#the four prisoners sentenced to death

[eurychphanpelcael]

人類は死をあまりにも遠ざけ過ぎた。 医療、衛生、栄養、人権が、四大天使の如く人命を守りすぎたのだ。 それはさながら楽園の風景に見えながら、実質肉体と人生の檻に魂を拘束されているに過ぎない。 この生の懲役刑から逃れたければ、遠ざけたはずの死にすがる他はない。 自���はこの尊厳なき隷属的な生からの、力ずくの脱獄なのだ。

Mankind has taken death too far. Medicine, sanitation, nutrition and human rights have protected human life too much like the four archangels. It looks like a paradise landscape, but in reality, it is nothing more than which the soul is restraint to the cage of body and the life. If we want to escape from this prison sentence of life, we have no choice but to cling to death, which we have kept away. Suicide is jailbreak by force from this slavery life without dignity.

[dixons-sunshine]

A Risk | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an attempt to hide from a herd, Daryl sought cover in an abandoned cabin. However, he stumbled across a woman that threatened him, and he soon figured out that there was more to her than meets the eye.

Era: Prison, pre season four.

Warnings: Swearing, allusions to near death, walkers.

Word count: 1k.

A/N: Requested by @nikkicloudie. I hope you like this!

“I said: Lower. Your. Fucking. Weapon.”

Against his better judgement, Daryl slowly and hesitantly lowered his crossbow, allowing it to drop to the floor with a dull clink. Once his beloved crossbow was out of his grasp, he raised his hands above his head in surrender.

“I ain’t lookin’ for no trouble, lady,” Daryl spoke up, his ocean-coloured eyes flickering between the gun in your grasp and your face. He was searching for any change in your demeanour, for any sign that you would attack. “Jus’ passin’ through. M’hidin’ from that herd that’s ‘bout two miles from here. M’waitin’ ‘em out.”

Daryl could see the contemplation on your face. With a mere glance at your face, and the way your grip slightly loosened around the gun, the archer knew he was not in any immediate danger. However, he still did not let his guard down. Perhaps you were a master of deception, and you were simply playing him. He did not want to risk it.

“Go.” you finally voiced after a good while of silence. “There’s another cabin about a mile up from here. If you leave now, you’ll make it before the herd gets here.”

Daryl scoffed and shook his head. “Nah. I ain’t riskin’ it. M’not leavin’.”

“Well that’s too damn bad, buckaroo,” you retorted, your gun being raised and aimed at him once more. “I’m not about to risk my s—my life for some stranger. Leave, or I’ll shoot you, I swear to god.”

“Listen, lady. I ain’t—”

Before Daryl could finish his sentence, a loud crash came from another room, followed by a cry. Was he going insane, or did that sound like a little kid? However, before Daryl could do anything, you turned around and bolted towards the source of the sound.

With a frown, Daryl picked up his crossbow and slowly walked towards the room you had disappeared into. He raised his weapon, fully prepared for an attack, but the sight that beheld him had him stopping in his tracks.

A walker laid dead by the window. You were down on your knees, your gun discarded a few feet away from you, and in your embrace was a little boy; the little boy looked no older than three years old. Suddenly, it all made sense to him. The new world gave everyone all the reasons to be extremely defensive, but you had another reason. You had someone you wanted, needed to keep safe.

Your eyes flickered up to meet Daryl’s, and the archer could clearly see how glassy they had become. It did not take a rocket scientist to figure out that the little boy had almost been that walker’s next meal. If you had not appeared when you had… Daryl did not even want to finish that thought.

“You’re okay, Chris. I got you, Baby. Mama’s got you,” you murmured to the little boy in your arms. You gently picked him up as you raised from the floor and allowed him to bury his face into your neck, his quiet whimpers and sniffles being muffled. You looked back at Daryl, your expression less guarded, but more broken.

At that moment, Daryl had already made up his mind. You were clearly just a mom trying to defend her son from the harsh reality that was the world outside, and you had viewed Daryl as a potential threat, and you had every right to be wary of him. He supposed he did not look like the most warm, inviting person ever, and he definitely did not blame you for wanting him as far away from your son as humanly possible.

“M’from a place not too far from here,” Daryl spoke up after a few moments of contemplating his options. He continued when he noticed he had your full attention. “S’a prison that we converted into a community. It’s safe and secure, with ‘bout fifty people walkin’ around and makin’ due.”

“Is that an offer?” you inquired, your hand rubbing soothing circles over your son’s back. “I mean, I just threatened to kill you.”

Daryl shrugged and slung his crossbow over his shoulder. “I would’ve been more terrified of ya if ya didn’t point yer gun at me, considerin’ the world we live in now.” Daryl’s lips involuntarily twitched into a small smile when he heard your light chuckle. “I only have three questions for ya, though.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Sure. Shoot.”

“How many walkers have ya killed?” he began, studying your expression closely.

It was your turn to shrug. “I don’t know. A lot.”

“How many people have ya killed?”

A small beat of silence passed. “One.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t about to allow him to kill my son.”

Your answers were more than sufficient, considering the questions you were being asked. He was about to say something, until he heard groaning coming from outside. He ushered you down, and quickly sprung into action. He closed the window and lowered himself down against the wall, right next to you. He turned his head to look at you, and saw how you quietly tried to shush your son, who had started fussing once he picked up on the shift in the mood.

“Mama,” he whimpered, instantly being shushed by you.

“It’s okay, Baby. Shh. It’ll be over soon, okay?” You turned your head and looked at Daryl, your expression desperate. “I don’t know if what you’re saying is true or not, but I can’t live like this anymore.” For added emphasis, you motioned towards the window, where dozens of walkers were walking past. “My son isn’t safe like this. Your offer is just a risk I have to take.”

Daryl nodded. “I know ya dun’ trust me, but I’d never endanger yer lil’ one like that. Ya have my word on that.”

A few beats of silence passed. “I’m Y/N, by the way. This is Chris.”

“Daryl,” Daryl told you. “M’Daryl. And I promise m’gon’ make sure ya get yer lil’ boy to safety. Ain’t gon’ let nothin’ happen to him.”

[spenceobsessed]

part 1

this is a part 2 to another fic i did, but can be read as a stand alone!

post!prison reid x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, smut with a plot

summary: after being put on a case with you, spencer realizes he might not hate you as much as he thought.

MDNI 18+

unfortunately, when working for the bau, having time off is very rare. you and spencer were harshly reminded of this. right after your successful arrest of the unsub at the nightclub, you were immediately put on a plane, incredibly sexually frustrated, on your way to another case.

you and spencer had (luckily or unluckily) ended up next to each other on a plane ride to the middle of nowhere in wisconsin. there had been a string of murders in the small town of hayward. four were dead and the unsubs rate of death was accelerating.

the flight was a little under six hours. just sitting next to spencer was excruciating.

the rest of the team had fallen asleep and although you attempted to sleep, you were simply just too horny. not being able to finish earlier, mixed with sheer anticipation had taken over you. you tossed and turned in your seat, a blanket pulled up to your chest. you open your eyes to look at spencer who had a book in his hands, his eyes on you.

you smile softly, sitting upright to get a better look at the handsome man.

“are you okay?" he asks softly, his kind voice still new for you. you nod, watching as he sets his book down over his crotch. hes still hard.

"i'm okay." you respond with a smile. "just, y'know..." you trail off trying to put your thoughts into words.

he laughs softly, completely understanding what you mean. "earlier.” he finishes your sentence with a smirk on his face.

“well i would ask how you feel about ‘earlier’, dr. reid,” you begin, your had moving from the armrest to rub against his chest. “but i can already tell.” you move your had quickly down his chest and hover your hand over his obviously hard cock in his pants. he gasps softly as you use one finger to trace the shape of him.

“fuck.” he groans, the use of a curse word throwing you off (and turning you on). “please.” he begs as you push softly on his cock, feeling a wet spot from precum already forming.

“use your words.” you demand, kindly, your dominance going straight to his dick. spencer liked being dominant, which he most definitely was going to be when the plane fucking lands, but right now he wanted to be taken care of. he needed to be taken care of.

“touch me.” he says simply as you begin to undo his belt quietly.

“ok, pretty boy, but i’m going to need you to keep quiet, can you do that?” you reply, reaching your hand into his underwear, pulling his hard cock out. he was huge, bigger than you would’ve guessed, especially for a relatively skinny guy. his tip was red and angry, begging for your attention.

“yes.” he says breathlessly, watching you hold his cock. you smile, throwing your blanket over his lap and over your arm, deciding that sucking him off would make too much noise.

you use your pointer finger to spread his precum over the tip of his cock, eliciting a muffled groan from the man.

you begin to move your hand down his cock, causing spencer to cover his mouth with his hand. his pupils were blown and his chest rising and falling fast. it was an amazing sight.

you felt yourself getting wet as your hand began to move faster on his cock.

“this feels so good.” he says, his praise only fueling your desire. the man bites back a moan just watching you concentrate on letting him cum.

“fuck, y/n,” he gasps out his hips bucking into your hand. “i’m close.” you pick up your pace a bit, making the handsome man roll his eyes back in his head and cum all over your hand. you stand up and take a look around the jet to make sure everyone was still asleep. luckily, penelope garcia had given the whole team noise cancelling headphones for christmas, so no one heard a thing.

you smile leaning in to give him soft kiss on the lips before walking to the bathroom to wash off your hands. when you return, spencer's eyes are closed and you can't help but kiss his cheek. he opens his eyes slowly, reaching up to grab your waist and pull you onto him. he throws the blanket over your bodies and kisses your forehead softly.

you squirm slightly, still feeling horny. he looks up at you, eyes barely open. "your turn?" he asks, referring to your pleasure. you laugh softly shaking your head. he was half asleep and still offering to make you happy. "no, its okay pretty boy, we'll save that for later." he nods, a smile on his face.

"are you sure?" he asks, turning his head so he could look you in the eyes, perhaps to see if you were lying.

"yes, i promise." he kisses you on the forehead before falling asleep, his arms around you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

although you managed to get some sleep in spencer's arms, you knew that soon enough someone would wake up and you both would get caught. so, an hour after falling asleep on the handsome man, you painfully peeled yourself off of his lap and back into your own cold seat.

luckily, no one had (seemingly) seen anything, which was good.

as of now, you were leaving the plane to go to the hayward precinct.

"we'll check in with the chief of police, then dave and i will stay over night while you guys go to the inn and get some sleep." emily announced as they began piling into two large black suburbans.

they collectively thanked prentiss and rossi before heading to the inn.

"wait so when she says inn..." you ask, climbing the the back seat. jj nods.

"yeah, this is a small town so there isn't really any place for us to stay near by."

tara climbs in the passengers seat and luke slides in next to you.

the rest of the ride there was relatively normal, minus a few jokes about you & spencer's make out session at the night club, that you chose to ignore.

you arrived to the inn quickly, grabbing your designated room key and head to your room.

“fuck!” you yell, surprised to see someone already in your room.

“shhh.” spencer says, coming up to close the door behind you, taking your bags from your hands and setting them down by his feet.

“i missed you.” he says, causing you to roll your eyes.

“it’s been like thirty minutes, pretty boy.” he smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him. you laugh as he picks you up easily and carries you over to the queen sized bed.

“i’ve just been thinking about earlier.” he says, laying down next to you.

“oh yeah?” you say, turning you head to face him.

“uh huh,” he says, pulling your body closer to him allowing you to lay your head on his chest. “i want to make you cum now.” he says, his voice low. you look up at him allowing him to tip his head down to kiss your lips.

“jj.. is.. next.. door.” you huff out in between kisses. spencer shrugs, flipping your position so he’s on top of you. he begins kissing and biting down your jaw and neck, using his hands to expertly remove your shirt. he lets out a small groan when he rips the shirt off you, revealing your tiny, lacy bra.

“off please.” is all you manage to say, but somehow he understands. he unclasps your bra in a single motion, throwing it to the floor, exposing your hardened nipples.

“y/n..” he says lowly, his eyes filled with lust. “so pretty.” he continues to trail kisses down your neck and chest, until his mouth lands on your tit, sucking softly as his other hand teases your other nipple.

you groan softly, that familiar wet feeling returning in your underwear for the third time in 24 hours.

although you’ve just started, your groans and boobs had already gone straight to spencer’s cock and as he kissed your body you could already feel his hardness pressed on your leg.

you buck your hips up against spencer, begging for some friction.

“i need you inside of me, spencer.” the use of his name he was so unfamiliar with made his pants grow tighter.

“so needy.” he jokes with a smile, moving to remove your pants, his mouth watering at the sight of your covered pussy, a perfect wet spot in the center.

“so, so pretty.” he sighs, hooking his fingers in your underwear and pulling it off of your legs.

without warning he inserts two of his fingers in you, causing you to gasp and moan at the new sensation. you slowly attempt to remove his shirt as pleasure blinds your senses.

soon enough, spencer is moving down to attach his mouth on your cunt. “spence, please, im gonna cum. i need you inside me.” you moan, your back arching. this garners a moan from the handsome man, his noises echoing in your pussy.

you expect him to pull away, but he doesn’t. you feel your walls begin to tighten as he returns his fingers into you, allowing you to finally cum.

you moan and groan, his name on your lips.

even though your only semi cognizantas you recover from your high, you can’t help but notice the way spencer has begun to crash his hips against the bed.

“inside me.” you demand, your breathing heavy. spencer smiles as he removes his pants, leaving just his boxers, and crawls over top of you. he captures your lips in a heated and sloppy kiss, the remnants of your orgasm on his lips.

you reach down, breaking the kiss to remove his underwear, his hard and leaking cock sticking straight up. you smile as he pecks your lips, moving himself so his cock is aligned with your entrance.

he glides his cock over your slit a few times, causing you to beg him to be inside you. you’ve never felt this desperate before. he slowly pushes his large dick into you, causing you to groan, slightly in pain due to his size.

“you okay, baby?” he whispers, noticing your discomfort. you nod as your walls adjust, his size now feeling incredible.

he begins to pump his cock in and out, immediately hitting you in your sweet spot.

“fuck.” you moan, throwing your head back. he uses his hand to move your face back, towards him.

“i want to see your pretty face when you cum, y/n.” he says, in almost a demanding manner, but still with kind undertones.

his words don’t fail to turn you on, somehow even more.

“oh, you like that?” he says through a moan, as his pace quickens, the leud sounds of his cock driving deep inside you, mixed with moans, fill the small room.

“i’m close,” spencer admits, through breathy moans. you open your mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a deep moan.

you feel his dick twitch inside you as rubs your clit with his fingers.

“cum inside me, please.” you beg, feeling your core tighten around him, your release nearing.

“are you sure?” he asks, his movements becoming more sloppy, his skin coated in a thin layer of sweat.

“yes!” you confirm as you reach your climax for the second time, spencer following quickly.

his hot cum fills you up as he continues his movements, riding you both through your highs.

when you’ve both had a second to catch your breaths, he pulls out of you, leaving you full of his cum, but missing his cock. you smile as he gives you a slow kiss, laying down next to you.

“you’re so perfect.” he whispers into your hair as you lay your head on his chest. you smile, happy, but a little confused how just over a day ago you couldn’t stand this beautiful man.

a/n: thank you all for 100 followers and so much love on my last post. as someone new to tumblr it seriously means a lot. just so you know, my requests are open!!!! thanks again🫶🫶🫶

[i-was-today-years-old-when]

i learned what was the strangest execution in history

Contrary to the popular belief, people don’t always die when they’re killed.

This is Tyburn Tree, London’s largest site for public hangings from at least 1177 until 1798, when Newgate Prison became the new home for this macabre form of entertainment.

Out of the thousands executed there, one famous case was that of a William Duell. Indicted on charges of rape, robbery and murder, the 17-year-old Duell was eventually convicted of rape and sentenced to death. On a bitter winter’s day in November 1740, the condemned youth faced the noose at Tyburn alongside four others.

After being hanged for twenty-two minutes, he was cut down and his body hauled into a hackney coach, to be taken to Barber-Surgeons’ Hall, where his body would be dissected for the purposes of medical research.

The surgeon and his assistants got a surprise when they placed the corpse on the slab though… it groaned. Further examination revealed some other signs of life, so they let several ounces of blood and after a while, he was able to sit up, though it was a while before he could do anything else.

He was then transported to Newgate Prison where he was held up in a cell and given broth and covers to keep him warm. In a matter of days he was reported to be back to full health, and had developed a strong appetite. During this time, the powers that were had to decide what to do with him.

After all, he was legally dead.

In the end, to avoid making a mockery of the law and to curb the spread of the knowledge that it was possible to survive hanging, they decided to sentence him to transportation. He was sent to North America and reportedly lived out the rest of his life in Boston, before dying at around the age of eighty-two.

[sanguineed]

was just reminded that descendants exist and I still can’t believe that disney has canonically had their four main protagonists come from an OPEN AIR PRISON for crimes they didn’t even commit, with the worst criminals and villains (which were REVIVED so they could suffer “a fate worse then death” which you know, our protagonists are also sentenced to) and this is NEVER addressed like what

[spacelazarwolf]

109 years ago today, leo frank, an innocent american jewish man, was lynched.

in 1913, leo frank was arrested for the murder of mary phagan. despite evidence that he was at home at the time of the murder, the jury decided in just four hours that he was guilty and the judge sentenced him to death. all of frank's appeals were rejected. protests erupted outside the governor's mansion when the governor decided to commute frank's sentence from death to life imprisonment, and on august 17th, 1915, a group of 25 men kidnapped frank from the prison hospital where he was recovering from an attempt on his life, drove him 100 miles to mary phagan's hometown, and lynched him. there are several photos of the lynching.

though frank is the only known jewish victim of lynching in america, antisemitism was baked into the nation's history in numerous other ways. during the trial, the prosecuting attorney framed him as a sexual pervert who was both a homosexual and preyed on young girls. this is not the first time a jewish man has been framed as a sexual predatory because of his jewishness. it was simply the culmination of centuries of antisemitism that still persists to this day. (content warning for antisemitic caricatures and one graphic photo of the lynching of leo frank)

leo frank was proven innocent after his death, though many people still insist he was guilty, particularly white supremacists.

a musical called parade about the trial and tragic death of leo frank was written by jewish composer jason robert brown and jewish playwright alfred uhry. it premiered in 1988 and was revived in 2023 on broadway, starring jewish actors ben platt and micaela diamond, where neo nazis protested outside the theatre, claiming the show was "glorifying a pedophile."

as of writing this, tomorrow is the first day of elul, the last month in the jewish calendar culminating in the high holy days, the holiest days of the jewish year. every year, synagogues see an increase in negative attention and antisemitism from their wider communities. we start to receive more hostile phone calls and emails, threats of violence, and this year there was a swatting campaign targeting at least 26 jewish institutions. we are supposed to be using this time to reflect and make amends with the people we've hurt, and instead so much of our time and energy had to go toward ensuring we can even safely walk into our communal spaces.

i don't have the answer for how to fix this or what you as a gentile should do. antisemitism is thousands of years old, and it's not going to stop because some well meaning people on tumblr read all the articles linked in this post. all i know is that jews all over the world are terrified and so, so tired.

[morbidology]

Anneliese Michel was born on September 21, 1952, in Leiblfing, Bavaria, West Germany. Raised in a devoutly Catholic family, Anneliese was described as a kind and studious girl. Her life took a drastic turn when, at the age of 16, she experienced her first seizure. She was subsequently diagnosed with temporal lobe epilepsy and began treatment with anticonvulsant drugs. However, her condition did not improve, and she soon developed severe depression.

As her health continued to decline, Anneliese began to report seeing demonic faces and hearing voices telling her she was damned. She became increasingly convinced that she was possessed by demonic forces. Despite medical treatment, her condition worsened, and she exhibited disturbing behaviors, including self-harm, aggression, and the refusal to eat.

Frustrated with the lack of progress through conventional medical treatment, Anneliese's deeply religious family sought help from the Catholic Church. They eventually found two priests, Ernst Alt and Arnold Renz, who believed that Anneliese was indeed possessed. In September 1975, Bishop Josef Stangl granted permission for an exorcism to be performed under the Roman Ritual of 1614.

Over the next ten months, Anneliese underwent 67 exorcism sessions. During these sessions, she displayed extreme behaviors, including speaking in different voices, contorting her body, and exhibiting extraordinary strength. Despite these intense and grueling sessions, her condition continued to deteriorate.

On July 1, 1976, Anneliese Michel died in her home. An autopsy revealed that she had succumbed to severe dehydration and malnutrition, weighing just 68 pounds at the time of her death. Her knees were broken due to continuous genuflections, a common part of the exorcism ritual.

The death of Anneliese Michel led to criminal charges against her parents and the two priests who conducted the exorcisms. They were accused of negligent homicide for failing to call a doctor to address her deteriorating physical condition. The trial, which began in 1978, drew international attention and sparked widespread debate.

During the trial, recordings of the exorcism sessions were played, providing disturbing evidence of Anneliese's suffering. The defense argued that Anneliese had the right to refuse medical treatment and that she had chosen to undergo exorcism. However, the prosecution contended that the priests and her parents should have sought medical intervention.

In the end, all four defendants were found guilty of manslaughter resulting from negligence and were sentenced to six months in prison (later suspended) and three years of probation.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

David Smith at The Guardian:

Losing an election for the highest office is a crushing blow that no candidate forgets. But when the American electorate delivers its verdict next week, the personal stakes for Donald Trump will be uniquely high. His fate will hover between the presidency and the threat of prison.

If he claims victory, Trump will be the first convicted criminal to win the White House and gain access to the nuclear codes. If he falls short, the 78-year-old faces more humiliating courtroom trials and potentially even time behind bars. It would be the end of a charmed life in which he has somehow always managed to outrun the law and duck accountability. For Trump, Tuesday is judgment day. “He branded himself as the guy who gets away with it,” said Gwenda Blair, a Trump biographer, adding that, should he lose, “he is facing a lot of moments of reckoning. He could go to jail. He could end up considerably less wealthy than he is. No matter what happens, and no matter whether he wins or loses, there will be a reckoning over his health. Death, ill health, dementia – those are things even he can’t escape.” The property developer and reality TV star has spent his career pushing ethical and legal boundaries to the limit, facing countless investigations, court battles and hefty fines. Worthy of a novel, his has been a life of scandal on a gargantuan scale.

In the 1970s Trump and his father were sued by the justice department for racial discrimination after refusing to rent apartments to Black people in predominantly white buildings. His property and casino businesses, including the Taj Mahal and Trump Plaza, filed for bankruptcy several times in the 1990s and early 2000s. Trump University, a business offering property training courses, faced multiple lawsuits for fraud, misleading marketing and false claims about the quality of its programmes. In 2016 Trump settled for $25m without admitting wrongdoing.

The Donald J Trump Foundation, a charitable organisation, was investigated and sued for allegedly using charitable funds for personal and business expenses. Trump eventually agreed to dissolve the foundation with remaining funds going to charity. Trump and his company were ordered to pay more than $350m in a New York civil fraud trial for artificially inflating his net worth to secure favourable loan terms. He is also known to have paid little to no federal income taxes in specific years which, although technically legal, was seen by some as bordering on unethical.

[...] He became the first president to be impeached twice, first for withholding military aid to pressure Ukraine’s government to investigate his political opponents, then for instigating a coup on 6 January 2021 following his defeat. He also became the subject of not one but four criminal cases, any one of which would have been enough to scuttle the chances of any other White House hopeful. In May Trump was found guilty of 34 counts of falsifying business records relating to a hush-money payment to the adult film performer Stormy Daniels, making him the first former president to be convicted of felony crimes. Sentencing is scheduled for 26 November (the judge delayed it from 18 September after the Republican nominee asked that it wait until after the election). What was billed as the trial of the century has already begun to fade from public consciousness and played a relatively modest role in the election campaign. Jonathan Alter, a presidential biographer who was in court for every day of the trial, recalled: “I’ve covered some big stories over the years but there was nothing like the drama of watching the jury foreperson say, ‘Guilty, guilty, guilty’ 34 times and Donald Trump looking like he was punched in the gut.” Alter, who describes the experience in his new book, American Reckoning, reflects on how Trump has been able to act with impunity for so long. “It’s a combination of luck, galvanised defiance and the credulousness of a large chunk of the American people,” he said. “Demagoguery works. Playing on people’s fears works. It doesn’t work all the time but we can look throughout human history to political figures and how demagoguery and scapegoating ‘the other’ works.”

Alter, who covered the trial for Washington Monthly magazine, added: “We’ve had plenty of demagogues, scoundrels and conmen in politics below the level of president. Trump has been lucky to escape accountability but the United States has been lucky that we haven’t had something like this before. The founders were very worried about it. They felt we would face something like this for sure.” The US’s system of checks and balances has been racing to keep up. Trump was charged by the special counsel Jack Smith with conspiring to overturn the results of his election loss to Joe Biden in the run-up to the January 6 riot at the US Capitol. The former president and 18 others were also charged by the Fulton county district attorney, Fani Willis, with taking part in a scheme to overturn his narrow loss in Georgia. Trump was charged again by Smith with illegally retaining classified documents that included nuclear secrets, taken with him from the White House to his Mar-a-Lago estate in Florida after he left office in January 2021, and then obstructing government demands to give them back.

With a such a caseload, it was widely assumed that Trump would spend this election shuttling between rallies one day and trials the next. But the courtroom campaign never really happened since, true to past form, he found ways to throw sand in the gears of the legal system and put off his moment of reckoning.

Or he simply got lucky. In Georgia, it emerged that Willis had a romantic relationship with the special prosecutor Nathan Wade, prompting demands that she be removed. Smith’s federal election case was thrown off track for months by a supreme court ruling that presidents have immunity for official actions taken in office. The classified documents case was thrown out by Judge Aileen Cannon, a Trump appointee, although Smith is appealing and the charges could be reinstated. Such delays have made it easier to forget just how much of an outlier Trump is. Past presidential brushes with the law consisted of Ulysses S Grant being fined for speeding his horse-drawn carriage in Washington and Harry Truman receiving a ticket for driving his car too slowly on the Pennsylvania Turnpike in 1953. Richard Nixon resigned before he could be impeached over the Watergate scandal and was subsequently pardoned by his successor, Gerald Ford. Meanwhile the standard for presidential aspirants has been high. Joe Biden’s first run for the White House fell apart amid allegations that he had plagiarised a speech by Britain’s Labour leader Neil Kinnock. During the 2000 campaign, a last-minute revelation that Republican candidate George W Bush had a drunk driving conviction that he concealed for 24 years generated huge headlines and was seen as a possible gamechanger. Hillary Clinton still blames her 2016 defeat on an FBI investigation into her email server that produced no charges.

For Donald Trump, his run for the “Presidency” is all about avoiding any possible jail time for his indictments and felonies. If he loses, then Trump could be facing more trials and potentially jail time and/or massive fines.

Send Trump to prison, not the White House!

#TrumpForPrison #HarrisWalz2024

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff [Part 3]

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 3)

ie. Detention begins, and the topic of Winter Break plans comes into question.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

The first detention went about as well as you could have hoped.

You sorted paperwork, mindlessly graded the very same pop quizzes that had nearly given Deuce an aneurism just that morning, and shined all the stupid glassware that was needed to make all the stupid potions. It was grueling. And to think—you’d been doing this shit for fun not a month ago. What had been wrong with you?

“Maybe it was the Stockholm Syndrome,” you muttered irritably under your breath.

“What?”

“Nothing, sir,” you grumbled, and went back to organizing all of your tormentor’s seemingly endless collection of bits and bobs.

Professor Crewel looked over at you, his face twisted up like he wanted to say something. But after a moment of awkward silence, he just ducked his head back down to his paperwork and carried on without saying a thing.

The next afternoon didn’t look like it was shaping up to be much better. You shined, he scribbled, and you wished for nothing more than the sweet release of death. The quiet was disconcerting. Say what you will about all the time you’d spent holed up in this office before The Incident, but ‘silence’ had never been an issue. Even Crewel’s snide little barbs would be better than this—this nothingness.

‘You’re not even worth insulting anymore,’ your brain supplied helpfully. ‘Wow. Isn’t that a trip?’

“Are you almost finished?”

You startled a bit. It was the first full sentence he’d spoken to you all day. You glanced pointedly from him, to the walls upon walls of vials, and then back.

“No, sir.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, like this entire situation was just all sorts of unpleasant for him. And not like, you know, he’d been the one to lock you into the school equivalent of prison labor for the next four weeks.

He closed the ledger he was working on with a pointed snap and stood from his chair with a grand swirl of his fur coat.

“You can be finished for the day,” he said, leaning forward to rifle around in the top drawer of his desk. “It’s already late, and you should start making your way back to your dorm before it gets too dark.”

You fought and won against the intense to desire to roll your eyes. The path back to Ramshackle was no easier to traverse in the black of night than it was in the bright light of the afternoon. And besides, it’s not like you were particularly worried about anything happening to you out there. The monsters at this school prowled its halls no matter the time of day. If anything, nighttime meant less potentially murderous magicians out on the loose. No one but you was stupid enough to try and go toe-to-toe with a wandering Tsunotarou.

“And take these with you.”

You startled once more as something was pressed into your hands. It was a familiar box—sleek and artfully colored with matte backgrounds and swirls of golden lettering etched across its face. These were the fancy cookies.

Thankfully, the spite in your belly was enough to gobble up whatever lingering love you had for the treats. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself when you passed them back to Professor Crewel with a tight smile.

“Thank you,” you said, pointedly reaching into your own backpack to procure a nearly wrapped pouch of Annie’s homemade pastries. “But I’m all set.”

His dark eyes lingered on your stash of chocolate chip cookies in a way that made you think he was going to demand you throw them away, and maybe start ranting hypocritically about the dangers of bringing food of any kind into an alchemical lab. His jaw ticked and you had the distinct impression that he was grinding his teeth.

Instead, Professor Crewel just sighed and returned the treats to his desk drawer.

“Of course,” he huffed, looking a bit dejected, and collapsed back into his chair without his usual elegance. Huh. Maybe you’d just foiled his plans to try and poison you or something. “Good evening, Prefect.”

The next afternoon, he did not mention the cookies. However, on your way out the door at the end of the night, you noticed that he’d placed the box near the coatrack—not quite on top of your belongings, but close enough.  

And then it was there again the night after that.

And then again, and again.

.

.

“How’s the internment going?”

You heard a dull thwack and some angry shushing. Mister Rogerson’s laughter was muffled through the phone’s speaker, and you had a feeling that Annie had just tried to beat him with her shoe.

“It’s alright,” you snickered into your hand. “Prison is prison.”

“You know,” Mister Rogerson huffed. “I still say all of this is horribly unfair.”

You shrugged, and then remembered he couldn’t very well see that through a phone call, and sighed. “It could be worse.”

“Could it?” he asked, a clear frown in his voice.

You dutifully did not mention anything about Overblots and just sighed again. “I mean, probably.”

There was a bit of a scuffle on the other end and you heard little snippets of Annie’s kind trill. There was more laughter. It sounded warm—cozy. You glanced around at the grey, soot-stained walls of Ramshackle and tried not to feel sorry for yourself. Grim rolled over in his sleep and burrowed into your hip with a contented little mewl, which did help a bit.

“Annie wants to know if you got her care package,” Mister Rogerson said after a moment, sounding a bit like he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him. “And if you’ve thought at all about our offer to host you over the winter holidays.”

“I did, thank you,” you smiled. “It was all delicious.”

“And the break?” he asked after a moment.

“Crowley sent me some angry letter about taking care of the fairies that live in the kitchen stoves,” you said. “So I’ll have to see about that.”

“Just keep it in mind,” Mister Rogerson pressed, a bit of concern slipping into his otherwise laidback drawl. “Please?”

“Okay,” you smiled, feeling like you’d managed to steal a bit of that bubbly glow of theirs and tuck it away tight enough that even the chilly shadows of your new home wouldn’t be able to taint it. “I will.”

.

.

“Take care of the fairies in the boiler?”

“Yes,” said Crowley, with deadpan sincerity.

The other members of the staff looked on in silence—a lovely range of ‘fed up’ to ‘outright contempt’ twisting their faces.

“Well I thought it was an excellent idea,” he huffed, crossing his arms petulantly over his chest.

“No wonder this child hates you,” Trein hissed under his breath and worked his fingers into his temples like maybe if he drilled hard enough he could kill the Crowley-Induced-Migraine before it began.

The Old Crow gasped.

“How dare you—”

“And you,” Trein interrupted, turning on Crewel with a sneer. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish with any of this, Divus? An entire month’s worth of disciplinary action for one infarction? I thought you were better than, well,” a pointed glower at the raving Headmaster who was nearly collapsed in tears before them, “that.”

Crewel’s lips curled into a bitter snarl, but the aging historian before him was far from cowed.

“That’s none of your concern,” he snapped. “This is a matter between the Prefect and I, and their willful disobedience when it comes to following the rules of this institution.”

“Is that so,” Trein hummed, arching a brow in obvious skepticism. “But then again, what would I know anything about raising unruly children? I only have two lovely, successful, daughters of my own. Remind me, when was the last time you allotted even an ounce of affection to anything that wasn’t one of your purebred mongrels? Or your own ego?”

Crewel stepped forward with a scowl that was more a restrained baring of teeth.

“That has nothing to do with anything,” he sneered.

“Say what you will,” Mozus Trein tutted, and glared down his nose at the pair of them—Crewel with his poorly cloaked rage and Crowley who still refused to stop wailing about the injustices of it all. “But both of my children will be coming home for the holidays. Voluntarily.”

“Oooh,” Sam trilled, uncurling himself from the shadows for the first time all afternoon. “Get ‘em, Mozus.”

.

.

You ended up staying at Ramshackle over the break, if only because you couldn’t tell at this point if ‘oven fairies’ were a real thing, and if they were and they did starve, you’d feel absolutely terrible. Your rap sheet in this word was already a mile long—you didn’t need to add homicide to the list.

And then, of course, you ended up being kidnapped by Jamil and his smooth-talking self not a day in, so your act of goodwill really was all for naught.

You paced around your luxurious little guestroom cell, phone in hand. There wasn’t a lot of charge left on it, but you definitely had enough to make a call or two. Mister Rogerson would come help you, you knew he would. But… the problem was that you were kind of becoming a Blot expert at this point, and from the looks of things, Jamil Viper was about to go apeshit and melt into Enraged Ink Monster Number Four. Sure, the guy may have kidnapped you. But he also made great curry, and really didn’t seem that bad underneath it all. Just... quiet. And fed up with living a life of forced servitude and mediocrity. Which, y’know, totally fair.

You paced and paced.

“They have to be reported to the proper authorities,” Mister Rogerson had said. “And dealt with accordingly.”

“They’d be taken away?” you’d whispered.

“I know it sounds scary, kiddo. But that’s what we have to do to keep everyone as safe as we can.”

You grit your teeth and called Ace and Deuce instead.

They were immediately no help at all and Jamil ended up Overblotting anyways.

“Y’know,” Grim grouched, shivering into your side after Evil Jamil had yeeted you off into The Unknown and Freezing Corners of Sandy Hell. “You really should start charging for these things. We could probably make a lot of money or something.”

“That’s a great idea,” Azul nodded along, and you wanted to beat the shit out of them both.

In the end, you saved the day. As usual.

Jamil was de-inked. He was still a miserable wad of repressed hatred, but at least he was being open about it now. Everyone was alive. Azul promised to only bill you his usual rate for assistance rather than the holiday upcharge. Kalim held a feast, as per usual. And Ace and Deuce showed up at the tail end of it all, which was incredibly sweet of them and also on track with their usual brand of stupidity.

Everything had turned out great!

Except…

“How was your break?” Mister Rogerson asked. “We missed you over here!”

“It was great,” you lied, images of black tar running from narrowed eyes and the suffocating sensation of dark magic flooding your throat. “It was great.”

.

.

You walked into detention on Monday afternoon feeling like shit warmed over. And looking like it too, you would guess, seeing the way Crewel’s eyebrows shot all the way up his forehead.

You stayed silent throughout the whole thing, quietly sorting bottles and blends, and trying to keep your mind off the fact that you had very nearly died. Again. You could feel Crewel’s eyes on you throughout the entire ordeal, tracking you in a way that reminded you of someone watching a car crash that they just couldn’t quite force themselves to look away from.

“Prefect,” he called as your were half-way through shrugging on your coat at the end of the evening.

“Yes, sir?” you sighed, not even bothering to look up from the floor.

He was silent for one moment, two, three.

“…Get some rest tonight,” he ordered. It sounded like a cop out—like he’d wanted to say something else but hadn’t had the words for it.

You sighed again, bone deep and weary. “Yes, sir.”

.

.

You did not, in fact, rest that night. A horrible cocktail of nightmares tugged at your brain from dusk ‘til dawn, and you woke up feeling worse than you had when you’d gone to sleep.

You barely forced yourself to go to detention, and only because you knew it would only get worse if you tried to skip out. However, when the door to Crewel’s office creaked open, you were not met by a head of neatly dyed black-and-white hair, but a yowling mass of flying fur and limbs that immediately sent you sprawling to the floor.

Jasper and Badun yelped and cried in the ways that all excited dogs cry, and laved your face with so many kisses you couldn’t have counted them even if you tried. Your hands went into their soft scruffs on instinct, and you had to fight valiantly not to burst into tears.

There was a hand at your back then, urging you towards the comfy, plush, chair that you’d once called yours. You plopped gracelessly against the opulent cushions, and the pair of delighted dogs quickly bounded up to join you—squishing their too-large bodies into your lap and across the armrests. The duo buried their noses into your shoulder, your hip, any nook and cranny they could reach. And you felt warm for the first time since the holidays.

When you woke up later (hours? Days? You couldn’t tell), you and Jasper and Badun were all still bundled together in that chair—the three of you tucked in gently beneath the soft furs of a very familiar black and white coat.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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[klebolddeath]

The case of Carlos Eduardo Robledo Puch, the "Angel of Death"

Carlos Eduardo Robledo Puch, born in Buenos Aires on January 19, 1951, is an Argentine serial killer who was sentenced to life imprisonment for ten qualified homicides, one simple homicide, one attempted homicide, seventeen robberies, two kidnappings and two thefts, becoming one of the biggest criminals in the history of Argentina.

Crimes:

On March 15, 1971, Robledo Puch and his accomplice named Ibáñez entered the Enamour nightclub, taking 350,000 Argentine pesos.

Before fleeing, Carlos murdered the owner and the night watchman of the place by shooting them with a .32 caliber Ruby pistol while they were sleeping.

On May 3, 1971, at four in the morning, Robledo Puch and Jorge Ibáñez entered one of the rooms of a Mercedes-Benz auto parts store and found a couple with a newborn baby.

Carlos shot the man and wounded the woman in the same way. Ibáñez tried to abuse the woman (she survived and testified in a trial).

Before fleeing and stealing 400,000 Argentine pesos, Robledo Puch shot the baby's crib, who managed to stay alive (the authorities did not discover if he wanted to miss or if he really missed).

On March 24, they murdered the night watchman of a supermarket.

In June, Carlos executed two young women on the road who had been victims of abuse by Ibáñez in the back seat of the car they were using.

On August 5, in a dubious manner, Ibáñez died in a car accident and Robledo Puch, who came out unharmed, escaped.

On November 15, together with a new accomplice named Hector Somoza, they assaulted a supermarket in Boulogne, riddling the watchman with a .32 caliber pistol obtained from a gun shop.

On November 17, they broke into a car dealership and murdered the caretaker, a week later they did the same at another dealership in Martinez, subduing the watchman, taking his keys and stealing 1,000,000 Argentine pesos.

Robledo Puch killed him with a shot to the head.

Arrest, conviction and requests:

On February 3, 1972, Robledo Puch and Somoza entered a hardware store in Carupá and murdered the guard and tried to open a safe with the keys.

Carlos shot Hector dead and burned his face and fingerprints with a blowtorch to make the police's job more difficult, and fled with the stolen goods.

He was arrested on February 4, 1972, when his identity card was found in Somoza's pants pocket.

At that time, he had just turned 20.

On November 27, 1980, Carlos Eduardo Robledo Puch was sentenced to life imprisonment for an indeterminate period, the maximum sentence in Argentina.

In the San Isidro court of appeals he said: "This was a Roman circus and a farce. I am condemned and prejudged in advance."

Carlos is currently still deprived of his freedom in a ward in Sierra Chica.

Since July 2000 he can request conditional release.

On May 27, 2008, Robledo Puch requested parole but was denied because he had not improved positively in any of the sociological aspects necessary to live in freedom.

On August 31, 2011 and October 39, 2013, he was again denied parole.

In November 2013, he asked for his sentence to be reviewed or to be executed by lethal injection, but this was not possible because the death penalty cannot be applied in Argentina.

On March 27, 2015, the Supreme Court of Justice of the Nation rejected an appeal filed by Robledo Puch against the aforementioned sentence that denied him parole.

He was also denied parole in 2016 when he threatened to kill then-President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner.

On May 10, 2016, after 44 years in prison, Robledo Puch left the Sierra Chica prison for a day. He was taken by the San Isidro Forensic Consultancy to undergo a series of medical tests due to his deteriorating health.

Nicknames and Movies:

He was nicknamed by several Argentine journalists as the Black Angel or the Angel of Death, due to the crudeness with which he committed the crimes at such a young age.

On August 9, 2018, the film El Ángel was released in Argentina, based on his criminal story, directed by Luis Ortega and starring Lorenzo Ferro.

That's all, sorry if the translation is not exact and thanks for reading ;)

[koipudding]

jing yuan has just sentenced his friend to life in prison. life.

in the most torturous of places on the ship… and his other friend, wrinkles and silver hair… comes back wrong. comes back with dark hair like how he was fifty years ago, and a smile that doesn’t quite match the glare in his eyes.

jing yuan has killed and has been killed. he’s been brought back from wounds he should not have healed from, and dehydrated from his own tears.

he remembers the blood, the warm liquid when he killed mom—master— and tried to send her off alone, when Yingxing and Dan Feng were off, busy with work, and the trio had sent Baiheng off earlier during that decade.

he remembers the day he saw her again, a few hundred years later, still the same and still somewhat fond of him.

he tries to forget, he indulges in a few vices just to try and push it away, what harm can it do? his mind is already eroding and he has someone who will take his spot if he somehow perishes for good (he doesn’t know if he can even die at this point. dan heng stabbed him and yet he recovered like it was nothing. he doesn’t feel anymore.) so why bother? he asks.

why bother trying when all he does is suffer and feel a dull ache that never leaves?

the death of jingliu is in the back of his throat, burning whenever he feels the exhaustion of his position linger.

the death of her lover, her best friend, bai heng is in his knee. he feels it most when it rains.

the death—the sentencing—of Dan Feng, and the imprisonment of Dan Heng is in his left wrist. the pain of writing the decree, the pain of forcing himself to let Dan Heng go.

the pain of Yingxing’s death is in his right wrist, but Blade’s appearance stirs something in the left shoulder, right inside his shoulder blade, something rots. his glaive suddenly feels heavy, and he forgets what Jingliu taught him.

his parents’ disapproval weighs down his shoulders. it hurt carrying those books, lifting those weights to make it into the Cloud Knights.

He forgets what joy is like. he has his moments of laughter, but somehow it feels wrong.

dan feng is gone. yingxing is gone. laughter feels wrong without them, feels bad without them, like eating a fish. bones dig into his throat and pierce his tongue.

“…it’s raining.” he whispers.

“there is no rain on the Luofu.” Fu Xuan whispers silently.

“…It is raining.” he whispers with such… conviction Fu Xuan nods.

“…indeed it is.” she doesn’t know what to say, not even the omniscia can help here, not when the General is so picky about what mask he wears in front of her.

“…” she opens an umbrella over his head.

“…”

it goes still over the tombstones. just the four plaques and small flask of booze and the finest moon cakes he can offer. it’s that time of year, right before fall.

“General!” March runs over with Yanqing, the two have been training with Yunli…

he wipes away his tears… but caelus and stelle still see. Dan Heng sees.

“…jing yuan.” he whispers.

Dan Heng can feel it, the tombstones, the etchings in the plaques, he knows this place, having visited in his past as Dan Feng when Baiheng had died.

“…They wouldn’t have wanted you to linger here.” he whispers, dragging the General away.

“That’s right!” yanqing looks so.. earnest. “General i—i didn’t know them, not like you but… i think they would’ve wanted you to… forgive yourself.”

his throat burns, the knee spasms and his wrists ache.

“you’re right.” he doesn’t smile. he doesn’t try to pretend.

“…perhaps you can show me what you and Yunli have taught March.” he pats his student’s head as caelus and stelle dig through the trash cans nearby.

It’s so easy for him to be oh so passive. He’s lucky to still have people who guide him back.

i’m sorry if i got anything wrong. this isn’t necessarily complaint with canon as it’s emotionally, not factually fueled. i did this for a good time and i’ve been in the feels for a bit.

[offender42085]

Post 1341

The inmate was able to smuggle the stolen firearm into the police station after his arrest. Video showed the inmate shifting his legs and even maneuvering the weapon while sitting in the back of the police vehicle.

Hollis Daniels 3rd, Texas inmate 02436813, born 1998, incarceration intake February 2023 at age 24, sentenced to life without parole

Capital Murder of LEO

In February 2023, Jurors in the capital murder trial of 24-year-old Hollis Reid Daniels returned to the Court with a verdict sentencing the Seguin Texas native to life in prison without parole for the Oct. 9, 2017 deadly shooting of Texas Tech University police officer Floyd East Jr.

East, 48, had been a certified police officer for five months before he was killed. A native of El Paso, East was in the midst of completing his training at the Texas Tech University Campus in Lubbock and was slated to serve at the El Paso campus when he was done.

Sighs of relief escaped the from the gallery, where Daniels' family sat as the sentence was announced.

The trial began in October 2022, nearly five years to the day of the shooting. For almost three months, from November to about late January, attorneys worked to pare down a pool of hundreds of potential jurors to a 12-person jury panel with four alternates.

Before jurors heard any testimony and opening statements on February 6, 2023, Daniels entered an open plea of guilty to a count of capital murder of a police officer. However, since Daniels' plea did not arise from a negotiation with the District Attorney, he faced the full range of punishment.

From that point on, the trial focused on what Daniels, who testified in his trial, deserved for his actions the night he shot killed East.

To find Daniels deserved the death penalty, jurors had to answer two questions: Whether the evidence showed a probability that Daniels would commit criminal acts of violence that constituted a continuing threat to the prison population in which he will spend the rest of his life and whether there was proof of mitigating circumstances that should spare him the death sentence.

For Daniels to get a life sentence without parole, at least 10 jurors would have to agree that he wasn't a future danger and 10 had to agree that there was sufficient mitigating circumstances to spare him the death sentence. However, all 12 jurors had to be unanimous to send Daniels to death row.

Attorneys on both sides were given four hours to present their closing arguments during which jurors were given two versions of the defendant.

Prosecutors argued that the evidence portrayed the defendant as a cold, manipulative and deceitful killer, who fooled everyone in his life to keep living a drug-fueled, criminal lifestyle. They said Daniels executed East because the officer was on the wrong side of his moral world view.

They said Daniels' actions the night he shot East clearly showed he posed a future danger and that any change he's displayed in the five years of his incarceration at the Lubbock County Detention Center was just another form of manipulation to escape the death penalty.

However, defense attorneys argued Daniels killed the officer in the fog of a 30-hour mental health crisis stemming from drug abuse, unaddressed mental health issues and grief from the loss of a family member the summer before the shooting.

They argued to jurors that their client's clean disciplinary record in his five-years at the jail showed Daniels does not pose a threat to the prison community in which he will spend the rest of his life.

They called on jail volunteers and employees who described Daniels as a model inmate they've seen help others in class or even ease tensions among other inmates. They told jurors they believe Daniels would act the same way in a prison setting.

Chip Lewis, who led Daniels defense, told jurors that he believed the death penalty was a necessary tool to ride society of evil. But it was meant for the worst circumstances, which his client's case did not meet.

He said outside of the 30-hours leading up to the fatal shooting, there was no record his client engaged in violent criminal behavior.

Defense attorney Lauren Byrne told jurors that testimony from Daniels' friends and family showed that for years his parents missed, ignored or misinterpreted signs their son was on a path of self-destruction.

Evidence at the trial showed that East arrested Daniels after responding to his dorm room to investigate a report the then sophomore's roommates made after hearing a gunshot from his room. The investigation shifted when officers found drugs and drug paraphernalia strewn about Daniels' room.

Evidence at the trial included hours of video from police body worn cameras that not only caught Daniels' interactions with police but also East's shooting.

Daniels could be seen speaking with officers coherently and appeared to have no trouble with his coordination. Friends of Daniels told jurors that they knew the defendant was intoxicated on Xanax because he was often lethargic, forgetful, incoherent and uncoordinated.

The trial shed light on how Daniels was able to smuggle the stolen firearm to the Texas Tech police station after his arrest. Video showed Daniels shifting his legs and even maneuvering the weapon while sitting in the back of East's police vehicle.

For a little more than a half-hour Daniels sat with the officer alone in the station's briefing room. Moments before the shooting, Daniels' asked the officer about his family before pressing the weapon against his head and shooting him.

Daniels told jurors that when he encountered the officers in his dorm room, his immediate thoughts were about getting rid of the gun without the officers seeing it, but failed at every attempt.

He said he remembers shooting East but couldn't offer a reason for it.

"I thought I was stuck," he said. "I thought it was all over. I thought this was an opportunity to go out, to commit suicide ... This was me going out in a flash, in a splash, this is how I can go out without doing it to my self."

He told jurors that before shooting East, he asked the officer about his family and his children. He said East's answer might have determined whether he would pull the trigger. However, he said at the same time, he wanted the officer to think about something pleasant before he killed him.

In the end, Jurors found that Daniels was a future danger but more than 10 of them believed there were mitigating circumstances to spare him the death sentence.

Daniels spent approximately five years in the Lubbock County Detention Center as he awaited trial.

4o

[mariacallous]

Driven by hardline prosecutors and tough-on-crime governors, the number of executions jumped 64 percent in 2022 and increased again in 2023 to a total of 24, the highest in five years.

Perhaps the most crucial player in the death penalty’s resurrection, though, is the U.S. Supreme Court, whose historic role of maintaining guardrails has given way to removing roadblocks. Under the conservative supermajority put in place by President Donald Trump, the justices are far more likely to propel an execution forward than intercede to stop it, including in cases where guilt is in doubt or where the means of carrying it out could result in a grotesque spectacle of pain and suffering.

...

In 1976, the Supreme Court famously declared that “death is different,” and demanded an extra level of scrutiny because a mistake is irreversible. Historically, in particularly troubling instances involving state misconduct or abysmal defense lawyering, the Court sometimes intervened at the eleventh hour — from 2013 to 2023, it stayed an execution just 11 times and vacated stays of execution 18 times, according to Bloomberg Law.

Since the death of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg and her replacement with Amy Coney Barrett in 2020, the Court has stopped an execution only twice and reversed a lower court to permit an execution nine times. In 2023, 26 condemned prisoners asked the Court to hear their cases; 25 were rejected. The message is clear: Prosecutors eager to seek and swiftly impose death sentences can reliably do so without judicial interference.

...

In Bucklew v. Precythe, a majority of the court opined that the Eighth Amendment’s prohibition against cruel and unusual punishment “does not guarantee a prisoner a painless death — something that, of course, isn’t guaranteed to many people, including most victims of capital crimes.” In the court’s reasoning, the excruciating pain the defendant might suffer during execution paled in comparison with the terror and mayhem he inflicted during his crimes.

In that same opinion, the Court indicated an impatience with pausing executions while it considered whether to hear the underlying claims from appellate attorneys. Justice Neil Gorsuch warned his colleagues to be skeptical when reading eleventh hour death row appeals: “Last minute stays should be the extreme exception, not the norm.”

It has been. Consider the 13 federal prisoners who were sent to the death chamber in the final months of Trump’s presidency. In a series of terse orders, issued without briefing, argument or public airing of the legal issues, the court blessed the rushed, furious pace. Using this opaque process, which legal scholars call the “shadow docket,” the justices erased lower-court injunctions against executions in seven cases and turned away last-minute requests for stays in the other six. During the 16 years in which Barack Obama and George W. Bush occupied the White House, the Court had invoked the shadow docket to rule for the government a total of four times and “never in a death penalty case,” according to Stephen Vladeck, a professor at the University of Texas School of Law. In Trump’s single term in office, the number jumped to 28, including non-capital cases.

More recently, the Court has rejected cases that advocates say are riddled with error or rest on shaky evidence.

...

Death penalty cases are notoriously rife with racism, questions of innocence, mental health of the accused and whether they received competent legal counsel. Sometimes the facts are too dire for courts to ignore, and even some pro-death penalty politicians are unwilling to take actions in flagrant violation of established norms. The total number of executions over the past decade is still a fraction of its peak in the 1990s.

And yet, the death penalty machine continues to crank on. These days, the battles over who lives and who dies are increasingly local — waged courtroom by courtroom because the Supreme Court has largely abdicated its decades long role as the final arbiter.

“It is becoming more and more clear that the Court is reluctant to interfere in state court cases even to enforce its own precedent,” said Robin Maher, the executive director of the Death Penalty Information Center. “They are saying, ‘This is not our problem to deal with.’”

An ‘Execute-Them-At-Any-Cost Mentality’: The Supreme Court’s New, Bloodthirsty Era

[i-am-a-l0st-gh0st]

Please kindly consider this Wriothesley request: You are the newest prisoner in the Fortress of Meropide; framed by your ex-husband for a crime since he wants your money to marry his new lover.

Determined to clear your name upon you served your time, you strive to be a model prisoner throughout your sentence.

Wriothesley finds himself intrigued by you, a minor Fontaine noble sentenced to his domain. Through his information network, he not only uncovers numerous holes to your case, he also finds out that your former husband is part of a conspiracy to bring disgrace to your family. Two weeks later, he summons you to his office and sets out his plan to have your former husband and his co-conspirators brought to justice.

Please also kindly take as long as you need with this request; I have no qualms in waiting. Furthermore, by no means feel obligated to prioritize this request over your other requests.

We listen to a lotta true crime- Wrio x Gn!reader

But it's alright, she'll be fine t/w- prison, Wriothesley flirts(?) with you summary- as shown above A/n- I need feedback on some of my works or this one, just moment some things I do well or need to work on. I do want to write a book one day and hopefully getting this feedback will help! thanks in advance. Also taglist as been updated! Part 2, Part 3

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The fortress of Meropide was surprisingly warmer than above ground. You thought it might be a little chilly due to being underwater. It wasn’t hard to get used to and if it was you’d have to suck it up. This was your home for the next 8 years, or maybe longer.

Walking towards the registration desk felt like a walk to your death. You were a Fontaine noble and it was rare to see someone like you in a place like this. Once your papers were signed, a strongly built man came towards you. His black hair swayed even if there was no wind, the grey streak fitting in perfectly. Scars came just above his shirt, with a loosely tied tie. He was a rather stunning man, and most would fall for him instantly.

“Ah, you must y/n. The Fontaine noble, I've been waiting for your arrival.” He flashed a smile that made your cheeks turn slightly red.

“Yes, that is me. You are?”

“Wriothesley, the duke of Meroipide.”

You tensed up at his words, you didn’t know this was the duke. His gaze was warm and made you feel like you were safe, despite being in prison. The way his eyes were soft but also pierced yours, the way his scars stood out but also blended in. He just seemed perfect. The silence continued for a while until Wriothesley spoke up.

“Y/n, may I speak to you, privately.” His face showed little emotion.

“Sure.” You tried to sound calm but felt your voice breaking.

The pair of you walked towards the duke's office. The double opened which led to a dimly lit room with a small winding staircase. Wriothesley led you up the stairs where he did his work. Four bookshelves lined the back walls and a wolf crest right in the middle of the wall. Similar to the one on his vest.

“Your case confuses me Y/n.” He began to speak. “You were a Fontaine noble, you had everything you needed but why would you try and kill your husband?”

“Sir, you have to believe me, I didn’t do it.”

“I need more evidence before I pick a side. As of now, you’re still guilty, but maybe you can tell me everything about the day of the ‘murder’.”

You began to tell him about the day of the murder. You were out all day with some friends and had alibis to prove that, once you got home the police were talking to your husband. Then arrested you. You went to court a week later and the judge ruled you as guilty and now you were here.

Wriothesley nodded along taking in all the information and occasionally writing stuff down. He did have a report on you, but from what you gave it seemed inaccurate. There were a few holes in your case such as no murder weapon and no motive. Your husband was a lot richer than you and may have used that against you.

“Its starting to get late, we can continue this tomorrow.”

“Oh alright, thank you sir.”

He walked you too your dormitory, it wasn’t small but it was decently sized, cosy enough for you.

“Don’t think just because your a noble your getting special treatment. Your just like the rest of us.”

“I didn’t think i would sir.”

“Please don’t call me sir, it makes me feel old.”

“Oh sorry.”

“You know, I’ve taken quite a liking to you y/n.” He quickly turned the other way, probably walking back to his office. He left you too stunned to speak.

Taglist

@pandragonsoul

[caesthoffe]

An Update on Brianna Ghey

tw // extreme transphobia, hate crime, violent death, death of a child

If you're unfamiliar with Brianna Ghey, you can read up on the story here or watch this overview. There's been multiple updates, and I wanted to let people know about the most important ones.

On February 4th 2024, the two originally unnamed teenagers— the 16-year-old boy now identified as Eddie Ratcliffe, and 16-year-old girl now identified as Scarlett Jenkinson —have been sentenced to life in prison for the fatal stabbing of Brianna (x).

On the day of her murder, February 11th 2023, Brianna took the No 28 bus at around 2pm to meet up with Jenkinson (who brought Ratcliffe along without Brianna's knowledge). The two led her to a path on Culcheth Linear Park, where she was stabbed to death with a hunting knife (x) that Ratcliffe provided. Although both parties would later blame the other in court, it's important to note that Ratcliffe was the only one with blood found on his clothes. Brianna was stabbed a total of 28 times in her head, neck, chest, and back (x). Not long after, Jenkinson posted this to her snapchat account.

Her murder was premeditated weeks in advance (x), with the pair plotting their attack against Brianna (x), who was anxious and rarely went out alone. They'd previously attempted to kill her before, although those plans ended up failing (x).

Prior to her murder, she'd sent a message to her mother saying "I'm on the bus by myself. I'm scared." To which her mother had replied that she was proud of her attempt at going out alone. Unfortunately, Brianna never got to read that text.

Thousands of text messages have leaked from the two killers, where Ratcliffe misgenders and demeans Brianna, and Jenkinson details her obsession with Brianna.

➡ When Jenkinson sent Ratcliffe some selfies of Brianna, he replied, "Is it a femboy or a tranny?"

➡ After Jenkinson expressed that she thought Brianna was prettier than her, Ratcliffe had said, "Prettier but it's a boy."

➡ Jenkinson had texted him on Whatsapp, "I'm obsessed over someone I know but don't have feelings for them... She's called Brianna... I don't know how to explain. She looks like a girl, she sounds like a girl, she's really pretty." To which Ratcliffe replied, "Tell me what you feel when you interact with it. I don't think you're necessarily in love but I think you're more curious and intrigued by its unnatural nature." (x)

➡ After their initial attempt to kill a different student failed, Jenkinson suggested that they stab Brianna instead. Ratcliffe agreed, saying "Yeah, it'll be easier and I want to see if it will scream like a man or girl."

➡ Jenkinson discussed wanting to take Brianna's "pretty" eyes as trophies, and Ratcliffe said "Really all I want to see is what size dick it had."

➡ During the trial, when asked by the prosecutor why he used the terms "it" instead of "she" for Brianna, he said that it was a "joke" and that he had picked it up from other people.

Despite all of this, Cheshire police are still adamant that Brianna's murder was not motivated by transphobia (x), because "...If it hadn't been Brianna, it would have been one of the other four children on that list." This is further corroborated by Detective Inspector Nigel Parr of Cheshire Constabulary, who led the investigation. Outside the court, he claimed that "this was a senseless murder committed by two teenagers who had an obsession with murder, whose only motivation in killing Brianna was to experience what this would be like." (x)

The headteacher of Birchwood Community High School has claimed that she spoke to Brianna's mom who "confirmed that Brianna was not bullied at Birchwood and always felt well supported by the school," and that Brianna's mother had given her permission to share that (x). This is despite multiple of Brianna's friends, and Brianna herself (x), saying the opposite (x).

The two killers are eligible for parole in 20 and 22 years. I can only hope they atone for the harm they've caused Brianna's family, the trans community, and everyone else affected.

I hope one day we can live in a world where being trans isn't a death sentence. Where major news outlets can report on trans victims with respect (x). Where anti-trans hatred spewed by TERFs and radfems, right wing politicians and conservative talk show hosts no longer hold such an influence in the world.

We will be able to live as ourselves one day. Without fear. I just wish Brianna could be here to see it.

[collapsedsquid]

One such case, which riveted the country for weeks, was a gruesome mutiny that took place aboard the Lu Rong Yu 2682 in 2011. The lead mutineer was a deckhand named Liu Guiduo. Before departing from Shidao port, Liu, a three-pack-a-day smoker, had bought 165 cartons of cigarettes from the captain on credit, stacking them next to his bunk, floor to ceiling. After leaving shore, the ship’s captain informed the crew members that they would not be paid a fixed salary, as they had been promised, but instead would receive payment based on a percentage of their catch. After realizing that his earnings probably would not even cover what he owed for the cigarettes, Liu recruited nine other crew members to take the captain hostage.

Over the next five weeks, the ship split into warring factions that saw men disappearing at night, crew members tied up and tossed overboard to drown, and engine equipment sabotaged, according to Chinese news reports and court records. Stranded at sea, the crew members eventually managed to restore the ship’s communications system and transmit a distress signal, drawing two Chinese fishing vessels to their aid. Eleven of the original 33 men made it back to shore.

In 2013, five of the accused, including Liu and the ship’s captain, were sentenced to death, one crew member was given a suspended death sentence, and the other five received terms of between four years and life in prison.