#closing affidavit

[marvelsmostwanted]

Election Day is November 5, 2024.

⭐️ Polling Place Locator

⭐️ Voter ID Laws By State

⭐️ Sample Ballot Lookup

⭐️ Voter Registration Deadlines

And more:

🚙 Need a ride to your polling place? Lyft is offering free and discounted rides on Election Day, or you can check out rideshare2vote.com.

🗳️✍️ If you know you are registered to vote but are told you are not, ask to cast a provisional ballot, sometimes called an affidavit ballot. Your vote will be counted once they verify your registration.

🧍🏽‍♂️🧍🏼‍♀️🧍🏽If you are in line before polls close, stay in line. You will be allowed to vote. Your vote will be counted.

❗️📞 If you experience intimidation, harassment, or any other obstacle to voting, call the Election Protection Hotline, 866-OUR-VOTE.

✅ Already voted? There’s still time to help get out the vote: Check mobilize.us for phone banks, canvassing, and more - yes, even on Election Day!

[acowardinmordor]

Risk and Reward

Steddie-adjacent. Tw: homophobia

I always love fics where Steve makes himself Eddie’s alibi while Eddie is still unconscious/in a coma. Knows that it will work because he knows in this town there is no way anyone would believe that Steve Harrington would come out if it wasn’t real. No one would believe it, because everyone knows that his parents are always gone, because his dad is in Congress railing against the gays and their depravity and how they deserve to die and burn.

Steve saying it. Signing an affidavit about it. Giving quotes to the ravenous press. It has to be true. And everyone who doesn’t think it’s disgusting think it’s the most romantic thing in the world.

The government was stepping in, all eyes were pointed at Munson, and he was going to be thrown in a cell for life. Or, to save the cost of the trial, he would have vanished somewhere between the hospital and the prison.

Steve coming out stops that. Airtight alibi, reinforced by the knowledge that there will be consequences.

Eddie is safe, and the government has changed tactics, is blaming dead Jason Carver for it all. Eddie wakes up six weeks later, shocked to wake up at all, and trusts his uncle enough to play along. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were dating the Harrington kid?’ Eddie knows how to tell a story that leaves space for a player to fill in their side. He tells stories about little moments and always describes things from his perspective. That way, if it contradicts the story that’s already out there, he can make a find quip about how he remembers it different.

When he finally gets a moment alone with his uncle, two days later, his guess gets confirmed. Wayne knows damn well that Eddie’s gayer than a maypole, and also knows that Eddie has called Steve his nemesis for years. Wayne knew from the second Steve said it that it was a lie, and knew it would work if it was believed.

The only thing confusing Eddie - well, the only thing in this tiny slice of his world - is why his fake boyfriend/no-longer-nemesis, isn’t in the hospital too, playing the part. If the guy was willing to say it at all, then he’d go all in. If there was one thing Eddie’d learned during those days, it was that Steve only ever did something at 100%

And yes, part of him feels terrible that Steve did this just to save him. He feels awful knowing that this is going to ruin a chance for a normal life. Wayne said the Indianapolis paper picked up a story about it. But at the same time, he’s so fucking grateful. Steve saved him. Again. And now, at least for a while, they’ll need to keep up the story. He’ll get to hang out with him, pretend they’re dating, stand close and cuddle closer. He also feels bad about how excited he is for that chance.

It’s the next morning when Eddie realizes his uncle dodged every question about why Steve wasn’t here. Wayne dodged almost every question after explaining what happened with Steve and the press and the Feds in the first weeks. Then, nothing.

The party visits him that afternoon, a veneer of joy stretched thin over something worse. Eddie’s first guess is that Red didn’t make it. But he hears her a moment later, complaining about ‘these stupid casts slowing me down’. The kids aren’t as good at dodging as Wayne is. Eddie gets the story quickly, such as it is.

The Harringtons came home from DC, gave a few speeches in praise of law enforcement against a serial killer. They visited the families of those that died.

They sent an assistant to find Steve in the hospital to deliver a message. No one else heard it, but the best guess is that it was a threat. Steve went with the assistant. They haven’t seen him since. When Dustin confronted the Harringtons at their last event in town, all they’d say was that ‘our son is getting the best help, and we love him dearly’

Eddie looks at Robin when he hears that for what it is. She drops the kids back home and begs a sympathetic nurse to let her talk to Eddie past visiting hours.

“It’s been a month since he vanished”

“Where?”

“We don’t know, we tried, even Hopper - he’s not dead - couldn’t find him. And this guy named Murray. We don’t know.”

“But…. ‘The best help’. You know that means…”

“I know”

“He’s, Christ, Buckley, he’s straight. Ladykiller. He’s straight and they sent him to some—“

“Yeah, but Eddie… I don’t know if I should… I guess, not that it matters now, and he never said anything, but he’s my best friend. He’s my soulmate. I know him and I think… if his dad wasn’t like he is… if he’d ever felt safe saying so… he knew they’d be furious when he came forward as your alibi, but he told me they’d just disown him, and it would be over. He was scared, but he was okay with what he thought was going to happen”

“I thought he hates me”

“He kinda did”

“Not anymore?”

“No.” There’s a pause where they both think about where Steve might be right now.

“Maybe he hates me again now.”

“I don’t think he would, but…”

And Eddie thinks how weird it is to see spastic Robin Buckley, who rambled in the Upside Down and always had more energy that she could contain, acting so subdued. No. So broken.

They both heard the Harringtons’ speeches and ads when he ran for office. They know what the man thinks about people like them. They both heard stories about what the places are like, where someone can go to ‘get help’

“Do you think I’ll ever get to thank him?”

“No.”

“Do you think we’ll ever see him again? You and the kids at least?”

She’s quiet for a long time, before she picks up her bag.

“If he ever gets to leave wherever they put him, and we ever see him, I don’t think he’ll be the person we knew anymore.”

[vintagelasvegas]

Dunes Hotel & Casino '55-'93

Dunes, 1955. Kodachrome photo from Charles Phoenix.

Timeline of the Dunes

’53-54: First announced as Hotel Araby (RJ 11/1/53), then became known as Vegas Plaza, and Hotel Deauville (RJ 1/20/54, 4/23/54). Named the Dunes by the time of groundbreaking, 6/22/54 (RJ).

’55: May 23, original owners Robert Rice, Al Gottesman, Joseph Sullivan, Alexander Barad and Jason Tarsey open the $4 million Dunes Hotel-Casino with 200 rooms on an 85-acre site. Architect J Replogle, designer R. Dorr Jr. Signs and Sultan figure by YESCO (RJ 5/23/55).

’55: Aug., Dunes leased by Sands partners and reopened in Sep. Subsequent financial difficulties cause the casino to be closed, 1/56.

’56: Bill Miller, Major A. Riddle, and Robert Rice are licensed to reopen the casino in May. In Nov., the license is changed to add M&R Investment Co. on the license as the company that operates the Dunes.

’57: Jan., Minsky’s Follies opens the first topless show at a Strip resort.

’59: Convention Hall addition.

’61: Olympic Wing addition.

’62: Riddle sells 15 percent of the stock to M&R Investment Corp., whose stockholders now include Charles Rich, Sidney Wyman and George Duckworth. Tower groundbreaking, 10/21/62.

’64: May, Sultan figure moved to golf course. In Oct-Nov, the 180-ft sign is installed in Oct., and switched on 11/12/64.

’65: Jun, opening of Dome of the Sea and the 24-story tower. Dunes Golf Course opened.

’69: Continental Connector Corp., a publicly traded company, buys the Dunes in a $59M stock transfer in May. In Dec, the SEC charges that CCC defrauded stockholders in the proxy statement it issued offering to buy the Dunes. CCC settles the SEC complaint in ’76. At this time, bankers E. Parry Thomas and Jerome Mack are principals in M&R and CCC.

’74: In Sep., Gaming Control Board files a complaint against the Dunes for catering and "comping" alleged Kansas City mob chief Nick Civella, one of 11 members of the Black Book, Nevada's List of Excluded Persons. The Dunes ultimately was fined $10,000.

’75: In Feb., Morris Shenker buys an interest in M&R through his IJK Nevada Inc. Later in the year, Dunes owners Shenker and Riddle are asked about allegations that reputed mobster Anthony Spilotro had "set up shop" at the Dunes. Spilotro reportedly was spending up to 14 hours a day in the poker room and appeared to be using it as an office.

’76: In Jun., Shenker sues the Teamsters Union for $140M for backing out of a loan commitment, which was to be used to add another 1,000 rooms. In Oct., Dept of Labor intervenes, saying the loan was prohibited. In ’80, Shenker's breach of contract lawsuit is tossed out of court by U.S. District Judge Roger Foley.

’79: South tower opened in summer. Shenker announces the Dunes will construct a $65M hotel-casino in Atlantic City. FBI affidavits are unsealed claiming that two confidential informants "both advised that the Kansas City organized crime group headed by Nick Civella has a concealed interest fronted by Shenker at the Dunes." Shenker denies the allegations.

’80: In Jan., alleged members of the NY Columbo family are discovered staying for free at the Dunes. Gaming Control Board Chairman Richard Bunker says the "comping" did not violate the law or gaming regulations. Later, four of the group, including Joseph Columbo Jr., are indicted on charges of obtaining money under false pretenses in an airline ticket reimbursement scam. The indictment is dismissed by District Judge Joseph Pavlikowski and in ’84 was reinstated by the NV Supreme Court.

’82: Aug., the $17M Oasis Casino opens, doubling the existing casino space at the resort. Design by Farris Alexander Congdon Architects. New 2-floor casino includes Xanadunes electronic gaming area, and Video-Video arcade space (RJ 8/13/82, 8/20/82).

’82: Dec., Stuart and Clifford Perlman agree to buy the Dunes for $185M. The brothers loan Shenker $4M and $2.9M of that sum is used to pay overdue federal payroll taxes and avoid the seizure of assets by the IRS. Shenker denies the resort is on the verge of bankruptcy. Docs filed with the SEC indicate the property is in default on a number of loans and a number of creditors threaten foreclosure action.

’83: The Perlmans assume management of the Dunes in Apr., and operate it for four months before the sale collapses in Aug.

’83: Oct., a foreclosure sale of the Dunes' golf course and some other property is averted when problems are worked out with the trustees of the Hotel & Restaurant Employees and Bartenders Int’l Union and the trustees of the Nevada Culinary and Bartenders Pension Trust, which are owed $1.5M for non-payment of union benefits.

’83: Dec., a federal jury in Las Vegas decides that Shenker owes $34M to the So. Nevada Culinary and Bartenders Pension Fund for defaulting on loans in ’73-’75 to two of Shenker's land companies, Sierra Charter Corp. and IJK Nevada.

’84: Feb., Shenker files for personal bankruptcy in Missouri to protect his assets from the $34M judgment. The IRS claims that the 78-year-old Shenker owes $66M in unpaid taxes stretching back 20 years. Shenker's bankruptcy filing claimed assets of $82M and liabilities of $197M, the largest debt ever recorded in the St. Louis bankruptcy court.

’84: Mar., Valley Bank of Nevada heads a consortium to lend the Dunes $68.6M as part of a debt restructuring plan.

’84: May, John Anderson buys a controlling interest in the Dunes with his JBA Investments Inc. Anderson signs a $25M note to pay the Perlmans for the $35M they invested in the resort. Shenker's 26 percent interest remains under the control of the bankruptcy court.

’84: Jun., the FBI alleges that Shenker approved $600,000 in kickbacks to alleged Milwaukee crime boss Frank Balistrieri in connection with loans from the Teamsters Union to Allen Glick, who later bought four Las Vegas resorts before being forced out of gaming by Nevada officials. Shenker denies the kickback allegations. No charges are filed.

’85: Feb., Dunes is cited for failing to retrofit the property to meet fire safety standards. About $2.2M is spent on retrofitting during the first half of the year.

’85: May, former Gaming Control Board Chairman Richard Bunker leaves his position as corporate treasurer of Circus Circus Ent. to become president of the Dunes.

’85: Aug., Jack Bona buys out the Dunes' 49 percent interest in its Atlantic City property in a $21M sale. The next day, Bona places the property in a Ch. 11 reorganization in bankruptcy court.

’85: Sept. 27, Dunes defaults on the $68.6M bank loan and Valley Bank moves ahead with the legal steps required for a foreclosure sale Dec. 23.

’85: Oct. 24, Federal marshals begin seizing cash from the Dunes casino cage to pay a $2.7M judgment obtained by trustees of the Culinary and Bartenders unions. They accept a $200,000 check and leave the cash in the cage.

’85: Nov. 1, Marshals return to collect the remaining $17M owed to the unions but are halted by a last-minute restraining order.

’85: Nov. 6, Dunes' operating company. M&R Investment, files for reorganization under Chapter 11.

’87: Masao Nangaku buys the Dunes for $157M.

’92: Nov., Dunes bought by Mirage Inc. for $75M.

’93: Jan. 26, closed. North tower and sign demolished 10/27/93.

‘94: Jul. 20, South tower demolished.

A major source for the timeline is Jane Ann Morrison. Judge Approves Payday for Dunes Employees. Review-Journal, 11/7/85.

Dunes, 1955. This is the original layout of the resort, before the addition of the Convention Hall and Olympic wing. Photo by Ed Screeton. Dunes Hotel Photograph Collection (PH-00281), UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

Late '64. The 180-foot sign has recently been completed. Dome of the Sea restaurant and the hotel tower are nearing completion. Culinary Workers Union Local 226 Photographs, UNLV Special Collections & Archives.

[devilmademewriteit]

Joel Miller & Javier Peña Headcanons (Drabbles?) Part 3!

another smutty edition<3

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, oral [both receiving], fem penetration, masturbation) so 18+ only content; afab fem reader; mentions of hair pulling; bratty!reader; violence (slapping, choking, threats); mentions of pornography; description of a panic attack; step-cest; pet names (baby, angel, sweetheart, darlin, hermosa, cariño) dubcon/non-con (age gap, power dynamics, coercion, just a bunch o’ shady shit in general imsosorry)

No use of y/n.

Hello! In honour of 2K followers (woot woot!!!) here is yet another work of absolute FILTH. These just get more and more insane idk what to do w myself. Your requests r gonna send me straight to hell. Anyways, I love u all so much. Don’t forget to join the taglist, you can find the other drabbles on my masterlist, & part 3 of Salvatore coming soon!

-em<3

—

Javi loves when you take charge—God, it just makes him laugh. He watches you, faithful that you’re in control while you ride him, fingers coiling weakly around his neck. “Gonna come for me, Peña?” He lets your imagination run wild until he grows impatient, sitting up to crush you between his arms, fucking up into you at his signature brutal pace. “Where’s all that tough talk now, hermosa?” He sounds so soft, so gentle compared to the thrust of his hips—snapping to bruise against the supple skin of your thighs. You never know how he manages to last so long, only that by the time his hot seed is leaking down between your legs, you’re barely conscious, barely human, and squirming away from those fingers—that cock—stealing non-stop orgasms from your core. He’s only satisfied once you’re reduced to his personal little plaything.

“Where you goin’, baby? I’m not fuckin’ done with you.”

Stepdad!Joel catching you and your boyfriend messing around in your bedroom; “Get out,” he growls, holding the door open as the young man scurries out, averting Miller’s violent gaze with his own downcast, darting eyes, hurriedly tucking himself back into his pants. Shame spreads like the wings of a Monarch across your heating cheeks. “Joel—I—” but he’s already too close, shaking his head in disappointment as he unhooks the buckle of his belt. “Didn’ think you were like that, baby…” and he’s pinning your shoulders down, covering your mouth with his calloused hand, muffling your protests to keep your little lesson private. “Pay attention, angel. F’you’re gonna act like a slut, you’re gonna get used like one, too.” Joel is huge, he stretches you far, far wider than your boyfriend ever could. When he bottoms out between your tight, silken walls, you can’t help your cry of surprise, of pain—of reluctant ecstasy. “Sshh, baby—don’t scream, don’t scream.”

“M’doin’ you a favour, see? Think you don’t fuckin’ deserve this?”

It had been ages since you’d last seen him. He’d gotten himself disciplinary leave—some shady business with an anti-Escobar group of vigilantes. But he’s back now (as your boss, no less) and so is that stupid-old-crush. And God, does he ever look good, sulking around in those navy fitted suits. Your heart had lurched when he’d recognized you—“Nice seeing a familiar face around here, ‘specially a pretty one like yours”—but working late tonight, finally on your way out the door, he commands it to a full stop when a worn-down, stressed-out Javier Peña calls you back into his office. “I-I don’t have a ride home, sir—I can’t miss the last bus,” as he dips down to brush kisses to the side of your throat, as his hands caress the valley of your waist, as he lifts you onto his desk, carelessly scattering confidential affidavits, narco-profiles, ball-point pens. “Oh, but you won’t last long, cariño—I promise,” and you believe him, because his thumb on that delicate, throbbing bud already beckons, pulls, drags you towards oblivion. Sooner or later, he would’ve had you like this—spread open on lacquered oak; thighs trembling in the cradle of his grip; fingers, helpless, tugging at his collar as his own curl inside you. You’re learning a new language: Javier’s native tongue.

“Not gonna say ‘no’ to your boss, now, are you, sweetheart?”

Slapping brat-tamer!Joel across the face after he spends hours teasing your dripping cunt; feeling him ripple with lust-soaked aggression when he finally pulls his damp cock from its drag-and-circle strokes against your clit. “Joel—fuck me, already,” and he claps the back of his hand across your cheekbone, yanks you down the mattress, settles himself to tower, cock in hand, right above your face. He wrenches your lips apart, slaps his length against your awaiting tongue—“Watch your mouth”—eyes alight with caution, irritation, warning. So, you respond, “Fuck you.” A big ol’ fist yanks you up by your hair—you know you’re being punished when he stuffs your filthy mouth oh-so-full with his length. “Yeah, fuck you too.” Every pained choke, the pressure of your hands pushing against the merciless, quick snaps of his thighs—it’s Joel Miller’s favourite kind of apology. He’s nonchalant, deceptively casual when he says it: “Nah, you don’t needa breathe—”

“—You’re gonna stop bein’ such a brat, or you’re gonna gag on an old man’s cock ‘til it fuckin’ kills y’a… whichever comes first, angel.”

On those rare nights he found himself alone, Javi liked to jack off, a glass of whiskey in his free hand. Sometimes with porn, most often without. When he did use the tapes, however, his go-to featured a dark haired man brutally fucking a girl into the dented pillows of a worn-in couch—God, she looked just like you. The real ‘you’ that was tough, incorruptible, a bit high-strung, and completely self-denying becomes a needy, cock-drunk mess at 6:12. Split wide open, taking it so rough, she whines, “You’re g’na m-make me come all—all over your c-cock.” If Javi doesn’t finish right then, he always does around the eleven minute mark, when her cheeks puff up around his fat tip, glassy eyes coming alive with that familiar, feminine devotion to male pleasure. When a forceful hand drags her lips down a long length of cock, that’s when Javi doesn’t stand a chance; he hangs off her every muffled, desperate word (and Christ, does her voice ever sound like yours): “Use me—please—use me, use me, use me.” In his twisted, sex-addled mind, he’s answering you, warm spend dripping onto thick, coiled fingers:

“I want to—fuck, wanna use every square inch of you, baby.”

The Jackson commune required all adults to take shifts patrolling the community; you’d been paired up with a far older, far more experienced, and far more… volatile partner. He rarely made conversation, but he got on with your dad, so it seemed like a good pairing, one that might teach you a thing or two—a rational decision. It wasn’t. Very quickly, you’d noticed his near tangible stares of hunger, the way his fingers clenched into white-knuckle-fists every time the weather warmed and your clothing got shorter—tighter. Soon, you’d made up your mind: you needed Joel. “Stop fuckin’ teasin’” he’d growled under the blood-orange glow of the southern sunset, grasping your flattened palm and moving it from its suggestive position on his chest, “M’not givin’ it to you.” Creeping in close, running your thumb across the sparse, silver-flecked hairs peppering his rigid jaw: “But I’ll be so good, Miller—I’ll listen, I can beg for it, too—please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“S’exactly the problem, darlin’. Jus’ one touch n’ I’d have you doin the dirtiest things for me… Fuck, wouldn’t be able to look your old man in the eye for months.”

Bonus Fluff:

Thank God they’d managed to stop the outbreak. It had felt like the end, at first, with the government-mandated lockdowns, people hoarding toilet paper and Lysol, going stir-crazy behind closed doors. And thank God for your neighbour, Joel Miller, who’d become something like your rock throughout those terrifying weeks. He’d never been close with your emotionally distant parents (really, who was?) but you were friends with his daughter, so he’d always treated you like one of his own. Until one Friday night, when you’d fallen asleep watching TV with Sarah and woken up to the thrum of your heart pounding against your ribs, beige walls closing in tight, the beginnings of a panic attack cresting throughout your shaking body. “S’okay, s’okay,” and he’d been there, cradling you in those blue-collar arms, cooing wispy, gentle comforts into the crook of your neck. The memory was mostly haze—but you kept the ghostly caresses of his finger tips smoothing the tense muscles beneath your skin, the near-kisses he’d brushed to your forehead, throat, and cheeks, and especially his look of restraint as he’d replaced your restrictive clothes with his own oversized tee. The next morning, you’d come to in his bed, nose nestled into the crumpled folds of his black t-shirt. Heat blossomed across your cheeks as the sunrise brought realization’s dawn upon you. “You jus’ wouldn’ calm down—” Joel’s concern had overwhelmed his tone as his thumb traced the apex of your cheekbone.

“Jus’ couldn’t stand to see you so… upset, sweetheart. Holdin’ you’s the only thing that seemed to do you any good.”

It took months of dating before Javi had been willing to surrender any personal information, any vulnerable thoughts to you. Christ, just learning his father’s name had felt like cracking the Da Vinci code. Instead of talking, whenever he got sad, angry, or upset, he soothed himself by stripping you down, shoving you onto all fours or holding your mouth open between his thumb and index—either one worked just as well. Somewhere down the line, you’d learnt that splitting you open left him more inclined to open up, himself. “Why is it always rough when you’re… unhappy?” It’s a timid question, posed with your cheek laid against his shoulder. First, he asks if you really want to hear the answer. Then, he responds with his eyes closed, shy strokes up and down the length of your spine. “Guess I like the control—feel so fuckin’ out of it when shit gets to me.” You go silent, startled by his honesty. “Does it bother you?” and he sounds nervous, concerned. “No,” you say passionately, ardently. “I like knowing I can help.” Smooth and quick, Javi cups your cheeks, pulling you up to straddle him and laying a fierce kiss at the altar of your swollen lips.

“You single-handedly brought me back to life, baby. Got no fuckin’ clue how much you do for me, every damn day.”

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @pining-and-tired @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @sallymilkweed @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @ayehomo

(The rest of the tags will be in a reblog—I don’t want this post to crash b/c of the amount of tags lol).

[is-the-primate-vid-cute]

Arrest made after Dallas Zoo events, including the theft of two tamarin monkeys:

Davion Irvin said he loves animals and that if he’s released from jail, he would steal more, the documents said.

Irvin, who remained jailed Tuesday on $25,000 bond, was arrested last week after asking questions at a downtown Dallas aquarium about animals there. He is charged with six counts of animal cruelty and two counts of burglary.

Zoo staff say the monkeys have lost weight but are unharmed.

Irvin told police that on the night of Jan. 29, he waited until dark, jumped a fence to get onto zoo grounds, cut the metal mesh of an enclosure and took the two emperor tamarin monkeys, according to arrest warrant affidavits . He then got on the city’s light rail before walking to the vacant home where he said he kept his animals.

Irvin has been charged in two of the odd events over a span of several weeks at the zoo and is linked to another, police said. In the taking of the monkeys, Irvin faces one count of burglary and six counts of animal cruelty — three for each monkey. He also faces a burglary charge in relation to the escape of a clouded leopard named Nova, who was discovered missing Jan. 13. A cut was found in her enclosure, and the zoo closed as a search was launched. She was found later that day near her habitat.

Irvin told investigators that he’d wanted to take Nova but that he was only able to pet her before she got on top of her enclosure, an affidavit said.

Police said have said they are still investigating, but Irvin has not been linked to the suspicious death of an endangered vulture at the zoo in January.

Meanwhile police in Louisiana announced the arrest Tuesday of a 61-year-old man in the case of 12 squirrel monkeys that were discovered missing Jan. 29 from their enclosure at Zoosiana in Broussard, about 60 miles (96 kilometers) west of Baton Rouge.

Police said the missing monkeys haven’t yet been found.

Source

[mariacallous]

In late August 2023, Ilya Gambashidze was in a conference room at the office of Social Design Agency, a Russian IT company he founded that is based in Moscow, close to the world-renowned Moscow Conservatory. Gambashidze was relatively unknown in Russian politics at the time, but just a month earlier his name had appeared on a Council of the European Union’s list of Russian nationals subjected to sanctions for playing a central role in a sprawling disinformation campaign against Ukraine.

In the conference room, Gambashidze was laying out his plans for a new target: Along with his colleagues, he began drafting what would become known as the Good Old USA Project. The project was supposed to influence the outcome of the US presidential election in favor of former president Donald Trump, specifically targeting certain minorities, swing-state residents, and online gamers, among others, in a scheme that included a full-time team dedicated to the cause.

On Wednesday, Gambashidze and his company were named by the US Department of Justice among the architects of a disinformation campaign known as Doppelganger that has for the past two years been targeting Ukraine and, more recently, US elections. The Doppelganger campaign uses AI-generated content on dozens of fake websites designed to impersonate mainstream media outlets such as The Washington Post and Fox Business, using a network of fake social media accounts to disseminate pro-Russian narratives targeting audiences across the globe. Doppelganger is a Kremlin-aligned disinformation campaign that was first linked to the Kremlin in 2023 by the French government.

On Wednesday, the Justice Department announced the seizure of 32 internet domains it says are linked to the Doppelganger campaign which violate US money laundering and criminal trademark laws.

“Today’s announcement exposes the scope of the Russian government’s influence operations and their reliance on cutting-edge AI to sow disinformation,” FBI director Christopher Wray said in a statement. “Companies operating at the direction of the Russian government created websites to trick Americans into unwittingly consuming Russian propaganda.”

The Treasury Department had previously sanctioned SDA and Gambashidze in March for its part in the Doppelganger campaign. But the court documents unsealed on Wednesday contain a treasure trove of documents and meeting notes from Gambashidze and his colleagues, outlining in unprecedented detail the goals and tactics that the Kremlin has been deploying in order to influence the outcome of the 2024 US election.

The records also reveal the plan was discussed at the highest levels of the Russian government, with Sergei Kiriyenko, the first deputy chief of staff of the presidential executive office, playing a key role. The notes appear to show that President Vladimir Putin may have been updated on the campaign; in one meeting with Russian government officials, Gambashidze wrote that government officials told him they had “reported to the President about the project,” which the FBI agent who authored the affidavit said he took to refer to Putin.

The documents show that the orchestrators of the campaign targeted existing divisions within US society, using racist stereotypes and far-right conspiracies to target supporters of former president Donald Trump.

​​"They are afraid of losing the American way of life and the ‘American dream,’” Gambashidze writes in one document outlining his “guerrilla media” plan. “It is these sentiments that should be exploited in the course of an information campaign in/for the United States.”

The same document is full of racist and conspiratorial claims, including that Republicans are “victims of discrimination of people of color.” It adds that white middle-class people are being discriminated against with high inflation and rising prices, while “unemployed people of color end up being privileged groups of the population.”

And the goal of the campaign, from the beginning, was crystal clear: “To secure victory for [Donald Trump],” Gambashidze wrote in the Good Old USA Project planning document.

The Good Old USA plan openly admits that “none of the significant American politicians can be considered pro-Russian or pro-Putin,” and so rather than focus its efforts on trying to convince people that Russia is great, the plan called for promoting the idea that the US should be focusing its resources less on Ukraine and more on domestic issues, such as rising inflation and high gas prices.

“It makes sense for Russia to put a maximum effort to ensure that the Republican Party’s point of view (first and foremost, the opinion of Trump supporters) wins over the US public opinion,” the Good Old USA Project planning document reads. “This includes provisions on peace in Ukraine in exchange for territories, the need to focus on the problems of the US economy, returning troops home from all over the world, etc.”

As well as getting Trump elected, the campaign’s secondary goals included increasing the percentage of Americans who believe the US is doing too much to aid Ukraine to 51 percent, and reducing the percentage of Americans who have confidence in President Joe Biden down to 29 percent.

The plan lists a variety of audiences the campaign specifically wants to target, including residents of swing states, American Jews, “US citizens of Hispanic descent,” and the “community of American gamers, users of Reddit and image boards, such as 4chan.”

The document describes this category of gamers and chatroom users as the "backbone of the right-wing trends in the US segment of the Internet.” In recent months, the Trump campaign has embraced many of the most influential figures within these communities, including many who share deeply misogynistic rhetoric on a regular basis.

To spread their narrative, the plan called for the creation of YouTube channels that shared pro-Trump content as well as other viral videos (“music, humor, beautiful girls etc,” according to the documents) in order to appear at the top of search results for “US elections.”

Meanwhile, Gambashidze and his colleagues used Facebook, Twitter, and Reddit to create community groups of Trump supporters, with one sample name given as “Alabama for America the Great.” The document also reveals that the Russians planned to use Reddit as a vector to disseminate their propaganda as it is a platform “free from democratic censorship.”

Gambashidze’s plan outlined how Doppelganger would create 18 “sleeper cells” on social media platforms in each of the swing states, which would “at the right moment, upon gaining momentum, become an important instrument of influencing the public opinion in critically important states and portals used by the Russian side to distribute bogus stories disguised as newsworthy events.” It’s unclear if these so-called sleeper cells were created and, if so, whether they are still present on the platform.

The campaign also used targeted ads on Facebook to not only promote their narrative but also to gain valuable insight into what messages were sticking and which were falling flat. “Targeted advertising in Facebook allows tracking reactions of users to the distributed material in real time and directing the psychological response group to contribute to comments thereof,” the document reads. “With the help of a network of bots the psychological response group moderates top discussions and adjusts further launches depending on which group was affected the most.”

One of the key aspects of the Kremlin’s campaign is also to engage with influencers. According to the FBI’s affidavit, Gambashidze’s company ​​“extensively monitors and collects information about a large number of media organizations and social media influencers.”

According to the Good Old USA project document, the Kremlin was seeking to work with influencers who are “proponents of traditional values, who stand up for ending the war in Ukraine and peaceful relations between the US and Russia, and who are ready to get involved in the promotion of the project narratives.”

Among the types of influencers listed as possible collaborators are actors, politicians, media representatives, activists, and clergymen.

The affidavit references one document maintained by the Social Design Agency, which is not included in the unsealed court documents, that contains a list of more than 2,800 people identified as influencers. While this list is global, US-based influencers account for around 20 percent of the accounts being monitored, including many US lawmakers, according to an analysis of the list by the FBI.

The Social Design Agency also maintains another list, again not included in the court documents, that tracks over 1,900 “anti-influencers” from 52 different countries, with US-based accounts. The FBI agent who authored the document assessed that “anti-influencer” refers to accounts which post “content that SDA views as contrary to Russian objectives.”

In a note from one of the meetings with Russian government officials discussing the campaign’s use of influencers, Gambashidze wrote: “We need influencers! A lot of them and everywhere. We are ready to wine and dine them.” Though no links have been confirmed, hours before the Doppelganger affidavit dropped on Wednesday, Tenet Media, an organization that features a slate of right-wing commentators, was alleged in an unsealed Department of Justice indictment to have been largely funded by Russian state-backed news network RT.

The Social Design Agency operation appeared to be extremely well-run and well-resourced. There is a “project office” consisting of four teams that include one entire group dedicated to monitoring the social media posts from GOP lawmakers in order to generate ideas for topics to cover.

These would then be handed to a “text factory," with orders to whittle down the topics handed to them by the monitoring team to four to five main issues, along with eight to 10 basic posts for social media platforms and 40- to 60 comments to post under those social media posts for the network of bots. Another team was called the “manga editorial office,” which was charged with producing a daily output of three to four images, including memes. Finally, a video team was tasked with producing three to four videos each day.

“In order for this work to be effective, you need to use a minimum of fake news and a maximum of realistic information,” the document’s authors wrote. “At the same time, you should continuously repeat that this is what is really happening, but the official media will never tell you about it or show it to you.”

Antibot4Navalny, a group of anonymous Russian researchers who have been closely tracking Doppelganger’s activity, are doubtful that the affidavit will have a significant impact on the campaign’s activity.

“Frankly, I believe it's whack-a-mole as long as EU providers keep doing business with [Social Design Agency], and UK-registered shell companies keep helping SDA with its operation,” the researchers told WIRED, citing their own investigations earlier this year.

[rainydayandmondays]

Secret Santa is Coming....

Summary: Time for the Secret Santa gift exchange and Andy knows you deserve only the best gift. And who says it can’t be a gift for both of you.

Pairing: Andy Barber X Reader, Jake Jensen

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+ only. Explicit language, explicit sexual content, male masturbation, female masturbation, voyeurism, Daddy kink, slight non-con

Author’s Note: A follow up to the Thanksgiving Potluck. I don’t think Andy is okay with just a one-shot with his sweet girl.

“Mr. Barber.”

Andy looked up to see you standing just inside his doorway. Your hands dropping to be held in front of you, he watched as you momentarily shifted from foot to foot. You were uneasy and that should never be how you feel around him. He dropped the affidavit he had been reading back to his desk, before rolling his shoulders, and sitting back in his chair. Something had you skittish and he wouldn’t have that.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

You bow your head at the nickname, your bashful reaction to it would never get old with him. However, he did try to use it sparingly. Waiting until you two were mostly alone, he would softly say it and watch you smile before catching yourself.

“Can I talk to you about something?” You looked at him, your brow furrowing as you waited for his response. Something was wrong. He could feel his own unease build up the longer he watched you, your fingers now fidgeting in front of you.

“Is that even a question? Of course, you can,” He gestured to the seat in front of him.

You seemed to loosen up at his response, your hands dropping the gripped hold you had them in. Turning to close the door behind you, you gave him a small hopeful smile before taking the offered seat.

He continued to sit back, despite wanting to inch closer to you. You were calmer now and he didn’t want to break you from that peace that you had regained, “What’s going on?”

You took a quick inhale before asking your question, “Are you the one leaving coffee on my desk every morning?"

The coffee. You knew about the coffee. After Thanksgiving, he hadn’t wanted to give up the feeling he felt watching you enjoy him so much. He embraced the flashes of you licking your lips after finishing his potluck offering. They would keep him busy popping up over the long holiday weekend.

Laurie had ordered in catering for their family meal. Things were starting to pick up for her at work as they entered the holiday season. Buying everything and then cooking the turkey dinner wasn’t something she was willing to take on. Instead, they had pulled the plastic containers from the takeaway bag, quickly heating them up before sitting down to the saddest Thanksgiving meal. Thoughts of you were the only thing that pulled him out his funk to start pulling down Christmas decorations from the attic.

He decided that weekend that he would find a way to share that with you again. Your friend may have thrown out that thinly veiled threat, but he would find a way around it. Returning to the office after the holiday, he decided to keep his ritual to his nightly shower. No more parking garage camera feed for your noisy friend to make noise about. He found if he worked late enough, by the time he got home, there would be no one up to ask why he took a tumbler with him to shower.

Filling up his trusty tumbler every night, he would grab it from the refrigerator each morning as he waved goodbye to a wife and son who seemed to be more enthralled with their phones than anything he was doing. Heading to the local coffee shop after his morning swim, he would sit in his car adding his special ingredient to the small light roast brew with double espresso shots and half and half.

Making sure to get in as early as possible, he would leave the cup of coffee on your desk before hustling to his office. He had done so for the last week, a smirk lighting up his face when you brought the cup to the weekly team debrief for the latest cases. But now you knew it was him. He should have known you would figure it out.

Trying his best to not react to your question, he pulled on all his skills to keep the best poker face. He could come up with a reason for it that wouldn’t return you to that ball of nerves that had stood in his doorway.

He cleared his throat before responding, “You caught me. I know the late nights you have been putting in. That can’t be easy to do and then only to go home and help your parents. Figured you might need something to look forward to.”

You hummed at his explanation, looking down before returning your gaze to him, “That’s very kind, Mr. Barber. Sweet even. It’s just…people like to talk. I’ve worked so hard. And I don’t want anyone to think that I got anything because of…because of anything else other than work.”

Your eyes had continued to flit between him and your hands in your lap as you spoke. He could tell that you had thought through your small speech, probably even prepped yourself on your drive in. He also knew that one of the office gossips had gotten to you. He was selfish and he wanted the moments with you but not at the risk of you feeling uncomfortable.

Leaning against the desk, he looked at you straight on, expressing as much empathy as possible, “Understood. No more coffees.”

Your shoulders finally came down from around your ears and you sighed, nodding back in thanks.

“Thank you, Mr. Barber,” you replied before rising to walk towards his office door. He wanted to correct you. Remind you to call him Andy. However, he figured it was best not to push his luck. Watching you push the wrinkles from your skirt as you walked away, he called back to you, “I don’t want you worrying about this or what anyone may say, okay?”

Stopping to look over your shoulder, you reached to grab at your necklace, “I won’t.”

“Promise me?” He smirked as you continued to twiddle with the gold chain.

“I promise,” you answered as he nodded for you to leave.

With the click of his door closing, he looked down at his desk, saving your promise to his memory. He’ll use it later tonight.

Holding the slip of paper in his hands, your name neatly scrawled across it, he smiled to himself. A couple of people in the office decided to put together a Secret Santa exchange. Apparently, the Thanksgiving potluck was such a success when it came to team building, the higher ups agreed to the next holiday activity. Even had HR sign off on it.

Andy had been in court when the bag of names had been passed around. He didn’t give it much thought. Since your stop in his office a week ago, he had kept his distance. It wasn’t something that he wanted in the slightest. But he was willing to respect your genuine worry about office gossip. No more tumblers, no more early coffee runs. The research requests still happened but always through the weekly team huddle.

However, now seeing your name chosen for him, he had to smile to himself. Of course, it would be you that he would get. Of course, him trying to keep his distance would mean you finding a way back to him.

He sat down, leaning his chin in his hands, “Okay, sweet girl. I understand.”

The office had pretty much cleared out with most people starting their holiday vacations. The last few streamers from the small Christmas luncheon had been balled up and chucked in the bin, when Andy made his way out to the bull pin. You were waving off the last of the other paralegals as you collected your stuff to make your own way home.

“Hey sweetheart,” he saw you jump a little before turning to him.

You had worn a red Christmas sweater with a white bow handstitched along the collar. Your normal pencil skirt had been replaced by a pair of black slacks. And although not his favorite, the pants had done wonders for your ass. He had watched as you moved around the office putting up the last-minute decorations, only to take them down.

“Hi Andy.” You replied turning and looking up at him from your office chair. He caught the small smile that wanted to break free at your utterance of his name. That was good, you were comfortable around him again.

Clearing his throat, he brought the gift bag from behind his bag, presenting it to you, “Merry Christmas.”

“So, you were my Secret Santa,” you smirked looking at the packed gift bag he had hastily bought from the Walgreens down the street.

“It’s a three-part gift,” he answered, nodding towards it and urging you to open it.

Taking the stuffed tissue paper from the top you reached in pulling out a pink tumbler. You let out a small giggle, “For my coffee?”

He fully smiled this time, before shrugging his shoulders and pointing to the remaining items in the gift bag. Putting down the tumbler, you turned back to the bag, reaching the bottom of it, you pulled out a wooden paper weight. Carved into the center was the seal for Boston College Law School. Your brow creased as you tried to piece together the meaning of the gift. He watched as you finally looked back to him, your look pleading for an answer.

“That’s the second part. An old college buddy of mine is the registrar. I told him about a paralegal that had aced her LSATs, had helped on numerous high profile ADA cases, but hadn’t had the chance to enroll yet.” He looked on as the puzzle started to come together in your mind. Your brow creased further as tears started to line your eyelashes.

“They have grant funds set aside every year for students that display great potential. He took care of everything. You can enroll whenever you’re ready. There will be a space for you. That’s the third part.” He whispered the last of his explanation. The tears that had been threatening to fall now ran fully down your cheeks.

“Oh my God. Thank you.” You jumped from your chair, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

Initially taken by surprise, he hesitated momentarily before letting his body relax into your hold. His hands landing on your back as you sniffled into his dress shirt and whispered quiet thank you’s in his ear.  He threw up his own thanks at the office being empty. Something tells him that you may have restrained yourself more with an audience.

Starting to feel you pull away, he resisted the urge to cling to you. It had been a while since Andy had a genuine hug. He had been mostly regulated to side hugs with Laurie. Every once in a while, it would include a kiss to the cheek. And Jacob, well he was fully rooted in his teen years and any idolization that he might have had for his dad had been long gone. He would only get quick nods of recognition from over the top of the phone from his son. But now with you, he could feel the heat of your body, the small catches in your breath as you tried to regulate your outburst. This was something he couldn’t give up.

“I’m so sorry. That’s not very professional of me. It’s just…this means so much to me.”

Your tearful smile at him tempted him to bring you back into his embrace. To just hold you as all the happy tears flowed out of you.

You giggled again, shaking your head, “I have to tell my parents. I have to…”

He nodded at you, seeing all the possibilities run through your mind. He had opened doors for you. Had given you a better future. Had put that delighted smile on your face. He had done that. You quickly began to pack up your remaining things, yesterday’s brief stuffed in with your laptop. Turning to him again, you smiled again grabbing onto his forearm and squeezing.

“Merry Christmas sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas Andy.”

“Can you believe it, Jake? I can enroll whenever I’m ready. There’s a space just waiting for me.” You talked animatedly to your best friend as you placed the carved paperweight on your bookcase. It would sit perfect with your old undergrad books and picture of Jake and you from your graduation.

“That’s amazing, Ace! So, he just called a friend and got this all sorted out?” Jake asked facetiming you from his room.

He had suspicions about your kind of boss since before meeting him Thanksgiving. You had mentioned how many late nights you had been spending at the office recently and how walking out at night gave you the heebie-jeebies. The protector within him woke up immediately at that, ready to offer to pick you up if he needed to. You would never ask him to do that yourself. That’s when you brought up Andy Barber and how he started walking you out.

It hadn’t taken Jake long to dig up information on the ADA. He had the white picket fence life, although there wasn’t too much about his past listed. That was the first red flag. Hacking into the courthouse’s camera feed had been relatively easy. These older government buildings never bothered upping their security.

Andy Barber always parked in one of the garage’s blind spots. That would be the second red flag. After you left, Andy wouldn’t be seen exiting until half an hour later. What could he possibly be doing in a parked car for thirty minutes? That was the final red flag.

“His friend is the registrar at the school. He was able to work it out. What?” Sitting down on your bed, you leaned back looking at Jake on your phone. He was making his slightly worried puppy dog face.

“It’s just that’s a lot to get coordinated so fast.”

“Why can’t you just be happy for me, Jake?” You asked only to see Jake’s face immediately deflate. The worried puppy dog look morphing to kicked puppy. His eyes widening behind his glasses.

“Of course, I’m happy for you Ace. It’s just that you’re too trusting sometimes.”

“I’m not a child,” you grumbled back, and Jake wanted to jump through the phone and ease your anger.

“You’re not. You’re a person with a good heart that wants to believe the best in people,” he saw the crease in your brow ease as he spoke, “And that’s why I gotta look out for you.”

Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide your small smile at Jake’s statement. From the first moment he had run into on his skateboard, knocking both of you over in the quad in college, he had looked out for you.

“When do you come back?”

“Why? Do you already miss me?” You watched Jake wiggle his eyebrows suggestively, causing a round of giggles to erupt from you. He pretended to be hurt by your outburst before continuing, “Probably not until the new year.”

You hummed, sitting back up, Jake and you sat in silence as he watched the disappointment take over your expression. He searched for a way to get you to smile again when he heard the knock at the door. Quickly looking back at the door, he breathed a sigh of relief seeing he had locked it.

“I gotta go, Ace.” He watched you nod a short okay, before finally getting up from your bed.

“I miss you.” “I miss you too, Jake.”

Andy sat down at the desk in his home office. Neck stretched back along the back of the chair, as he thought back on the last couple of hours since getting home. Walking in, he noticed all the lights were off, not even the Christmas tree in the den was lit. Disengaging the alarm, he made his way into the kitchen to see a sticky note stuck to the fridge. Laurie had to go back into the office to finalize the preparations for the end of the year gala, while Jacob spent the night at a friend’s. So much for family time.

Putting an order into the local Italian place, he went upstairs to change out of his work clothes. He contemplated jumping in the shower, until he heard the doorbell ring with his takeout. Turning on the tree in the den, he ate his pasta dish with only the twinkling Christmas lights on. What had his life become? What had his family become?

Dropping the to-go containers in the trash, he wandered back to his office. He thought about powering up his laptop and finishing the closing remarks for one of his cases, when he found the holiday favors that you had passed around the office this morning. Your red sweater on, you greeted everyone with such joy for the upcoming holiday. He couldn’t help but smile up at you, as you left the favor on his desk.

You were a sweetheart. His sweetheart. His sweet girl. He rubbed along his bottom lip as he remembered your reaction to his gift. The hug had surprised him. But fuck if he hadn’t loved every minute of it. He didn’t even mind the soft sniffling you made as your tears stained his tie. He had made those tears.

Opening his iPad, he logged into the recently downloaded program. Would you have already told everyone about what he had done for you? Would you have passed around the carved seal of your new school for everyone to admire? Would you have put it in a place of pride? He wasn’t sure, but it couldn’t hurt to check.

Finishing entering the credentials, he watched as his screen came to life and he saw your bedroom space. It was cheerful like you, with multiple pillows adorning your bed and bursts of color in the pictures you hung on your walls. He devoured the scene, greedily taking in everything he could see, when he heard the click of the bedroom door. The small camera was powerful and could zoom 10x but was stationary in the middle of the school seal.

He waited, hearing you hum a Christmas song along the with opening and closing of drawers off camera and the tossing of a bath towel on the bed. Finally making your way into view, he saw your silk two-piece set. The navy-blue pajama top with white piping along seams hugged your tits. Your free tits, there’s no way you were still wearing a bra with the way your nipples poked through. And the shorts that accompanied it, covered the curve of your ass, but he watched as they inched up as you started to turn down the bed.

He shifted in his seat as he set the iPad to lean against the monitor stand on his desk. Widening his legs and easing back into his chair, he adjusted himself. He hadn’t had a chance for his nightly ritual. But seeing you now, he was happy to see he would have new things to add to his memory. You always knew how to take care of him. His sweet girl.

After setting most of the pillows aside, you climbed into bed, reaching over for your earbuds and phone. He couldn’t tell what you were listening to but judging by the content smile on your face, it must be good. He watched as you closed your eyes, listening to whatever was piping through your earbuds. Reaching down, he rubbed himself through his pajama bottoms. Nothing too aggressive, just softest of touches. The kind he always imagined you would give him. Always delicate and soft at the start.

He sighed to himself as he watched you, “My sweet girl.”

Lost in the moment, he didn’t catch you shifting at first. However, looking back at the screen, he saw your hand move to your top. You let out a small sigh as your fingers started to flick at your nipple, rolling it between your fingers. He frantically sat up, engaging the zoom function to watch up close. Your nipples were amazing, and he knew given the chance he would lap at them, giving them little bites to see you squirm. Your eyes were closed, breathing harsher, as you played with your tits.

“Play with her tits, sweet girl. Show me how sensitive they are,” He whispered as he took full hold of himself. After hitting his fist on the underside of the desk, he pushed back from it to make room for his hand as he continued to slide up and down his shaft.  

He could hear the little sighs you were making as they started to get louder. He knew you would be vocal. You would tell him everything that made you feel good. Both your hands covered your tits while the buttons of your shirt lay open from where you had torn it open to get your hands in.

“Jesus, you’re going to be the death of me.” He squeezed around the tip before breaking contact with the screen to spit down onto himself. At feel of his warm saliva, that winking eye dribbled out onto self.

Hearing shifting, he looked back to find you grabbing one of the pillows you hadn’t bothered to put aside. Now, what were you doing now? He watched as you grabbed the forgotten towel still at the foot of your bed. Placing the pillow in the middle of the bed, you draped the towel over it before swinging a leg over and straddling the setup.

“Fuck me. Take what you need, sweet girl.” He grunted as you started to rock back and forth on the pillow.

Your hips started a natural rhythm, one hand still pawing at your tit while the other held you steady on your perch. As he looked on, the more he dribbled out on his hand, and he finally reached down pushing his pants and underwear off. His ass was momentarily cold on the leather of the seat, but he couldn’t be bothered to care as you kept humping your pillow.

“Daddy.”

Andy nearly swallowed his tongue when he heard your whisper. Your bottom lip now caught between your teeth as you whined.

“Daddy is here. Fuck, I’m right here.” He fisted himself, finally dropping to grab onto his balls and rolling them in his palm.

“Daddy, please.” You mewled out your whimper and he had to grab tight at his base to avoid blowing his load right then and there. You were close, but fuck him, if he missed it by losing it first.

“What do you need, sweet girl? What do you need from daddy?”

“Daddy, I can’t.”

How could you answer him? You had to know. His sweet girl was so smart, she could figure anything out. You had to know he was here. That he could see you. That he was watching you. You were doing this for him.

“Yes, you can. Daddy says you can. I’ll even count down. Five.”

You stuttered slightly before picking up your pace again.

“Four.”

He tightened his grip, corkscrewing his hand on each trip up.

“Three.”

Your breathing was getting harsher as you brought down your other hand, using both to steady you as your hips rolled.

“Two.”

He was almost there. His balls had already started to pull up as he planted his feet to thrust into his fist.

“One. Come on, my sweet girl. Come for daddy.”

He nearly lost it, as you threw your head back, mouth gaping in a silent cry, and the rest of your body spasming. Fucking his hand, he watched as a gush of liquid flew out of you, wetting the towel beneath.

“Oh fuck. Such a good girl. Such a good, fucking sweet girl.”

Standing up, he aimed for the screen as he lost it on the image of his sweet girl squirting for him. He twitched and continued to rub out every ounce he had for her. For once, he didn’t think about it going to waste. It hadn’t, not with what you had given him tonight.

Bracing against the edge of the desk, he flopped back into his chair, as you rolled off your pillow completely drained.

“Thank you, daddy.” You gave one final whisper before peeling off your pajama shorts and grabbing the covers to go to sleep.

“You’re more than welcome, sweet girl. Rest now.”

Andy watched you snuggle into bed, returning to the woman he knew from the office. No longer the horned up, little one that just needed her daddy to take care of her. Taking a tissue from the console behind him, he wiped himself down before wiping the screen and desk. Pulling his boxers and pajama pants back up, he started to log out of the camera’s app, when a dialog box popped up, asking to save or delete recording.

He hesitated only for a moment, before clicking save.

Maybe these work holiday functions weren’t the worst thing in the world.

@sarahdonald87

@buckybarnesisdaddy

@theinheriteddutchess

@welp-heregoessomething

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

EAST COAST SEA SERPENT

On August 14, 1817, in Gloucester Harbor, Massachusetts, an eighty-foot sea serpent charged toward the ship where Matthew Gaffney, the ship's carpenter, stood firing his gun at it. According to Gaffney's sworn affidavit, the beast first appeared late afternoon. Its dark-colored head had a white underside and was the size of a four-gallon drum. When fired upon, the creature sank from sight, reappearing one hundred yards away and traveling half a mile per minute. A judge, a physician, and a naturalist collected testimonials from eyewitnesses as daily sightings continued for the next two weeks. Another man described the "strange marine animal" as having a head the size of a horse's with the features of a rattlesnake. It moved in either circles or a straight line.

On August 14, 1819, the creature was again spotted. Its snakelike head at the end of a long neck emerged from the water, and several humps were seen along its back. Two hundred citizens had gathered to observe the sea serpent, but all of them panicked and scattered when it headed toward shore. Sightings continued throughout the summer.

The earliest documented accounts of the black, snakelike serpent come from 1639 when colonists reported seeing it coiled up upon a rock at Cape Ann. In 1779 the crew of the American gunship Protector noticed it lying motionless on the water in sight of their vessel. A crew manned a large boat to get close to the serpent, but as they neared the creature, it raised its head ten feet into the air and then slowly swam off, speeding up when they began to shoot at it. In 1780, frigate captain George Little surprised the beast at sunrise and took off after it in an armed cutter. When he ordered his men to fire on it, the beast disappeared beneath the waves.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[gardenschedule]

Decision making within the Beatles

So the re-formation suggestions were never convincing enough. They were kind of nice when they happened – ‘That would be good, yeah’ – but then one of us would always not fancy it. And that was enough, because we were the ultimate democracy. If one of us didn’t like a tune, we didn’t play it. We had some very close shaves. ‘Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’ was a pretty close shave.”

“Paul McCartney’s New Album, New Life and How the Beatles Almost Reunited” by Brian Hiatt for Rolling Stone (1 March 2012).

"Well, say if George was the only one who didn't like a certain script but we were all mad about it, then we would try everything we could to change his mind, persuade him," he joked, as he raised his fist menacingly. "But if he just didn't want to do it, that would be it. We just wouldn't do it. We've always got to be in complete agreement on things as important as this, otherwise, later on it just wouldn't work out."

Paul McCartney interviewed by Maureen O’Grady for Rave, December 1965

“If they are asked to do something as a group and any one of them doesn’t want to take part, then the scheme is dropped,”

Norrie Drummond’s 1967 Melody Maker interview with McCartney

“We had a democratic thing going between us. Everyone had to agree with everything that was done, whether it was a concert in Liverpool or to go to Hamburg”

Harrison’s May 1998 testimony to the London High Court regarding the Star Club Tapes

Paul was the only thorn in his side. Paul refused to sign the contract and walked out of the offices. This left things in limbo, since according to the terms of the Beatles’ partnership agreement, all their business decisions had to be agreed by quorum. It might seem remarkable that Klein so quickly acquired this degree of power over the Beatles’ affairs. But bizarre at it might seem, the matter of the quorum was totally ignored. It might even have been that none of the Beatles were really aware that this clause had been written into their partnership contract by Brian. I doubt if at that stage any of them even had a copy.

Magical Mystery Tours My Life with The Beatles by Tony Bramwell

GEORGE: But it’s more of a personal thing. That’s down to the management situation. You know, with Apple. Because Paul, really, it was his idea to do Apple, and once it started going, Paul was very active in there. And then it got really chaotic and we had to do something about it. When we started doing something about it, obviously Paul didn’t have as much say in the matter, and then he decided – because he wanted Lee Eastman – you know, his in-laws – to run it, and we didn’t. Then that’s the only reason, you know. That’s the whole basis. But that’s only a personal problem that he’ll have to get over because that’s the reality. [It’s] that he’s out-voted, and we’re a partnership; we’ve got these companies which we all own 25 percent of each, and if there’s a decision to be made, then like in any other business or group you have a vote, you know. And he was out-voted three to one. And if he doesn’t like it, it’s really a pity. Because we’re trying to do what’s best for the Beatles as a group, or best for Apple as a company. We’re not trying to do what’s best for Paul and his in-laws, you know?

May 1st, 1970 (New York): George

It was true, that when the group was touring, their work and social relationships were close, but there had been a lot of arguing, mainly about musical and artistic matters. I suppose Paul and George were the main offenders in this respect, but from time to time we all gave displays of temperament and threatened to ‘walk out’. Of necessity, we developed a pattern for sorting out our differences, by doing what any three of us decided. It sometimes took a long time and sometimes there was deadlock and nothing was done, but generally that was the rule we followed and, until recent events, it worked quite well.

John Lennon’s affidavit – From “The Beatles Diary Volume 2: After The Break-Up 1970-2001” by Keith Badman

“I kept saying [to the other Beatles], ‘Don’t give Allen Klein 20 per cent, give him 15, we’re a big act!’ And everyone’s going, ‘No, no, he wants 20 per cent.’ I say, ‘Of course he does, he wants 30, really, but give him 15. It’s like buying a car. You don’t give the guy what he asks for.’ But it was impossible in the end, because it became three to one and I was like the idiot in the corner – trying, I thought, to save the situation. And to Klein it looked like I was trying to screw the situation. He used to call me the Reluctant Virgin. I said, ‘Fuck off, I don’t want to fucking marry you, that’s all.’ he’s going, ‘Oh, you know, he may, maybe he will, will he, won’t he, that’s a definite maybe.’ It was really difficult.”

Paul McCartney, interview w/ Paul Du Noyer for The Word: Let it be… naked. (December, 2003)

“On the way in which the four of us had sorted out our differences in the past, I deny that it had been on a three-to-one basis. If one disagreed, we discussed the problem until we reached agreement or let the matter drop. I know of no decision taken on a three-to-one basis”

Paul Mccartney - Keith Badman, The Beatles After the Breakup

John was a very forceful personality. Mostly – I mean, if we had arguments within the group, I remember George would turn to us, “Oh, he’s won again. John’s won again.” Just because he shouted loudest. And that often used to happen. “Ah, I’m not bloody doing that—” “Alright then, alright alright.” So there was a lot of that going on. So you do tend to get forced into another position, you know, if somebody’s very loud and very – I mean, I’m not saying he was just loud, he was a wit. He was a funny man, John, he was a clever guy, I loved him, you know. But somehow we got this anti position.

November 26th, 1984 (Soho Square, London): On British television show The Tube

“It’s not like we spend our time wrestling in the studio trying to get our own songs on. We all do it the same way… we take it in turns to record a track. It’s just that usually in the past, George lost out because Paul and I are tougher. “It’s nothing new, the way things are. It’s human. We’ve always said we’ve had fights. It’s no news that we argue. I’m more interested in my songs. Paul’s more interested in his, and George is more interested in his. That’s always been.”

John Lennon Interview: New Musical Express 12/13/1969

GEORGE: "Yeah, well, I wrote some songs -- in fact some songs which I feel are quite nice which I'll use on this album -- I wrote about four years ago. But, uhh, it was more difficult for me then to, you know, get in there to do it. It was the way the Beatles took off with Paul and John's songs, and it made it very difficult for me get in. And also, I suppose at that time I didn't have as much confidence when it came down to pushing my own material as I have now. So it took a while. You know, I think the first... I did write one song on about the second album, and I left it and didn't write any more. That was just an exercise to see if I could write. About two years later I recorded a couple more songs -- I think 'Rubber Soul.' And then I've had one or two songs on each album. Well, there are four songs of mine on the double White Album. But now, uhh, the output of songs is too much to be able to just sit around, you know, waiting to put two songs on an album. I've got to get 'em out, you know." "Yeah. It's always... it was whoever would be the heaviest would get the most songs done. So consequently, I couldn't be bothered pushing, like, that much. You know, even on 'Abbey Road' for instance, we'd record about eight tracks before I got 'round to doing one of mine. Because uhh, you know, you say 'Well, I've got a song,' and then with Paul -- 'Well I've got a song as well and mine goes like this -- diddle-diddle-diddle-duh,' and away you go! You know, it was just difficult to get in there, and I wasn't gonna push and shout. But it was just over the last year or so we worked something out, which is still a joke really -- Three songs for me, three songs for Paul, three songs for John, and two for Ringo."

George Harrison Interview: Howard Smith, WABC-FM New York 5/1/1970

GEORGE: To get it straight, if I hadn’t been with John and Paul I probably wouldn’t have thought about writing a song, at least not until much later. They were writing all these songs, many of which I thought were great. Some were just average, but, obviously, a high percentage were quality material. I thought to myself, If they can do it, I’m going to have a go. But it’s true: it wasn’t easy in those days getting up enthusiasm for my songs. We’d be in a recording situation, churning through all this Lennon-McCartney, Lennon-McCartney, Lennon-McCartney! Then I’d say, [meekly] “Can we do one of these?”

George Harrison, Guitar World: When we was fab. (1992)

John: Well, I’m saying that “Dear Prudence” is arranged. Can’t you hear [John vocalizes part of the song]. That is the arrangement, you know? But I’m too frightened to say “This is it.” I just sit there and say, “Look, if you don’t come along and play your bit, I won’t do the song,” you know? I can’t do any better than that. Don’t ask me for what movie* you’re gonna play on it. Because apart from not knowing, I can’t tell you better than you have, what grooves you can play on it. You know, I just can’t work. I can’t do it like that. I never could, you know. But when you think of the other half of it, just think, how much more have I done towards helping you write? I’ve never told you what to sing or what to play. You know, I’ve always done the numbers like that. Now, the only regret, just the past numbers, is when because I’ve been so frightened, that I’ve allowed you to take it somewhere where I didn’t want

...

John: And that’s all I did on the last album was say, “OK, Paul, you’re out to decide [how] my songs [are] concerned, arrangement-wise.” … I’d sooner just sing them, than have them turn into, into ‘[Being For the Benefit of] Mr. Kite,’ or anything else, where I’ve accepted the problem from you that it needs arrangement. … I don’t see any further than the guitar, and the drums, and, and George Martin doing the … I don’t hear any of the flutes playing, you know? I suppose I could hear ‘em if I [spoken as if straining] sat down and worked very hard! You know, I could turn out a mathematical drawing, if you like …

Jan. 13: The Lunchroom Tape

PAUL: You see the thing is also, I, I get to a bit where I just sort of push all my ideas, you know, and I know that my ideas aren’t the best, you know. They are [mechanical voice] “good, good, good” but they’re not the best, you know. We can improve on it. Because we write songs good, and we improve on it. [to Ringo] And you can improve on your drumming like it is, if you get into it. If you don’t, you know, then okay, I have better ideas, but if you get into it, you’re better! You know. It’s like that.

Twickenham, January 6th

I wasn’t surprised that Paul disliked “Revolution 9” as much as he did. Although he was well versed in all musical genres—in fact, he’d been into avant-garde well before John—he simply didn’t see it as Beatles music, and he certainly didn’t agree that it was the direction that the Beatles should go in. Later on, when they were sequencing the White Album, I heard through the grapevine that John and Paul ultimately had a huge row over “Revolution 9.” Paul absolutely did not want it on the album, and John was just as adamant that it would be on there. In the end, of course, he got his way.

Here, There and Everywhere, Geoff Emerick

I was more ready for the drink or a little bit of pot or something. I’d not wanted to do it, I’d held off like a lot of people were trying to, but there was massive peer pressure. And within a band, it’s more than peer pressure, it’s fear pressure. It becomes trebled, more than just your mates, it’s, 'Hey, man, this whole band’s had acid, why are you holding out? What’s the reason, what is it about you?’ So I knew I would have to out of peer pressure alone. And that night I thought, well, this is as good a time as any, so I said, 'Go on then, fine.’ So we all did it.

Paul McCartney, Many Years From Now by Barry Miles

"John's fellow student Helen Anderson remembers him ushering Paul in, with George, their tag-along junior, usually following a little later. The three would go into the cafeteria for a cheap lunch of chips then take their guitars into an empty life-drawing room, which tended to be more spacious than the others. Helen, being extraordinarily beautiful, was among the very few they allowed to watch while they rehearsed. 'Paul would have a school notebook and he'd be scribbling down words,' she says. 'Those sessions could be intense because John was used to getting his way by being aggressive---but Paul would stand his ground. Paul seemed to make John come alive when they were together.”

Paul McCartney: The Life - Philip Norman.

“I don’t know about being in a band with him, how that would work out,” he told Rolling Stone in 1979. “It’s like, we all have our own tunes to do. And my problem was that it would always be very difficult to get in on the act, because Paul was very pushy in that respect. When he succumbed to playing on one of your tunes, he’d always do good. But you’d have to do fifty-nine of Paul’s songs before he’d even listen to one of yours. So, in that respect, it would be very difficult to ever play with him.”

A Conversation With George Harrison

What was clear from the start was that writing would be a matter of Lennon and McCartney. “I remember walking through Woolton, the village where John was from, and saying to John, ‘Look, you know, it should just be you and me who are the writers,’ ” McCartney recalled. “We never said, ‘Let’s keep George out of it,’ but it was implied.”

In “Paul McCartney Doesn’t Really Want to Stop the Show” by David Remnick for The New Yorker (11 October 2021).

“I do stand back at times, unlike John. I look ahead. I’m careful. John would go for the free guitar and just accept it straight away, in a mad rush. I would stand back and think, but what’s this bloke really after, what will it mean? I was always the one that told Klein to put money away for tax. “I don’t LIKE being the careful one. I’d rather be immediate like John. He was all action. John was always the loudest in any crowd. He had the loudest voice. He was the cock who crowed the loudest. Me and George used to call him the cockerel in the studio.

Paul and Hunter Davies, 1981

George “I’ve got about forty tunes which I haven’t recorded, and some of them I think are quite good. I wrote one called ‘The Art Of Dying’ three years ago, and at that time I thought it was too far out. But I’m going to record it. I used to have a hang-up about telling John, Paul and Ringo I had a song for the albums, because I felt mentally, at that time, as if I was trying to compete. And, in a way, the standard of the songs had to be good, because theirs were very good. Another thing is I didn’t want The Beatles to be recording rubbish for my sake, just because I wrote it. On the other hand, I don’t want to record rubbish just because they wrote it. The group comes first. It took time for me to get more confidence as a songwriter, and now I don’t care if they don’t like it. I can shrug it off. Another thing with The Beatles is it’s sometimes a matter of whoever pushes the hardest gets the most tunes on the album, then it’s down to personalities, as to whoever is going to push. And more often, I just leave it until somebody says that they would like to do one of my tunes.”

The Beatles Off the Record (Keith Badman)

Paul came across in 1963 as a fun-loving, footloose bachelor who turned on his charm to devastating effect when he wanted to manipulate rivals, colleagues or women he fancied. (...) He had enormous powers of persuasion within The Beatles. He would get his own way by subtlety and suaveness where John resorted to shouting and bullying. John may have been the loudest Beatle but Paul was the shrewdest. I watched him twist the others round to his point of view in all sorts of contentious situations, some trivial, some more significant, some administrative, some creative.

John, Paul, George, Ringo & Me: The Real Beatles Story, Tony Barrow (2005)

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Prompt: [GROUND]: during a moment of intense emotional stress, the sender gently takes the receiver's face in their hands to ground them until they're calmer again. (Crosie)

Content warning in this one: There's detail on the gas chambers in the camps during the Holocaust. This includes talking about how the Nazis disguised shower rooms to look like Jewish bathhouses as a way to trick prisoners into calmly walking towards them. I'm not sure how widespread this practice was, but I know they found evidence of it at Treblinka.

Anyway, to the hurt/comfort

Harry's in the living room when he hears a thump from Rosie's office. "Rosie?" he calls, expecting the usual reply of 'Fine, just dropped a book,'. 

He glances at the clock. It's after eight. Rosie's been up since four this morning, working since five. Harry had woken at six and found Rosie scribbling notes on a pad and ignoring the sunrise over Nuremberg.

Harry's used to the long hours Rosie keeps right now. He's in Nuremberg to prosecute war criminals. It takes a lot of work. But eight in the evening is late even for Rosie, so Harry stands up and walks down the hall ready to tease Rosie about acting a bit too much like himself with these hours. 

The smile and joke die in his throat as he walks into the office and finds Rosie curled up next to the armchair.  There's a file on the floor, papers scattered in a fan. There's no book. The thump was Rosie falling to the floor. 

Harry rushes over and crouches down. "Rosie?" he asks. Rosie's staring into the middle distance, far away from his office and Harry. Harry touches Rosie's arm, but Rosie doesn't look at him. Harry  glances at the papers, trying to figure out what's caused Rosie to go still. There's a piece of paper turned face down, and Harry turns it over. He skims it. It's an affidavit from someone who survived the camps. Harry knows Rosie's read a lot of them. He wonders what in this one has hurt him like this.

Rosie makes a small sound, and Harry turns, dropping the paper back to the floor. He reaches out and cups Rosie's face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. 

"I'm right here," Harry says, looking into Rosie's eyes but unsurprised when he still doesn't focus. "It's Harry, Rosie. I'm here. You're in your office in the apartment in Nuremberg."

Finally, Rosie blinks. His eyes focus on Harry's. Tears start forming. "I saw one," he says.

"Saw what?" Harry asks. 

"A shower. There weren't…no one was there. But they'd been there." 

Harry doesn't know what to say. He knows about the camps, of course. Everyone does. It's been on the newsreels and in the papers and Eisenhower even sent boys to witness the first one they'd found. He knows about the showers, too. How they were used. He keeps stroking Rosie's cheeks even as Rosie's tears fall and trail along his hands. 

"They kept adding it to the camps," Rosie says, and his eyes flick to the papers on the floor. "They were…We know it was all planned. But."  He closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath. "Harry, it was planned." 

Harry drops one hand from Rosie's cheek and turns towards the papers again. He picks up the one he was reading before and reads it more closely. The witness talks about building the shower room, about placing tiles.

"The gas took time," Rosie says. "They had time to scratch into the walls."

Harry reads over the whole page again. The witness doesn't say anything about the walls. "What walls, Rosie?" Harry asks.

"At the camp," Rosie says. "At the camp I saw."

Harry goes very still. "You…when did you see a camp?"

"The Russians," Rosie replies. 

Harry slips his hand from Rosie's cheek to under his chin. He tilts up Rosie's chin. Rosie's face is red and wet. There's a horrible emptiness in his eyes Harry's only seen after his nightmares. "Come  here," Harry says and pulls at Rosie's arm–the one that broke, he realizes–until Rosie gets to his feet and lets Harry sit him on the couch. Harry sits next to him, then pulls him in tight. "What did you see, Rosie?" he asks. Because there is no other question. He'd had no idea Rosie had seen a camp for himself, but the newsreels nearly made Harry sick, and he can't imagine it wasn't exponentially worse up close. 

"They had scratched things into the walls," Rosie says. "Names. Prayers. A menorah."

Harry strokes Rosie's hair. He has no idea what to say. He's so shocked even his anxiety is quiet. The idea that there were people in those rooms who knew they were dying. Who'd scratched some sort of memorial with…fingernails? It had to be fingernails. They'd have been naked in that room.

"It was disguised as a mikvah," Rosie says. "To keep them calm; to trick them. So they wouldn't know they were going to die. They scratched on the walls."

"What's a mikvah?" Harry asks. The word hadn't been on the page he'd read. It must have been on one of the others on the floor. 

"A bathhouse," Rosie says. "A Jewish bathhouse. They're special, not just a place to get clean. They can look like…"

Like the showerhouses, Harry realizes. "I understand," he says, and he's glad he's said it because Rosie sags against him and sobs in a way he clearly needs. 

But he's lying a little. He doesn't understand. Can't possibly, he knows that. The Nazis took something special and made it profane, used Jewish traditions against the Jews to make it easier to kill them en masse. What must it feel like to know for certain you're dying, Harry wonders. What must it feel like to walk into a death chamber disguised as something you trust and have to scratch your final hopes into a wall with your fingernails?

Harry turns his face into Rosie's curls and takes a deep, slow breath. Rosie keeps sobbing on his shoulder, and he stays put, offering what little comfort he can.

[antoine-roquentin]

When 22-year-old Aaron Narraph Fernando was selected as a grand jury foreman at the Queens Criminal Supreme Court in January, he was given a state court–issued handbook that detailed the work of the 23-member civilian voting body. 

It instructed jurors that they would sit through witness testimony and review evidence by a prosecutor, and then “discuss with each other the evidence and the legal instructions” before voting on whether or not there is probable cause to indict each felony suspect.

Before it was presented with its first case, however, one court officer allegedly told Fernando’s grand jury behind closed doors that it should avoid “long debates” and should “not discuss the case” during deliberation, except to ask “clarifying questions.” 

The next day, a second court officer allegedly instructed the grand jurors that they “were not supposed to state [their] opinions or get into back-and-forth or heated debates” before voting — and said “the judge who gave him his grand jury training had instructed him as such.”

These allegations, unveiled in an affidavit written by Fernando and submitted to court earlier this month, could have tainted the grand jury’s decisions in roughly three dozen cases they heard over four weeks in January.  

Only prosecutors and the judges who oversee them are supposed to give legal guidance to grand jurors. Court officers doing so was unusual, unethical and possibly even illegal, according to a law school professor and a defense attorney who learned about these allegations from THE CITY. 

Big moment in my life was when I realized how easy it is to taint a jury trial and just how many over the past couple hundred years have probably had that done.

[beardedmrbean]

Arizona State University student Kaci Sloan, who is accused of stabbing a fellow student twice in a Glendale classroom last month in an apparently random attack, entered a not-guilty plea in Maricopa County on Wednesday after two of her four charges were dismissed last week.

Maricopa County authorities initially charged Sloan, 19, with four counts, including first-degree attempted murder, in connection with the attack against student Mara Daffron. After a preliminary hearing on Sept. 30, Sloan now faces charges of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon and disorderly conduct, according to court records.

Judge Ashley Rahaman also gave Sloan a cash bail of $250,000 and listed the conditions of her release should she be able to post bail in full.

Sloan allegedly walked up to her classmate, Daffron, on Sept. 19 and stabbed her "multiple times," according to an affidavit obtained by Fox News Digital citing multiple witness accounts.

Matthew McCormick, a student who witnessed the attack unfolding in the classroom, took swift action to stop the alleged stabbing, potentially saving Daffron's life, according to FOX 10 Phoenix.

"In that moment, I didn't really have a thought going through my head, I just knew that I felt compelled to do something," McCormick told the outlet.

Approximately 13 witnesses present during the attack, including a professor, recounted the incident to police, who wrote in a probable cause affidavit obtained by Fox News Digital that the stabbing occurred "without any provocation or any words spoken."

Police corroborated McCormick's account in their report, stating that one of the witnesses "was able to disarm the defendant by pulling the knife away from the defendant's right hand and threw it away from them." Another witness then "kicked the knife to the back of the classroom."

"Another witness described the defendant was sitting in the classroom at a desk and suddenly got up and ran at the victim as the victim entered the classroom and stabbed her multiple times," the affidavit states.

Detectives found a handwritten note inside Sloan’s backpack that apparently referenced an act she was "about to commit," but it did "not specifically state what she was referring to."

Sloan also allegedly expressed the desire to "hurt somebody" in class that day in an interview with detectives after the incident and targeted Daffron because she was "an easier target" than the other person she apparently considered attacking, who she referred to as "a veteran."

Authorities quickly arrived at the scene and took Daffron to a nearby hospital, where she received treatment.

"ASU Police continue to investigate a Sept. 19 on-campus stabbing of a student. Kaci Sloan was immediately detained and arrested on suspicion of first-degree attempted murder; aggravated assault with a deadly weapon; interfering with an educational institution; and disorderly conduct. She is being held on a $250,000 cash only bond," an ASU spokesperson told Fox News Digital in a statement. "ASU and the entire ASU West Valley community are deeply saddened by what happened. ASU West Valley is a close-knit campus of students, faculty and staff. Counseling support is available to all."

Sloan has an initial pretrial conference scheduled for Nov. 21.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Crime Time

[mysterious circle of robed figures] Jesse Singal: mommy mommy look at me!! Singal: I’m a real reporter!!! JK Rowling: you’re doing great jesssse Singal: I did it for you mommy! Singal: I did it all for you!!!

Singal: mommy mommy!!! Singal: I have an affadavit mommy!!! Singal: a kid went to a clinic and said they were an attack helicopter and got hormones!!! Singal: I saw the helicopter and the helicopter looked at me!!! Rowling: Rowling: ssssoundssss legit

Singal: a kid went to a clinic & said they were an attack helicopter & got hormones!!!!! Rowling: that definitely ssoundss like ssomething that would happen Rowling: wait what kind of hormoness Singal: Singal: helicopter hormones? Rowling: Rowling: right right of coursse Rowling: there’sss no way that couldn’t be real

Jesse Singal: mommy mommy people are being mean to me online Singal: they’re saying that the helicopter thing was a self-deprecating joke! Rowling: that doesssn’t sssound right Rowling: everyone knowssss that transsss people never sssay anything that isssn’t 100% true

Rowling: that’ssss why you have to take everything they sssay absssolutely at face value Rowling: except when they talk about their gender Rowling: that’sss the only exception

JK Rowling: excellent work, jessssse Rowling: thissss will definitely help our causssse Rowling: when they hear how we’re sssspreading private medical information about children, people will definitely underssstand that we’re the good guyssss in thissss situation Rowling: wow, look at all this private medical information! This is great! Rowling: wait one second, I’m getting a note from my lawyer [alison bailey places lump of wet spaghetti in JK Rowling’s hand]

Singal: mommy look I got an affidavit saying that the helicopter is real!! Singal: you can’t lie in an affidavit!!! Singal: [examining affadavit closely] huh Singal: funny thing about this affadavit Singal: it was never notarized Singal: [trips, spaghetti falls out of affidavit]

Singal: golly mommy!!! People are saying that I did a hippaa violation!! Singal: I better destroy this evidence! Singal: [more spaghetti falling out of pockets] where does all this spaghetti keep coming from? Singal: [desperately shoving wet spaghetti back into pockets] hey does anyone know if it’s a crime to do a crime

[fenrislorsrai]

Tameka’s kids have essentially been out of school since COVID hit in March 2020. She and her kids have had a consistent place to live, but nearly everything else in their lives collapsed during the pandemic. (Tameka is her middle name. The Associated Press is withholding her full name because Tameka, 33, runs the risk of jail time or losing custody of her children since they are not in school.)

Tameka’s longtime partner, who was father to her children, died of a heart attack in May 2020 as COVID gripped the country.

His death left her overwhelmed and penniless. Tameka never graduated from high school and has worked occasionally as a security guard or a housecleaner for hotels. She has never gotten a driver’s license. But her partner worked construction and had a car. “When he was around, we never went without,” she says.

Suddenly, she had four young children to care for by herself, with only government cash assistance to live on.

Schools had closed to prevent the spread of the virus, and the kids were home with her all the time. Remote learning didn’t hold their attention. Their home internet didn’t support the three children being online simultaneously, and there wasn’t enough space in their two-bedroom apartment for the kids to have a quiet place to learn.

Because she had to watch them, she couldn’t work. The job losses put her family even further below the median income for a Black family in Atlanta — $28,105. (The median annual income for a white family in the city limits is $83,722.)

When Tameka’s children didn’t return to school, she also worried about the wrong kind of attention from the state’s child welfare department. According to Tameka, staff visited her in spring 2021 after receiving calls from the school complaining her children were not attending online classes.

The social workers interviewed the children, inspected their home and looked for signs of neglect and abuse. They said they’d be back to set her up with resources to help her with parenting. For more than two years, she says, “they never came back.”

When the kids missed 10 straight days of school that fall, the district removed them from its rolls, citing a state regulation. Tameka now had to re-enroll them.

Suddenly, another tragedy of her partner’s death became painfully obvious. He was carrying all the family’s important documents in his backpack when he suffered his heart attack. The hospital that received him said it passed along the backpack and other possessions to another family member, Tameka says. But it was never found.

The backpack contained the children’s birth certificates and her own, plus Medicaid cards and Social Security cards. Slowly, she has tried to replace the missing documents. First, she got new birth certificates for the children, which required traveling downtown.

After asking for new Medicaid cards for over a year, she finally received them for two of her children. She says she needs them to take her children to the doctor for the health verifications and immunizations required to enroll. It’s possible her family’s cards have been held up by a backlog in Georgia’s Medicaid office since the state agency incorrectly disenrolled thousands of residents.

When she called for a doctor’s appointment in October, the office said the soonest they could see her children was December.

“That’s too late,” she said. “Half the school year will be over by then.”

She also needs to show the school her own identification, Social Security cards, and a new lease, plus the notarized residency affidavit.

She shakes her head. “It’s a lot.”

Some of the enrollment requirements have exceptions buried deep in school board documents. But Tameka says no one from the district has offered her guidance.

Contact logs provided by the district show social workers from three schools have sent four emails and called the family 19 times since the pandemic closed classrooms in 2020. Most of those calls went to voicemail or didn’t go through because the phone was disconnected.

[flatbstanley]

Monday, 9:03 am

San Myshuno Family Court - The Hon. Shirley F. Turner Presiding

Judge Turner: Good morning, Mr. Dalton. I understand that you're seeking an emergency order of protection for your client?

Will: Yes, Your Honor.

Judge Turner: And is the responding party present?

Will: No, Your Honor. Due to the nature of his behavior towards Mrs. Santoro, we're requesting an ex-parte order.

Judge Turner: I see. What's occurring to make you think this is necessary?

Will: On Friday night, my client informed her husband, Justin Santoro, that she intended to pursue a divorce. He became irate and left the house. Since then, he has sent her 377 text messages, and attempted to call her 89 times. He's also attempted to reach her several hundred times through her social media pages. That's an issue for my client's ability to support herself and her children - she relies on those pages to make a living, and she's had to temporarily shut them down.

Judge Turner: Goodness. Mr. Santoro has certainly been...busy. Do any of these messages contain language that could be interpreted as a threat?

Will (offscreen): The phrase "you'll be sorry" is used over a hundred times. I would certainly consider that a threat.

Will: Furthermore, Your Honor, on Saturday Mr. Santoro showed up at a hospital where a close friend of my client's had just given birth. He assumed that she would be there to visit. He harassed her friends for information about her whereabouts, and was escorted out by police, although not arrested. I have sworn affidavits to that effect.

Judge Turner: Thank you, Mr. Dalton. Based on the evidence presented, I have more than sufficient grounds to issue an emergency protective order until the preliminary hearings in the divorce proceeding can be scheduled. At that time, Mrs. Santoro, you'll be free to seek a long-term restraining order against your husband. Now. Do we have information on where Mr. Santoro is currently residing so that the order can be served?

Taylor: Y-your Honor? May I say something?

Judge Turner: What is it?

Taylor: I-I don't really know where Justin is right now. He said something about Chestnut Ridge, and I know he has a good friend there, but I don't know more than that. If you can get someone out, though...I know exactly where he'll be at about 3 pm today.

[autumngracy]

New York voting rules:

If you have voted in New York before, you do not need to bring an official photo ID. However, if this is your first time voting in New York, and you registered to vote online or by mail and did *not* provide an official form of ID during registration (such as a NY driver's license NY non-driver ID number, Social Security number, or a copy of your ID), you will need to bring an official form of ID to the polls. Examples of official ID include:

A current and valid photo ID such as a driver's license or passport, OR

A copy of a current utility bill, bank statement, government check, paycheck, or other government document that shows your name and address.

If you are a first time voter and are unable to provide a form of ID, you will be able to vote using an affidavit ballot.

You can wear apparel that includes general political viewpoints, unless the issue is on the ballot.

You can’t wear anything that encourages people to vote a certain way.

You can’t electioneer within 100 feet of a polling site. Electioneering is defined as “efforts to encourage voters to vote a certain way and includes distributing, wearing or carrying political literature, posters, banners or buttons or soliciting votes.”

In New York state, but NOT New York City, you can take a photo at a polling site or with a blank ballot.

You can’t take a photo of or with your completed ballot.

You can make calls or texts as long as you’re not being disruptive or invading the privacy of other voters or poll workers.

You can have someone who provides assistance enter the voting booth with you.

If you are disabled, you have the right to assistance in voting from a person of your choice, who can be a friend, family member, or poll worker (but not your boss, union agent, or a candidate unless this person is your family member). You are also allowed to bring your service animal to the polls.

You can’t remove a ballot from a polling site before the polls close.

You can’t open the door or enter a voting booth occupied by another voter.

The only legal reasons for being turned away at the polls are:

If you are not a US citizen

If you are a felon whose voting rights have not been restored

If you do not live in that voting precinct, or

If you are not registered to vote (please note that New York does not have same-day voter registration).

If you are turned away at the polls for any other reason, ask verbatim for "a provisional ballot with receipt, as required by law".