”
“One of the tenders at my bar. Kirby. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want to talk to you, so don’t fuck with them, alright? I shouldn’t have said anything, it was the heat of the moment, I was mad.”
“....”
“You can leave now, I’d like to bleed on myself on my own terms. In private.” He mutters, placing his face in his hands and listening to the doors throughout the house close behind October.
“Shit.”
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Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife #10 : Snack Time
Joel Miller x F!Reader
Summary: Momma bird hungry for all the snacks in the world. Takes some time and frustration before Joel figures out the exact kind of snack you really want.
Warnings: Pregnant reader, Angry!Joel, oral M!receiving, face fucking, throat bulge, throat-pie, dumbification, junk food binge, eating meat, bossy reader as always
18+ ONLY
- - - -
Joel didn’t know he married the Hungry Hungry Hippo, Galactus the planet devourer, Garfield the tabby cat.
You’re on your phone texting while cuddling Joel. He’s more interested in the movie than you are, but that doesn’t stop him from tracing his finger along your arm, occasionally kissing the top of your head and nuzzling his nose. He loves the scent of your shampoo after a wash, damp and cold against his warm chest. Sometimes you protest how closely he wants to cuddle you, all smushed up on the couch. Your body temp skyrocketed with the baby changing everything. But since he’s keep the AC on full blast, your warm heavy body keeps him from being a popsicle.
The landlines chimes in from the kitchen.
He rolls his eyes. Of course, something to interrupt the comfort that took 40 minutes for you to settle into. "I'll get it,” He grumbles quickly and hoists himself up off the couch. He wants to make whoever the fuck is calling at such a late hour a quick convo. If it’s fucking Tommy needing bailed out again, he thinks begrudgingly, I’ll just hang up on him.
He clears his throat and answers: “Hello, Miller Residents.”
"Can you get me a bowl of Cap'n crunch while you're up?"
He glances back over at you sitting up on the couch, your cell to your ear as you wave at him. you point to your belly mouthing I T S F O R T H E B A B Y.
It’s for the baby, my ass. You’ve been a hungry hungry hippo who’s been snacking like crazy and ignoring the doctor’s warnings.
But cranky Momma is way worse than a scolding doctor.
He grits his teeth and slams the receiver a little too hard down on the desk.
You can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, a clash of a bowl on the counter and the jingle of overly processed cereal filling it up.
He walks back into the living room. You’ve taken up the whole couch now, with no inclination to move over to let him back on.
You shove a fist into the bowl and pop a bunch of the crunchy orange squares into your mouth “f’anks” you mumble, eyes not once making contact with him as you stare ahead and much away. Crumbs fall onto your chest and down to the floor and sofa, as if Joel hadn’t just cleaned all of it this morning.
.
The next night, Joel's cooking some steaks. You weren’t really a meat-crazed person, having maybe one or two helpings of poultry or occasionally red beef a week, but normally ,you could go without it for a few meals without thinking about it.
Pregnant momma? She was a fucking carnivore. He had barely set the sizzling steak down before you snatch one onto your plate. He turns around to slice into one, checking its temp before serving, only to see it was a bit too red and bloodied on the inside.
"Oh babe I gotta cook these a little longer; they're too rare--"
You were hacking away and tearing a large chunks of the red, near pulsing meat, juices pouring out your lips, a vampire gorged on a fat blood sucking meal. Despite its tenderness, you chew endlessly and stare off into the table like a Llama enjoying its food on the field.
"Maybe...we should—slow down a bit,” he suggests with uncertainty. His fork and knife frozen in midair, still in each hand. He hasn’t shifted view or blinked, but clear worry (and maybe a tad bit of fear) stretch across his face.
"Uighgrrfmggmmdeeofxsw,” you reply with gargled cow remains sloshing in your wide open trap.
“Right. That."
You swallow what’s left. Joel’s does a double take: your steak is somehow gone, juice licked clean off the plate in front of you.
“Can I have yours???"
He had only sliced 4 cuts for himself so far. But the hungry look in your pupils, licking your lips while watching his dinner, it’s clear you’ve answered for him. He sadly sets his cutlery down and slides his plate to you.
Its even more interesting when you douse it in salt and throw a slab of butter on top of it, watching it melt before slicing a big chunk off.
"You gotta watch the salt intake—“
“—Can you make chicken? I want chicken now.”
“N-no,” he shakes his head, whiplash from the conversation. Maybe you’ve gone def AND blind AND lost your taste buds. “I made steak. You've had 2 steaks now. Why do you need chicken?”
“That second one was for the baby. The chicken is for me.���
“What about the fist one?”
“….We split that.”
“Awfully hungry baby,” he says with a dead tone, straight faced as he eats the one roll left in the basket that hasn’t been devoured by you.
“Well she’s yours, isn’t she?”
-
You wipe your face with a napkin, a fried chicken leg and wing now securely packed tight in your tum tum along with the famished baby.
"What's for dessert?" You chime eagerly.
Joel turns to wash the dishes, hiding his smirk. He’s got you now, no surprise cravings will catch him short on this one: He boasts proudly, “I bought you apple pie--"
"I want cupcakes. Whip cream icing. Chocolate.”
His grin quickly deflates into a frown. “No.” He says sternly, a little aggravated. “I bought you pie—“
"Did I say I want pie? L I S T E N,” you snap, slapping your palms together with each syllable.
He puts his foot down with tense sudsy hands going to his hips. “No. I'm not going out again.”
You raise your eyebrows threateningly. One look.
30 minutes later Joel is shuffling into the house with a pack of 12 cupcakes he bought at the bakery.
-
You’ve managed to prop yourself up on the couch after some heaving. “Ha! The baby is making me workout get strong! Obviously that’s why I’m so hungry.” You shrug it off. “Oh! I want raw cookie dough.”
Joel was on his phone the entire time, but the second you said I want, his brain queued in and he quickly retorts, “No.”
He goes back to replaying the voicemail he missed, settled and focused on the opposite couch.
Of course he Doesn't realize you’ve somehow lumbered up past him and now waddling back with 4 chunks of raw cookies in your hand, popping them in your mouth one at a time.
His eyes dark up to watch you, transfixed on the screen as you bend your knees, hardly paying attention to the way you’re about to fall on the couch. He has half the mind to help, but what’s one lesson you need to learn the hard way?
Regretfully, you bounce down successfully and pull your legs up.
And then, as you dust your hands off from the chocolate stains melted on your palms, Joel’s lips part in a o as you reach behind you and pulling an entire gallon container of animal crackers.
"Babe"
"Wha?” You don’t turn around to look at him, still shoveling them into your mouth. “Yuu wan wan?"
"You need to stop eating every damn thing in the house.”
You gasp incredulously, your hand over your heart in painful offense. “The baby is very hungry! She's related to you and that belly.”
He only remembers to stop himself from reminding you that your belly is much bigger than his now.
"The baby—“ (that was the new thing now: the baby this baby that. The baby is why I need this shirt in blue and green. The baby is why I need the ice cream layered horizontally not stacked vertically. The baby —)
"No. Not the baby,” he snaps. “You."
You start to cry. "I thought I AM your baby!!!"
He gives you a “seriously” look and you stop the fake tears.
“So how about it?”
“I don’t want you getting salmonella.”
“ugh fine. You can bake them I guess.”
He’s about to protest the idea of any dough going into your body, cooked or raw, but knows its going to be a lost cause.
Joel makes you a platter of Assorted cookies: chocolate chip, fudge, triple chocolate, sugar, and oatmeal raisin.
You clap your hands as he carefully places the little plate atop your bump. Humored by the custom “mini” table you’ve got going on now. Maybe his baby doesn’t like her head being used as a countertop, but with the way you close your eyes and moan after biting into the chocolate chip, babygirl must be pleased too.
He goes to the bathroom quickly and then comes back only to glare down at you. You've taken exactly one bite out of every single cookie, leaving crescent shapes for him to scathe.
Every cookie, except oatmeal raisin. You clearly did take a bite ,but spit it out and put the lump back near the undesirable #1 cookie.
“These mine?” Joel asks bemused.
You nod happily. You felt very proud to have enough control and leave him some this time!
-
It’s about 9:30 pm. You're acting drunk and woozy even tho you're just a new level of tired and achy
"Woopppoooooo!!! Paaartttaaayyy!" You shout with fists in the air, drinking down a shot glass of sugar water.
“Alright party Momma. It’s bedtime.”
"Ppfffttt! No old man! Dont steal my fun.”
Joel stands over the couch, blocking your view from the TV, his hands on his hips. “You're being difficult "
“YoU’rE bEiNg DifFicUlT,” you mock and wave him off. "Oop I need to pee. Help me up.”
Joel” grabs both your grabby hands and hoists you up to your feet. “Now up the stairs, you.”
You waddle towards the stairwell, one hand cupping your lower back. Joel is right at your heel. you up at the treaturous journey ahead, all 8 steps to the top floor. Cracking your neck side to side, you wave your arms over to the handrail and begin: “Left foot. Right foot. Left. Fuck. Fuck stairs. Who invented stairs. Left foot…”
Joel’s so sleepy that he nearly falls forward. And he knows you would not take too kindly to him ramming his face into your ass as you battle your worst enemy.
Finally to the top, you scurry over like a penguin to the bathroom. He fears the long night ahead, with all the sugar swirling in your system undoubtedly going to keep him up.
He rubs his wears eyes. Startled when a moment later you’re right next to him by your side of the bed, patiently waiting for him to help you up.
"Get in the covers,” he hums with exhaustion.
But you don’t move. “No"
"Now.”
"I want an orange.”
"No. You—you just had your snack."
"That was the baby's snack. I want MY snack”.
Dear Christ almighty, bless me with a boy next time so that I have a fighting chance against her and mini her. “If I get you an orange, will you go to bed?" He asks irritably, his voice enunciating each word to ensure the contract that he’s making with you right now is solidified on both ends of the bargain.
You think it over before nodding with a little innocent beam.
You crawl into the covers just as Joel descends the stairs once again. It takes the entire time for him to grab some oranges, a peeler, and paper towel just for you to rotate your middle and sit your ass in bed.
You sit up against the headboard and clap your hands, so excited when he reappears with the goods. He puts the towel on your mini-table bump and plops one orange atop.
Joel sighs and begins to walk towards his side of the bed, but is haunted when you clear your throat for his attention.
“Yes?”
"Peel it.”
He tries not to visibly roll his eyes before he's opening the round orange with his large fingers and clubbed nails. Everything smells like nectarine now.
Picky as can be, you peel off the extra dried white veiny bits and suck on each pod of the orange.
You expect a sweet simpleness to squirt on your tongue, but instead, a sour, bitter, unripe taste floods your mouth. “Ugh these are gross, now I want—“
Joel closes his wardrobe drawer, his shirt off and only halfway down to his boxers. “NO. NO means fucking NO. I’M TIRED. YOU’RE TIRED. WE'RE GOING TO BED. NOW,” he barks sternly into the mirror. His shoulders huffing from such aggression without being able to look at you.
You throw the covers off, orange skin and slices flying everywhere.
“Fuck you! I want ice cream! I want bananas and steak and potatoes and tacos and—!"
-
He bares his teeth in a snarl, deep angered eyes casting downward with each poignant rut. “You're so annoying, so goddamn spoiled,” he grunts. His huge hands are wrapped around the top of your head and cupping your jaw and bulging cheek, keeping you in place as he pushes his length into your mouth over and over again. “You’re gonna do shit when I tell you, the first time I say—shit—fuck there we go—gonna listen—unnggghhfff—listen ta me from now on. Just be my good little silent. Slutty. Pregnant. Wife.”
Your teary eyes are fixed upward at his imposing figure. Feeling each time his tip nudges the back of your throat has you gagging but you can’t pull away to breathe—not that you want to.
“You get—what I give ya—and you be grateful bout it.”
You gargle a moan in agreement. His balls slap against your chin with brutal punches. by this time tomorrow, there will be Joel-finger prints bruising your face and neck.
You love it. You love it when Joel forces you out of the hormonal phase of bossing him around, the endless need to want more and more, no end in sight to your greedy gluttonous desires, until he’s blowing up and blowing off steam using you instead. And it becomes very clear to you how much you just really wanted him this whole time.
“That’s it—that’s it—you were hungry for my cock weren’t ya? Yeahhhh. Just begging me all night for it. Wanted all that meat for dinner, huh? Couldn’t just come out n’ say it? Your little brain didn’t know what ya truly needed. S’okay, Momma. I’m takin’ care of ya, aren’t I?”
The gluglugglug sounds mixed with strained pitchy whines echo in the master bedroom.
You grip his thighs with your hands to steady yourself, allowing him to abuse your throat. Maybe your knees hurt. Maybe the baby is settling uncomfortably against your lower back, and maybe it’s going to be really difficult to get up from this position in a few minutes. But each thick throb of his length filling your mouth over and over again, the spit slick strings dropping from your lips to your swollen tits, and the dent in your throat from his cock stretching to accomodate his size has your swollen pussy dripping into the carpet for more, more, more.
It’s been at least a week since Joel drained himself. No wonder he’s been so on edge with each demand. Usually marveling how cute you are, but tonight he was at him limit. You were about to get a hefty, Joel Miller sized load filling your belly, and it’s going to be better than any cookie, steak, or orange in the entire world.
He feels the way your lips suction tighter. Your eyes are leaking tears, and he smirks as he brushes his thumb over to collect it. Briefly bringing it to his tongue and sucking on the salty taste before holding your head in place.
“Shhh-shhhhhhhh. You gonna take it? Shit—shit—fuck yeah you are. Gonna fuckin take what I give ya, that’s right. My sweet wife. Bossing me around. Shit. Love when ya get like this. Known I’m gonna wreck that ass or that pussy or that mouth—all belongs to me. Fuck—fuck—fuuckk—“
His mouth drops into an o, brows drawn tightly together as slams his pulsing member balls deep into your mouth one final time. You choke, eyes wide as the tip of his cock breaches the deepest part of your throat, your nose suffocated by his pubic hairs and the fat of his lower belly surrounding your cheeks. His balls twitch against your lower lip, and you feel it coming. The travel of his seed from his sack, up his shaft along your tongue—a generous spurt of cum finally shooting from his tip and down your throat. You gag with each fat load that he pumps down your esophagus, too much to swallow at once yet having no other choice but to gulp it down quickly. Your face feels hot. He’s cumming endlessly, your mind blanking and eyes feeling blurry.
“Take it, take it, take it, that’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth.
You nod just a little, hugging your arms around his thick thighs tighter. He grins, humming “That’s my good fucking wife, and throws his head as the last of his pleasure makes its way safely from his sated balls to your full womb.
Joel pulls you off his length gently. You sputter out cum and saliva onto his feet, sucking in air through your lungs like a newborn.
Joel gets to one knee, his thumb pressed gently under your chin so you look directly at him. He’s got such softness in his eyes again, the ones that just switch on a dime the second he’s satisfied his aggress out on you.
You’re completely wrecked: snot spit connecting to your nostrils and swollen lips, cheeks warm and eyes puffy and hazy with exhaustion and tears.
“That—mmffffgg!—was—definitely—my—snack,” you rasp with a hoarse voice. A lazy grin spread across your face only briefly as you continue to suck air.
Joel shakes his head before planting a long kiss atop your forehead. his hands glide along your body, and just in time as your knees give way and you’re falling into him.
If you had half the mind right now, you’d curse him out for scooping you up and carrying you to bed like his once youthful bride, too concerned with the size and weight of your new body putting unnecessary stress on his aging knees and back. But Joel doesn’t protest once. Just watches you with loving eyes as he settles you into the soft bed. His tongue dips to your chest and breasts, kissing and sucking away any remnants of his rough face fucking. His cum, your spit, and fuvk it, even the little snot specks—all of it he cleans up before coming up to your lips. He kisses you softly with gentle pecks, enough to ensure you can still catch your breath. He sucks your lower lip into your mouth before wiping his own with his thumb. You’re calmer now, sated and drifting so close to sleep.
Joel clambers into bed next to you, wrapping his arm under your head and swaddling you close. You instinctively roll into his embrace. Kissing his peck and rubbing your face against him dreamily with soft breaths. “Tha hit ther spert juss rite. Ur da bess, Jol.”
“I know. So are you.” He waits for a reply, but nothing comes from you. “Are you goin’ into a food coma, baby?”
Your gentle snores answer him, along with the drool now pooling on his peck.
He chuckles and pulls your head into his face, inhaling your scent. Strong, secure, graceful hands caress your big belly. Your very very full belly, the one that he’s not going to envy when it gives you a the tummy ache tomorrow from stuffing it with so much junk food tonight.
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#pedro pascal smut#joel miller fan fiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#last of us fanfiction#last of us smut#joel miller fic#the last of us fanfiction#tlou smut#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#the last of us smut#the last of us fic#last of us fic#joel dealing with preggo wife
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The government of Australia’s northeastern state of Queensland has stunned rights experts by suspending its Human Rights Act for a second time this year to be able to lock up more children.
The ruling Labor Party last month [August 2023] pushed through a suite of legislation to allow under-18s – including children as young as 10 – to be detained indefinitely in police watch houses, because changes to youth justice laws – including jail for young people who breach bail conditions – mean there are no longer enough spaces in designated youth detention centres to house all those being put behind bars. The amended bail laws, introduced earlier this year [2023], also required the Human Rights Act to be suspended.
The moves have shocked Queensland Human Rights Commissioner Scott McDougall, who described human rights protections in Australia as “very fragile”, with no laws that apply nationwide.
“We don’t have a National Human Rights Act. Some of our states and territories have human rights protections [...]. But they’re not constitutionally entrenched so they can be overridden by the parliament,” he told Al Jazeera. The Queensland Human Rights Act – introduced in 2019 – protects children from being detained in adult prison so it had to be suspended for the government to be able to pass its legislation.
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Earlier this year, Australia’s Productivity Commission reported that Queensland had the highest number of children in detention of any Australian state. Between 2021-2022, the so-called “Sunshine State” recorded a daily average of 287 people in youth detention, compared with 190 in Australia’s most populous state New South Wales, the second highest. [...]
[M]ore than half the jailed Queensland children are resentenced for new offences within 12 months of their release.
Another report released by the Justice Reform Initiative in November 2022 showed that Queensland’s youth detention numbers had increased by more than 27 percent in seven years.
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The push to hold children in police watch houses is viewed by the Queensland government as a means to house these growing numbers. Attached to police stations and courts, a watch house contains small, concrete cells with no windows and is normally used only as a “last resort” for adults awaiting court appearances or required to be locked up by police overnight. [...]
However, McDougall said he has “real concerns about irreversible harm being caused to children” detained in police watch houses, which he described as a “concrete box”. “[A watch house] often has other children in it. There’ll be a toilet that is visible to pretty much anyone,” he said. “Children do not have access to fresh air or sunlight. And there’s been reported cases of a child who was held for 32 days in a watch house whose hair was falling out. [...]"
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He also pointed out that 90 percent of imprisoned children and young people were awaiting trial.
“Queensland has extremely high rates of children in detention being held on remand. So these are children who have not been convicted of an offence,” he told Al Jazeera.
Despite Indigenous people making up only 4.6 percent of Queensland’s population, Indigenous children make up nearly 63 percent of those in detention. The rate of incarceration for Indigenous children in Queensland is 33 times the rate of non-Indigenous children. Maggie Munn, a Gunggari person and National Director of First Nations justice advocacy group Change the Record, told Al Jazeera the move to hold children as young as 10 in adult watch houses was “fundamentally cruel and wrong”. [...]
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[Critics] also told Al Jazeera that the government needed to stop funding “cops and cages” and expressed concern over what [they] described as the “systemic racism, misogyny, and sexism” of the Queensland Police Service.
In 2019, police officers and other staff were recorded joking about beating and burying Black people and making racist comments about African and Muslim people. The recordings also captured sexist remarks [...]. The conversations were recorded in a police watch house, the same detention facilities where Indigenous children can now be held indefinitely.
Australia has repeatedly come under fire at an international level regarding its treatment of children and young people in the criminal justice system. The United Nations has called repeatedly for Australia to raise the age of criminal responsibility from 10 to the international standard of 14 years old [...].
[MR], Queensland’s minister for police and corrective services, [...] – who introduced the legislation, which is due to expire in 2026 – is unrepentant, defending his decision last month [August 2023].
“This government makes no apology for our tough stance on youth crime,” he was quoted as saying in a number of Australian media outlets.
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Text by: Ali MC. "Australian state suspends human rights law to lock up more children". Al Jazeera. 18 September 2023. At: aljazeera.com/news/2023/9/18/australian-state-suspends-human-rights-law-to-lock-up-more-children [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]
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A Review of my time in Skyrim's Prisons (Featuring some followers): Morthal Jail
I'm back on my Skyrim prison bullshit. I can only apologise. This chapter of the review will cover Morthal, the community's collective 9th favourite Skyrim city. Will its prison fall just as flat as the city that holds it?
Arriving in my cell for the first time and I'm pleasantly surprised. Morthal Jail uses cost effective but cozy bedrolls to give prisoners a place to sleep, as well as a complimentary bucket and broom to encourage their responsibility in helping tidy their accommodations. From these we can immediately infer that the mindset in Morthal is one of community strength. Placing multiple prisoners in one cell helps build bonds and encourages teamwork, communication and friendship. Admittedly the sorts that end up in prison are more likely to simply beat their cellmates to death with their bare hands than work in-tandem with them, but it's the thought that counts.
There was space for three prisoners in this one cell, which was fortunate as Sofia and I had been arrested simultaneously (Sofia for drunken hooliganism and myself for lollygagging). Included on Sofia's side of the cell was an additional bucket, this likely serving as the simple but effective waste deposit for this cell. Also included was a basket containing five green apples and multiple sacks. Most of the sacks were empty but one of them had some salt piles inside, useful for when we needed to add salt to somebody's wounds. These simple supplies show a level of understanding for prisoner's needs not really seen in most other prisons which goes a long way to making this one feel more welcoming. Thankfully I was given an opportunity to explore beyond my cell not much later.
Less than a minute after Sofia and I had arrived in our cells, Inigo walked up to the cell doors... and simply opened them. I was at a loss for words! How had he done this? Had he used his special Khajiit powers again? Did he steal the key from an unsuspecting guard? Or had he simply intimidated the door into giving way? Well as it tuns out it was much simpler than that. He paid our bail. He had picked up some trace valuables from our adventures while I was, and I quote, "too busy scarfing dragon souls as if they were sweet rolls" and could very easily afford the rather meager bail price. Yeah turns out lollygagging doesn't incur that high of a bounty, and as for Sofia, I had asked a guard and he told me that since Morthal is such a nothing shithole drunken hooliganism is a very common offence and as such more major punishments weren't really practical for having a city with people not in prison. Still, it gave me the chance to freely observe the rest of the facilities.
Leaving my cell had allowed me to freely confirm something I had observed inside my cell. The Morthal guard leave the prisoner belongings chests directly next to the prison cells, in plain view of all the prisoners. Now, I understand that this prison is trying to build a feeling of mutual trust in its prisoners, but I fear this is far too optimistic. With the chests in this position, any wannabe escapist can freely identify where their equipment is held and try to access it without even being in the peripheral view of any guards, leading them to easily re-acquire their trusty Banded Iron Shield of the Major Knight or whatever it is they use and be more than prepared to force their way to freedom without major harm. This, much like the issues plaguing Dragonsreach Dungeon, is a major security breach and should be remedied.
I (the rather large Redguard man in the rags pictured above) then noticed that the entire prison floor in this hold was being guarded by a single solitary guardsman. Initially I had considered this lack of manpower a major oversight and a suggestion that the Morthal guard were largely lazy and/or not effectively utilized like the Whiterun guards. However, in reflection shortly after coming to this conclusion, I came to a realization. This city is a nothing shithole with a total named population of eighteen people (three of which are children). Of course there's only one guard stationed here. What few guards this city has stationed here are likely stretched incredibly thin and not very satisfied with life given they do, in fact, live in Morthal. As such, I can readily forgive the short-staffed nature of this jail.
Opposite the guard was a desk for writing legal documentations, equipped with a writer's quill, rolls of paper and multiple bottles of wine. Naturally at the sight of alcohol Sofia immediately made herself at home and then took some serious persuading to leave. Turns out having an alcohol-happy workspace in a city where drunken hooliganism is let off lightly is exactly the sort of thing to get her attention, though knowing her should have made that obvious.
The way out of the jail floor leads directly into the guard barracks with zero alternative routes and multiple guards inside at all times, which in any other hold would act as a strong defence against escaping convicts. However, with this being Morthal the nothing shithole and the guards being so few in number, every guard in the barracks when I entered was fast asleep, catching up on any rest they could possibly get. I pity those soldiers, but I doubt thieves, murderers and other more serious convicts would be as sympathetic.
On the whole, I found Morthal Prison to be a much better facility than Dragonsreach Dungeon. It has a clear intention for its captives in mind, it accommodates them well without breaking the bank and the guards (what ones are still awake that is) are very nice and understanding. There are still faults however, namely the placement of the prisoner belongings chests and the fact that this is still, at the end of the day, Morthal. Despite these though, I'd recommend Morthal Prison. It serves as a diamond in the swampy messy shithole that is Hjaalmarch.
Final rating: Seven Banded Iron Shields of the Major Knight out of Ten Banded Iron Shields of the Major Knight
Thank you for entertaining these reviews of mine. Next time we see if the Dawnstar Jail is the reason why all of the city's residents are troubled by endless nightmares.
#skyrim#tes v#tes v skyrim#Morthal#Hjaalmarch#Skyrim Prison Review#inigo#inigo the brave#sofia skyrim#I'm fucking serious about these#I will not stop#Slightly Modded Skyrim#Morthal's Prison is decent#Place's still a shithole tho
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I wanna hear everyone sunny scenarios because I definitely had an idea of a camping episode where they all accidentally take mushrooms Charlie foraged and trip balls in the woods. Mac and Dennis are so high they think they've switched bodies, Dee and Charlie go hunting for a cryptid which is just Frank stumbling around XD
Everyone taking mushrooms on a camping trip ala Skins... Uh oh.
Sorry, couldn't resist, lol. But that would definitely be a fun separate but group plot for a camping episode.
As a New Yorker, I'm very very partial to "The Gang Goes to New York". I need to see Charlie trying to scramble down the MTA subway tracks, following a rat to try and find the sewers he's convinced are golden, Frank trying to re-live the glory days of being a business man travelling in NYC, Dee trying to break into various Broadway shows through side stage doors and weird tunnels, tourist boy Mac in Times Square dragging Dennis around who just absolutely fucking hates New York City. God I want it so, so bad.
I'd also love an episode where one of them ends up in jail and Frank is MIA and whoever is locked up they need ASAP, so they have to run around town scraping together bail money (and it ends up with them just breaking whoever it is out, somehow). Or a bottle episode where they're all in (a) jail cell(s). Just. Can we see them locked up fr. Handcuffs and mugshots.. Please... lol.
A few more: I would love if we got another POV episode, ala Being Frank, from a different member of the Gang.
And I think this idea floated around, but "The Gang Dines In" as a little parallel to Dines Out with the pairs in their apartments making and eating dinner at home, but they keep getting interrupted by Dee and then, the other pair.
(Weirdly enough often on r/IASIP people are pitching their episode ideas, and ofc the comments are always people telling them to take their fanfiction elsewhere LOL)
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An account of my family’s current situation:
This is a very VERY long story, but I feel like I need to share.
Back in the middle of June, I got married to the love of my life. My partner (J) is the most kind, caring, intelligent, and goofy person I have had the pleasure to have a part of my life. Between the two of us we have two amazing children (R) and (K). (Not sure if it’s actually relevant to what I’m about to say, but R is actually a young adult now, but I met R when they were a teenager.) We all moved in together soon after the wedding and are working on building a beautiful future together.
However, J’s family situation has never been the greatest. They were living with their parents, first out of personal necessity, but then it eventually became clear that J’s parents depended on both J and R. This is due to two factors. J’s father, (D) is… how do I describe it… hopelessly addicted to scams. This man has lost everything to his name because he falls for any and every scam put before him, and this lifetime driven by both greed and stupidity has brought us to where we are today…
Let me go over some of the things I’ve experienced since meeting J, R and their family. D had this very nice truck that he’d taken great care of for years. But when a scammer asked him for 6 grand, D claimed he didn’t have the money to give. The scammer (Whom D called his financial advisor) said that he could get that money by selling his truck. It would be okay to sell because he would get that money back and more soon. Heck, he’d have enough to buy ten trucks! So D sold his truck, legitimately, and gave every cent to his “Financial Advisor.” Lo and behold, that money is gone.
A few months later, I get a call from J, telling me that D has been arrested. For what, we don’t know. We kept asking D what had happened, but D refuses to say. So J decides not to bail D out, but somehow, days later, D is back home. We do not know who bailed him out, just that someone did. We don’t discover why he was arrested until months later (This past December to be exact… He was arrested well over a year ago.) Turns out, he was arrested because that truck I mentioned earlier… he tried to sell it twice. Or maybe he sold it and his “financial advisor” also sold it to someone else. We don’t know the whole truth on this still.
I don’t remember if it was the sale of the truck when this happened or sometime before, but J did file for power of attorney. Yet, things did not improve. D continued to somehow lose his money to scam after scam after scam. It is weighing heavily on J, and R is getting angrier and angrier at the situation as D constantly has to come to them for cash to pay bills…. Cash that he ought to have already but, you guessed it, he stupidly lost.
So let me say that D is a very despicable person. He will be so fake kind to people to try and get on their good side, (like he has never been awful to me, but I have seen how he treats J, R and his own wife [G]) There were many times when I was visiting J at home and would hear D across the house, screaming at either R or G over nothing. (I recall one time he straight up screamed at his wife for a ridiculous amount of time because he lost his own cell phone and was blaming it on her….)
On the day J and I got married, I think that may have been the final straw. We got married on the 5 year anniversary of the day we met. It became a tradition of ours to return to the place we met every year, and since we were going to be busy with wedding things the rest of the day, we decided we would meet first thing in the morning. We go, and not ten minutes after we meet up, J gets a call from R. R is crying, with clear distress and I can hear them screaming through J’s car radio, despite being in my own car. I can also hear D pounding on R’s door, yelling incoherently at them. I hear R desperately cry out “LEAVE ME ALONE!” And J and I know what we have to do. We go back to J’s house to rescue R. We get there, and I collect R into my car and J goes to confront D. D, thinking it’s R approaching says with so much venom “What?” But upon seeing J changes his attitude to be all smiley and non-confrontational. He claims that he and R were having a minor disagreement over sodas. J, who is furious at their father, slaps him. D fights back and knocks the lens from J’s glasses. He is promptly disinvited to the wedding and we all leave. J never slept in that house again.
This did not stop D from calling J over and over saying he needed to pay the water bill (which BY THE WAY is under D’s name and therefore his responsibility, but since the dumbass has no money he relies on J to pay it.) Eventually J just pays it and doesn’t tell D until he calls again, to which J answers “I paid it.” And hangs up. We think at this point that we are just going to cut J off and have nothing more to do with him. Boy do I wish that were the case….
So about a month after we get married, it’s J’s birthday and I’m really excited to celebrate with them. But I have to go to work. At lunch time, J calls and I’m looking forward to chatting and wishing a happy birthday, but am met with. “D sold the house.” Fuck. I call my boss and leave work. I hurry to J’s former home and J is there with R and D and the new homeowner who bought the house at a lowball price in order to flip and resell…. Oh, but where’s the money that D got from the house? You already know what I’m going to say. It’s gone. To the pocket of a scammer. I should point out…. We’re 98% certain that it has been the SAME GOD DAMN SCAMMER THIS ENTIRE TIME!!!! From the moment I met D and all the god damn nonsense that he’s put J and R through, it has been the same people he’s been willingly giving all of his money to in the blind, stupid hope that he’s somehow going to become a millionaire. So how is this resolved? Well, the new homeowner, bless his motherfucking soul, is way too kind and allows D and G to basically squat there for a while until they can be placed somewhere.
I’m sure you’re wondering why the hell J hasn’t just turned their back on D and been done with him. This is entirely because of J’s mother G. She is a very kind woman. Probably the main reason why J is as sweet and caring as they are. I love this woman. I am thankful for her kindness. But she comes with her own giant garbage bag of issues…. And I do mean garbage bag almost literally. G is incredibly mentally ill. She is, as far as I know, paranoid schizophrenic, and so lost in a mental fog that she doesn’t even know what year it is. This poor woman has not been to a doctor in over 20 years. This poor woman rarely changes her clothes, wears multiple heavy coats even in the heat of summer, and takes J’s old shoes when he buys new ones, even though J is not her size. Yes, J has bought her new shoes too. This woman also ties random objects, like plastic bags, old underwear, rubber bands, all over her body… making her look twice as big under all the coats. She would “sleep” in a heap on the couch. (I’m not convinced she actually slept.) she would hide garbage in every nook and cranny in the house. She would often urinate on herself because she was possibly too scared to go to the bathroom (that is my guess anyway.) Ands what’s worse, is D treats this poor, clearly unwell woman as a servant. And I don’t know how reliable G’s word is, but she has told me that D has been violent toward her. (Which I can totally see.) But she is constantly worried about D and his wellbeing over her own because in her own head she thinks if D is appeased, it will help everyone else.
So J keeps helping because of G. And I completely understand and support this. We have tried getting APS to help, but they haven’t been the most helpful. They’ve gone out for visits and everything but haven’t really given us much as far as getting them placed anywhere. Plus G won’t leave the house. Meanwhile D is still giving whatever money he’s getting from retirement to his “financial advisor.” This is putting so much stress on J, and I’m doing what I can to keep J’s spirits up. I at least take heart in knowing that J and R no longer live there and that R is not constantly being mentally abused by their grandfather.
So let’s cut to December. J keeps getting calls from their old neighbors that D keeps falling, and screaming his head off for G to pick him up. (I should point out if I’ve forgotten to at this point that D is 74, has Parkinson’s disease and Diabetes… all of which J drives him to all of his appointments and we’ve made detailed schedules on how he is supposed to take his meds) J leaves work to handle the situation and D is taken to the ER. He’s then recommended to have PT to get his strength back, which he can do at a nursing home, which hopefully he can get permanent lodging in. OK! Great! That’s one parent potentially out of the house they no longer own. Except, no nursing home will take him because his insurance is shit and they have nowhere to discharge him to once the PT is done. Great…. So J somehow manages to get him placed somewhere for PT, not sure how, but J now needs to apply for Medicaid for D so he can fucking STAY at the nursing home… otherwise it’s going to be $175 A DAY for D to stay there. But there is a problem that J discovers…
D, on top of all the money he’s given away, has opened up at least 3 (that we know of) bank accounts with other banks, which have all had suspicious deposits sites and withdraws from several different states… none of which D resides in. (Or has ever even been to…) it all screams money laundering to us, and D is just the dumbass caught up in the middle of this. J has been busting their ass trying to get these accounts frozen and/or closed, whilst also trying to get statements from them to file with the Medicaid application which some places are being very difficult about despite J having POA over D. There’s so much fraud going on, it’s going to be difficult to get D approved for Medicaid.
Meanwhile, all this time that D has been gone, G has been alone at that house. And honestly? She seemed to be in much better spirits with D gone. (Go figure…) She even told both me and J that she hopes D never comes back… He won’t G, he won’t… but then again, neither will she. A couple weeks ago, the new house owner finally needed to take possession, so J and I had to figure something out to get G out of the house for good. APS had scheduled a doctor to come visit her in house, but it wasn’t going to be for another month. We needed G out NOW. So what can we do? Well, we convince G that she needs to go to the hospital (which regardless of the rest of the situation, she absolutely does… her leg is red and swollen.) So we manage to get her to the ER. And G is basically a ghost in the system. There is next to nothing on her medical history… DUH! She hasn’t been to a doctor in 20 years! But they manage to schedule a psychiatric evaluation for her the day we bring her and she didn’t want me or J in the room with her because she thought we were lying about things that happened to her in the past. (Well, mostly J… I was basically there to remember dates within the last 5 years…. I can’t account for a full lifetime like J can.) And somehow the hospital told us that this woman doesn’t need assisted living…
That was about two weeks ago at this point… I think their opinion has changed. Because they managed to get all the things she had tied around her body off of her, but when they left her alone and came back, they found that she had gone through the garbage to wrap more things on her body. They managed to cut off the ties she had around her fingers and found that they were wrapped so tight that it cut nearly to the bone on one of her fingers. Yeah… she doesn’t need assisted living….
As of now, she is still in the hospital, no longer in the ER, but she has a constant sitter with her to keep an eye on her. She has everything detached from her body that wasn’t supposed to be there… i think her leg and hand have healed considerably, but there aren’t any current plans for placing her anywhere at the moment I’m not sure what’s going to happen with G at this point. But if she does end up placed somewhere, we want to make sure it is not the same place as D…. So, more Medicaid and more money…
D has also been trying to ask J about our new house… our address, how big it is and stuff like that. J says “Oh, staff knows where we live. And I have a room for myself and RK, a room for R, and a room for K, and we don’t really have room for someone who has lied to me his entire life and squandered away everything he’s ever owned.” A bit harsh? Maybe. But honestly after the life D has put J through…. D deserves it. Plus I will NOT have D in my house. I will not subject my partner to that man again. I will not subject my stepchild to that again, and i will not subject my birth child to that either.
As for J and myself, we will be working with a lawyer to try and get the Medicaid applications squared away. It’s going to be expensive, so we will be taking a rather hefty financial hit…. But hopefully once we have J’s parents squared away, we can finally breathe easy again. We have a hard, stressful time ahead of us… but we’ve been dealing with this stress for a while now.
If you stuck with me to the end of this, thank you. It’s kind of helped to air this out a bit. I do feel like there is an end in sight to all of this, i just hope my family can get there without losing our minds….
Thanks for listening…
~RK
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This is my favorite chapter so I had to post on here link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/274189609?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=kenmashoyoo&wp_originator=xhun5VEP0hlTfT5IhxDij3EGZLIJFSJts2ZNoclMuIh7Ud6nZ2w0CdFY%2FjuD7v3HtjFbpF6kWokGNIn7eSQqK6FUqTt4VEv1rLiYQH56vge11umnLk8DLJnbhQi8EkIv
Waifu(noelle)
Y’all hear them sirens?💀
Yuno
Wtf did u do now asta
Astalavista
MF I AINT DO SHIT
bird hoe(Nero)
Why assume it was him immediately 😭
Yuno
You know why….
Astalavista
I’m getting flashbacks stop
Prettyboytoy(finral)
Noelle
Prettyboytoy
My sweet noelle
Waifu
Wtf… why u acting like that
Waifu
Stop😭
Prettyboytoy
The best black bull member
Waifu
Actually keep going.
Astalavista
Back off mf😒
Prettyboytoy
I need to borrow some money noelle
🥰
Waifu
How much?
Prettyboytoy
15k
Waifu
WTF?
Waifu
Why not ask ur parents
Prettyboytoy
That’s not funny. You know they cut me off.
Yuno
LMAOO
Langris
Maybe if u weren’t such a pussy😭💀
Yuno
Damn got u there…
Astalavista
Do we need to whoop ur ass again?
Magma(magna)
Right stop playin
Langris
Whomp whomp☹️
Waifu
Stfu. why tf do u need 15k?
Prettyboytoy
Yamis in jail.
Willy(William)
AGAINN?
Prettyboytoy
I gotta bail him out
Yuno
Tf you mean again?
Willy
Nah what he do this time his bail wasn’t that high last time😭
Prettyboytoy
He went to the bar and was dancing on the tables naked
Willy
Oh that’s normal
Prettyboytoy
Then he went to the silva castle and broke in
Waifu
WTF???
Prettyboytoy
Then Nozel caught him and called the police
Nozzle(Nozel)
He was eating our food.
Nozzle
WHILE NAKED.
Nozzle
I wasn’t abt to let that slide
Yuno
He has a point
Yami
Stfu all you had was gluten free shit anyways.
Yami
No one want that shit
Astalavista
Ew wtf
Waifu
How tf r texting from inside a cell
Yami
The wifi in here is hella good.
Waifu
Why tf do u have your phone
Yami
?
Nozzle
Noelle don’t send him shit.
Nozzle
A captain shouldn’t be doing this
Yami
When I get out i want my rounds.
Yami
Cause u the reason I’m in here🤬
Yami
Noelle pls🥰
Waifu
Mhmh
Yami
No chores for u for a month
Waifu
…..
Yami
2.
Waifu
….
Yami
SIXXX
Yami
AND ILL MAKE ASTA DO THEM ALL
Astalavista
YO WTF??
Waifu
Ight what’s ur cash app?
Yami
Thiccdicdaddy26
Waifu
Rot in jail.
#black clover#blackclover#noelle silva#asta#noelle#noelle black clover#blackclover headcanons#black clover scenarios#nozel silva#nozel#black clover chatfic#yami#black clover langris#finral roulacase#yeonsclover
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The European Court of Human Rights ruled on Tuesday that the Russian Federation must pay a total of around 40,000 euros in compensation to Oleksandr Lypovchenko and Oleg Halabudenco for violating their human rights in Moldova’s breakaway region of Transnistria, which is under de facto Russian control.
Lypovchenko , a Ukrainian national, was arrested in 2015 after criticising the Transnistrian separatist regime in Tiraspol on social media.
In March 2016, a court in Tiraspol, unrecognised by the Moldovan authorities, found Lypovchenko guilty of “extremism” and sentenced him to three-and-a-half years in prison.
He was also convicted over an alleged reference in an old notebook, found during searches by Transnistrian police, in which he wrote that “order can only be brought in in Transnistria if UN forces are introduced” instead of Russian peacekeeping troops.
The sentence was issued in his absence because, in the Transnistrian judge’s opinion, “he talked too much”.
Media in Chisinau reported in 2016 that Lypovchenko was locked up several times in solitary confinement and put in a cell with other detainees who allegedly subjected him to ill-treatment.
He was also subjected to beatings by penitentiary officers. Lypovchenko went on a hunger strike because of the ill-treatment, and the Transnistrian police then forced him to have psychiatric treatment.
At the ECHR, Lypovchenko argued that his rights to liberty and security, to a fair trial and to the absence of inhuman or degrading treatment were violated by the Tiraspol regime.
The other plaintiff, Halabudenco, a a Moldovan national who was a part-time lecturer at a university in Tiraspol, was arrested in 2016 and remanded in custody on charges of taking a bribe from a student. He was released after posting bail.
“However, the Tiraspol City Court, unrecognised by the Moldovan justice system, subsequently rescinded the decision to release the applicant on bail and issued an arrest warrant. The bail he had previously posted was later forfeited and paid into the ‘Transnistrian treasury’,” said the ECHR.
In the meantime, Halabudenco left the Transnistrian region and never returned to the region because he feared the regime.
The judges ruled that the Russian Federation must pay 26,000 euros to Lypovchenko and 6,500 euros to Halabudenco in damages, and 4,000 euros to each plaintiff for costs and expenses.
However, Russia announced in March 2022, after the military invasion of Ukraine, that it will not enforce judgments handed down by the European Court of Human Rights issued after March 15, 2022.
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Ameda square station tales #7: Long travels
C"Ameda square station? Yes this be the Captain of the Korithean Cruiser A57. Requesting docking permission. We're suffering some mild electronic damage from venturing into Vericos controlled space."
O"Greetings captain. You're clear to dock in hanger bay 7-25."
C"Docking in hanger bay 7-25. Thank you overseer"
...
The captain, a Planta, walked off her ship with her two Vericos and two Human crew members. Namely Calmira, Kalvic, Carla and Jhon.
C"Keep an eye on Calmira, Kalvic. Don't want her gettin' us kicked off this here station"
Kalvic noded as he followed Calmira. Then she turned to Carla and Jhon. C"Head down to the ship's maintenance wing and fetch us some supplies to get our ship space worthy. Also ... Jhon, just to be sure. The fluffy ball of eldritch horror is locked away in your cabin". Jhon noded as the Captain turned to inspect her ship.
...
Richard was caught off guard as Jhon rang the Bell. J"I am sorry to be of bother. Our ship needs some repairs. What would the cost of the material be?". R"Ship? Which hanger bay." Richard asked as he pulled up his terminal. J"7-25".
R"Got it....the computer is scanning for issues....fried electronics. Flew threw Vericos space have we? Hopefully you left all your Planta crew members behind"
J"Kinda difficult when our captain is one"
R"...dear Elizabee. She's either the bravest or the most idiotic captain I've ever heard about..." His terminal beeped. R"That'll be... approximately....12000 credits."
Carla deposited the credits and stamped the document. C"Hopefully that'll be correct luv. Be a darling and deliver the material to 7-25"
...
K"Captain said we should stay out of trouble Calmira. I ain't paying anymore credits to bail you out of jail."
C"No need to be such a drama bee."
K"I am warning you. Captain will leave you behind Calmira if bad behaviour continues."
C"Fine..."
They both took an incorrect turn and ended up running into a rookie station guard officer "
D"Please head in the other direction. Station guard investigation up ahead ma'am and sir!"
C"Your translator broken?"
D"It is working perfectly, sir!"
C"I'm not a GUY!!"
K"It is clearly just translator of guard being a little older. Guard, I am Kalvic and this is Calmira. Please say your name"
D"My name is Delilah, Mr Kalvic sir!"
K"You can drop the 'sir' at the end of sentences"
D"Limitation of translator sir Kalvic sir"
K"Can you point us to the docking station"
D"Head back the way you came sir. I am sorry for implying you where male, lady Calmira sir!"
C"Close enough..."
...
Appendix: A little more information about the world
Vericos space: The cluster the Vericos species hails from is in essence an irradiated wasteland. It is said that the damage done to the stars in the cluster is artificial and a remnant of a long forgotten species fighting against a calamity or horror yet to be identified.
Planta and radiation: Planta have the ability to regrow sections of thier bodies. As such they also have an adaptation to avoid unchecked cell division. Unfortunately in the presence of even mild ionising radiation causes a large numbers of thier cells to self destruct. The side effects can be mitigated with [approximately 2 human rest cycles] of sunbathing. Wavelength should not exceed [3x10^17 Hz].
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I know it's both funny and annoying when rich fucks are like "the reason you can't buy a home is that you eat out" or w/e but like from one poor disabled person to another the whole "financial planning/skills are a lie" and/or "savings are for rich people" attitude that a bunch of other zillenials seem 2 have is uh. Probably not great for people?
This is the very first year of my life where I've ever treated savings as a thing/a real bill and holy fuck has like, intentionality & longer timescale thinking about money made a difference in like, my overall security--ESPECIALLY with gig-economy-style income where there's good and bad months.
Idk like. Everybody deserves help & a chance to get bailed out & acsribing fault or blame to financial crisis thats already happened doesn't fucking help anyone. It's just kind of concerning to see somebody post their bills and they're paying like $80 for cell service ((ting & visible r both good carriers that will get you unlimited for under $30)) or how many ppl of my generation I've known who like, worked minimum wage and took two(2) ubers to work every day instead of riding the damn bus.
At the end of the day ur $ ur choice like do whatever u want, I don't believe in moral imperative and especially not in reverence to cash, but like...financial skills are, to some degree, a real thing that can help.
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So, help
Am I talking to myself?
I need someone to hold me steady
Someone to fix this mind of mine
Mind of mine
Mind of mine, yeah
A mind that left me on the floor and shaking
Scared to death and suffocating
God I think I'm running out of time
To make it right
And fix this mind of mine
Highs and lows are all I know
I don't wanna be a fucked up father.
#Don't Turn the Ashes Now [Music];#R; matching revolvers#R; Roots Replanted#R; Sticks and Strings#R; Bail Cell#R; c-c-combo Breaker#Only in Dreams Do I Follow [Odette?];#//this is so many tags but all the Roulette kids have one now.
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"TWO YEARS IN PENITENTIARY FOR HOTEL THIEF," Winnipeg Tribune. May 10, 1913. Page 1.
----
Many Theft Charges in City Police Court - Boy of 16 Charged With Petty Offence
----
No less than eleven charges of theft or of receiving stolen goods appeared on the docket at the city police court this morning, and in each case, with the exception of one, for some reason or other the trial of accused was held over until next week.
Hotel Thief Gets Two Years
The exception was Dmytro Kowalczuk, who was yesterday convicted of robbing a fellow guest at the hotel which he was stopping. His honor in sending Mowalczuk to the penitentiary for two years, said the young man's record was far from good. Evidence was also forthcoming to the effect that the accused had been making a business of this particularly mean kind of theft.
Alleged Robbed Employer
Jacob E. Miller was arrested геcently by a city constable on a charge of being drunk and disorderly on the street. When in the cells it was dis- covered that he was wanted by his employer to face a charge of theft. It is alleged that Miller, who was employed by the Co-Operative Tailoring Co., collected some monies belonging to the firm and instead of turning them in went on a drunk. He will come up on Tuesday.
Conrad Simmons was remanded until Monday for sentence after pleading guilty to the theft of a military tunic and a suit of clothes, valued at $65. The clothes were owned by Daniel D. Little
A young boy, who was not quite sure of his age, but thought he was sixteen, and who said his name was Mike Marciniuk, residing at 352 Alfred avenue, is charged with stealing a purse from the box office of the Royal theatre. Asked if his parents knew of his arrest the boy replied that he did not know. He was геmanded until his father can be communicated with.
Arrested for Theft a Year Ago
After having been on the lookout for Frank R. Whitman for for nearly a year, Bicycle Detective Grimsdick has at last traced the young man and has arrested him on a charge of stealing an Empire bicycle. The theft, it is said, took place on July 31, 1912.
The young bank clerk who is in trouble for making out a bogus cheque for $4 was again remanded at his own request.
Alleged Theft From Person
Harry Cohen, a respectable looking young man was arraigned on the serious charge of having stolen $32 from a young man named Claus Meland, with whom the accused was seen in a downtown hotel yesterday. William Robb, a middle aged man, is charged accordingly. The two were remanded until Wednesday. Bail was allowed.
[Kowalczuk was 19, born in Gortlow, Austrian Galicia, and a naturalized Canadian. He had no previous record and was a general labourer. At Manitoba Penitentiary, he was convict #1825, uniform number #63, and worked in the quarry. He was released February 1915.]
#winnipeg#police court#theft#receiving stolen goods#stolen purse#stolen clothes#forging cheques#robbery#sentenced to the penitentiary#manitoba penitentiary#remand prisoners#crime and punishment in canada#history of crime and punishment in canada#ukrainian canadians#ukrainian immigration to canada
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Third teen charged in North St. Paul shooting with aiding and abetining murder
The bail of a third person charged with aiding in the murder of a North St. Paul man was set to $10 million on Friday.
The Ramsey County Attorney’s Office requested a high bail because Octavion Jones, 19 had nine warrants for other cases at the time he was arrested.
Anthony R. Rojas was found dead in an apartment located in the 2100 Block of North McKnight Road, on Monday evening. Officers found two empty and open gun safes, as well as a 3D Printer in the apartment. According to the criminal complaint in the homicide, it appeared that Rojas used the printer to make lower receivers for handguns.
Octavion Jones (Courtesy the Ramsey County Sheriff’s Office).
The complaints stated that a confidential informant had told law enforcement about a person called “23” or “Octavion”, who “were supposed to rob him of the ghost weapons, but shot him instead.” Ghost guns, which are made privately and have no serial numbers, cannot be traced.
Octavion Rayshawn Jones (Courtesy of the Ramsey County Sheriff’s Office)
A 911 call was made Monday morning, less than ten minutes after the officers arrived at the scene of the murder. The 911 caller reported that a male juvenile with a handgun in his pocket had dropped two bags containing handguns, less than a half mile from the apartment. The bags contained 15 handguns.
The complaints also stated that investigators discovered Rojas had posted a picture on social media 12 hour earlier, which showed him lying in bed with thousands of dollars cash at his apartment. The money was not found by law enforcement.
The complaint against Jones stated that Jones’ cell location “pinged at Rojas residence” until shortly after the murder. After the shooting, Jones closed down his social media account.
La Vida Rose Martinez (also known as Lavida) and Steven Lawrence Terry are both 19 years old and have been charged with aiding in the murder. Bail was set at $200,000 for each.
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Mason Greenwood faced court today on r@pe charge after two nights in a police cell
Mason Greenwood faced court today on r@pe charge after two nights in a police cell
Mason Greenwood faced court today on r@pe charge after two nights in a police cell
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MANCHESTER United footballer Mason Greenwood is due before a court today on a rape charge after two nights in a police cell.
The striker, 21, was arrested early on Saturday for allegedly breaching his bail conditions.
Mason Greenwood is due before a court today on a rape…
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Welcome To The Madhouse
Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ only
Warnings: feminisation, propositioning, daddy kink, implied future smut, power imbalance, debts owed/paid, age gap, no power au shrinkyclinks
Relationship: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Art Student!Steve Rogers
A/N: the Stucky content nobody asked me for, but this is what you're getting.
This work has Adult Content. By clicking “Keep Reading” you have agreed that you are over the age of 18 and are willing to view such content. My work is not to be copied or translated onto any other platform. I have discontinued my taglist - follow @slothspaghettilibrary to be notified of when I post.
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, a shaky sigh rattling his chest. He can feel the other men in the cell staring at him. And he knew their staring was because he's dressed for work - striking eyeliner and sparkly lip gloss making his features look even bigger, more feminine, more vulnerable. Under his jeans and hoodie was the skin tight corset, the ridiculous uniform he wore every night because when you're desperate for cash you don't complain about demeaning work at gentlemen's clubs. You suck it up, tuck your junk, and let handsy, wealthy men stuff twenties in your stockings while you serve them drinks.
He shouldn't have done this today. The protest had been for defunding the police for Christ's sake. That alone should scream to him T-R-O-U-B-L-E, but Nat and Clint had gotten him all fired up about it. He had to make his voice heard, he can't just run from a fight like that. Within in ten minute of them arriving outside the state court house, they were handcuffed and dragged off. And Steve being Steve had resisted, stomped and shoved, and now he stewing.
"Can I get my inhaler please?" He shouted, head falling back against the cement brick wall.
The few officers loitering in the bullpen ignored him, continued their quiet conversation and paper work. Steve pushed his hair off his forehead before he shoved his hand into his pocket. He stared at nothing particular ahead of him, eyes tracing the scribbled and scratched graffiti on the opposite wall.
He shouldn't have called his boss to bail him out. The card had been weighing down the pocket of his jacket for weeks now. It had been his first interaction with James, a tall and ominous man who owned the club and seemed to always be shrouded in darkness when Steve was the server he requested for the night. A request that was becoming more and more frequent. Nat told him Winter's Retreat wasn't a place for good people, but Steve didn't listen, because Steve never really listens to sense and student discounts don't really apply at the pharmacy.
The police station went deadly silent as the elevator opened. Steve had to force his eyes to refocus, blinking hard in hopes it made his contacts burn less. He turned to see what had caused such an scene to silence a whole damn police station and saw James standing next to Captain Wilson. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried not to think about why his cheeks felt hot.
He's never seen James in the light of day, if you'd asked him five minutes ago he would have said the man was some kinda vampire.
"Oh Stevie, Stevie, Stevie," he tsked, voice ringing out in the large room as he followed the captain to the holding cell. "What am I gonna do with you?"
It's the most cheerful James had ever sounds. His tone dripped with condescension and wickedness. Like he was enjoying this.
"Rogers you're free to go, sorry for the inconvenience." Wilson said, unlocking the gate and waiting for him to shuffle out.
"And it won't happen again, always a pleasure Samuel," James wrapped a ringed hand around the back of Steve's neck and started guiding him towards the elevator.
He could still hear the older man scoffing, shouting for everyone to get the fuck back to work. James's hand didn't leave the back of his neck the whole way to the sleek black town car. Steve felt his breathing pick up, the weight of it only making his skin burn hotter. James pulls something from his pocket and gives it to him. Steve's inhaler, graffiti and initials all there to let everyone in view know what kind of person he was. He took a deep inhale, holding the trigger down as the medicated spray eased the pain in his chest and lungs.
"Thanks," he choked, trying to still hold his breath so it took.
"Oh Stevie, don't thank me yet," James guided, nearly forced, him into the back seat of the car.
He gulped, jail made him a bit nervous sure but this felt like something bigger, like Steve was either gonna live to tell this tale to Natasha the next time they had brunch or he was gonna die. Steve fisted his looses jeans, refused to look where the car was now taking them. Maybe James was talking, he wasn't really sure, hyperfixating on the weave of denim his finger nails were trying to tear apart rather than listening. This happened sometimes, stress taking over Steve and not allowing him to be present. He just needed to calm down and it would all be better.
The car stopped, gliding into a spacious parking spot right outside a massive house in Brooklyn. Steve recognised the neighborhood, a place he sometimes went to for Instagram pics with Natasha when Clint is busy. A cafe a few blocks over does the best vegan donuts Steve's ever had.
"C'mon baby, outta the car."
Steve flushed a deep red under the endearment. This was not a healthy mindset. He needed to collect himself and think rationally. There was clearly a way to get out of this, one that involved no injuries and a payment plan. James was a business man, surely he'd just let Steve pay him back in a reasonable time frame. He followed the older man into the lavish house, opulent wasn't the right word for it but that was what all Steve could grasp on to at the moment.
They entered a study - a large wooden desk, winged back chairs, bookshelves all the way up the high ceilings, art - it all revealed a man with old school values and money. Steve sat gingerly in one of the chairs facing the desk, back ramrod straight.
"I'll pay ya back," Steve rushed the words out, pushing them into this conversation as soon as possible. "Just tell me how much and I'll work until it's all paid off."
James looked at him over his shoulder from where was mixing a drink at the small cart. A smirk settled on his lips before he took a sip of the amber liquid. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, the low lighting catching a glint on one of his many rings, and sat down in his chair. James spread his thick thighs just like he did at the club on nights when he was settling in for a long one. The cut of Steve's uniform, the way it squeezed his ass and dug lines into his hip bones suddenly reminded Steve of how used he was wearing less around James and feeling more covered then. How in this situation he felt nearly stripped bare by the way James looked at him.
Everything about this situation had Steve about to bolt for the door, dye his hair and change his name. It's playing out like a horrible mafia movie, but he couldn't seem to get the lead out of his shoes until James pat his thigh. Then he was able to move, trudging through the muck of his brain and every sense in him telling this was a bad idea. Once he's in arms reach, James pulled right down on to his lap, Steve's knees brushing the inseam of his boss's trousers.
"What if I don't want a trouble maker like you working at my club? What then baby?"
It was like the car ride all over again but this time so much more personal. Steve could smell the whiskey on his breath, could feel the relaxing heat from his body rolling off of James. He took a steadying breath.
"I'll get another job, and give you the cash."
"I'm not sure cash is gonna cut it Stevie, I had to pull some big favours to make sure Captain Wilson didn't charge you with assaulting an officer of the law."
"What else could you possibly want from me?"
Steve was seething, humiliation burning in his belly. He was not going to just do it. Since he'd started working he'd been propositioned enough. Plenty of old men don't always realise he was in fact a man until he told them no. Steve knew what James was asking him to do, hated how much he wanted to do it despite every moral bone in his body telling him not too. Who knows how many of the girls at the club he's done this to? Maybe this was James whole schtick, doing favour for people down on their luck and getting a power trip outta make them return his sexual advances.
Well if he wanted that from Steve, he was gonna have to fucking say it out loud.
"Oh I've got a list things I want from you Stevie, but first," James paused to take a sip of drink, the crystal glass and rings and thick fingers all capturing Steve's attention more than he wanted to admit. James's free hand smoothly rubbed up Steve's back, teases the taught muscles before sliding back to the edge of his sweatshirt, playing with the hem. "I wanna see what those pretty lips of yours can do. Let me cum in that smart mouth of yours, then we can go dinner so I can show just how nice it's gonna be for you from now on."
Steve slipped off his lap before he could really think. He knew he should have said no, nearly every part of his brain was shouting at him that this was a bad idea. But the stupid part, the one that never answers when common sense was knocking at the door, was telling him this was everything he wanted but wouldn't admit to.
The idea of being kept, owned thoroughly by someone capable of taking care of him and his needs. A weight would be lifted off his soul and mind and body. At this point some time on his knees praying and worshipping something would probably do him some good.
"What do you say, baby?"
James's voice was laced with smug condescension, licking the flames of humiliation and arousal burning away all of Steve's good sense. He responded the only way he could think.
"Thank you, Daddy."
#a sloth writes#bucky barnes#steve rogers#stucky#shrinkyclinks#steve x bucky#steve rogers x bucky barnes#preserum!steve rogers x beefy!bucky barnes#will i do anything more with this?#who's to say#mafia!au#mafia!bucky barnes
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