#emergency evaded (Emergency commissions)
Text
Werewolf Appetite
A commission for an anonymous user over on Discord, a long read (~15,000 words) so grab some snacks.
Content: M/M Vore, Oral Vore, Digestion, Multiple Prey, Unwilling Prey, Cruel Pred, Sentient Fat, Permanent Fat, Teen Wolf, Incest, Forced Body Worship
The thick canopy of the forest cast dappled shadows on the forest floor as Tyler, a seasoned hunter with a reputation for ruthlessness, stalked through the undergrowth. His movements were calculated and deliberate, each step cautious yet purposeful. He wore dark camouflage cargo pants that were stained with dirt and grime from countless hours spent in the wilderness. His boots, heavy and sturdy, crunched softly on the fallen leaves beneath him as he moved. A black tactical vest adorned with an array of pockets and pouches hugged his muscular frame, the weight of his arsenal distributed evenly across his torso.
Tyler's face was set in a grim mask of resolution, sweat beading on his brow despite the coolness of the forest. His eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the surrounding foliage for any sign of movement. A thick layer of stubble lined his jaw, evidence of days spent in pursuit of his elusive quarry. Strapped across his back was a sleek crossbow, its polished wood gleaming faintly in the dim light filtering through the trees, a common weapon of choice for werewolf hunters.
Suddenly, a rustle in the underbrush caught Tyler's attention, and he whipped around, his finger tightening on the trigger of his rifle. "I know you're out there, you son of a bitch!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the silent forest. "Show yourself, or I'm fucking shooting you where you stand!"
His heart pounded in his chest as he waited, every muscle in his body tensed and ready for action. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent testament to the deadly game of cat and mouse that was about to unfold. And then, without warning, a figure emerged from the shadows, moving with a speed and grace that belied its size.
It was Peter Hale, his lithe form darting between the trees with the agility of a wild animal. His clothes were simple yet elegant, a fitted henley shirt clinging to his muscular frame and a pair of well-worn jeans hugging his powerful thighs. His hair was tousled and unkempt, the sunlight catching the subtle highlights in its dark strands. And in his eyes burned a fierce intensity, a primal hunger that sent shivers down Tyler's spine.
But before Tyler could react, Peter was upon him, his movements a blur of motion as he deftly dodged the bullets Tyler fired in rapid succession. Each shot rang out like thunder in the stillness of the forest, but Peter moved with a preternatural speed and agility that seemed almost impossible to comprehend. He hoofed between the trees with the grace of a predator on the hunt, his movements fluid and effortless as he closed the distance between them.
Despite his best efforts, Tyler's shots went wide, each bullet finding nothing but empty air as Peter continued to evade his every move. Panic surged through Tyler's veins as he realized that he was no match for the supernatural creature before him. He was just a man, armed with nothing but a gun and his wits, while Peter was something else entirely—a being of raw power and primal instinct, driven by a hunger that Tyler could scarcely comprehend. And as Peter closed in for the kill, Tyler knew that he was truly and utterly fucked.
“We hunt those who hunt us,” Tyler huffed, out of breath as he grabbed his crossbow now that his gun was out of ammo. “We hunt those who hunt us,” He repeated, almost as if he was reassuring himself and reminding himself of all the hunter training he’s successfully gotten through.
As Tyler fumbled with his crossbow, his hands shaking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline, he felt a sudden weight slam into him from behind. With a cry of surprise, he stumbled forward, the crossbow slipping from his grasp and clattering to the forest floor. Before he could react, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him off balance and sending them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
Gasping for breath, Tyler struggled against his unseen assailant, his heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer. He could feel the hot breath of his attacker on the back of his neck, the scent of earth and pine filling his nostrils as he fought to break free. But whoever—or whatever—it was, they were strong, far stronger than Tyler had ever imagined possible.
"Get off me, you bastard!" Tyler spat, his voice laced with fear and defiance. But Peter only laughed, a low, menacing sound that sent shivers down Tyler's spine.
"You think you can stop me, little hunter?" Peter growled, his grip tightening around Tyler's throat. "Not so tough without your neat little weapons, eh?"
Tyler struggled to speak, his words choked off by Peter's vice-like grip. He clawed at the ground beneath him, desperately searching for something—anything—that he could use to defend himself. But it was no use. Peter was too strong, too fast, too...inhuman.
As Tyler's vision began to swim with black spots, he knew that he was fighting a losing battle. He could feel the strength draining from his limbs, his body growing weak and sluggish as Peter's hold tightened around him.
As Tyler's struggles began to weaken, Peter's grip on him shifted. Instead of tightening further, it loosened slightly, and Tyler felt a strange sensation wash over him. It was like a wave of hunger, raw and primal, crashing over him with such intensity that it stole his breath away.
For a brief, fleeting moment, Peter considered ending Tyler's life then and there, the thought of his blood staining the forest floor sending a thrill of excitement coursing through him. But as he looked down at the helpless hunter beneath him, something else stirred within him; Although his primary goal was to end the lives of anyone involved in the Hale House fire, his predatory werewolf instincts have taken over, irresistibly so.
With a low, guttural growl, Peter leaned down, his lips brushing against the curve of Tyler's neck as he inhaled the heady scent of his fear. The hunger clawed at him from the inside, demanding to be sated, and Peter found himself unable to resist its call. Without another thought, he pressed his lips to Tyler's skin, his tongue flicking out to taste the salty tang of sweat and adrenaline.
Tyler gasped at the sensation, his body tensing beneath Peter's touch as a shiver of adrenaline-filled pleasure through him. He could feel the heat of Peter's mouth against his skin, the rough scrape of his teeth as they grazed his flesh, and a shudder of fear.
As Peter continued to lick and bite at Tyler's neck, his hunger grew more intense, his senses sharpening with each passing moment. His eyes burned with an otherworldly light, their color shifting from deep brown to a piercing shade of blue as his werewolf instincts took hold. His sideburns lengthened, his muscles rippling with newfound strength as he hovered over his prey, his breath hot and heavy against Tyler's skin.
With a low, feral growl, Peter leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Tyler's ear as he whispered words that sent a shiver of dread down Tyler's spine.
"You taste...delicious," Peter murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "I think I'll have you for dinner."
Tyler's eyes widened in horror as he realized what Peter was about to do, but before he could utter a single word of protest, Peter's mouth descended upon him.
As Peter's mouth closed over Tyler's head, he could feel the hunter's hair brushing against his tongue, the salty tang of his sweat mingling with the metallic taste of blood as Peter's teeth grazed against his skin. With a low, guttural growl, Peter swallowed hard, the muscles of his throat contracting as Tyler's head disappeared down his gullet in a single, ravenous gulp.
"What the fuck!" Tyler's muffled voice echoed from deep within Peter's throat, his protests cut off as Peter's esophagus closed around him, sealing him inside the darkness. But despite his frantic struggles, there was no escape for Tyler now, no hope of salvation as he felt himself being pulled inexorably downward into the depths of Peter's belly.
Next came Tyler's shoulders, his clothes tearing and ripping as Peter's jaws stretched impossibly wide to accommodate his prey. With each swallow, Tyler could feel himself being compressed, the pressure mounting as he was forced further and further down into the pit of Peter's stomach. He thrashed and struggled, his fists pounding futilely against the walls of flesh that surrounded him, but it was no use—Peter's grip was too strong, his hunger too overwhelming to be denied.
As Tyler's abdomen disappeared into the darkness, he could feel the acidic burn of Peter's stomach acids beginning to seep into his wounds, the pain shooting through him like a bolt of lightning. He screamed and cursed, his words becoming increasingly muffled as he was swallowed deeper into the abyss, his body contorting and twisting as it was crushed and compressed by the sheer force of Peter's appetite.
As Tyler's thighs disappeared into the darkness of Peter's throat, he let out one final, desperate cry for help, his voice barely a whisper as it was drowned out by the roar of Peter's digestive system. And then, with one final gulp, Tyler's legs vanished from sight, consumed by the darkness within.
For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of Peter's satisfied burp as he settled back on his haunches, his belly swollen and distended from his recent meal. And as he rubbed his hand over his full stomach, feeling the faint movements of Tyler's struggling form within, a satisfied smile curled his lips.
"Delicious," Peter murmured to himself, his voice low and contented. "Absolutely delicious."
Under the cover of darkness, Peter sat beneath the sheltering branches of a tall oak tree, the hunter's crossbow clutched in one hand as he idly played with it. With his other hand, he rubbed his distended belly, feeling the weight of his recent meal pressing against his palm.
As he leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, Peter let out a satisfied burp, the taste of the hunter's flesh still lingering on his tongue. He smirked to himself, realizing just how delicious humans truly were, their succulent flesh providing a tantalizing feast for his insatiable hunger.
Turning his gaze towards the night sky, Peter chuckled softly to himself, his voice carrying on the cool breeze. "Looks like you failed your mission," he taunted, his tone mocking. "Guess that means lots of people are going to end up just like you—swallowed up and digested alive."
As the nights passed in Beacon Hills, California, a sense of unease settled over the small town. Men, one after another, began to disappear without a trace, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and fearful whispers among the remaining residents.
Families fretted as their loved ones failed to return home, their absence a glaring absence in the close-knit community. Rumors swirled through the streets, whispered conversations speculating about the mysterious disappearances and the dark shadows lurking in the shadows.
Some claimed it was the work of a deranged serial killer, while others whispered of supernatural forces at play. But no matter the speculation, one thing remained certain: people were vanishing into thin air, leaving no clue as to their whereabouts; Only leaving behind a tangible reminder on Peter’s growing belly as he digested more and more.
"Come on, come on... Shit!" Stiles muttered under his breath as he crouched in front of the door to Peter Hale's penthouse, the thin metal of the hex wrench feeling awkward and unfamiliar in his hand. He glanced around nervously, making sure no one was watching him attempt to pick the lock. It wasn't exactly the most legal activity, but Stiles was desperate for answers.
Lately, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about Peter Hale. It wasn't just the way the man had been putting on a bit of weight around his midsection, though that certainly hadn't gone unnoticed by Stiles. It was also the sudden string of disappearances in Beacon Hills, particularly among young men. Stiles had a knack for piecing together clues, and something about Peter's behavior just didn't sit right with him.
Focusing his attention back on the lock, Stiles cursed softly as the hex wrench slipped again. He knew he was taking a risk by breaking into Peter's penthouse, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was onto something. If he could just find some evidence to connect Peter to the disappearances, maybe he could stop whatever was happening before it was too late.
“Fuck, how difficult is it to get into one old man’s house?” With a determined sigh, Stiles refocused his efforts, his fingers working deftly to maneuver the wrench into the lock. It was slow going, each movement careful and deliberate as he tried to coax the tumblers into place. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he concentrated, the tension in his muscles making his movements slightly shaky.
After what felt like an eternity, Stiles felt a satisfying click beneath his fingers. With a triumphant grin, he twisted the wrench, and to his surprise, the lock gave way with a soft snick. Stiles froze for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as he listened for any signs that he had been caught.
When no alarms sounded and no footsteps approached, Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With a quick glance around to make sure the coast was clear, he pushed open the door and slipped inside Peter's penthouse, his heart racing with excitement and anticipation. He was finally going to get some answers.
As Stiles cautiously made his way into Peter Hale's penthouse, he was immediately struck by the decor. The space was adorned with sleek mid-century furniture, each piece carefully selected to create an atmosphere of sophistication and elegance. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that swirled in Stiles' mind as he took in his surroundings.
Navigating through the living room, Stiles couldn't help but notice the meticulous layout of the space. The clean lines of the furniture and the strategically placed accent pieces gave the impression of a well-organized and thoughtfully curated home. But as he moved further into the penthouse, Stiles began to notice something unsettling.
Scattered throughout the rooms were mementos, seemingly random items that appeared out of place among the carefully curated decor. A baseball cap hung on a coat rack in the foyer, a pair of sunglasses sat abandoned on a side table in the living room, and a leather wallet lay forgotten on the kitchen counter. Each item seemed innocuous enough on its own, but as Stiles pieced together the puzzle, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.
These were the belongings of Peter's victims, the men who had disappeared without a trace from Beacon Hills. Stiles felt a shiver run down his spine as he realized the significance of what he was seeing. These were not just random items left behind by careless guests; they were mementos, trophies collected by a predator.
As he moved from room to room, Stiles couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over him like a heavy cloak. Each item he encountered served as a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked in the shadows of Beacon Hills. And as he paused to take in the scene before him, a sense of dread washed over him like a tidal wave.
"What the hell..." Stiles murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he surveyed the room. The realization of what he was seeing hit him like a ton of bricks, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief. How could Peter be capable of something so monstrous? It was a question that lingered in the air, unanswered and ominous.
With a heavy heart, Stiles tore his gaze away from the scene before him and pressed on, his mind racing with questions and fears. He knew he had to find answers, no matter the cost. But as he ventured further into Peter's penthouse, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking straight into the jaws of the beast.
As Stiles hurriedly made his way toward the exit, his heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gripped him like a vice. Each step felt heavier than the last, his mind racing with questions and fears. How could he have been so blind to the danger that lurked in the shadows of Beacon Hills?
Just as he reached for the doorknob, a voice cut through the silence, freezing him in his tracks. "Leaving so soon, Stiles?" The voice was smooth and taunting, sending a shiver down Stiles' spine.
Stiles turned slowly, his eyes widening in horror as Peter Hale emerged from the shadows, his presence looming like a dark cloud. "Peter," Stiles stammered, his voice trembling with fear. "I-I was just..."
Peter's lips curled into a predatory smirk as he closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds. Before Stiles could react, he found himself pinned against the wall, Peter's bulging belly pressing against him with a force that left him gasping for air.
"Mind your business, Stiles," Peter purred, his voice dripping with malice. "You've done an impressive job of deducing who's behind the disappearances. But curiosity killed the cat, as they say."
Stiles swallowed hard, his anxiety reaching a fever pitch as Peter's words sent a chill down his spine. "Well, I take after my pops," Stiles retorted, his voice laced with sarcasm despite his fear. "He's in law enforcement."
Peter raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Sarcastic, even at a time like this?" he mused, his tone mocking.
Stiles shrugged anxiously, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "It's all I got, man," he replied, his voice trembling with uncertainty. "Pale skin and a little bit of sarcasm."
As the weight of Peter's gaze bore down on him, Stiles couldn't help but feel a sense of dread settle over him like a heavy cloak. Whatever happened next, he knew one thing for certain: he was in way over his head.
Peter's smirk widened into a sinister grin as he leaned in close, his eyes sufficed with malice. "You know, Stiles," he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement, "I think I'll make an exception for you. I'll take my sweet time digesting you, longer than any of the others. After all, you've been such an entertaining little detective, and it’ll be rude not to give pack members special treatment."
“Y… You what?” Stiles' eyes widened in horror at the realization of what Peter was suggesting. He struggled against the grip of Peter's belly, his heart pounding in his chest. Stiles' mind raced as he frantically searched for a way out of his predicament. How could he have been so foolish to think he could outsmart Peter? The truth was staring him right in the face, and now he was paying the price for his curiosity.
Peter's smirk only widened as he saw the realization dawn in Stiles' eyes. "Ah, I see it now," he taunted, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You didn't figure out as much as you thought, did you, Stiles? But don't worry, you'll get to experience it firsthand."
"No, no, you can't!" he protested, his voice trembling with fear. "You-you can't just...swallow me whole like that!"
Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down Stiles' spine. "Oh, but I can, Stiles," he replied, his tone laced with malice. "And I will. Consider it a...reward for your persistence."
Stiles felt a cold chill run down his spine as the full weight of Peter's words settled over him. He was trapped, at the mercy of a ruthless predator who had no qualms about devouring him whole.
Peter chuckled darkly as he observed Stiles' futile struggles, his enhanced werewolf strength making it effortless to overpower the younger man. With a swift motion, he grabbed Stiles' legs and forced them upward, beginning the process of swallowing him feet-first.
Stiles thrashed and kicked, his fists flailing wildly as he shouted defiantly, "You won't fucking eat me, you hear me? I won't let you!" His voice echoed off the walls of the room, filled with a raw mixture of fear and anger.
But Peter paid little heed to Stiles' protests, his focus solely on the task at hand. With each gulp, he felt Stiles' body slide further down his throat, the sensation both exhilarating and satisfying. He ripped open Stiles' pants, revealing his underwear, and pulled them down to expose his manhood, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
Stiles continued to fight, his struggles growing weaker as he realized the futility of his efforts. "You fucking bastard!" he spat, his voice choked with emotion. "I won't let you do this to me!"
But his words fell on deaf ears as Peter continued to swallow him down, relishing in the feeling of power and control. Stiles' protests grew more muffled with each passing moment, until finally, with one last gulp, he disappeared entirely into Peter's gullet.
Peter smirked triumphantly as he rubbed his distended belly, feeling Stiles' struggles growing weaker with each passing moment. He had claimed another victim, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.
Peter paused, relishing in the sensation of Stiles squirming helplessly within his belly. He could feel the young man's struggles growing weaker with each passing moment, his movements becoming more frantic as he realized the inevitability of his fate.
But instead of continuing to swallow him whole, Peter decided to have a bit of fun. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he focused his attention on Stiles' exposed manhood, stroking and teasing it with a wicked grin as his mouth navigated around his balls and hard shaft.
Stiles gasped in surprise, his eyes widening in disbelief as he felt Peter's touch. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice tinged with a mixture of embarrassment and desperation.
Peter merely chuckled darkly in response, his fingers dancing lightly over Stiles' sensitive flesh. "Just enjoying the view, Stiles," he replied casually, his tone dripping with amusement. "After all, it's not every day I get to play with a meal as tasty as you."
Stiles gritted his teeth in frustration, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he struggled against the overwhelming sensation of pleasure coursing through his body. "Stop it," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just let me go."
But Peter paid no heed to Stiles' protests, his touch paired with the licking of his tongue becoming more insistent as he continued to tease and stroke. Stiles' resistance began to crumble under the onslaught of sensation, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he felt himself growing more and more aroused.
And then, with one final, desperate cry, Stiles succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure, his body trembling as he released his load under Peter's skilled touch. He collapsed against the wall, his muscles trembling with exhaustion as he tried to catch his breath.
Peter smirked triumphantly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched Stiles' reaction. "Fucking bitch, enjoyed that didn’t you?" he remarked casually, his tone filled with amusement.
Peter's laughter echoed through the room as he continued to swallow Stiles down, his belly expanding with each gulp until it protruded out like a rounded bulge. With a satisfied smirk, he reached out and cupped Stiles' face in his hand, holding him in place as he leaned in closer, his mouth gaping wide open.
Stiles squirmed and protested, his muffled cries falling on deaf ears as Peter positioned him directly in front of the mirror. With a wicked grin, Peter met Stiles' gaze in the reflection, his eyes glinting with amusement as he slowly lowered his head into his waiting mouth.
Stiles watched in horror as his head disappeared past Peter's lips, the sensation of being swallowed whole overwhelming his senses. He struggled against the tight confines of Peter's throat, his frantic movements only serving to hasten his descent into the depths of the werewolf's belly.
With a final, satisfied gulp, Peter swallowed the last of Stiles down, his throat convulsing around the struggling figure as he disappeared from sight. He leaned back against the wall, his hand resting lightly on his distended belly as he let out a contented burp.
"Fucking delicious," Peter remarked with a smirk, his gaze lingering on his reflection in the mirror. "You're the best I've had yet, Stiles. Shame you won't be around to enjoy it."
Peter chuckled to himself as he stood before the mirror, his hands moving to his distended belly. With a playful smirk, he began to rub and knead the bulging mass, reveling in the sensation of Stiles' struggling form trapped within.
"You really outdid yourself this time, Stiles," Peter mused, his fingers tracing lazy circles over his taut skin. "I'll have to remember to thank you properly for that little release."
As he continued to play with his belly, Peter's gaze drifted to the torn shreds of fabric that had once been Stiles' underwear. With a wicked grin, he plucked them up from the floor and held them up to the light, examining them with amusement.
"These will make a perfect addition to my collection," Peter remarked, his tone filled with dark amusement. "A little memento of our time together, wouldn't you say?"
With a casual shrug, Peter tossed the torn underwear aside, his attention returning to his belly. He ran his fingers along the curve of his navel, teasingly tracing the outline as he thought about the other mementos he had collected over the years.
"Perhaps I'll keep them with the rest," Peter mused, his voice dripping with malice. "A reminder of all the delicious meals I've enjoyed."
Peter stood before the mirror, admiring his reflection with a smirk. The image staring back at him was that of a powerful predator, his chest bouncy and his stomach adorned with the bulging presence of Stiles, a silent testament to his latest subjugation.
"Damn," Peter muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I look good."
Peter smirked to himself as he made his way out of his penthouse, not bothering to put on a shirt despite the way his distended belly bulged out in the shape of Stiles' trapped form. He relished in the feeling of the cool air against his skin as he stepped out onto the bustling streets of Beacon Hills.
As he strolled down the sidewalk, Peter couldn't help but notice the way people's eyes lingered on his bare torso, some with curiosity, others with outright shock. But Peter paid them no mind, instead reveling in the attention as he made his way toward the local grocery store.
With each step, Peter's mind wandered to the errands he needed to run, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he thought about the groceries he planned to purchase. He imagined Stiles squirming helplessly in his belly as he loaded up his cart with food, teasing the boy about how each item would soon join him in his digestive tract.
Entering the grocery store, Peter was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling aisles, the smell of fresh produce and baked goods wafting through the air. He wasted no time in making his way through the store, his bare chest drawing stares from other shoppers as he moved with purpose.
A group of teenagers whispered amongst themselves as Peter passed by, their eyes darting nervously between him and his distended abdomen. One of them, a bold young man with a cocky smirk, couldn't resist blurting out, "Dude, what's with the gut?"
Peter paused in his tracks, fixing the teenager with a cool, calculating gaze. "What are you looking at?" he replied, his voice laced with thinly veiled amusement. "Never seen a man with a healthy appetite before?"
The teenager blanched, taken aback by Peter's confident demeanor. "Uh, no, I mean... sorry, man," he stammered, quickly averting his gaze and shuffling away with his friends in tow.
Peter chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head in amusement. It wasn't the first time he'd been met with such reactions, and he doubted it would be the last. But he didn't mind the attention; if anything, it only served to bolster his sense of power and superiority.
As he browsed the aisles, Peter couldn't resist the urge to tease Stiles, imagining the boy's muffled protests as he tossed various items into his cart. "Looks like you'll have some company soon, Stiles," he chuckled, running a hand over his distended abdomen. "I hope you don't mind sharing your new home with a few groceries." He grabbed a bag of apples, imagining how their crisp sweetness would lessen as he chewed it up, mixed it with his saliva, and swallowed it down, and chuckled to himself as he added them to his pile of groceries.
Moving on, Peter grabbed a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread, imagining the satisfying crunch they would make as they were crushed beneath his teeth. He tossed a few cans of soup and a box of cereal into his cart, relishing in the thought of the hearty meals they would provide as he digested his latest victim.
As he made his way to the checkout, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the thought of the delicious meal that awaited him at home. With a smirk, he paid for his groceries and made his way out of the store, his belly still bulging out proudly as he headed back to his penthouse.
As the days passed, Stiles found himself immersed in a surreal and nightmarish ordeal within the confines of Peter's digestive tract. Each day brought with it a new wave of sensations and experiences as his body slowly succumbed to the relentless onslaught of Peter's stomach acids.
On the first day, Stiles was greeted by a warm, tingling sensation as the acids began to break down his flesh. It started as a gentle caress, almost soothing in its intensity, but soon escalated into a burning sensation that spread throughout his entire body. He cried out in pain and frustration, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as Peter's mocking laughter echoed in his ears.
"You're really putting up a fight, aren't you, Stiles?" Peter taunted, his voice reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "You do know you will never beat a werewolf’s physique, do you? You belong to me now, body and soul."
Stiles gritted his teeth in defiance, his anger boiling over at Peter's smug demeanor. "Screw you, Peter!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You can't keep me trapped in here forever. The others will find out what you've done, and they'll make you pay for it!"
Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down Stiles' spine. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Stiles," he replied, his tone dripping with malice. "By the time anyone realizes you're missing, you'll be nothing more than a distant memory. Just another victim of the big bad wolf."
Despite his bravado, Stiles couldn't shake the gnawing sense of fear that threatened to consume him from within. With each passing day, he felt his strength waning, his body growing weaker as the acids continued their relentless assault. But even in the face of impending doom, he refused to go down without a fight.
As the second day dawned, Stiles found himself sinking deeper into the abyss of Peter's belly, his screams of agony muffled by the suffocating darkness that surrounded him. The pain was unbearable, a constant reminder of his dire predicament, but still he clung to the faint hope of survival.
"Please, Peter," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Let me go. I won't tell anyone what happened. Just please, let me out of here!"
Peter's response was a cruel laugh that sent chills down Stiles' spine. "Sorry, Stiles," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You’re too smart for your good."
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Stiles realized that his fate was sealed. Trapped within the confines of Peter's stomach, he could do nothing but await his inevitable demise.
Day by day, Stiles felt himself being slowly consumed by the relentless tide of Peter's stomach acids. Each passing moment brought with it a new wave of pain and torment, his body wracked with agony as his flesh melted away beneath the relentless onslaught.
But even in the face of unimaginable suffering, Stiles refused to surrender to despair. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought against the inevitable, clinging to the faint hope of survival even as it slipped further and further from his grasp.
"Damn you, Peter!" he screamed, his voice coarse with pain. "I won't let you win! I'll find a way out of here, no matter what it takes!"
But Peter's only response was a mocking laugh, the sound reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "Keep telling yourself that, Stiles," he taunted.
Peter chuckled to himself as he stood before the mirror, his hands moving to his distended belly. With a playful smirk, he began to rub and knead the bulging mass, reveling in the sensation of Stiles' struggling form trapped within.
"You really outdid yourself this time, Stiles," Peter mused, his fingers tracing lazy circles over his taut skin. "I'll have to remember to thank you properly for that little release."
As he continued to play with his belly, Peter's gaze drifted to the torn shreds of fabric that had once been Stiles' underwear. With a wicked grin, he plucked them up from the floor and held them up to the light, examining them with amusement.
"These will make a perfect addition to my collection," Peter remarked, his tone filled with dark amusement. "A little memento of our time together, wouldn't you say?"
With a casual shrug, Peter tossed the torn underwear aside, his attention returning to his belly. He ran his fingers along the curve of his navel, teasingly tracing the outline as he thought about the other mementos he had collected over the years.
"Perhaps I'll keep them with the rest," Peter mused, his voice dripping with malice. "A reminder of all the delicious meals I've enjoyed."
Peter stood before the mirror, admiring his reflection with a smirk. The image staring back at him was that of a powerful predator, his chest bouncy and his stomach adorned with the bulging presence of Stiles, a silent testament to his latest subjugation.
"Damn," Peter muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I look good."
Peter smirked to himself as he made his way out of his penthouse, not bothering to put on a shirt despite the way his distended belly bulged out in the shape of Stiles' trapped form. He relished in the feeling of the cool air against his skin as he stepped out onto the bustling streets of Beacon Hills.
As he strolled down the sidewalk, Peter couldn't help but notice the way people's eyes lingered on his bare torso, some with curiosity, others with outright shock. But Peter paid them no mind, instead reveling in the attention as he made his way toward the local grocery store.
With each step, Peter's mind wandered to the errands he needed to run, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he thought about the groceries he planned to purchase. He imagined Stiles squirming helplessly in his belly as he loaded up his cart with food, teasing the boy about how each item would soon join him in his digestive tract.
Entering the grocery store, Peter was greeted by the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling aisles, the smell of fresh produce and baked goods wafting through the air. He wasted no time in making his way through the store, his bare chest drawing stares from other shoppers as he moved with purpose.
A group of teenagers whispered amongst themselves as Peter passed by, their eyes darting nervously between him and his distended abdomen. One of them, a bold young man with a cocky smirk, couldn't resist blurting out, "Dude, what's with the gut?"
Peter paused in his tracks, fixing the teenager with a cool, calculating gaze. "What are you looking at?" he replied, his voice laced with thinly veiled amusement. "Never seen a man with a healthy appetite before?"
The teenager blanched, taken aback by Peter's confident demeanor. "Uh, no, I mean... sorry, man," he stammered, quickly averting his gaze and shuffling away with his friends in tow.
Peter chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head in amusement. It wasn't the first time he'd been met with such reactions, and he doubted it would be the last. But he didn't mind the attention; if anything, it only served to bolster his sense of power and superiority.
As he browsed the aisles, Peter couldn't resist the urge to tease Stiles, imagining the boy's muffled protests as he tossed various items into his cart. "Looks like you'll have some company soon, Stiles," he chuckled, running a hand over his distended abdomen. "I hope you don't mind sharing your new home with a few groceries." He grabbed a bag of apples, imagining how their crisp sweetness would lessen as he chewed it up, mixed it with his saliva, and swallowed it down, and chuckled to himself as he added them to his pile of groceries.
Moving on, Peter grabbed a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread, imagining the satisfying crunch they would make as they were crushed beneath his teeth. He tossed a few cans of soup and a box of cereal into his cart, relishing in the thought of the hearty meals they would provide as he digested his latest victim.
As he made his way to the checkout, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the thought of the delicious meal that awaited him at home. With a smirk, he paid for his groceries and made his way out of the store, his belly still bulging out proudly as he headed back to his penthouse.
As the days passed, Stiles found himself immersed in a surreal and nightmarish ordeal within the confines of Peter's digestive tract. Each day brought with it a new wave of sensations and experiences as his body slowly succumbed to the relentless onslaught of Peter's stomach acids.
On the first day, Stiles was greeted by a warm, tingling sensation as the acids began to break down his flesh. It started as a gentle caress, almost soothing in its intensity, but soon escalated into a burning sensation that spread throughout his entire body. He cried out in pain and frustration, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as Peter's mocking laughter echoed in his ears.
"You're really putting up a fight, aren't you, Stiles?" Peter taunted, his voice reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "You do know you will never beat a werewolf’s physique, do you? You belong to me now, body and soul."
Stiles gritted his teeth in defiance, his anger boiling over at Peter's smug demeanor. "Screw you, Peter!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You can't keep me trapped in here forever. The others will find out what you've done, and they'll make you pay for it!"
Peter chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down Stiles' spine. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Stiles," he replied, his tone dripping with malice. "By the time anyone realizes you're missing, you'll be nothing more than a distant memory. Just another victim of the big bad wolf."
Despite his bravado, Stiles couldn't shake the gnawing sense of fear that threatened to consume him from within. With each passing day, he felt his strength waning, his body growing weaker as the acids continued their relentless assault. But even in the face of impending doom, he refused to go down without a fight.
As the second day dawned, Stiles found himself sinking deeper into the abyss of Peter's belly, his screams of agony muffled by the suffocating darkness that surrounded him. The pain was unbearable, a constant reminder of his dire predicament, but still he clung to the faint hope of survival.
"Please, Peter," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation. "Let me go. I won't tell anyone what happened. Just please, let me out of here!"
Peter's response was a cruel laugh that sent chills down Stiles' spine. "Sorry, Stiles," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You’re too smart for your good."
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Stiles realized that his fate was sealed. Trapped within the confines of Peter's stomach, he could do nothing but await his inevitable demise.
Day by day, Stiles felt himself being slowly consumed by the relentless tide of Peter's stomach acids. Each passing moment brought with it a new wave of pain and torment, his body wracked with agony as his flesh melted away beneath the relentless onslaught.
But even in the face of unimaginable suffering, Stiles refused to surrender to despair. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he fought against the inevitable, clinging to the faint hope of survival even as it slipped further and further from his grasp.
"Damn you, Peter!" he screamed, his voice coarse with pain. "I won't let you win! I'll find a way out of here, no matter what it takes!"
But Peter's only response was a mocking laugh, the sound reverberating through the cavernous expanse of his stomach. "Keep telling yourself that, Stiles," he taunted. He stood in front of the mirror in his penthouse, adjusting the collar of his shirt with a satisfied smirk. He glanced over at the corner of the room where Stiles’ underwear memento lay, torn and cum-soaked from his prior release.
"Looks like they've called a meeting to find you," Peter taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Funny how you'll most likely be dead by the end of it."
Stiles groaned weakly, his eyes fluttering open as he struggled against his restraints. "You're sick, Peter," he muttered hoarsely, his words barely audible.
Peter chuckled darkly, turning back to the mirror to straighten his tie. "Perhaps. But at least I'll be entertained while I wait for your demise."
With a final smirk at Stiles, Peter left the penthouse, and headed towards the designated meeting spot– Derek Hale & Noah Stillinski had called for an emergency meeting, as one of their members had suddenly disappeared without a trace.
As Peter sat in on the pack meeting with Derek and Noah, the tension in the room was palpable. Noah's usually calm demeanor was replaced by an air of frantic worry, his brow furrowed and hands clenched into tight fists. Derek, ever protective of his pack members, especially Stiles, was visibly agitated, his posture rigid as he leaned forward in his seat.
"So, any leads on where Stiles could be?" Noah's voice was strained, betraying his desperation as he addressed the group.
Derek shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. "Nothing yet. I've been trying to pick up his scent, but it's like he's vanished without a trace."
Noah let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "This doesn't make any sense. Stiles wouldn't just disappear like this. He's not the type to run away."
Peter, leaning back in his seat with a smug grin, interjected, "Perhaps he's just off on one of his little adventures. You know how Stiles can be, always getting himself into trouble."
Derek shot Peter a glare, his eyes flashing with irritation. "This is serious, Peter. Stiles wouldn't just up and leave without telling anyone. Something's not right."
Noah nodded in agreement, his gaze hardening. "Exactly. Which is why we need to figure out what happened to him, and fast."
“What if he fell victim to the same disappearances that have been happening around Beacon Hills?” Peter said, “Maybe what got them, got him.” He added, feigning concern and intending it to be an indirect tease to the almost-fully-digested Stiles in his gut, having to hear them mutter about his fate when he’s only a few feet away from them.
“Don’t say that.” Noah said, not wanting to comprehend the possibility that he will never find his son again.
The group fell into a tense silence as they pondered their next move. Noah's mind was racing with worry for his son, while Derek's thoughts were consumed with concern and determination to find Stiles and bring him home safely.
Finally, Noah stood up from his seat, his expression grim. "I need to attend to my duties as Sheriff. Derek, I'm trusting you to lead the search for Stiles. Find my son, Derek. Bring him back to me. Please."
Derek nodded solemnly, his resolve hardening. "I will, Sheriff. I promise."
With that, Noah left the meeting, leaving Derek and Peter to plan their next steps in the search for Stiles. But as they began to discuss their strategy, Derek couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at him, a sinking suspicion that whatever had happened to Stiles was far more sinister than any of them could have imagined.
“You might be right, Peter.”
Peter watched as Derek's expression hardened, a flicker of vulnerability slipping through his stoic facade. He leaned forward, his curiosity piqued by Derek's sudden intensity.
"You think my suggestion is true, don't you?" Peter asked, his voice carefully neutral, though a glint of amusement danced in his eyes.
Derek hesitated, his gaze fixed on the table before him. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Noah, but... yes, I think you might be right," he admitted, his voice low and serious.
Peter raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "And why is that?"
Derek sighed heavily, his frustration evident. "Stiles... he told me he had a hunch about who was behind all this. He wanted to investigate further, but before he could..."
His voice trailed off, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Peter leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with possibilities.
"And he disappeared," Peter finished for him, a note of understanding in his voice. "Without ever knowing if his hunch was right."
Derek nodded grimly, his jaw clenched with determination. "I'm almost certain his hunch was right," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "And now... now he's gone."
Peter studied Derek's expression carefully, sensing the guilt and remorse that lingered beneath his steely exterior. He knew Derek blamed himself for Stiles' disappearance, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud.
"Well, we'll just have to find him, won't we?" Peter said, injecting a note of false optimism into his voice. "And when we do, we'll make sure whoever's responsible pays for what they've done."
Peter's confident facade faltered as a sudden wave of nausea swept over him, his stomach churning violently. He clutched at his abdomen, grimacing as a series of guttural gags and deep burps erupted from his throat, each one more forceful than the last. Saliva dribbled down his chin, mingling with the bile rising in his throat.
Derek watched in concern as Peter doubled over, his face contorted in discomfort. "Peter, are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.
Peter waved him off, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to regain control of his rebellious stomach. "Fine," he managed to choke out between gags. "Just... a momentary... hiccup."
But the spasms only intensified, each one wracking his body with increasing ferocity. His vision blurred with tears as he struggled to contain the rising tide of sickness threatening to overwhelm him.
And then, with one final heave, Peter expelled a thick wad of saliva and bile, followed by a sudden burst of pressure from his throat. His eyes widened in shock as he felt something solid lodged in his esophagus, blocking his airway.
With a desperate groan, Peter reached up to his mouth, his fingers probing frantically at the obstruction. And then, with a sickening squelch, he felt it give way beneath his touch, sliding up his throat and into the open air.
Derek's eyes widened in horror as Peter withdrew a half-digested jacket from his mouth, its fabric stained and sodden with digestive juices. The sight of it made his stomach churn, bile rising in his own throat at the realization of what had just transpired.
Peter's face paled as he stared down at the jacket in his hands, a cold shiver coursing through his veins. He had never experienced anything like this before, never lost control of his own body in such a humiliating manner. But Derek didn't need an explanation. The truth was plain to see, written in the horrified expression on Peter's face and the undeniable evidence clutched in his trembling hands.
Stiles was gone, and he wasn't coming back.
"I..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the words to explain what had just happened. But he didn’t need to;
Before Peter could utter a word, Derek was upon him, his fist connecting with brutal force against Peter's abdomen. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through Peter's body, knocking him off balance and sending him stumbling backward with a pained grunt. The force of the punch was enough to warrant another, abrupt burp that erupted from Peter’s mouth–
BuuUuurRrP!
–surprisingly just as loud as his previous one. Peter hadn’t anticipated how fast it happened: Derek's transformation was swift and violent, his fangs elongating into razor-sharp points and his eyes blazing a furious shade of crimson. The air crackled with the raw power of his Alpha aura as he surged forward, his movements fluid and predatory.
The force of Derek's blow was enough to drive the breath from Peter's lungs, leaving him gasping for air as he struggled to regain his footing. He looked up at Derek with wide eyes.
"Derek, I—" he began, but Derek cut him off with a fierce growl, his lips drawn back in a snarl of rage.
"Don't you dare try to deny it," Derek spat, his voice low and menacing. "You fucking ate him, didn't you? You swallowed him whole like some goddamn monster!"
Peter's heart pounded in his chest as he watched Derek advance, his gaze filled with a primal intensity that sent a chill down his spine– But it wasn’t out of fear, it was pounding out of the intense excitement that he gets to swallow Derek, too. He could feel the weight of Derek's accusation bearing down on him, the truth of it echoing in his mind like a relentless drumbeat.
But even as Derek loomed over him, his fists clenched in fury, Peter had to tease. “Didn’t think Stiles had it in him to be so loud,” He said, “Guess he wanted his final words to be heard.” He had consumed Stiles, yes, and he had burped up Stiles’ last effort at wanting to be seen.
"Save it," Derek snapped, his voice dripping with scorn. "I trusted you, Peter. We all did. And this is how you repay us? By eating one of our own?"
“You should be thankful” Peter replied, lifting up his top to show Derek his churning gut. Loud, fattier, squishable, and the most prominent change: A tattoo of Stiles's face around his naval, a permanent reminder of what he had done and a power symbol to brag about. “I’m one-for-two now, Stiles is still here. Just, different.”
“You fucking…” Derek growled, “…You fucking got his face tattooed?!”
“On the contrary,” He spoke, giving the place where Stiles’ face was imprinted a squish. “He got it tattooed, must’ve liked what happened enough in there to want to stay on it.” Subtly implying that this was simply a byproduct of the digestion.
“W-Wha–?!” Derek stuttered before being cut off by the predator.
“That punch you gave me earlier? Stiles felt it as much as I did. Can still faintly hear him in there.” He taunted, rubbing in the fact that beating Peter is indirectly beating his friend-turned-fat.
With a guttural roar, Derek lashed out again, his fist striking Peter's face with bone-crushing force. Peter was in agony, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to keep from keeling over.
“Stop fucking with me!” The alpha shouted, jumping in for another punch– He wasn’t buying Peter’s shit, thinking what he said was either intended to rub it in or discourage him from beating the shit out of him.
Derek's fist sailed through the air with deadly intent, but Peter was already moving, his reflexes honed by years of survival instinct. He dodged Derek's punch with a swift sidestep, then retaliated with a powerful kick to Derek's abdomen.
The force of Peter's blow sent Derek staggering backward, his knees buckling beneath him as he struggled to remain upright. With a growl of frustration, Derek dropped to his knees, his hands clenching into fists as he glared up at Peter.
"Now now, you really want to hurt your boy this much?" Peter taunted, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
Derek's anger flared, his instincts urging him to launch himself at Peter in a blind fury. But just as he was about to strike, a sudden wave of hesitation washed over him. Even if he didn’t believe Peter, what if he hurt Stiles in the process? What if it was real? The thought paralyzed him for a split second, just long enough for Peter to seize the opportunity.
With lightning speed, Peter swung his fist forward, his knuckles connecting with Derek's jaw with a sickening thud. Derek's head snapped back, pain exploding behind his eyes as he crumpled to the ground.
Before Derek could react, Peter was upon him, his weight bearing down on Derek's chest as he pinned him to the ground. Derek struggled beneath him, his muscles straining against the crushing pressure of Peter's bulk, his belly.
"You think you can stop me?" Peter taunted, his voice low and menacing. "You're nothing, Derek. Just a weak little Alpha who couldn't protect his own pack."
Derek's chest heaved with exertion as he strained against Peter's hold, but the weight pressing down on him was relentless. He could feel his strength waning, his limbs growing heavy with fatigue.
But just as he was about to succumb to the suffocating pressure, a surge of determination flooded through him. With a fierce roar, Derek summoned every ounce of his remaining strength and pushed against Peter with all his might.
For a moment, it seemed as though Peter might be overpowered, his grip faltering ever so slightly. But then, with a final burst of effort, he tightened his hold, his belly pressing down even harder on Derek's chest.
"You're going to– Uunngh… Pay for what you've done, Peter," Derek growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "I swear it."
Peter's taunts cut through the air like a knife, each word dripping with malice as he leaned in closer to Derek, his smirk widening into a cruel grin.
"You know, Stiles was still alive when you came in for that meeting," Peter sneered, relishing the anguish that flickered across Derek's face. "Who knows if he died from digestion mid-meeting as we obliviously discussed where he went during his final moments, unable to help as he died... Or if your punch was the one to finish him off?"
Derek's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw set in a tight line as he fought to hold back the wave of despair threatening to consume him. "Fuck you, Peter," he spat, his voice thick with emotion.
But Peter merely chuckled, the sound grating on Derek's nerves like sandpaper. "Oh, don't worry, Derek. You'll be joining your pack member soon enough," he taunted, his tone dripping with sinister promise. "The pack’ll reunite, as fat on my fucking belly."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence, sending a shiver down Derek's spine. He knew he had to find a way out, to break free from Peter's suffocating hold before it was too late. But as he struggled against the crushing weight pinning him down, he couldn't shake the sinking feeling that he might never escape from this nightmare.
With a cruel smirk, Peter leaned in closer to Derek, his eyes glinting with malicious intent as he spat on Derek's face, the spittle landing in a disgusting splatter. "You're going to make such a nice, fat addition to my belly," he taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic glee.
He continued to rub his distended belly against Derek's chest, the pressure making it difficult for Derek to breathe as he forced him to hear the sickening gurgles emanating from within. "Just imagine how much fatter you'll make me once I've digested you and Stiles together," Peter teased, his tone mocking.
Derek gritted his teeth, his fists clenched in impotent rage as he struggled against Peter's overwhelming strength. He knew he was no match for the werewolf in his current state, but he refused to give up without a fight.
Peter pushed his belly further against Derek’s chest and up on his face, forcing him to listen to the gurgles of digestion and feel the remaining weight of Stiles in his beer belly.
But before he could muster a response, Peter's tone shifted, his smirk widening into a predatory grin. "But not now," he mused, almost casually. "I think I'll save the best for last. Noah Stilinski seems like he'd be a delicious appetizer, don't you think?“ He said, ”Family first, right? Poor dad must be missing his son.“
And with that, Peter delivered a swift, powerful punch to Derek's jaw, the force of it knocking him unconscious in an instant. As darkness closed in around him, Derek couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see the light of day again.
Peter's muscles rippled beneath his taut skin as he effortlessly lifted Derek's unconscious form from the ground, his strength belying his lean frame. With a grunt of exertion, he hoisted Derek's limp body over his broad shoulder, his arms securely wrapped around his waist to prevent him from slipping.
With Derek's weight settled against him, Peter began the journey back to his penthouse, his steps purposeful and steady as he navigated the dimly lit streets of Beacon Hills. The cool night air brushed against his skin, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within him.
As he approached the entrance to his building, Peter's pace quickened, a surge of anticipation coursing through him at the thought of what awaited them inside. With a flick of his wrist, he unlocked the door and stepped into the opulent foyer, the soft glow of the chandeliers casting eerie shadows across the marble floors.
Carefully, Peter carried Derek through the spacious penthouse, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he made his way to the makeshift holding area he had prepared in the basement. With a grunt of effort, he lowered Derek onto the sturdy metal cot, his muscles straining with the effort as he secured the restraints around Derek's wrists and ankles, ensuring that he wouldn't be able to escape.
Once Derek was securely bound, Peter stepped back, a satisfied smile curling his lips as he surveyed his handiwork. With Derek safely restrained, he could finally focus on his next target: Noah Stilinski.
"Now, off to Noah's workplace..." Peter murmured to himself, his voice low and menacing as he turned on his heel and made his way back upstairs.
The Beacon County Sheriff Station stood as a sturdy fortress against the encroaching darkness of the night. Its exterior was composed of weathered bricks, their surfaces marred by the passage of time and the elements. At the lower few meters of the building, the bricks transitioned into a different type of tile, arranged in a neat pattern that offered a subtle contrast to the rough texture of the bricks above.
A dusty, old sign adorned the top of the double-sided glass doors, its letters slightly faded from years of exposure to the elements. The white frames of the doors gleamed faintly under the dim glow of the street lamps that flanked the entrance. Two additional lamps, one on each side of the doorway, cast pools of light onto the cracked pavement below, their buzzing hum adding to the eerie ambiance of the night.
Peter approached the entrance with purposeful strides, his gaze fixed on the illuminated interior beyond the glass doors. Despite the late hour, the station was still abuzz with activity, the sound of ringing phones and hurried footsteps echoing through the empty streets. Most of the deputies had already ended their shifts and gone home for the night, leaving only a skeleton crew behind to maintain order in the quiet hours of the evening.
As Peter pushed open the heavy glass doors and stepped into the station, he noted the tired expressions of the few deputies who remained already packing their things to leave, their shoulders slumped with exhaustion as they went about their duties, while most had already gone home far earlier, after their shift ended. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows on the linoleum floor, illuminating the worn desks and filing cabinets that lined the walls.
At the far end of the room, Peter spotted Sheriff Noah Stilinski, in his office, hunched over a stack of paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. Despite the late hour, Noah seemed to be working overtime, his dedication to his duties evident in the way he tirelessly poured over the files spread out before him.
Peter's lips curled into a smirk as he made his way toward Noah's desk, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty station. Tonight, he would pay a visit to the sheriff, and nothing would stand in his way.
As Peter approached Noah's desk, the sheriff looked up from his paperwork, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at the sight of the unexpected visitor. "Peter," Noah greeted, a note of relief in his voice. "What brings you here at this hour?"
Peter offered a sheepish smile as he leaned against the edge of Noah's desk. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not here with any groundbreaking leads," he admitted, his tone apologetic. "Just happened to be in the neighborhood, thought I'd drop by and see how things were going."
Noah nodded, understanding. "Well, it's always good to see a friendly face," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of exhaustion. "Especially on a night like tonight."
Peter raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering over Noah's fatigued expression. "You look tired, Sheriff," he observed, his tone laced with genuine concern.
Noah chuckled softly, a weary smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You could say that," he admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's been a long day. But sometimes, being here helps take my mind off things, if only for a little while."
Peter nodded in understanding, his expression sympathetic. "I get that," he replied, his voice soft. "Sometimes, it's nice to have a distraction, even if it's just for a moment."
Noah offered a grateful smile in return, appreciating the sentiment. "Exactly," he agreed, his eyes meeting Peter's with a hint of camaraderie. "Besides, it's all part of the job, right? Gotta keep pushing forward, even when things get tough."
Peter nodded in agreement, his gaze lingering on Noah's weary form. Despite the sheriff's outward strength, Peter couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for the man who carried the weight of the town's safety on his shoulders.
The sheriff chuckled, “…It’s funny, because as much as I used to bicker with him, I miss him like crazy.” He looked thoughtful, “I say I try to get my mind off things, but truth be told, I couldn’t focus on shit today.” Performance suffered, and working overtime was not just a way to distract but a way to make up.
Peter glanced around the now-deserted sheriff's station, ensuring that they were alone before turning back to Noah with a solemn expression. "You know, I think I might have a lead that could help ease your mind for a bit," he began, his voice low and serious.
Noah's eyes widened with hope, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him at the prospect of finally getting some answers about his missing son. "You do?" he asked eagerly, leaning forward in his chair. "Where did he go? Did you find him?"
Peter hesitated for a moment before responding, his gaze flickering with a mixture of guilt and determination. "He's right here," he said quietly, reaching down and lifting the hem of his shirt to reveal the tattoo of Stiles' face etched into his skin.
Noah's brow furrowed in confusion, his initial excitement fading into frustration. "Peter, I appreciate the sentiment, but now is not the time for jokes," he replied sternly, his voice tinged with annoyance, thinking that getting a tattoo of stiles’ face now was bad timing.
But Peter's expression remained deadly serious as he lowered his shirt, his eyes locking onto Noah's with an intensity that sent a shiver down the sheriff's spine. "I'm not joking, Noah," he said quietly, his tone devoid of humor. "I swallowed him whole."
Noah's heart skipped a beat as the full weight of Peter's words sank in, his mind struggling to process the horrifying truth of what he was hearing. "What do you mean, you swallowed him whole?" he demanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and horror.
Peter's lips curled into a cruel smirk as he recounted the gruesome details of Stiles' fate, his words dripping with malice as he described the agony of his son's final moments. Noah's stomach churned with revulsion as he listened, unable to comprehend the sheer brutality of Peter's actions.
"You monster," Noah spat, his voice trembling with rage as he glared at Peter with loathing. "How could you do something like that? How could you take my son away from me?"
But Peter remained unfazed by Noah's outburst, his expression cold and impassive as he shrugged indifferently. "It's nothing personal, Sheriff," he replied casually, his tone devoid of remorse. "Your son just tasted fucking delicious." He said, licking his lips and clutching his fat belly.
Noah's hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought to contain his anger, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from lashing out at Peter. But deep down, he knew that there was nothing he could do to bring his son back, nothing he could do to make things right, and with his most effective werewolf weaponry far away, nothing he could to avenge.
Peter forcibly rushed, rapidly transforming to his werewolf form as his predatory instincts took over, pinning Noah against his desk with a strength that was impossible for the sheriff to resist. Noah's heart pounded in his chest as he felt the weight of Peter's massive body pressing down on him, his muscles straining against the powerful hold, and his belly pushing against his body– The same belly that relentlessly digested his son.
Despite Noah's tough exterior and years of training as a police officer, he felt utterly powerless in the face of Peter's relentless assault. His mind reeled with shock and disbelief as he realized the true extent of the danger he was in, and he was weak; Mourning his son’s death, his squirms and struggles were instinctual, but he had long given up.
With a savage growl, Peter tore away Noah's clothes, leaving him exposed and vulnerable beneath his predatory gaze. Noah's skin burned with shame as he lay helpless beneath the werewolf's relentless onslaught, his muscles tensing with every agonizing second that passed.
But as Peter's tongue traced a path of fiery heat across his exposed flesh, Noah's resistance began to crumble, his senses overwhelmed by the raw intensity of the sensations coursing through his body. Despite his best efforts to fight it, he found himself succumbing to the overpowering force of Peter's touch, his defenses crumbling beneath the weight of his own despair.
Peter licked down to Noah’s exposed member, licking it all the way down to his balls. Tears streamed down Noah's cheeks as he felt Peter's lips close around his dick, his body wracked with a mixture of pleasure and pain as the werewolf forced him to submit to his desires. He continued to suck on it, Noah’s dick growing hard in the werewolf’s mouth, his veins rubbing against the fangs.
Before Noah could find any reprieve from the unwanted pleasure, Peter abruptly withdrew his attention from his groin, leaving Noah gasping for air and shuddering with a mix of relief and lingering arousal. But his moment of respite was short-lived, as Peter's tongue trailed up Noah's body with a ferocity that sent shivers down his spine, leaving a slick trail of saliva in its wake.
With a low growl, Peter leaned in close, his hot breath washing over Noah's face as he licked and nipped at his skin with reckless abandon. Noah could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he gazed up at the werewolf towering over him, his mind reeling with a dizzying mix of fear and desire.
As Peter's lips brushed against his own, Noah could feel the weight of his words hanging in the air like a heavy shroud. "Reuniting son and father," Peter teased, his voice dripping with malicious intent. "Isn't that what you wanted, Sheriff?"
Noah's breath caught in his throat as he struggled to find the words to respond, his mind spinning with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to lash out in anger and defiance, to fight tooth and nail against the fate that awaited him, but he had no leverage; Peter caught him at a most unfortunate time.
"Please," Noah begged, his voice barely more than a desperate whisper. "Don't–"
But before he could finish his plea, Peter's hand clamped down over his mouth, silencing him with a forceful gesture. With a savage grin, Peter shoved Noah's face into his gaping maw, his lips stretching wide to accommodate the sheriff's head as he forced him down into the darkness of his throat.
Noah's world erupted into chaos as he felt himself being swallowed whole, his body writhing and convulsing with a mix of terror and revulsion. He could feel the walls of Peter's esophagus closing in around him, squeezing him tight as he was dragged down into the depths of the werewolf's belly.
As Peter's jaws clamped shut around him, Noah felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness wash over him. He could feel himself being drawn inexorably downward, his body slipping and sliding against the slick, saliva-coated walls of Peter's throat as he was swallowed whole.
First, it was his head, squeezed tightly between the muscular walls of Peter's esophagus, the darkness closing in around him like a suffocating blanket. Then came his shoulders, his arms pinned tightly to his sides as he was pulled further and further into the depths of the werewolf's belly.
Noah's chest was next, compressed and constricted as he was forced deeper into Peter's gullet, the pressure mounting with each passing moment. He could feel the heat of Peter's stomach looming ever closer, the acidic tang of digestive juices burning at the back of his throat.
Finally, it was his legs, his feet kicking and flailing uselessly as they disappeared into the gaping maw of the beast that had consumed him. With one final, desperate gasp, Noah felt himself vanish entirely into the darkness, his entire body enveloped by the relentless grip of Peter's insatiable hunger.
A deep, rumbling burp echoed through the chamber as Peter swallowed Noah down, the sound reverberating off the walls with a sickening finality. With a satisfied grin, Peter patted his distended belly, the outline of Noah's form visible beneath his stretched skin.
"Ah, that hits the spot," Peter chuckled, his voice muffled by the layers of flesh that separated him from the outside world. "Looks like it's just you and me now, Sheriff. Hope you enjoy your stay." He said, before correcting himself teasingly. “–Er, and what little consciousness left of your son.”
Peter positioned himself on the sheriff's desk, his massive belly protruding obscenely as he straddled the wooden surface. His legs dangled over the edge, his feet grazing the floor below as he leaned forward, his hands planted firmly on either side of Noah's abandoned chair.
With a low, guttural growl, Peter began to grind his hips against his swollen belly, the pressure sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. His movements were slow and deliberate, each thrust punctuated by a low moan of satisfaction as he reveled in the sensation of his distended stomach pressing against his groin.
"Mmm, you like that, Sheriff?" Peter purred, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Feels good, doesn't it? Knowing that you're just another meal for my appetite."
He continued to hump his belly with increasing fervor, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through his veins. His moans grew louder, more urgent, as he lost himself in the ecstasy of the moment.
"God, I love the feeling of a full belly," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "And you, Sheriff, you're going to make the perfect addition to my collection. Your son and now you, all snug and cozy in my gut."
With each thrust, Peter could feel himself drawing closer and closer to the edge, his arousal building to a fever pitch. He could practically taste the sweet release that awaited him, the culmination of his twisted desires.
And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, he came, his orgasm washing over him in a tidal wave of pleasure. He collapsed onto the desk, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he basked in the afterglow of his release.
"That was... fucking hot," he panted, his chest heaving with exertion. "Seems like you’re good at three jobs, Sheriff."
Peter sprawled out on the sheriff's desk, his massive belly rising and falling with each labored breath. His skin glistened with sweat and his clothes were rumpled and disheveled, evidence of the intense pleasure he had just experienced.
With a contented sigh, Peter shifted slightly, making himself more comfortable on the hard surface beneath him. He stretched out his limbs, his muscles relaxing as he allowed himself to sink into the desk's worn surface.
"Don't mind if I nap here a little, do you?" he murmured, his voice slurred with exhaustion. He closed his eyes, the darkness behind his eyelids offering a welcome respite from the harsh fluorescent lights of the station.
As he drifted off to sleep, Peter could feel the gentle rocking of his belly as it churned and gurgled around him. It was a soothing sensation, like the ebb and flow of the tide, lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.
Peter's eyes fluttered open as the early morning light streamed through the windows of the sheriff's station. He sat up slowly, stretching his arms above his head and yawning as he glanced around the dimly lit room.
Checking the clock on the sheriff's desk, Peter muttered to himself, "Shit, almost got caught by your underdogs. I'm one lucky wolf." He chuckled softly, a smug grin spreading across his face as he thought about how close he had come to being discovered.
With a satisfied sigh, Peter climbed to his feet and adjusted his clothing, smoothing out the wrinkles and straightening his collar. He took a moment to admire the sight of Noah's empty office, the memories of their encounter still fresh in his mind.
As he made his way out of the station, Peter's belly churned and gurgled loudly, a constant reminder of the meal he had consumed the night before. He could hear Noah's faint groans of pain echoing from within his gut, the sound sending a thrill of pleasure coursing through his veins.
"Looks like your old age is catching up with you, Sheriff," Peter taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. "Barely lasting in there, aren't you?" He chuckled to himself, relishing in the thought of Noah's suffering as he continued on his way, eager to start his day, as his belly’s occupant barely had any air to breathe in.
Peter lazily strolled down the quiet streets of Beacon Hills, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he whistled a tuneless melody. The early morning sunlight cast long shadows across the pavement, warming his skin as he ambled along.
With a leisurely pace, Peter made his way to a nearby café, where he ordered himself a large coffee and a pastry, not bothering to hide the bulge of his distended belly as he leaned against the counter. The barista shot him a curious glance, but Peter paid it no mind, too preoccupied with the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
Sipping his coffee slowly, Peter found a comfortable spot by the window and settled in, idly watching the world go by as he enjoyed his breakfast. He could feel Stiles' face tattoo stretching further across his bloated belly, the ink distorting slightly as his gut churned and gurgled in protest.
After finishing his meal, Peter decided to take a leisurely stroll through the park, enjoying the peaceful solitude as he wandered beneath the canopy of trees. He paused to admire the vibrant colors of the flowers in bloom, the sweet scent of spring filling the air.
As the morning wore on, Peter eventually made his way back to his penthouse, feeling pleasantly relaxed and content. He let out a satisfied sigh as he sank into his favorite armchair, his belly now even more swollen and round than before.
Meanwhile, deep within Peter's gut, Noah continued to be slowly digested, his body breaking down bit by bit until only a few hours later, he was nothing more than a distant memory. Peter's waistline expanded, getting much fatter, and another tattoo of Noah’s face appeared on his gut, next to Stiles. Peter gave it a big, nice squeeze.
“Did say I was going to reunite you, didn’t I?” He said, squeezing even tighter. He knew that both Stiles and Noah could feel what he felt, and he could barely hear their incomprehensible thoughts in the back of his mind, the fat on his belly sentient and permanent. “One more, and the pack’s complete.”
Peter descended the stairs to his basement, the cool air enveloping him as he reached the dimly lit chamber. There, tied-up and bruised, was Derek, his gaze fixed on Peter with a mixture of defiance and resignation.
"Ah, Derek, my dear nephew," Peter said with a smirk, stepping closer to where Derek was restrained. "It seems you've been busy trying to escape. But you know what they say – it takes a werewolf to know how to tie one."
Derek's jaw clenched, his muscles tensing as he struggled against his bonds. But Peter merely chuckled, circling around him like a predator sizing up its prey.
"You're not going anywhere, Derek," Peter continued, his voice dripping with malice. "Not until we've had a little chat. Not until I decide that it’s time for you to join the others."
Derek's eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering down to Peter's distended belly. And then he saw it – the tattoo of Noah's face stretched across Peter's skin, a grim reminder of the fate that had befallen his father.
"Why, Peter?" Derek demanded, his voice thick with emotion. "Why are you doing this?"
Peter chuckled darkly as he pressed his distended belly against Derek's face, feeling the werewolf's struggling breath against his skin.
"You know, Derek," Peter said casually, "I've discovered that eating others whole has some... benefits. It's made me stronger, more powerful than ever before."
Derek groaned, his muscles straining against his bonds as he struggled to break free. But Peter merely tightened his grip, relishing in the sensation of Derek's helplessness.
"Now, here's the deal," Peter continued, his voice low and menacing. "You can either give up your alpha status and be a beta in my pack, or..."
He paused, letting the implication hang in the air as he leaned in closer to Derek's ear.
"...you can become my next meal."
Derek's eyes widened in horror as he realized the full extent of Peter's intentions. He growled, his werewolf fangs showing as he sweared, “Fuck you, I’m doing neither.”
With a sinister grin, Peter leaned down to Derek's face, his tongue snaking out to lick a slow trail across Derek's cheek. The werewolf recoiled at the sensation, disgust etched across his features, but Peter paid no mind.
As Derek's nostrils filled with the scent of blood and decay, his stomach churned with dread. He knew that smell all too well—it was the unmistakable scent of death.
Before he could react, Peter let out a loud, guttural belch directly in Derek's face, the noxious odor overwhelming his senses. Derek gagged, his eyes watering as he struggled to keep from retching.
As the smell of decay lingered in the air, Peter began to remove the shackles that bound Derek's wrists and ankles, the metal clinking loudly in the silence of the basement. Derek tensed, his muscles straining against the bonds that held him in place, but it was no use—Peter's strength was far greater than his own.
With a predatory gleam in his eye, Peter leaned in close to Derek, his breath hot against the werewolf's ear. "Don't worry, Derek," he whispered, his voice dripping with malice. "You'll be reunited with Stiles soon enough. And all the others I've consumed."
Derek's eyes widened in horror at Peter's words, his mind reeling at the realization of just how many lives Peter had claimed. "How many, you sick fuck?" he demanded, his voice trembling with rage and fear.
Peter merely shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "I lost count after twenty," he admitted casually, as if discussing the weather. "But who's counting, anyway?"
Peter's belly rumbled loudly, the sound echoing through the dimly lit basement. "Looks like it's dinner time," Peter chuckled, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. With a predatory grin, he advanced toward Derek, who struggled against his bonds with renewed desperation.
As Peter loomed over him, Derek's eyes burned with fury. "You won't get away with this, Peter," he snarled, his voice laced with venom. "I'll find a way to stop you, no matter what it takes."
Peter merely chuckled in response, his amusement evident. "Oh, Derek, always so defiant," he taunted, his tone mocking. "But resistance is futile. You're mine now."
With that, Peter lunged forward, his jaws snapping shut around Derek's neck. The werewolf let out a muffled shout as he was dragged into Peter's gaping maw, his struggles growing more frantic with each passing moment.
Peter relished in the sensation of dominance as he swallowed Derek down, inch by inch. He could feel the werewolf squirming and writhing inside him, but he paid it no mind. All that mattered was establishing his superiority, both as the stronger werewolf and as the one who held Derek's fate in his hands.
As Derek's protests grew louder, Peter's grin widened. "That's it, Derek," he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Just relax and accept your fate. You're going to make a delicious addition to my collection."
With a final gulp, Peter swallowed Derek down to the halfway point, his belly bulging obscenely with his captive's form. He let out a contented sigh, reveling in the feeling of power coursing through him.
With a final gulp, Peter swallowed Derek's legs and feet, the last parts of his struggling form disappearing into the depths of his churning belly. As Derek's muffled protests faded into silence, Peter let out a satisfied belch, the sound reverberating through the basement.
"Ah, that hits the spot," Peter remarked, rubbing his distended belly with contentment. "Another one down, another step closer to domination."
Leaving the basement behind, Peter ascended the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet house. He decided to stay awake for Derek's digestion, eager to witness the full extent of his power as the werewolf's struggles slowly subsided.
Grabbing a bag of popcorn from the kitchen, Peter settled onto the couch and flicked on the TV. He scrolled through the movie options, selecting a thriller that seemed fitting for the occasion.
As the opening credits rolled, Peter leaned back and munched on his popcorn, his gaze fixed on the screen but his mind elsewhere. He couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation at the thought of Derek's inevitable demise, another victory in his quest for dominance.
With a satisfied smirk, Peter settled in for the show, eager to savor every moment of Derek's agonizing digestion.
As the movie played on, Peter reclined comfortably on the couch, munching on popcorn and occasionally letting out a satisfied belch. Bits of chewed-up popcorn and saliva mixed together as they fell into his churning stomach, joining Derek in his acidic prison.
With each passing minute, the acids in Peter's stomach began to build up, creating an increasingly hostile environment for Derek. He could feel the burning sensation as the stomach acids lapped at his skin, searing his flesh with each movement.
Derek's struggles grew more frantic as the stomach filled with acidic fluid, his attempts to escape becoming more desperate by the second. But Peter merely chuckled at his predicament, taunting him as he watched the movie.
"Quiet down, I can't hear the movie over your ass," Peter remarked, his tone mocking as he shifted on the couch to get a better view of the screen. He took another handful of popcorn and tossed it into his mouth, relishing the taste as he savored Derek's futile attempts to break free.
Derek, contrary to Peter’s remark, squirmed more in protest; Partially because of the pain he was in, but mostly because he refused to lose to him as the alpha. He felt a weight rising up to his chest, and after thumping it, let out a tremendous burp that squeezed his stomach tightly with how much air it purged.
BuUuuuUuuurRrrrrrRrprppppPp!
After letting out a massive belch, Peter noticed that Derek had stopped moving altogether, his struggles coming to an abrupt halt as he became dead weight. With a satisfied grin, Peter began to massage and rub his distended belly, helping it along in the digestion process.
As he kneaded his bloated stomach, Peter could feel the remnants of his latest meal churning and squirming within him, slowly breaking down under the relentless assault of his stomach acids. With each passing moment, Derek's form grew softer and more pliable, his body gradually dissolving into the sludgy mess that would eventually become nothing more than nutrients for Peter, joining the other pack members as permanent fat.
Content with his meal, Peter settled back onto the couch, the weight of his distended belly pressing heavily against him. The warmth and comfort of his food-induced stupor washed over him, lulling him into a state of blissful relaxation.
Before long, Peter succumbed to the inevitable pull of sleep, his eyelids growing heavy as he drifted off into a deep slumber. The movie continued to play on in the background, the sound of gunfire and explosions fading into the background as Peter's consciousness slipped away.
Wrapped in the warmth of his food coma, Peter slept soundly, his belly still churning and digesting its latest meal as he dreamed of the countless feasts that lay ahead.
As Peter awoke from his food-induced slumber, he felt a surge of energy coursing through his veins, a newfound strength that pulsed within him like a beacon of power. Rising from the couch, he made his way to the nearest mirror, eager to see the physical manifestations of his newfound status as alpha.
As he gazed into his reflection, Peter's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his irises glowing a fiery shade of red, a telltale sign of his ascension to alpha status. A grin spread across his face as he took in the changes that had occurred to his body overnight.
His once lean physique had been transformed into something more robust and muscular, his frame filled out with the remnants of his recent feasts. His belly, in particular, had grown rounder and more prominent, the tattoo of Stiles' & Noah’s faces stretched even further as it adorned the bulging expanse of his abdomen. Moreover, a third tattoo had appeared as he slept; The face of his nephew, Derek.
Feeling a surge of arousal at the sight of his altered appearance, Peter couldn't help but indulge in the newfound power that coursed through him. Stepping closer to the mirror, he positioned himself in front of it, his hands roaming over his bloated belly as he savored the sensation of his own touch.
With a low groan of pleasure, Peter leaned back against the wall, arching his back slightly as he allowed his hands to roam lower, tracing the curve of his distended abdomen with a mix of fascination and desire. His fingers danced lightly over the stretched skin, relishing in the softness and warmth that radiated from his newfound source of power.
As he continued to explore his own body, Peter's mind wandered to the possibilities that lay ahead as the new alpha of Beacon Hills. With Derek's power now coursing through his veins, he knew that he was destined for greatness, destined to rule over the town and its inhabitants with an iron fist.
His hands traced down to his erect member, fingers curling around the shaft as he began to stroke himself with increasing fervor. The sensation sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge of ecstasy.
As he pleasured himself, Peter couldn't help but feel the presence of the individuals he had consumed swirling within his belly. The fat that enveloped his abdomen seemed to pulse with a life of its own, and he could sense the consciousness of Derek, Noah, and Stiles stirring within him.
“Little fuckers, how does it feel to be part of my body?” He said, speaking them to directly as he continued to pleasure himself, pushing his dick up against the sentient fat on his belly. “You like that I’m getting off to you, don’t you?”
Their thoughts whispered through his mind, mingling with his own desires and fantasies as he surrendered himself to the euphoria of the moment. He could hear their voices, faint but distinct, as they cried out in protest, their fear and confusion adding to the heady mix of sensations that flooded his senses.
But instead of recoiling from their presence, Peter found himself drawn to it, his arousal spiking as he reveled in the power he now held over them. With each stroke of his hand, he felt their fear and desperation fueling his own pleasure, driving him ever closer to the brink of release.
His hands continued their relentless motion, fingers sliding up and down his throbbing member with practiced skill. With each stroke, he couldn't help but revel in the sensation of his own touch, the pleasure building with every pass. As he pleasured himself, his thoughts turned to the recent events—the meals he had consumed, the power he had gained, and the control he now wielded.
As he pleasured himself, Peter moaned softly, the sound mixing with his thoughts as he teased them about their fate. "You're all mine now," he whispered, his voice laced with dark amusement. "You'll be with me forever, trapped in this fat," he continued, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "No matter how hard I work out, I'll never lose you."
The thought sent shivers of pleasure down his spine, intensifying the sensation as he continued to stroke himself with increasing fervor. His mind was consumed with images of their struggles, their cries of pain and desperation echoing in his ears as he relished in his newfound power over them.
And then, with a guttural groan, Peter reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, his body convulsing with the force of his release. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over him as he ejaculated load after load, his seed spilling forth in a torrent.
As he lay there, spent and sated, Peter couldn't help but smile to himself, his mind still buzzing with the euphoria of his conquest. “Fuck…” He moaned, his gut coated with his cum, particularly around the faces’ tattoos. “That felt fucking good.”
Peter grabbed his belly and squeezed it tight, “Can’t wait to eat more people, and have all of you feel every bit of it as you help digest them.”
#male pred#male vore#digestion#male prey#m/m#gay vore#sentient fat#multiple prey#unwilling prey#cruel pred#werewolf pred#body worship#teen wolf
171 notes
·
View notes
Note
Am I the asshole for calling a (now ex-) mutual a stingy asshole?
So to start, I (NB20) am in a pretty rough situation, I'm facing homelessness soon, transphobia at home and work and my hours have been getting cut resulting in me making even less money that can sustain me. I have a toyhou.se forum post up stating I have emergency commissions open to help me out and to please support me if you can. This is where the situation begins. I have a mutual on toyhou.se who I'll call Apple (MTF22) I talk to sometimes to the point I'd say we are friends, not super close but friends nonetheless. She made a bulletin telling people about my commissions and to please comm me if they could which I'm very grateful for since I did get a few customers from her because of that. The thing is, a few weeks later, she made a bulletin talking about how happy she was so many commissions she bought were finished around the same time and posted all of them with the artists tagged in the post. It was honestly... quite a few, I'm talking like 9 pieces of art of her fursona and even a custom vtuber model she got of her sona. I was going to reply all happy for her, but it made me think... how much did she spend on those commissions?? So I went through all the artists socials to find their commission prices and came to a total of fucking $385!!! More than half of my current goal I'm trying to make through commissions to stay out of homelessness!! So I messaged Apple saying since I saw she bought a few commissions if she was interested in buying a comm from me. She replies saying "Ohh! I'd love to <333 but im just not in a place to buy any more comms right now :< sorry >.<!!" So I casually reply really? because it seems like your in the perfect place to help me out after already spending over $300 in commissions. She tells me she's sorry and really wishes someone would be able to help me out but she just wasn't that interested in my art or a custom to which I tell her she could've easily donated to my ko-fi which I have always had since she clearly has money to spend? To this, she straight up IP blocks me. So still fucking annoyed, I vented in a discord server I share with a few friends from being in a few shared CS together, saying how annoying it is rich assholes like her would drop half a thousand for a picture of their fursona but don't even blink twice at their so called friends. anyway, one of my friends takes a look at Apples th profile and notices she has a new bulletin up and sends me a screenshot, but anways the bulletin reads like "hey!! just saying, but please dont come into my dms acting like you know my financial situation better than i do, just because i buy a lot of commissions doesnt mean im made of money! and please dont think that me commisioning artist 1 means i hate artist 2? thats so weird, thanks!!!!!" and seeing all their subscribers just kissing her ass pissed me off so i made my own bulletin that just stated "i thought it was pretty fucking weird to know how bad ur friend's situation was and to go buy a bunch of comms instead of buying a comm from or even throwing a buck to help me out? like yeah im gonna think i know ur situation better than u, you stingy fuck!!!" Anyway, she mustve been block evading (which I reported her for) since she unblocked me, took a screenshot of my bulletin, then went on about how she lived in an abusive household; her dad had thrown her into a sink and chipped her tooth, bruised half her face and scarred it pretty badly. She bought a bunch of commissions immediately afterwards in a panic to make herself feel better, paying everything with her savings. Which to me.. isn't an excuse. Ive been hit and abused and still found scraps of money to pull together to give to mutuals who need it and Ive been bumping my own post like crazy and she had literal weeks to donate or comm me. Not to mention Ive had exmutuals of hers come to me saying that shes never donated anything to them either despite advertising their posts but always had money for plushies, comms and other crap, meaning Im not alone in thinking shes a stingy asshole. This is getting long, so here, tumblr AITA?
What are these acronyms?
168 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mariusz Kaminski and Maciej Wasik were sentenced to two years' jail last month for abuse of power when they led an anti-corruption office in 2007.[...]
The men, who were elected PiS MPs in October, refused to recognise last month's court decision because President Andrzej Duda, a PiS ally, pardoned them for the crime in 2015. Mr Duda has also said he does not recognise the court's ruling because he insists his pardon remains valid.
The pair have been stripped of their parliamentary mandates, but both they and President Duda insist they remain legally elected MPs because of the pardon.
On Monday evening, the court issued a warrant to police to detain the men. Despite this, Mr Duda invited both to Warsaw's Presidential Palace on Tuesday morning to attend a ceremony to swear in two of their former colleagues as presidential advisers.
Several hours later, they emerged from the palace to speak briefly to reporters, all the while remaining inside its grounds. Mr Kaminski said they will be "political prisoners" if they are arrested and thanked Mr Duda for his support.
"We are dealing with a very serious state crisis. A grim dictatorship is being created," Mr Kaminski said. They then returned inside the palace as the political theatre unfolded.
Moments later, Prime Minister Donald Tusk told a news conference the situation was "unbelievable". He said the court's ruling must be respected and suggested President Duda was helping the men evade justice.[...]
Following the arrests, several hundred PiS supporters demonstrated outside the palace in support of the men.[...]
Mr Tusk's coalition took office last month pledging to undo PiS's changes to the judiciary, public media, and civil service that the European Commission and many other international bodies say have undermined the rule of law in Poland.
One of its first acts was to reform the state TV, radio and news agency that PiS had transformed into a propaganda mouthpiece for its government.
But its methods were similar to PiS's, first using a government minister to sack media boards and install new people ahead of planned legislative reform.[...]
Former PiS prime minister Mateusz Morawiecki told the BBC Mr Tusk's government talked loudly about democratic standards but fell well short in practice.
"We are witnessing an unprecedented attack on the rule of law. Tusk's government decided it could take over public television and media by force. This has nothing to do with democratic standards. We have not seen such brutal government action since communism. It is all the more outrageous that this is done by people who have such slogans of democracy on their lips," Mr Morawiecki said.
Given PiS's record of controlling state institutions while in office, many Tusk supporters argue such accusations are the height of hypocrisy.
Welcome to Modern Polish Politics, where Liberals accuse other Liberals of being Communists [9 Jan 24]
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
M! Robin x Tharja Commission
(aka Tharja goes apeshit when her Robin is kidnapped...!!!)
You didn’t know what went wrong. You didn’t know how it got to this point. The Valmese were being routed. The brutality of the fight was coming to an end.
What you weren’t expecting was the explosion set off. That’s when everything started to fall apart.
“Robin!!” Chrom shouted for you, Falchion pointed behind him, “They’re flanking the backline!!”
You froze, fighting the panic that just leapt into your throat. Tharja was commanding the mage’s battalion. She was a prime target.
“Hold the frontlines!!” Your voice was a deep bellow, unfamiliar to the Exalt’s ears. You hailed for Cherche, Minerva swooping down and welcoming you onto her back.
“Where are we needed?”
“They’re targeting the mages in our backline!”
The beast swerved southward, pouring on speed. You readied an Arcthunder to strike down those who put a target on your wife.
It didn’t take long to deduce that Tharja was nowhere to be found. Jaw clenched tightly, you pursued a more violent attack, dispersing the enemy soldiers like frightened guinea pigs.
“Ricken!!” You spotted the young mage immediately, who looked breathless and shaken.
“Robin, I- it’s Tharja!” Dread filled your heart when you saw the fear in his eyes.
“Where is she?”
“They took her- when they ambushed us, t-they grabbed her while she was incapacitated!” Ricken pointed west, deeper into the woods. You broke into a sprint, brandishing the Levin Sword crackling in your hands.
They took her. They wanted a prisoner of war, and they chose the worst possible target. Tharja wouldn’t go down without a rabid fight. There would be no survivors…even if it meant she went down, too. That’s what frightened you; Tharja sacrificing herself to evade capture.
Your swirling anxieties were suddenly silenced when you spotted movement in the trees ahead. A hundred yards away, her black hair shifted in the leaves.
She was being dragged away. Four, no- six Valmese.
You couldn’t tell what classes they were, but at this point, you weren’t particularly worried about that. She wasn’t panicking, but she was fighting against their pull. It wasn’t until one of them struck her back with the hilt of his ax that you snapped.
“STOP!!”
The band froze in their tracks, turning to find you charging towards them full force. Your Levin Sword erupted with static lightning, lashing out and striking the man who dared attack your wife first.
“No, Robin-!” Tharja’s voice was tight, her face suddenly pale when she saw you. The Valmese weren’t concerned by your appearance.
“Unhand her, now!!” You growled, “I will not ask again.”
“Well, what do you know? She wasn’t lying.” General Farber emerged from the mass of soldiers. What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he on the front-
“Get out of here!!” Tharja snarled at you, panic bright in her eyes. “I’m not the one they-”
The ax struck her back again.
You roared, red filling your vision. Your blade raced towards the man’s throat, blood on your tongue.
Farber’s sword came to Tharja’s throat, stopping your attack before it could connect.
“Not so fast-” He sneered down his nose at you, “You are in no position to be so rash. One wrong move and she dies, Tactician.”
“What do you want?” Your hands shook with rage, your anger the only thing suppressing the panic running cold in your veins.
Farber shifted his sword closer, touching her skin. “I want you.”
“What??”
“An equal exchange- you surrender to the Valmese, and we let her go.”
Your gazes locked, silently trying to communicate with one another on what the hells you were supposed to do. Tharja wouldn’t let you make the exchange- you were far more valuable to her than anything else; someone she would gladly give her life up for.
That, and you were the Chief Tactician; she was just a mage. A soldier. She wasn’t someone worth trading for.
“Swear…on your honor…that you’ll let her free, without harm.”
“No!!”
She was more than that to you. The one person you would sacrifice your life for without hesitation. And Farber knew that.
“I swear on the name of our great Emperor Walhart. She will be unharmed.”
You nodded, heart in your throat as you dropped the sword to the ground.
“...All right. I surrender.”
“A wise choice.” He motioned the soldiers forward, who twisted your arms behind your back, forcing you to your knees. You groaned in pain, feeling them rip away your weapons. Tharja struggled against their hold, snarling curses at them for daring to even touch you.
“Let the wench go, soldier; if she tries to give chase, cut her down.”
“No-” The panic rose, eyes wide at his words, “No, you swore you wouldn’t- hrrkh!!”
“Robin!!” Your name ripped from her tongue in a horrified shriek, watching the bolts of Arcthunder rip through her husband.
Copper filled your mouth, burning flesh assaulted your nose as your vision faded in and out. The last thing that crossed your sight was Tharja, screaming at you, before your head struck the ground.
-------------------------
Tharja was found shortly after your disappearance; but she had been knocked unconscious before she could even think to retaliate. The man was wise enough to not simply release her.
When she came to, there were three healers and an Exalt standing over her, panicked she was harmed beyond repair.
Libra was blasted from her vision with a screeching Elwind. Her dazed fury had her disoriented, and she was taking it out on the Shepherds. It took Chrom and Vaike restraining her so that the healers could get close enough to inspect her wounds. After several minutes, they were able to bring her down enough to be coherent.
“Farber-” She hissed, his name bitter on her tongue, “Farber flanked us from behind. He singled out the mage battalion and took me away in that explosion. I hadn’t even realized what was happening until it was too late!”
The anger radiating off of her was overwhelming. Chrom’s hands were balled into fists at his sides, not sure what to think.
“Why would their general lead that surprise attack? He should’ve been on the front lines- I didn’t even see him make the shift!”
“It doesn’t matter how he did it, what matters is that he used me to take Robin!”
She barked at him, fury and fear lacing her every word. “And that fool would throw himself in front of Naga to protect me. He doesn’t think when it comes to us. It’s pathetic- it’s sickening!!”
“Tharja, it’s going to be all right. We’ll regroup at camp and can put together a plan to bring him home. I’m sure you have some sort of method to track his whereabouts, yes?”
“Yes…yes, of course.” She nodded, closing her hand over the wedding ring worn around her neck. “I placed a hex on his ring so that I might know where he is and what he’s doing at any given moment.”
“Right. That’s not concerning at all.”
“Why would it be? He has the same hex on my ring.” She grinned, “It’s why we have absolute trust in one another.”
“...So…is it able to track exact coordinates?”
“It won’t be exact, but I can get us as close as possible to locking in on his location.” She replied, letting Lissa help her stand and hold her up.
The Shepherds returned to camp, quick to get her treated so she could get to work. Waiting with baited breath, Tharja went into the mage’s tent, preparing her incantations.
Miriel and Ricken flanked Tharja as she worked, drawing all of her strength up in hopes of grabbing onto Robin’s location.
It was her one complaint with the spell; the farther her husband was, the longer it took to pinpoint his whereabouts. The battle ended just before sunset. It was the gray of morning when her spell had results. Tharja burst into the council tent at dawn, startling those inside.
“I found him.” She panted, clutching her wedding band with bleeding fingers. “We can save him.”
“Ready the army,” Chrom ordered, “Let’s not waste another second!”
Tharja was right at the front of the helm, a completely abnormal position for her to take. She did better skulking in the shadows, hanging in the backlines where she wouldn’t be so easily detected.
Her husband was ripped away, and she found out where he was being held. She would rescue him...and the last thing those bastards would feel? The pure fear that she put in them.
“I won’t lie…I’m really glad she’s on our side.” Stahl mumbled to Sully as the troupe rode out into the field, racing towards the fortress you were being held in.
Sully scoffed, “No kiddin’. Imagine if we’d kidnapped Robin and not Valm- I’ll be you she’d have the whole army razed in a second. They onlyRemind me never to get on her bad side.”
Tharja could sense the discomfort and unease around her, but she needed to focus solely on rescuing her husband. A man who, within the next three to four hours, would without a doubt be back in her arms. She would bring you home.
-------------------------
Waking up in a strange, dark cell was already unpleasant and disorienting. Waking up covered in burn marks and tattered robes turned the confusion into panic. Then you remembered what had happened before; when the Valmese captured you.
“About time you woke up.” Farber’s voice broke through the fog in your mind, standing in front of your cell with a far too pleased expression on his face. “Worried we might’ve gotten a little too excited with that spell.”
“You…w-why…” Your voice was stuck in your throat, hoarse and gravelly considering its last usage was a mangled cry of pain.
The general shrugged, “You can’t blame us. Your backline was sorely undermanned, and once the assassins cleared a path, netting your wife was easy. Her stamina is quite poor, you know. It’s surprising you let her fight independently, at all.”
You didn’t grace his obvious dig with an answer, but the blood boiling in your veins suggested otherwise. Of course they had to use some cowardly trick to get what they wanted.
“Once we dispatched her battalion and singled her out, it was more than easy to disarm her and beat her into submission. And once we told her she was bait to lure you out, well…her feeble attempts to fight back were simply adorable. That woman really loves you, to the point it’s nearly pathetic.”
“Leave her out of this. You got me.”
“With her help, of course. And since she’ll undoubtedly throw herself at us to try and rescue you, I’m sure you’ll be looking forward to the moment where we subdue her once more, and kill her right in front of you.”
“...!”
“Of course, not before we give her a reason to yearn for death.”
You didn’t realize you attempted to lunge at him before the chains yanked you back, metal digging into your wrists. Observing guards laughed as Farber mocked you, gleeful at the sight of Ylisse’s fallen tactician.
“Look at you! To think Lord Walhart wanted you defeated so urgently! What a pathetic little help you are. But enjoy these last moments, boy- there aren’t many left.”
Farber turned on his heel to take his leave, whispering something to the guards stationed at your cell.
The rage that roiled inside your chest wasn’t able to be sated…not only because you were pinned in place, but because you were so tired.
You could barely string two thoughts together, let alon keep your eyes open. The air was cold…growing colder. It pierced through your bones, turning your veins to ice. That wasn’t a normal reaction to cold.
Time was running out.
-------------------------
Tharja had a feeling that you were more than in trouble the closer they came to the battle point. But that ominous foreboding in her chest deepened when Cordelia shouted overhead that they had a visual on the fort.
Something was very, very wrong.
“Maribelle-” Tharja hissed the noble’s name, her glare as sharp as it was scared. “You need to stay with me.”
“I’m afraid Lord Chrom’s strategy requires I remain in the-”
“You need to stay with me.” She repeated, more urgently. “Robin will need help, immediately. I know it.”
Maribelle eyed her warily, “Well, of course he will, dear. He’s been injured and kidnapped.”
“That’s not it,” Tharja shook her head, fingers digging into her chest. “It’s worse than that. He’s fading.”
The fear was overtaking other emotions in her expression. Maribelle could see it clear as day; their unreadable mage was shaken.
“Oh…very well.” She helped Tharja onto her mare’s back. “Hold tight, and do not speak unless you give explicit directions to Robin’s whereabouts. We must remain alert.”
That’s when the battle began.
The archers drew first blood, Virion launching a volley of arrows into the fort’s guards at the front gates. Valm tried and failed to bar the gates, but by that point, the Shepherds were throwing barbarians into the heavy wood and breaking it down with axes and flaming spells.
At that moment, Chrom commanded them to break apart into their planned formations, to secure the fortress and find their tactician.
“In fifty paces, bare right,” Tharja commanded, following the spell and the ache in her heart. You were close. So, so close.
The pair separated from the rest, the sound of clashing weapons fading as they approached a metal grate. Tharja dropped from the horse’s back, grasping Maribelle’s arm and forcing the healer to come with her.
“We cannot bring the beast. We will proceed on foot.”
“Tharja, this is not safe. It’s just the two of us, and-”
“There is no time to bring others!” She snapped, melting the grate beneath Bolganone-tipped fingers. A prison’s entrance was embedded in the ground; a long ladder descending into a narrow tunnel, dark and foreboding.
That’s where they kept her husband. The fury was finally starting to overwhelm her anxiety, again. She descended swiftly, dropping to the ground with a heavy thud.
The bars were rusted over, and several of the cells were empty. Silently they moved, finding a pair of guards in front of a cell centered in the room. She had Nosferatu gathered in her hands before they even realized she was charging them.
“Do you like darkness…?”
Her words were followed immediately by anguish, the spell eviscerating them in an instant.
“Robin is here.” She darted to the door, flinging the guards away with an agitated blast of Elwind, before working to melt the lock away.
She was correct, after all; her Robin was there in the back of cell, leaned against the wall and slumped to the floor. Tharja slammed the door open, immediately beside her husband. Her hands fell to the chains, heart darkening at the sight of her beloved.
“What have they done to you?” She whispered, fingers shaking as she fought to free him from the chains. “What have those bastards done to you…?”
Maribelle’s hand fell on Tharja’s shoulder, drawing her Caduceus. “It’s mostly magic damage, but he’s lost a lot of-.”
“He’s breathing.” She hissed, “Hurry and fix him!”
Maribelle directed her to lower you to the floor, cradling your head in her lap. She flung the rusted chains away and had you settled against her swiftly. They cut away your coat and armor, revealing the deep burns and bloodied wounds that had covered your chest and torso.
She had never felt such anguish before. Her hands wove into your hair, shifting anxiously to your face and neck, searching for a steady pulse, for some semblance of warmth.
“Maribelle, is he…?”
“He’s here. Barely.” She spoke through gritted teeth, “I will need help. Can you send for-”
She spoke a feverish spell, a flitting messenger charm whisked into the air and rocketed from the prison in search of help.
Tharja tore fabric from the discarded coat, pressing them to the deepest cuts. The quivering in her hands made it hard to hold the fabric in place, and harder still to keep her focus.
“Robin…” She called to you, a crack in her voice. “Wake up. Don’t you dare leave me like this. …Please.” She begged, feeling her heart crumble. Maribelle was still working. It wasn’t done yet.
There was still a chance he-
“Hagh!”
Tharja jumped, startled by her husband suddenly coughing up blood and spattering her chest. Maribelle’s staff raised, wiping at her brow with a heavy breath.
“He’s coming to.”
“He’s-” Tharja leaned down, her nose nearly touching yours, watching with wide eyes when you spluttered for breath. “Robin? Robin…Robin, I’m here.”
You did not reply, breaths stuttering and shallow. She grasped your face in her hands, overwhelmed. She didn’t care that tears fell, leaving streaks on your face.
“Robin…answer me, fool.” She growled. As though she commanded it, your eyes cracked open. Your vision was blurry, but you recognized that dark glare anywhere.
“...Tharja…?”
The rasp was what forced a sob from her lips. Tharja wrapped her arms around your chest, doubling over and holding you as best she possibly could.
She made it in time.
Maribelle stepped back, if only long enough to give the two of you some time alone, and to usher in the rest of the clerics who had received her frantic request for help.
The Shepherds’ battle still rumbled over their heads, but the fort would be routed within the day.
Tharja remained at your side, finding your hand and squeezing it tightly when you started to come around and waited to be healed enough to walk.
Which, of course, when you were reunited with the entirety of the Shepherds, meant you’d receive a severe dressing down from a worried Exalt, all of your friends, and naturally, your wife that was furious beyond reason that you would dare sacrifice yourself to protect her.
But, you would explain with a fond smile and a gentle kiss, she was the only one that mattered to you, above all else.
And you would gladly lay down your life a thousand times if it meant she did not see any further harm.
Tharja would confine you to your shared tent for at least a week following the ordeal, out of an abundance of caution for your recovery, and also because…well, hearing such a declaration meant she needed to keep you all to herself for a while yet.
And you certainly wouldn’t complain about having so much sweet time with your dearest one.
#tharja#robin#fe 13#fire emblem awakening#fe awakening#tharja x robin#m!robin#m!mu#male! robin#i haven't written a male robin story in YEARS#commission#fe-fictions#fe fictions#angst#hurt and comfort#kidnapping prompt#kidnapping angst#commissions are still open!#but i wanted to get this one done asap#thank you for letting me write this!! U V U
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Antisemitic writings” were found in a search of items belonging to the shooter who opened fire Sunday afternoon at Joel Osteen’s Lakewood Church in Houston, according to law enforcement.
The woman, identified as 36-year-old Genesse Ivonne Moreno, was carrying an assault-style rifle with the word “Palestine” written on it, according to two senior law enforcement officials briefed on the matter.
A motive is still not clear, but police said they believe Moreno acted alone. A dispute between Moreno and her ex-husband’s family, some of whom are Jewish, may be related to the shooting, Houston Police Commander Chris Hassig said in a news briefing Monday.
The shooter also made several statements during the course of the incident, but the officials declined to describe them. Law enforcement officials added that Moreno previously went by multiple aliases, including using both male and female names.
Moreno also brought her 7-year-old son with her to the church, the officials said. During the incident, the shooter stated she had a bomb, but a search turned up no explosive devices, officials said.
Preliminary tests done of chemicals found at the scene concluded that the materials did not pose any risk, Houston Fire Department Chief Sam Peña said at the Monday news briefing.
“The products on their own are benign, and they’re common products that we would see in other applications,” Peña said.
Law enforcement records show the shooter had at least six arrests since 2005, including unlawful carrying of a weapon, which she pleaded guilty to; evading arrest; and assault on a public official, which was pleaded to a lesser charge.
Moreno has a documented mental health history and was placed under an emergency detention order by Houston police in 2016, Hassig said.
Maria Scott, who lived four doors from Moreno in the city of Conroe, roughly 40 miles north of Houston, said she did not know her well, but “people talked about her because she was wreaking havoc.”
She said a couple of years ago Moreno knocked on her door at 7 a.m. “insisting I go get my dogs out of her mother’s yard,” said Scott, 57. “She was just very stern and very, very angry for someone at 7 a.m.”
Scott said she heard from talk in the neighborhood that Moreno carried a firearm.
Another neighbor, Linda Giutta, wrote on Facebook that she and others from the neighborhood had raised concerns about Moreno with local law enforcement and the city council.
"No one could offer any kind of help," Giutta said in the post. "We are told to see something and say something but nothing gets done until it is too late."
Neither the police department nor Conroe's five council members immediately responded to requests for comment.
Police have publicly stated that two off-duty officers at the church returned fire, striking the shooter and killing her at about 1:50 p.m. Her son was also struck in the head during the incident and was in critical condition.
Police Chief Troy Finner said at a news conference Monday that the 7-year-old boy is “fighting for his life.” Police previously said the boy was 5 years old.
Another person who was injured, a 57-year-old man, was released from the hospital, Finner added.
He added that one of the off-duty officers is an agent with the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission and the other is a Houston police officer.
Officials are investigating a wide range of possible motives given the writing on the weapon, but cannot yet conclusively say what led to the shooting. They have not ruled out terrorism or hate crime-related motives.
The shooting happened between services, as people were arriving for Spanish service, Osteen said. About 45,000 people attend services there every week, making it one of the largest megachurches in the country.
Osteen said that he was “in a fog” after the violence and that he was keeping the injured in his prayers.
“We don’t understand why all these things happen,” the pastor told reporters Sunday. “But we know God’s in control.”
In a subsequent statement on Facebook, Osteen urged his congregation to lean on their faith to cope with the anguish.
“Our community is devastated by today’s events and grateful for the swift actions of law enforcement,” he said. “Together, we will rise above this tragedy and stand firm in our commitment to love and support one another.”
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
WIP Drabble / Push & Pull
( I genuinely believe that Pen isn't wholly oblivious or meatheaded. On some level, he knows exactly what he's doing, and Builder Liira is the only one who can see through him. She piques his interest, and now he can't seem to leave her alone ( much to her chagrin ).
Liira stopped, and her self-control had returned enough that she hesitated only briefly before turning to face the self-proclaimed protector of Sandrock. "I have to leave, or I'll be late for work. Yan's expecting me," Pen hummed and glanced down at his wristwatch. "It's a short walk, Skinny. You'll have plenty of time to attend Miguel's sermon and make it back to the Commerce Guild." Stubborn bastard!
"I like to leave early in case of an emergency commission."
The explanation didn't budge Pen. Instead, his heavy-lidded blue eyes moved over her, their expression shielded.
"Why do you insist on fighting me. Skinny Arms?"
"I'm not fighting you. I'm just not interested in attending service today."
Or ever.
Pen laughed and shook his head. "Miguel requested that I start escorting you to church. Your recurring absences have already been noted."
"I'm. Not. Interested," Liira repeated, this time with her teeth clenched. His obstinance was already fraying her temper. She needed to get away from him. Now. "Who the hell do you think you are? Do you think you can show up at my shop and drag me away from my work? I'm not afraid of you!" She was spitting in her fury, her utter outrage.
"Tsk. This again, Skinny? I'm trying to be understanding." His gaze raked over her again. "But then again, I don't have to be," he said softly. This time when his eyelids lifted, she saw the dark gleam of an unknown emotion that made her stiffen, a chill of apprehension curling in the pit of her stomach.
It would be more difficult to evade him than she'd thought, for he sensed the response she couldn't quite mask.
Pen came down the steps toward her, and she swiftly retreated to her horse. Liira jerked the front gate open and practically jumped behind it, using it as a barricade against him. Pen regarded her behind the gate, his eyes sharp now, piercingly intent.
"Calm down," he murmured. "Don't be so upset, Skinny. I'm just looking out for you."
Liira glared at him, agitated almost beyond endurance. If he didn't leave soon, she would lose control and say something she knew she would regret. Slowly, she reached down for her pickaxe for support, her knuckles white with effort.
#my time at sandrock#wip fanfiction#wip fanfic#sandrockian chronicles#my writing#please do not reblog or repost#what trope is this?#rival strangers to lovers?#the builder pushes and he pulls#pen is a lot smarter then people give him credit for#also I find it interesting that the builder doesn't attend service#so I headcanon that my builder doesn't really believe in what the church of light is selling
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
can you bypass net neutrality with vpn
🔒🌍✨ Get 3 Months FREE VPN - Secure & Private Internet Access Worldwide! Click Here ✨🌍🔒
can you bypass net neutrality with vpn
VPN for bypassing net neutrality
Title: Leveraging VPNs to Navigate Net Neutrality: A Comprehensive Guide
In the digital age, the concept of net neutrality has become increasingly vital. Net neutrality advocates for equal treatment of all data on the internet, prohibiting internet service providers (ISPs) from discriminating against specific websites or online services. However, in some regions, net neutrality regulations may be lax or nonexistent, leading to potential throttling or censorship of certain online content.
Virtual Private Networks (VPNs) have emerged as a valuable tool for individuals seeking to bypass limitations imposed by ISPs and uphold the principles of net neutrality. By encrypting users' internet traffic and routing it through remote servers located in different regions, VPNs obscure the origin and destination of data, effectively evading censorship or throttling efforts by ISPs.
Using a VPN to bypass net neutrality restrictions is relatively straightforward. Users simply need to subscribe to a reputable VPN service and install the corresponding application on their device. Once activated, the VPN encrypts all outgoing and incoming internet traffic, making it difficult for ISPs to monitor or manipulate data based on its source or content.
Furthermore, VPNs offer additional benefits beyond bypassing net neutrality constraints. They enhance online privacy by masking users' IP addresses, preventing third parties from tracking their online activities. Additionally, VPNs enable access to geo-restricted content by allowing users to connect to servers in different countries, thereby circumventing regional limitations on streaming services or websites.
However, it's crucial to choose a reliable VPN provider that prioritizes user privacy and security. Opting for a reputable VPN service with a strict no-logs policy and robust encryption protocols ensures that users can enjoy the benefits of bypassing net neutrality while safeguarding their sensitive information.
In conclusion, VPNs serve as indispensable tools for preserving net neutrality principles and overcoming restrictions imposed by ISPs. By encrypting internet traffic and rerouting it through remote servers, VPNs empower users to access online content freely and maintain their privacy in an increasingly interconnected digital landscape.
Net neutrality regulations circumvention
Net neutrality regulations are designed to ensure that all internet traffic is treated equally by internet service providers (ISPs), without discrimination or preference given to any particular content, website, or platform. However, some entities may attempt to circumvent these regulations in various ways to gain an unfair advantage or control over the flow of internet traffic.
One common method of circumventing net neutrality regulations is through the use of so-called "fast lanes" or prioritized traffic agreements. This practice involves ISPs offering content providers the opportunity to pay for faster delivery speeds or better quality of service, essentially creating a two-tiered internet where those who can afford to pay more receive preferential treatment.
Another way in which net neutrality regulations can be circumvented is through the practice of zero-rating, where specific applications or services are exempt from data caps or usage limits imposed by ISPs. This can create an uneven playing field where certain services are given a competitive advantage over others, based solely on their ability to strike deals with ISPs.
Despite efforts to enforce net neutrality regulations, such as the repeal of the Federal Communications Commission's (FCC) Open Internet Order in 2017, the fight to maintain a free and open internet continues. Advocates for net neutrality argue that allowing ISPs to circumvent these regulations could lead to censorship, restricted access to information, and a stifling of online innovation.
In conclusion, the circumvention of net neutrality regulations presents a significant challenge to the principles of a free and open internet. Continued vigilance and advocacy are essential to ensure that all internet users have equal access to online content and services, without interference or manipulation by ISPs.
Virtual Private Network impact on net neutrality
A Virtual Private Network (VPN) is a powerful tool that has a significant impact on net neutrality. Net neutrality is the principle that all internet traffic should be treated equally by internet service providers (ISPs). However, in recent years, there have been concerns about ISPs discriminating against certain types of internet traffic or engaging in practices that prioritize certain services over others.
VPNs play a crucial role in maintaining net neutrality by masking users' IP addresses and encrypting their internet traffic. This prevents ISPs from monitoring or controlling the content that users access online. By using a VPN, internet users can bypass restrictions imposed by ISPs and access the content and services of their choice without interference.
Furthermore, VPNs can help to prevent ISPs from throttling internet speeds for specific websites or services. This is particularly important in the context of net neutrality, as throttling can undermine the principle of equal access to online content.
However, it is essential to note that not all VPN services are created equal, and some may themselves engage in practices that violate net neutrality principles. Users should choose reputable VPN providers that are committed to protecting their privacy and ensuring an open internet.
In conclusion, VPNs have a positive impact on net neutrality by enabling users to protect their online privacy and access the content of their choice without interference from ISPs. By using a VPN, internet users can help to uphold the principles of net neutrality and preserve a free and open internet for all.
Use of VPN to evade net neutrality rules
Title: Leveraging VPNs to Circumvent Net Neutrality Regulations
In an era where net neutrality regulations are increasingly scrutinized and manipulated, Virtual Private Networks (VPNs) emerge as a potent tool for internet users to preserve their online freedoms. Net neutrality, the principle that internet service providers (ISPs) should treat all data equally, has faced challenges globally, leading to concerns about restricted access to certain websites or services.
VPNs function by creating encrypted tunnels between the user's device and a server located elsewhere, effectively masking the user's IP address and encrypting their internet traffic. This anonymity enables users to bypass ISP-imposed restrictions or throttling based on content, website, or service.
By utilizing VPNs, individuals can sidestep potential discriminatory practices implemented by ISPs. For instance, if an ISP decides to prioritize traffic to certain websites or services while slowing down others, VPN users can circumvent such biases by accessing the internet through servers located in regions unaffected by these regulations.
Furthermore, VPNs empower users to access geo-blocked content and services by virtually relocating their connection to servers in different countries. This capability not only enhances online privacy but also promotes unrestricted access to information and entertainment across the globe.
However, while VPNs offer a means to uphold net neutrality principles, they are not immune to scrutiny. Some ISPs may employ advanced techniques to detect and block VPN usage, although VPN providers often counteract these efforts through continuous development of their technology.
In conclusion, VPNs serve as a crucial instrument for internet users to navigate the complexities of net neutrality regulations. By preserving online anonymity and bypassing potential restrictions imposed by ISPs, VPNs empower individuals to uphold the fundamental principles of an open and neutral internet.
VPN and net neutrality compliance
Title: Navigating VPNs for Net Neutrality Compliance: Ensuring Unrestricted Access to the Web
In today's digital landscape, the concept of net neutrality has become increasingly vital. Net neutrality ensures that all internet traffic is treated equally by internet service providers (ISPs), without discrimination or preference given to particular websites or services. However, in some regions, ISPs may attempt to throttle or restrict access to certain online content, leading to concerns about privacy, censorship, and fair access to information.
This is where Virtual Private Networks (VPNs) play a crucial role. VPNs encrypt a user's internet connection, creating a secure and private tunnel between the user's device and the VPN server. This encryption ensures that ISPs cannot monitor or control an individual's online activity, effectively bypassing any attempts at throttling or content restrictions.
For businesses and individuals aiming to maintain net neutrality compliance, selecting the right VPN provider is essential. Firstly, it's crucial to choose a VPN service that operates on a strict no-logs policy, ensuring that user data is not stored or shared with third parties. Additionally, opt for VPNs with robust encryption protocols to safeguard sensitive information from potential breaches or surveillance.
Furthermore, consider the jurisdiction in which the VPN provider operates. Opting for a VPN based in a country with strong privacy laws can offer additional protection against government surveillance or data retention mandates.
When implementing VPNs for net neutrality compliance, it's essential to educate employees or users on best practices for secure internet usage. This includes regularly updating VPN software, avoiding public Wi-Fi networks without VPN protection, and being cautious of phishing attempts or malicious websites.
In conclusion, VPNs are valuable tools for maintaining net neutrality compliance in an era where internet freedom is increasingly threatened. By prioritizing privacy, security, and unrestricted access to online content, businesses and individuals can navigate the digital landscape with confidence and peace of mind.
0 notes
Text
Justice K.S.Puttaswamy vs. Union of India, 2017 landmark judgment declaring privacy as a fundamental right
The landmark judgment in Justice K.S. Puttaswamy vs Union of India, 2017 declared the fundamental right to privacy. However, concerns have emerged regarding the extra-constitutional powers granted by Section 132 of the Income-Tax Act,1961 in India as they seem to violate the fundamental rights of the citizens.
Section 132 of the Income Tax Act,1961
- The section was introduced in 1961, as part of Income Tax Act,1961, to replace the Taxation on Income (Investigation Commission) Act, 1947, which was struck down by the Supreme Court in Suraj Mall Mohta vs A.V. Visvanatha Sastri (1954) on the ground that it treated a certain class of assesses differently from others, thereby violating the guarantee of equal treatment contained in Article 14 of the Constitution.
- The original income-tax law in 1922 lacked search and seizure powers.
- Section 132 of the Income-Tax Act, 1961, empowers the tax authorities to conduct searches and seizures of persons and properties, without any prior judicial warrant, if they have a “reason to believe” that the person has concealed or evaded income.
- It grants authorities the power to search buildings, places, vehicles, or aircraft based on suspicion of hiding financial assets.
- It allows for the seizure of books of account, money, bullion, jewellery, or other valuable items discovered during the search. Additionally, tax officials can seize such items found in the possession of any person during a search or survey under the Act.
Case Related to Section 132 of the Income Tax Act,1961
Pooran Mal vs Director of Inspection (1973)
- The constitutionality of this provision was challenged in the case of Pooran Mal vs Director of Inspection (1973).
- The Supreme Court upheld the law, citing its own judgment in M.P. Sharma vs Satish Chandra(1954) by emphasizing that the power of search and seizure is essential for the protection of social security and is regulated by law.
- The court also noted that the Constitution does not recognize a fundamental right to privacy similar to the American Fourth Amendment about searches and seizures.
- The American Fourth Amendment protects against unreasonable searches and seizures by the government.
- It was concluded that statutory provisions for searches do not defeat the constitutional protection under Article 20(3).
- The judgment in M.P. Sharma was concerned with searches under the Code of Criminal Procedure, while searches under the Income-Tax Act do not require a judicial licence.
- The Court's reading of the law has since changed, with M.P. Sharma being formally overruled. The right to privacy is now considered intrinsic to the right to personal liberty guaranteed by Article 21 of the Constitution.
Challenges Regarding Section 132 of the Income Tax Act,1961
Breach of the Proportionality Principle
- Section 132 of the Income-Tax Act, despite not being formally challenged, suggests a potential breach of the doctrine of proportionality principle.
- The state's power to search and seize is no longer viewed as a simple tool of social security but is subject to the doctrine of proportionality. This means that its use must be intended for a legitimate aim, rationally connected to its objective, with no alternative less intrusive means available, and a balance struck between the means chosen and the right that is violated.
- The Supreme Court in the case of Principal Director of Income Tax vs Laljibhai Kanjibhai Mandalia, 2022 revealed a reliance on the "Wednesbury" principle, a standard of administrative review derived from a UK court judgment, treating search opinions as administrative, not judicial.
- Wednesbury principle states that if a decision is so unreasonable that no sensible authority could ever take it, such decisions are liable to be quashed through judicial review.
- Critics argue that Post-Puttaswamy, there should be no place for the Wednesbury rule, especially when fundamental rights are at stake, and that any executive action must conform to statutory law in the strictest sense possible.
Violation of the Right to Privacy
- The right to privacy, a fundamental right under Article 21 of the Indian Constitution, includes protection from unreasonable searches and seizures, as well as confidentiality of personal information.
- Income Tax searches, however, intrude on individuals' privacy without consent, often based on vague grounds, leading to potential abuse.
- Additionally, there is a lack of adequate safeguards and oversight mechanisms to prevent misuse and protect the rights of the individuals subjected to I-T searches.
- The absence of stringent safeguards exposes individuals to potential misuse of power by tax authorities.
Duration and Conditions of Searches
- The Gujarat High Court's questioning of a raid where individuals were allegedly kept in virtual detention for days without proper safeguards highlights concerns about the duration and conditions of such searches.
Read the full article
0 notes
Text
Bitcoin's Recovery and Future: Expert Predictions and Challenges
The year 2022 was tough for cryptocurrencies, including Bitcoin and Ethereum. They lost a significant amount of their market value. Unpredictable events like the Terra Luna crash, FTX fall, macroeconomic conditions, and Binance guilty plea surprised crypto enthusiasts. However, the start of 2023 showed signs of recovery. Bitcoin rose in July and continued to rise in October, November, and December. As of November 5, 2023, Bitcoin is at $41,772 with a market capitalization of $817.02 billion.📈
Bitcoin has faced bearish trends and dropped below $30,000 after reaching its highest level since May 2022. Inflation issues in emerging economies like the US and the UK have put pressure on Bitcoin. The recent interest rate hike by the US Federal Reserve aims to tackle inflation. Experts see major resistance levels at $29,800 and $30,400.⛓️
This is not the first time Bitcoin has faced pressure. It previously dipped below $26,000 when the US Securities and Exchange Commission sued Binance, accusing it of evading securities laws and artificially increasing trading volume. Despite these challenges, experts believe Bitcoin can bounce back if it stays around $30,000. The recovery path is still long, as Bitcoin is down nearly 40% from its all-time high. Factors like a deepening banking crisis in the US, weakening of the dollar index, and cooling inflation have brought back positive sentiment for Bitcoin.🚀
While the future of Bitcoin remains uncertain, its resilience has been proven in the past. Investing in Bitcoin should be done with awareness of the risks and the potential for unexpected returns. Overall, the crypto world is hopeful for Bitcoin's future, with some predicting significant price increases. However, others predict a fall in Bitcoin's price. Time will tell the true outcome.💪
Read the original article on Forbes
0 notes
Text
The Umbrella Academy: Firecracker - A Light Supper (16/30)
The Umbrella Academy Masterlist
warnings: substances (alcohol)
word count: 3624
"You've got a good nose.", Five admitted to the Handler pressing harder on Lila's throat. "You know planting her in a psychward, taking advantage of my simpleton brother, that was smart."
"Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.", the Handler took a hit from her cigarette and looked at Lila affectionately.
"She's your...", Five began.
"Daughter. Yes. And she's my only one, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't crush her windpipe.", the Handler said and Fie released Lila.
Lila stood up and approached Five. "I am so going to enjoy killing you one day.", she whispered.
"Get in line, bitch.", Nailah said having heard enough. She emerged from her hiding spot with her hands on fire and a determined look on her face.
"Oh. And who are you?", the Handler asked surprised.
"Nailah fucking Hargreeves.", Nailah answered.
The Handler turned towards Five who just stood there with an amused and still slightly annoyed expression.
"Is she your girlfriend or something?", The Handler asked.
"She is my sister. And she can speak for herself.", Five answered.
"Well she certainly has some fire in her, doesn't she. Can you tell her to calm down?", the Handler chirped.
"It's fine, Firecracker. I've got this.", Five smiled at her. Nailah raised her eyebrows at the nickname but didn't comment on it and just let the fire burn out. She leaned on the table and crossed her arms, her wild hair falling over her shoulder.
"Lila, darling, would you give us a minute, please?", the Handler asked.
"Yes, the grown-ups need to talk.", Five agreed with a viscous smile towards the Handler.
"What about her?", the Handler pointed at Nailah who just followed Lila with a warning gaze.
"Nailah stays.", Five simply stated.
"What is it you want?", Five asked.
"Do you like jazz, Five?", the Handler started.
"I'd rather lick a cheese grater."
"Aww. Jazz is like a beautiful woman. Complex, emotional, hard to please. She doesn't just give it to you... she makes you work for it.", the Handler shimmied seductively.
Nailah looked at her in disgust.
"I'm really hoping you're going somewhere with this.", Five interrupted.
"Under my leadership the commission would sound more like... jazz.", the Handler revealed and started humming a jazz song.
"What about the board of directors?", Five asked.
"Well, that's were you come in.", the Handler booped Five's nose and Nailah let out a disgusted groan.
"Nope. No, it isn't.", Five shrugged.
"In exchange for the assassination of the board, I'm willing to get you and your family out of this timeline and back to 2019 where you belong.", The Handler proposed.
"What about World War III that's due to kick off in just a few days?", Nailah asked.
"Once you and your siblings are gone that goes away."
"And the apocalypse when we get back to 2019?", Five asked.
"That too."
"I distinctly remember you telling me the apocalypse had to happen, that it was supposed to happen.", Five threw in.
"Back then I was towing the company line but once I'm in charge...we can riff.", The Handler began dancing behind Five and Nailah looked away.
"Jazz.", Five whispered.
"Exactly."
Five paced for a bit. Nailah crooked her head trying to catch his gaze but he evaded her eyes.
"What about the board of directors? I mean nobody knows who they are.", Five said.
"Correct. But once every fiscal quarter they get together for a board meeting."
"Where?", Five asked.
"The question is when. They meet somewhere in the timeline but never in the same place twice. The exact location and date of these meetings is the most closely guarded secret of the commission.", the Handler explained.
"But you know when it's gonna be. Otherwise we wouldn't be he, would we?", Nailah asked.
The Handler smiled: "She's smart, I like her. Would I be any good at what I do if I didn't have it?"
Five realised the opportunity and finally looked at Nailah. Nailah crooked her head and raised her eyebrows in a warning manner. Five looked back at the Handler:"We need some time to think about it."
"We? This is a one-man job.", The Handler chuckled dryly.
Five smiled at her sarcastically: "Yes. We. It's me and Nailah or you can forget it."
"Fine. But remember doomsday's right around the corner and the way things are going... I'm your only option."
"Not yet you aren't.", Five scoffed and walked away.
"You coming, Nai?", he asked after a few steps.
Nailah who was still leaning on the table slowly shifter her weight on her feet and and slowly walked past the Handler. never breaking her stare. In the last moment she send a small spark to her coat and burned a pretty big hole. The Handler shrieked highly and jumped up but before the fire could do any real damage it was gone. The only thing the Handler heard was Nailah's dark chuckle and Five's proud smile as he followed her.
TO MY PURSUERS:
I, REGINALD HARGREEVES, REQUEST THE PLEASURE OF YOUR COMPANY FOR A LIGHT SUPPER ON THE 20TH OF NOVEMBER, 1963, AT HALF PAST SEVEN O'CLOCK.
- 1624, MAGNOLIA STREET -
DALLAS, TEXAS
The note that Diego and Luther had been given was being passed around between the brothers.
"Diego, this is a setup.", Luther warned.
"Maybe but we should go anyways.", Diego insisted bottoming up an organ shirt.
"Says the guy who's already been stabbed once this week.", Luther commented.
"Oh, don't worry. Me and him are gonna have words.", Diego promised.
"Would you tell him that he's nuts?", Luther sighed at Vanya.
Vanya shrugged: "I think we should go."
"See?", Diego grinned victoriously.
"Vanya, of all people, you should hate dad the most.", Luther assured stuffing his mouth full with the remaining jello.
"Come on. Can he really be that bad?", Vanya asked.
Luther chuckled darkly: "Okay, well, let's see. He isolated you from the rest of the family. Kept you hopped up on pills. And brainwashed you into thinking you had no powers."
"Jesus.", Vanya exclaimed. "I mean. I have to meet him."
Diego laughed.
"You already know how this is gonna go. Dad is gonna play his little mind games on us, get into our heads and he's gonna turn us all against each other. You just watch.", Luther threw an accusing look at Diego. "And I like you a lot better when you were less like Five and Nailah."
"Luther, we're not 12 anymore.", Diego tried persuading his brother. "Alright? We're grown-ass men. And women. Hey. We can handle him. Wanna know what's different this time?"
"What's that?", Luther grumbled not convinced.
"You got me. We go in there as a united front. No more Number One, Number Two bullshit. From now on it's... Team Zero.", Diego announced.
"Team Zero?", Luther scoffed.
"Team Zero.", Diego confirmed. "All the way." Diego extended his wrists waiting for a fist bump. From the confused reaction of his siblings he quickly retracted them.
"You're not seriously considering doing that, are you?", Nailah asked Five as soon as they left the old paintshop.
"I actually am, believe you me."
"Five, have you even considered what would happen if this women got in power at the commission?", Nailah tried to reason again.
"Look, Firecracker, I know you think you're smart and you probably are but I've got experience, okay? And from my experience it's better to make a deal with her than have her chase you for the rest of your miserable existence. Especially if we are the cause for an apocalypse."
"Then why didn't you just agree?"
"Because I need you to help me.", Five admitted.
"Me?", Nailah asked with a smile.
Five rolled his eyes: "I know you love seeing me like this, but yeah. I need you. You're good, you keep me sane and you're a great fighter. So I need you to either agree with me or talk me out of it. And I kinda trust your judgement on that one."
Nailah grinned at him even wider: "Did you just give me a compliment?"
Five groaned: "Don't get used to it. So what's it gonna be, Firecracker?"
"Can I think about it?"
"Sure, just don't take too long or we're all gonna die."
Back at Elliott's Five and Nailah had found the not from their dad. They decided to use it as an opportunity to clear their heads. At Magnolia street they entered the immense building and went straight towards the elevator. Right before the doors closed Diego's hand stopped them.
"Wait up.", Diego said as he, Luther and Vanya squeezed into the elevator.
Klaus and Allison also swiftly arrived and all the Hargreeves siblings were soon crammed into the tiny elevator.
"Good, we're all here.", Five tried to sound bored but Nailah detected the hint of content in his voice and as she looked up she saw a hint of a smile curl his lips. Five caught her gaze and his smile grew into an actual grin making Nailah smile as well.
Riding up the elevator suddenly a nasty smell spread making everyone bury their faces in their clothes.
"Sorry, I'm nervous.", Luther apologised.
"Jesus, Primo! I'm pretty sure that's what causes the apocalypse.", Nailah choked out.
As soon as they hit their level everyone ran out trying to catch a whiff of fresh air. The level was decorated in the style of a tropical tiki bar. The only thing out of place were the siblings and the barman in the tuxedo.
"Alright, when dad gets here, I'll do the talking, okay?", Five announced.
"Yeah, well, I've got a few questions for him myself.", Diego said.
"Hey, we don't wanna scare him off. He might be able to help us stop doomsday, help us get home.", Five warned.
"No, we need to figure out why he's planning. to kill the president."
"For the love of God, will you just stop with the president?", Nailah sighed falling downing a chair next to Five. "This is a matter of life and death, you moron. When we have answers you can ask all the questions you want."
"How about we take turns talking? Here, whoever has this conch shell gets to talk.", Vanya. proposed holding up a huge shell.
"It's like I'm in kindergarten all over again.", Nailah mumbled taking the drink Klaus has ordered for her.
"Maybe I should lead. We all know. I'm the best public speaker out of all of you.", Allison took the shell.
"Okay daddy's girl.", Diego scoffed.
"Oh. Jealous, Number Two?"
"Hey, no more numbers. No more bullshit. We're Team Zero.", Diego shouted.
"Team Zero? God what are you, twelve?", Nailah scoffed.
"Diego, you didn't hold the conch.", Luther reminded him and Nailah snickered. Diego just grabbed the shell and threw it behind him.
"Classic.", Allison scoffed.
A door opened and Reginald Hargreeves in his full glory entered the tiki bar with a red notebook in his hand. He swiftly found his place at the end of the table. A cold sweat formed on Nailah's back and she held the chair so tight her knuckled turned white.
"Not only have you burglarised my lab, set my chimp loose, conned your way into the Mexican consulate, repeatedly stalked and attacked me, but you have, on numerous occasions called me dad. My reconnaissance tells me you're not CIA, not KGB, certainly not MI5, so. Who are you?", Reginald asked without any further introduction.
Nailah took a deep breath, trying not to tremble. She reminds herself that this wasn't the same man she knew.
"We're your children.", Fie answered. "From the future. In 1989 you adopted us all and trained us to fight against the end of the world. Called us the Umbrella Academy."
"Why on earth would I adopt seven-"
"Eight.", Allison interrupted him. "One of us isn't here."
"Dead. One of us is dead.", Diego added.
"Yeah, babababababa! Enough of that now.", Klaus exclaimed looking behind him. Nailah ruffled her eyebrows looking at Klaus supisciously.
"Regardless, what would possess me to adopt eight ill-mannered malcontents?", Reginald asked after throwing Klaus a weird look.
"We all have special abilities.", Five announced. Reginald's eyebrows shot up.
"Special? In what sense?"
"In the superpower sense.", Luther added.
"Call me old fashioned but I'm a stickler for a pesky little thing called evidence. Show me.", Reginald smiled at him.
Allison took a deep sip of her drink: "Everybody wants to see powers all of a sudden."
Diego threw a knife which changed its course in the middle of the table. It flew next to Reginald's head and buried itself on the right of Diego. Reginald began scribbling something in his notebook.
"What are you writing?", Diego asked.
"You are a zero for two, young man."
Diego angrily rose from his chair, ready to attack Reginald but Five blitzed away and held him back at the last minute.
"Now that is interesting.", Reginald commented.
"Alright. Quick rundown. Luther: super strength. Klaus can commune with the dead. Allison can rumour anyone to do anything.", Five sat back down.
"Except she never uses it.", Diego commented.
Allison scoffed: "I heard a rumour you punched yourself in the face." Immediately Diego did as he was told and groaned in pain. Five realised he had been waiting for Nailah's snicker and when he didn't hear it his eyes darted towards her. She spotted her white knuckles and fixed eyes on Reginald.
"And you?", Reginald asked Vanya.
"Maybe we don't take Vanya for a test run.", Luther said placing a comforting hand on Vanya's.
"It's fine. I can handle it.", she said picking up a fork.
"Handle it? last time you handled it you definitely blew up the moon.", Allison warned but Vanya didn't listen. She hit her cup lightly and used the sound waves to let the fruits in the middle of the table explode. Fruit pieces flew around the room uncontrollably.
"Oops.", Vanya said awkwardly and Luther. gave her a relieved and encouraging smile.
"Well, that certainly was something. And how about you?", Reginald turned to Nailah.
Five felt a slight shudder move her body and held himself back from placing his hand on her neck. He saw the slightly deeper breath before she leaned back and released the handles of her chair.
"I manipulate fire.", she answered dryly and let her nails catch fire. She let a small flame dance on her palm and send it to Reginald. It was clear that he wasn't comfortable with it so close to him. He twitched around in his seat evading the flame. Nailah's burning eyes were fixated on it as she let the fire dance closer and closer to Reginald's skin. Five discreetly put a hand on Nailah's knee, ripping her back to reality. She summoned the flame back into her skin.
Reginald sighed in relief: "That was impressive."
Diego stood up, clearly done with waiting: "Look, we know you're involved in a plot to assassinate the president."
"You were recently hospitalised, isn't that correct?", Reginald asked unimpressed. "You still appear to be suffering from delusions of grandeur and acute paranoia."
"Am I?", Diego scoffed. "Explain this.", He pulled our the picture of Reginald from the assassination day. "That's you. That's two days from now on the grassy knoll, the exact spot the president is gonna get shot."
"Well, I suppose you've solved it. You've single-handedly unearthed my nefarious plot. Is that what you want to hear? You fancy yourself a do-gooder? The last good man who will save us from our descent into corruption and conspiracy? This is a fantastic delusion. The sad reality is that you're a desperate man, tragically unaware of his own insignificance, desperately clinging to his own ineffectual reasoning. More succinctly, a man in over his head.", Reginald stared Diego down.
A single tear rolled down Diego's cheek. "Y- You're w- wrong.", he stuttered. Nailah felt her heart break a little. She had known about Diego's speech problem and seeing it return made her even more angry and Reginald for so carelessly playing with their feelings as kids.
"Look, forget about the president. We have a catastrophic war coming in five days. We need to figure out how to stop it.", Five broke the silence.
"War?", Reginald scoffed. "Men will always be at war with each other."
"No, this isn't just some war. I'm talking about a doomsday. The end of the world."
"Well, you're the special ones, aren't you? Why don't band together and do something bout it?"
Suddenly Klaus began shaking uncontrollably and mumbling something about Ben. he quickly collapsed on the floor exhausted.
Reginald sighed: "Well, thank you for coming. I've seen about enough." He stood up and wanted to leave but Luther ripped open's shirt.
"Look what you did to me!", she shouted. Nailah and Allison choked on their drinks while Vanya looked at Luther's ape-like chest in shock. "Look at it!"
"Oh, shit. Why?", Five sighed letting his hand wander from Nailah's knee to his temples.
"You, in the suit.", Reginald pointed at Five. "A word, in private?"
Five obliged relieved and followed Reginald to the bar area. "Nai, you coming?", he asked and Nailah got up to follow him.
"I thought I said you.", Reginald said eyeing Nailah with caution.
Nailah just trotted behind the bar: "Yeah, well. We're a package deal, so just get used to it. Just talk to Five, I'm gonna get drunk and intervene if necessary. Act as if I'm not here."
"Alright then. You seem to be the sensible one of the bunch."
"That's because I'm the oldest.", Five explained. "You know, technically I'm older than you right now."
"Cognac?", Nailah asked having found a bottle to her taste. Reginald and Five approved.
"The other night you quoted Homer at me. Why?", Reginald turned again to Five wile Nailah filled the glasses.
"You forced us all to learn it as kids. In the original greek, no less.", Five said while taking a sip from the cognac Nailah had poured. She was already on her second glass.
"The world ends in five days if we don't get out of this timeline.", Five continued.
"Worlds end. Paleozoic, Jurassic, and so on."
"We can do something about this one."
Reginald murmured: "Man's greatest law. The illusion of control."
"I need your help.", Five admitted ignoring the disapproving look he got from Nailah. "You're my last sane option. Otherwise I gotta make a deal I really don't wanna make. What do you know about time travel?"
"In theory?"
"In practice."
"I know it's akin to descending blindly into the depths of freezing water and reappearing -"
"As an acorn, yes.", Five confirmed.
"What transpired when you tried travelling before?", Reginald asked.
"I botched it.", Five admitted.
"How?"
"I jumped too far forward, got stuck in the apocalypse for 45 years. Then jumped too far backwards, except this time I brought my entire family with me."
"Maybe your appetite is disproportionate to the size of your abilities."
Nailah snorted: "Defiantly."
"Start small. Seconds, not decades.", Reginald ignored her seeing how drunk she already appeared to be.
"Seconds? Look, no offence but I need a bit more time for what I'm trying to accomplish."
"So much can change in a matter of seconds. One could overthrow an empire. One could fall in love. An acorn doesn't become an oak overnight."
"I was really hoping you had more than that.". Five sighed.
"I'm sorry I can't be of more help."
Walking back Five eyed Nailah. She wasn't too drunk, just a little tipsy.
"You're gonna tell me what that was?", he asked finally.
"What what was?"
"You in there. You were shaking. I saw it. Why?", he asked.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, Nailah, it matters. It matters because I need to be sure I can count on you. So I'm gonna ask again. What was that?"
Nailah sighed heavily: "Let's just say daddy dearest didn't exactly like it when someone was struggling with their power."
"What?"
"Look, Five. You were always great. The Umbrella Academy poster child. You never had problems, your power was natural to you. But for many of us it wasn't. And dad wasn't exactly the encouraging parent type. He wanted success more than anything."
"Did he do something to you?", Five asked silently.
"I don't wanna talk about it, Five."
Five kept looking at her intently. The darkness of the night complemented her green eyes and the moon reflected her skin in a magic glow.
Nailah sighed again scratching her neck: "Five, don't worry about it. It's fine. What are we gonna do now? Dad's no help."
"I guess we have to accept the Handler's offer. You okay with that?", Five asked,
"We've got no other choice, so yeah."
-> The Umbrella Academy Masterlist
#the umbrella academy#umbrella academy#tua#tua netflix#luther hargreeves#klaus hargreeves#allison hargreeves#diego hargreeves#five hargreeves#nailah hargreeves#victor hargreeves#vanya hargreeves#series#fanfic#five x oc#oc
1 note
·
View note
Text
Risks to the US Economy
It is very likely that one of the biggest risks to the US economy right now is the spread of the Ebola virus. The virus is spreading rapidly, and a new strain has emerged that is evading the current vaccines. This has caused experts to warn that if the government does not act quickly, this could result in a large number of deaths. In addition, the stock market has been declining recently, and there are indications that inflation will increase in the coming months.
Inflation
While inflation is generally a positive if not necessary element of the US economy, its continued growth poses a risk. This has prompted the International Monetary Fund to cut its forecast for global growth.
While the Federal Reserve has aimed to maintain the consumer price index at two percent, the pace of rate increases is putting the economy at risk. The Fed is expected to raise the target rate to 4.50% to 4.75% by early next year.
According to Fed officials, inflation is set to hover around 3.5 percent by the end of this year. Still, some Wall Streeters are predicting it could drop to historically low levels.
Inflation is a big deal for consumers. They may have to make cuts in pay or wait to buy a home. When inflation is high, the dollar loses its purchasing power.
A recent study from the OECD said that inflation is a serious problem in the US. It notes that the cost of goods and services has steadily increased over the past several decades.
As the economy continues to grow, companies are raising prices to cover costs. This has resulted in an imbalance between supply and demand. Companies will need to weigh the tradeoff between losing market share and raising prices.
Some economists argue that the cost of goods and services is too high. They claim it is a symptom of an economy that is below capacity. However, many economists believe that moderate inflation is necessary to drive consumption.
The personal consumption expenditures index is a more delayed metric than the consumer price index. This measure of consumer spending is a good indicator of the economy's direction.
Price increases have slowed in the past couple of months, but they still remain steep. Official data shows housing prices are climbing at a faster rate than before.
Consumer spending, which has been in a slow recovery mode, appears to be getting back on track. Many Americans have received large stimulus checks and are experiencing relief from rising living expenses.
Cyberattacks
Cyberattacks are a serious threat to the US economy. It is difficult to say how big the impact of cyberattacks will be. But the economic implications are significant.
Cyberattacks are the deliberate attempt to break into an information system. A typical attack may involve a nation-state actor gaining access to a network and stealing intellectual property or other valuable data. Attackers also exploit weaknesses in computer systems or firewall configurations.
As technology advances, attacks become more sophisticated. This is due in part to hackers' ability to time an attack to better exploit a system's vulnerabilities. However, an attacker's success depends on a lot more than just a well-timed attack.
An attack on critical financial infrastructure can be devastating. An attack on a bank holding company can disrupt the firm's data and lead to a loss of confidence in its security. At worst, an attack on a multiple large financial institutions can devastate the confidence of the entire industry.
Critical manufacturing industries are another major target. These industries' equipment, including nuclear facilities, centrifuges and blast furnaces, are vulnerable to hacking.
Another area of concern is cyberattacks on the US power grid. The Federal Energy Regulatory Commission has approved mandatory grid cybersecurity standards. While they do not include a comprehensive assessment of cybersecurity risks to the grid, experts have recommended that FERC consider changing the standards.
Among the key targets of cyberattacks are the energy sector and transport. There are also threats to the Internet, telecommunications, and public sector services.
Cyber-enabled economic warfare is a growing threat. This threat involves nations using cyber capabilities to induce financial instability.
One of the most damaging attacks, a Stuxnet computer virus, targeted the industrial control systems of the Iran nuclear program. Although Iranian hackers did not achieve their goal, the damage caused was still significant.
Another concern is the growing use of ransomware against enterprises. Ransomware can result in catastrophic losses of data. In addition, ransomware can disrupt critical business functions such as due diligence and recovery.
With so many interconnected digital technologies, businesses must take precautions to keep their networks secure. Fortunately, there are some simple steps to prevent an attack.
New strains of the virus evading current vaccines
A new strain of the coronavirus known as SARS-CoV-2 has emerged, and it's causing havoc around the world. The variant, which is known as the Omicron variant, has the highest degree of immune evasion of any COVID-19 variant. And it's also the most antigenically distinct from the index virus.
These new variants have caused havoc on the global stage and continue to evolve despite the large scale rollout of licensed vaccines. In addition, they have become more transmissible, and they cause waning immunity in vaccinated individuals. Therefore, the path forward for the pandemic will involve doubling down on our commitment to saving lives. We will need to make tests and treatments available to everyone.
Luckily, our federal government has the resources and the network of researchers to keep track of the evolving variants and respond to them in a timely manner. It's also been able to provide lifesaving supplies and technical assistance to countries that are experiencing outbreaks.
For example, the Axios-Ipsos Coronavirus Index is tracking the perceived risk of COVID, including the risks associated with new variants. The index has been operational since mid-March 2020, when the pandemic first started spreading across the country.
Despite the evolution of the virus, the current COVID-19 vaccines have been very effective in reducing the number of severe cases and deaths. They are based on the ancestral strain of SARS-CoV-2. This means that they still have the potential to be effective against a variety of different variants.
While the Omicron variant has become the focus of much attention, the Delta variant was the other major player driving the global outbreak. This variant was twice as contagious as the original coronavirus. Since it began circulating in the United States in Summer 2021, it has spread to the Midwest and the Rocky Mountain region.
However, it's important to remember that the protection of the Omicron variant declines quickly after the third dose, and its protection against infection and symptomatic illness is a fraction of what is seen with the other variants. If we want to be able to protect ourselves against more variants in the future, we need to develop and roll out new variant-specific vaccines.
Falling stock market
The US economy has faced a number of risks in the last few years. But one of the biggest is the risk of a falling stock market.
The stock market is a powerful force for the economy. Consumer spending drives the economy, and a rising stock market means that consumers are more willing to spend. However, the stock market is also subject to volatile changes that can affect the consumer's spending plan.
A falling stock market has the potential to lead to the next recession. There are a few reasons why. Many of them are related to the Federal Reserve's monetary policy.
Inflation is a major concern for regular Americans. Increasing inflation can mean higher prices, which can feed back into wages. This will lead to more unemployment. So the Fed is trying to tame inflation by raising interest rates.
Stocks have soared since September, but now the market is beginning to lose ground. Investors are jittery ahead of a key Fed meeting.
Fears of a future recession have prompted many investors to take action. These actions include moving into bonds or rebalancing investments.
In the past, there have been powerful rebounds after deep market dips. While this is not always the case, it is a measure of the strength of the economy.
Although the 1929 stock market crash did not cause the Great Depression, it did show underlying weaknesses in the economy. It was a wake-up call to the American public. People began questioning whether the United States was an exceptional nation or not.
The economic impact of the 1929 stock market crash was devastating. People lost their life savings. And thousands of banks were forced to close because of dwindling cash reserves.
In addition, there was a lack of appropriate economic safeguards. Without the proper banking system, the depression would have spiraled out of control.
Another risk to the US economy is a possible Russian invasion of Ukraine. If Russia wins the war, the US may experience further turmoil.
The S&P 500 is on track for its first negative week in three. Meanwhile, the Nasdaq has been dropping more than two percent a week.
0 notes
Text
Announcement
Currently I am doing emergency commissions, So I will be taking as much as I can! due to the fact that it is a Bill that I need to pay off ASAP
#Hungering fox (Currently accepting commissions)#paypal commissions#emergency evaded (Emergency commissions)#All types welcome ( all types of commissions are open)
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Omicron (I) - various reports
youtube
After an emergency meeting on Friday, the World Health Organization classified the new COVID variant as a 'variant of concern,' and gave it the name omicron.The new B.1.1.529 variant was first discovered on November 11, 2021 in Botswana, a country just north of South Africa. Since then, it has been detected in South Africa, mostly in the province of Gauteng, which includes Johannesburg and Pretoria, where the incidence rates are currently about 1,200. Concern over the variant has prompted several countries to suspend and limit flights from the region.
youtube
There's growing global alarm over Omicron - the new coronavirus variant that first emerged in South Africa. Researchers say it could be the most infectious form of the virus so far, and it might even beat current vaccines. The international response has been swift. Many countries have shut down air travel from southern Africa. The South African government says the bans are an overreaction. Omicron has moved quickly. Now countries around the world are racing to get ahead, banning flights from the region where the variant was first discovered. South Africans suddenly find themselves cut off from the world. Since the UK announced its travel ban, many other countries have followed suit. South Africa’s government says they acted too quickly. As quickly as the travel restrictions were announced, they are more likely to slow down rather than completely stop the spread of omicron. Dutch health officials fear that dozens of COVID-infected passengers who arrived in Amsterdam on Friday might also be infected with the new variant. Hong Kong, Israel, and Belgium have already confirmed cases. The world has made progress in the fight against the coronavirus, but the new variant shows that the battle is far from won. The message for now from many officials: Get the vaccine, get the booster, and follow public health regulations.
youtube
Scientists in South Africa are warning of a new strain of COVID-19. The variant, which is yet to be named, appears to have a high number of mutations, and there's a possibility it could be able to evade our immune response and be even more transmissible. At first, health officials thought they were seeing a small cluster of outbreaks in South Africa's most populous province. But after examining specimens, they realized they were dealing with something far more serious - a new variant that could be the hardest yet to contain. Officials are worried that the new variant, known simply as B.1.1.529, could quickly spread through the country and beyond. Only about 35% of adults in South Africa are fully vaccinated, and the rate of vaccination has slowed. And given the findings so far, even current vaccines may not be enough to stop it. Several countries, including the UK and Germany have announced a ban on flights from South Africa and five neighboring countries as cases of the new variant have already appeared in Botswana and in Hong Kong. No matter where the variant started, it could quickly become a global problem.
youtube
Sixty-one people who arrived in Amsterdam on two flights from South Africa have tested positive for Covid-19, Dutch officials say. They have been placed in isolation at a hotel near Schiphol airport. They were among some 600 passengers held for several hours after arrival while they were tested for the virus. The Dutch authorities are carrying out further testing to see if there are any cases of Omicron, named on Friday as a variant of concern by the WHO.
youtube
Countries around the world are taking steps to tighten travel restrictions after a new coronavirus variant was identified in southern Africa. The European Commission has recommended that EU countries introduce an "emergency brake" on all travel from the region in response. The World Health Organization (WHO) is meeting to discuss the new variant.
#World Health Organization#B.1.1.529 variant#Covid_19_Omicron#South Africa#Botswana#Johannesburg#Pretoria#Gauteng#Belgium#USA#Hong Kong#Israel#European Union#Travel Bans because of Omicron Variant#WHO
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
N.S. shooting inquiry: Children called 911, relayed key details about gunman amid killings
Warning: article contains details some readers may find disturbing.
When a gunman impersonating a Mountie started killing people in Portapique, N.S., on April 18, 2020, four children huddled in a home where they relayed key information about the killer as the tragedy unfolded around them.
Portions of a transcript of that disturbing 911 call were released today by an independent commission of inquiry investigating the worst mass shooting in modern Canadian history, which claimed 22 lives over a 13-hour span.
The phone conversation is recounted in a 90-page document that focuses on the first hour of the killer's rampage. It offers clear evidence that authorities were told about the shooter's identity and his replica police vehicle before he used a back road to evade a police blockade.
Recordings of the 911 calls were not played during the hearings. However, the so-called foundational document provides grim, detailed descriptions of how 13 people were gunned down that night, including Gabriel Wortman's first victims: Greg and Jamie Blair, the parents of two young boys.
Based on statements from residents and the gunman's common-law spouse, the commission has concluded that some time before 10 p.m., the perpetrator assaulted his spouse and set fire to his home and the building where he kept his mock police vehicle — facts previously confirmed by the RCMP through the gradual release of search warrant applications.
Then, at around 10 p.m., the killer approached the Blair home, where he killed Greg Blair on the front deck. Jamie Blair immediately called 911, telling the operator her husband had been shot. She also said there was an RCMP cruiser in her driveway.
"It's decked and labelled RCMP ... but it's not a police officer," she told the operator. "The man is coming back up the deck with a big gun."
At that point, the woman hustled her two boys — ages 11 and 9 — into the back bedroom, where the brothers hid on the floor behind a bed.
Blair identified the killer as "Gabriel" to the 911 operator and she whispered into the phone that he was trying to get into the house.
In a statement to police, the 11-year-old boy — identified as AD — said Wortman shot the family's cat and dog before firing multiple shots through the bedroom door, killing his mother.
On Monday, commission counsel Roger Burrill presented a summary of what happened in Portapique, including the events in the Blair home. "It is essentially a contemporaneous report of murder,” Burrill said, describing Jamie Blair's 911 call. "Jamie Blair was shot at this time through the door of her bedroom, protecting her children.”
The children remained hidden and do not believe that they were seen by the killer, the commission's report says.
About 10 minutes later, the boys fled the home when they realized the killer had set fire to the house before leaving. They sprinted next door to the home of Lisa McCully, who had been fatally shot minutes earlier by the gunman as she walked to the edge of her property to find out what was going on.
The boys did not see her as they made their way to their neighbour's house. Inside, the two Blair boys were met by McCully's children, identified as 12-year-old AB and 10-year-old AC.
Blair's 11-year-old son called 911 at 10:16 p.m., telling the operator about his parents' death and the fact that the killer had driven away in a police car, carrying a "massive gun."
"Just like ... a police car," he said, adding that the mother of the McCully children had left the house earlier and had not returned. At 10:21, the boy confirmed he could hear gunshots going off every thirty seconds.
"The children referenced the perpetrator by his first name," the document says. "They (correctly) advised that he 'works in Halifax as a denture person' .... The children indicated that the perpetrator would blend in with the cops 'because he has a cop car.'"
They also confirmed that the car, correctly identified as a Ford, had emergency lights and proper decals.
At 10:39 p.m., the children reported seeing the replica cruiser on the move. "One of the children exclaimed, 'It's Gabriel!" the report says. As more shots rang out, the children were told to move to the basement, where they stayed until 12:20 a.m., when the Mounties decided it was safe for them to leave.
Burrill told the hearing Monday that he had listened to the entire, two-hour 911 call.
“The children are describing a horrific scene of fire and shooting and no parents," he said. "(But) the children’s poise, presence and capacity to engage with the 911 call taker is simply outstanding. They are calm. They are responsive. They are observant."
According to the commission's research, the RCMP checked on the children three times before the house was evacuated. Some critics have suggested they should have been rescued earlier, given the fact that other residents had been removed for their safety. A separate report on the role of first responders will be released Tuesday.
As for the other victims, the commission's report says all except one were fatally shot in their homes between 10:04 p.m. and 10:45 p.m., though the sequence of events is not always clear, given the lack of witnesses, phone calls and surveillance video.
The report says it appears the last person killed in Portapique was Corrie Ellison, who was in the community that night with his brother to visit their father.
It says Ellison had set off on foot to investigate the fire burning at Wortman's sprawling garage and was shot dead while he took photographs with his cellphone. The time of his last photo, a blurry image that shows nothing, was 10:40 p.m.
Minutes later, Wortman’s escape was spotted by Patricia Zimmerman as she stood outside her home on Portapique Crescent, looking at the eerie glow in the sky created by her neighbours’ burning houses.
She would later tell police that at 10:45 p.m. she noticed a set of headlights travelling "like a bat out of hell" along a rough, private road that ran along the side of a blueberry field east of the rural enclave, toward Highway 2. Zimmerman said she and her sister thought the driver was probably a volunteer firefighter, which is why they didn't alert police.
Another resident, Harlan Rushton, told commission investigators that it was around midnight when he told police at the scene that the killer could have used a back road to escape. Harlan said he told police: “You know, there’s another way out of there, right?” According to Harlan, the officer replied, “Yeah, we know. Just get out of here. Just go.”
The commission's report concludes with a summary of the horrific events in Portapique and a blurry photo from a surveillance camera showing the killer's car speeding past a gas station in nearby Great Village, N.S., at 10:51 p.m. Police say he later parked in an industrial park in Debert, N.S., where he spent the night.
The next day, he fatally shot nine more people — both acquaintances and strangers — as he led police on a chase that spanned more than 100 kilometres.
Wortman was shot dead later that morning by an RCMP officer who spotted him trying to refuel a stolen vehicle at a gas station north of Halifax.
This report by The Canadian Press was first published Feb. 28, 2022
from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/mH3vCO8
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Polish police have arrested the former interior minister and deputy interior minister inside the presidential palace in Warsaw in a day of unprecedented political theatre.
Mariusz Kaminski and Maciej Wasik were sentenced to two years' jail last month for abuse of power when they led an anti-corruption office in 2007.
Following the arrests, the new interior minister Marcin Kierwinski wrote on X: "Everyone is equal before the law."
The arrests highlight the political turmoil between the Law and Justice (PiS) party and the new pro-EU coalition.
The men, who were elected PiS MPs in October, refused to recognise last month's court decision because President Andrzej Duda, a PiS ally, pardoned them for the crime in 2015. Mr Duda has also said he does not recognise the court's ruling because he insists his pardon remains valid.
The Polish president said in a televised address on Wednesday that he was deeply shaken by the two men being jailed, and described them as honest.
The two MPs have been stripped of their parliamentary mandates, but both they and President Duda insist they remain legally elected MPs because of the pardon.
On Monday evening, the court issued a warrant to police to detain the men. Despite this, Mr Duda invited both to Warsaw's Presidential Palace on Tuesday morning to attend a ceremony to swear in two of their former colleagues as presidential advisers.
Several hours later, they emerged from the palace to speak briefly to reporters, all the while remaining inside its grounds. Mr Kaminski said they will be "political prisoners" if they are arrested and thanked Mr Duda for his support.
"We are dealing with a very serious state crisis. A grim dictatorship is being created," Mr Kaminski said. They then returned inside the palace as the political theatre unfolded.
Moments later, Prime Minister Donald Tusk told a news conference the situation was "unbelievable". He said the court's ruling must be respected and suggested President Duda was helping the men evade justice.
"There is no rulebook for the prime minister or interior minister on how to act when convicts are in the Presidential Palace. This is clearly taking advantage of a situation in which no one will use force against such an institution as the president," he added.
Following the arrests, several hundred PiS supporters demonstrated outside the palace in support of the men.
On Wednesday morning, Mariusz Kaminski announced he was going on hunger strike, "as a political prisoner, from the first day of my imprisonment". Hunger strikes are not an uncommon form of protest in Poland, and they do not necessarily mean a refusal to accept all food and liquids.
The deputy justice minister stressed that neither of the men was a political prisoner but any prisoner had the right to refuse food or drink if they wished.
Last year, the Polish Supreme Court ruled Mr Duda's 2015 pardon was invalid because it was issued while the men were appealing against their conviction, ie before the original conviction was final. Mr Duda disputes that and insists the pardon is still binding.
To complicate matters, the Constitutional Tribunal and a new Supreme Court chamber, both of which are staffed by judges nominated by PiS, have ruled in favour of Mr Duda.
Mr Tusk said Mr Duda could resolve the stand-off by pardoning the men again, now that the ruling is final. But that would call into question the legal status of the initial pardon.
Mr Tusk's coalition took office last month pledging to undo PiS's changes to the judiciary, public media, and civil service that the European Commission and many other international bodies say have undermined the rule of law in Poland.
One of its first acts was to reform the state TV, radio and news agency that PiS had transformed into a propaganda mouthpiece for its government.
But its methods were similar to PiS's, first using a government minister to sack media boards and install new people ahead of planned legislative reform.
The Helsinki Foundation for Human Rights acknowledged PiS had made it legally difficult to reform the public media, which it said required "urgent reform" because it had become "a propaganda mouthpiece" under PiS, but said the new government's changes "raise serious doubts".
Former PiS prime minister Mateusz Morawiecki told the BBC Mr Tusk's government talked loudly about democratic standards but fell well short in practice.
"We are witnessing an unprecedented attack on the rule of law. Tusk's government decided it could take over public television and media by force. This has nothing to do with democratic standards. We have not seen such brutal government action since communism. It is all the more outrageous that this is done by people who have such slogans of democracy on their lips," Mr Morawiecki said.
Given PiS's record of controlling state institutions while in office, many Tusk supporters argue such accusations are the height of hypocrisy.
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Revival of Akillian: Chapter 9
Prologue / Chapter 8 / Chapter 10
9. NEGOTIATIONS
At six o’clock sharp, Micro-Ice’s alarm clock starts screaming “Get up, Micro-Ice! It’s time!” to the tune of “Your Tracks in the Snow”, the latest hit from Freeze, number 1 in Akillian’s Top 10.
- Grmph! - the boy grumbles, pulling the quilt over his head. – Already? Tell me it’s a nightmare!
In the bed across from him, D’jok straightens up and stretches, yawning.
- Did you sleep badly? I dozed off like Ahito.
- I can imagine. (Micro-Ice emerges from under the duvet and whacks the clock to turn it off) You didn't have to put up with a crazy guy who kept going on about how he would be the greatest football player in the galaxy, all night!
- Are you talking about me? Did I talk in my sleep?
Micro-Ice sits up and stretches. D’jok is already out of bed.
- If only that’s all you did! Right then, it seemed like you had won the Galactik Football Cup all by yourself. In just one night!
- And why not? – questions D’jok, grabbing a towel from his locker to go to the shower.
- Why not what?
- Why wouldn’t we win the Cup?
- There are many reasons! - Micro-Ice shrugs. - Stop dreaming, D’jok… we’re awake now, you know?
“Hello everyone,” Aarch’s voice sounds through a speaker built into the ceiling. “You have exactly half an hour to get ready and join the holo-trainer. Be happy, Micro-Ice: you are finally going to play a match!”
Half an hour later (Aarch does not tolerate delays, nor lack of discipline in general), they all find themselves in the holo-trainer, separated into two groups: on one side, in yellow, are Tia, D’jok and Micro-Ice with Ahito in goal; on the other, in purple, are Mei, Thran and Sinedd, the goalkeeper being represented by a sim. D’jok and Sinedd look at each other.
- Let's go! – calls Clamp, with the press of a button.
The ball bursts from the center hole, flaring between D’jok and Sinedd, attackers of each team. Immediately, there is a fight between the two rivals to recover it. D’jok wins with a short header, passing to Micro-Ice. Thran intercepts the ball with his chest. He passes to Mei, who is immediately tackled by Tia, who returns the ball to D’jok. He rushes towards the goals and finds Sinedd in his way, who sticks to him like a leech. With no other solution than to get rid of the ball, he sends it back to Micro-Ice. Thran immediately comes to mark him, but Micro-Ice manages to dribble around by juggling the ball, foot-head-chest, so fast that Thran can no longer follow... a final flip-flop and presto, Micro-Ice is free from Thran, rushing in turn towards the goal, in which the sim bounces from one foot to the other, his eyes following the trajectory of the ball exactly. Sinedd rushes after Micro-Ice… he throws his foot forward, hitting him in the calf and sending him tumbling onto the fake grass.
- Can’t stand up, Micro-Chip? – taunts Sinedd.
Micro-Ice grabs his leg, wincing in pain – if only that was virtual! Tia comes to his aid, helping him up.
- Foul! - shouts Aarch, who had replayed the footage in slow motion on the console.
- I'll get him, that jerk. – grumbles Micro-Ice.
Leaning on Tia, he casts a hateful look at Sinedd, who walks up to his team with his head held high and his face smirking.
D’jok will take the free kick. The three purple players make a wall in front of the goal. Mei gives Sinedd a look, whether one of reproach or admiration, it’s hard to say. D’jok takes a few steps forward... he runs and fires full force. The ball grazes Sinedd's head - who pulls away at the last minute – and bounces off the top bar of the goal, launching into oblivion.
- What strength! – exclaims Clamp in front of his console. - 120 km/h, are you seeing this?
- I would have preferred if he were shooting less hard but his shot was on target! - reproaches Aarch, in front of the general monitor.
The match continues, with varying degrees of success and a number of errors: missed passes, aborted dribbles, corners, players who collide to retrieve the ball… a somewhat sterile duel between D’jok and Sinedd, about who will hit the hardest or farthest, or who will score a goal first, to the detriment of a less spectacular but more constructed team play.
- Do you know what we’re missing, Aarch? – prompts Clamp with a smirk.
- Time, - Aarch replies, not smiling at all. - A lot of time!
- Maybe, yes... but we would gain a lot if we recruited a good passer... if you know what I mean!
Having managed to steal the ball away from Sinedd, D’jok arrives in front of the purples’ goal, but is blocked by Mei and Thran, who surround him and leave him no way out. Having no one within walking distance, D’jok is forced to shoot in the air, by guesswork... suddenly a kind of rocket flies above him, stops the ball in the sky in a blaze of moving waves, rolls over onto her back and swings her foot on the fly - the ball shoots towards the goals like a missile, hits the poor blue sim and pulverizes him, then sinks into the back of the net.
- Waaaouh! What a goal! - exclaims D’jok in shock.
As usual, Tia takes no personal pride in this. No sooner has she landed than she gets up and goes back to her place, as if nothing had happened.
- Little Tia seems to have adapted perfectly to my holo-trainer! - rejoices Clamp. - I told you, Aarch: with your ideas and my machines, we’ll get there, you’ll see!
A few miles away, in his office in the luxury Confederation building, Artegor Nexus watches Tia’s Breath-magnified goal on his own console. Behind the screen is a small device, no bigger than a credit card, its green LEDs flashing frantically: reception is perfect.
Hacking into Clamp’s hardware proved too easy: Jorg didn't need to break in, or bribe anyone. It was easier to enter the Arena Stadium than a spaceport... if Aarch and his friends continue to be so naive, thinks Artegor, the Red Tigers will hardly have to make an effort to crush them, even with this kid who possesses the Breath: so long as one has studied the tactics of the adversary well and knows all their secret moves...
Artegor pauses his console and opens a transpace channel for an interstellar call: he must send his report to the Honorable Galahaas, Grandmaster of the Shadow Council.
***
The Interplanetary League of Galactik Football has its headquarters on the planet Oeno, a cosmopolitan world mainly made up of archipelagos scattered over a vast pink ocean. This bizarre color of the water, combined with a light but permanent haze, tints the sky over Oeno purple, which, lit by two synchronously rotating stars, offers the most magnificent sunsets in the entire Galaxy. Bathed in a climate of roughly equal mildness from pole to pole, Oeno is a paradise for tourism, water sports and floating palaces. The League’s headquarters, on the edge of a lagoon of delicately pearly waters, is a bizarre construction meant to feature two stylized players, standing up to retrieve a football. But, apart from the sphere which sits at its top, nothing makes it possible to distinguish such a symbol: the building is rather a mess of columns, pillars, and flying buttresses... the architect, a Cyclops, apparently only had a vague idea of humanoid anatomy.
Massimo Spoto, human delegate to the League and vice-president of the Homologation Commission, introduces himself to the receptionist in the vast hall which serves as the entrance, a sort of cathedral all in glass and wooden beams, and steel that rises to a dizzying height, which makes one wonder, considering its incredible angles and overhangs, how it stands at all.
- Is the Commission meeting taking place on the fifteenth floor?
- Yes, sir, it is. - answers the hostess. - Do you have your accreditation? (Spoto shows her the small holo-card) Perfect, sir. The elevators are at the end of the hall.
- I know, thanks.
As he walks towards the elevators, Spoto notices a man sitting in an armchair, absorbed in reading a newscast. He recognizes him: that curved nose, those thick lips, those fancy features, that rebellious lock on smooth, shiny hair… General Bleylok, here? On the day of the Commission’s vote? Bad sign…
Bleylok is one of the leaders of Technoid, and the leader of what is customarily called the Cartel, this square of vengeful officers, nostalgic for the time when Technoid was the main military force of the Galaxy, when it could have made Humans absolute masters of the two most powerful fluxes: the Smog of the Shadows and the Charge of the Lightnings… yet when the Shadow Wars broke out, Bleylok was barely born. Spoto suspects the general of harboring in his fiendish heart something far worse than a spirit of revenge: an inordinate ambition, an unquenchable thirst for power. However, all this hardly concerns the vice-president of the Homologation Commission… except that Bleylok – and therefore Technoid, or at least the Cartel - took a sudden interest for the new Akillian team trained by Aarch, the former star striker of the planet. An interest that Spoto cannot explain, because this team has not yet proven itself and demonstrated the slightest ability to measure up to the current stars of Galactik Football…
Bleylok joins Spoto in the elevator and presses the button for the tenth floor. Being a rather frank man, Spoto decides to attack him head-on:
- There is one thing I do not understand, Bleylok. Why does Technoid want Aarch’s team to be homologated so much?
- I don’t speak for Technoid. - answers Bleylok coldly.
- Ah, excuse me. So why are you, Bleylok, Cartel general, so keen to have this team certified?
- It’s none of your business.
- Yet this is my vote!
- This is my floor. - evades the general.
The elevator doors open on the tenth floor. Before exiting, Bleylok hands Spoto a small briefcase, then slips away with a smile and a small nod.
- But, wait…
Too late: the doors close and the cabin resumes its ascent. Intrigued, Spoto opens the briefcase...
Credits. Thousands of credits.
Because he is vice-chairman of the Homologation Commission, Spoto's voice counts for two...
***
Taking advantage of the fact that the evening is “free time”, Micro-Ice had gone back to see his mother in the Cafeteria. He wanted some good hot chocolate and a slice of pie, just to make a change from the “special sport” vitamin food scientifically studied by Clamp and prepared like a chemical formula by a Scrap, thereby being entirely tasteless. In fact, he mostly wanted to complain and pamper himself a little.
- I have never worked so hard in my life! - he whimpers, slumped over the counter. - It’s sure worse than the ice mines. I’m aching all over, even my hair!
- I saw you on TV, - Gail smiles, stroking his chin. - You were very good!
Micro-Ice straightens up at this and smiles.
- Really? Didn’t I look too tense, mom?
- Nervous, you? The only times you look upset are when you’re sick. (She serves him a large mug of steaming hot chocolate to accompany his slice of pie) What about D’jok and the others? Didn't they come down with you?
- They stayed over there to watch a game on TV. (Micro-Ice sighs, bites into his pie, and swallows a sip of hot chocolate) How do they manage to watch more football? It’s beyond me. If I see one more ball, I’ll pulverize it!
- My poor darling, you’re going to be seeing a lot more balls!
- Why do you say that, mom?
Gail smiles at him again, barely concealing her pride.
- I just heard on TV that your team has been officially recognized by the League...
D’jok, Thran and Ahito (well: if he wasn’t asleep) are also hearing of this in front of the wall-mounted screen in the “relaxation room” in the depths of the Arena Stadium. Live from the League headquarters on Oeno, the unrelenting Callie Mystic clarifies:
- It is now up to the Federation to organize a match between the Red Tigers team and that of Aarch, in order to determine which of the two will have the honor of wearing Akillian’s colors during the qualifying phases of the next Galactik Football Cup...
- Yeah! - D’jok exclaims, punching the air. - I tell you, we will win this cup! I can smell it, yeah!
- You’re right, D’jok! – agrees Thran. - We are awesome!
The two high-five over Ahito’s head, who suddenly wakes up.
- Yeah, awesome! Go, Warren! - he cries.
- Hey, brother, the match is over…
Thran breaks the news to him and the three of them hug, congratulate each other, pat each other on the shoulder, and jump in excitement, shouting victoriously. As they enter the room, Aarch and Clamp observe this joyous commotion.
- At least they’re motivated… - Aarch sighs.
Clamp rests a compassionate hand on his friend’s shoulder.
- We still have a few days to train as much as possible… plus, there’s the friendly match against the Wambas. We’ll get there, Aarch!
- Not without a proper passer. (He clenches his fist) I have to try again. How do I convince him, damn it!
***
Norata is suddenly awakened by a noise. He sits up in bed, heart pounding, and listens... yes, he recognizes a creaking sound: that of the front door, the slides of which have started to rust because of all the humidity from the plants. Good heavens! If he catches Rocket running away to join this bunch of freaks at the old stadium...
He jumps out of bed, puts on a jacket, arms himself with a powerful halogen torch, and hobbles as fast as he can to the entrance, going out into the courtyard which he sweeps over with the beam of his torch: the jet-snow has not moved… but there, next to it - footprints! A robber?
Footsteps behind him in his house! He turns around abruptly, to shine his torch at a face. A face he knows all too well, even though he tried to forget it for fifteen years...
- Do you remember our reaction when dad banned us from playing soccer? - reminisces Aarch. - We wanted to build a rocket so we could escape to another planet!
- If I had listened to dad, I would still have my leg today. - Norata retorts, lowering his torch nonetheless.
- And you would have died like him in the Catastrophe! In any case, we would never have shared all these moments that we lived together... when we set out to conquer the world. Your son is very talented, Norata. Far more talented than we were at his age. He can become a galaxy-renown player!
Norata frowns suspiciously.
- What makes you think he’s good?
Aarch frowns: apparently his father doesn’t know about Rocket’s visit to Arena Stadium, or his training session.
- I can feel it, that’s all. - he evades. - Question of genes, no doubt...
- Good or not, he will be a florist on Akillian, period! There is nothing wrong with that, it is an honorable job!
- But football is his passion, you know that very well!
Norata shines his torch at his brother’s face again.
- You’re here on private property. I’ll ask you to leave, or I’ll call the police!
- Okay, I understood. I won’t bother you with this football thing anymore. You have my word. (Aarch slowly steps out the door, then turns back on the threshold) Farewell, Norata.
Norata watches Aarch go into the night, his head bowed, his step heavy. He remembers that rocket story well. He was eight years old, his brother ten. It was Aarch who drew up the plans. Then the two of them had gone to Arcadia’s Brico-Store to look for materials. The salesman’s eyes had opened wide, and he had laughed at them. “Build a rocket? Sure, no problem. But it’s not a toy store here. We sell gear for grown-ups... you’re not even old enough to handle a laser drill”. Aarch then realized that this business was really beyond their reach. Both had been sorely disappointed... but they left the planet anyway. Later.
Norata rushes to the porch.
- Aarch!
His brother comes to a stop in the snow in the yard, and pivots slowly. Norata holds up one finger.
- One match. I’ll leave you Rocket for one single match: the one against the Red Tigers. If you lose this match, Rocket comes right back here, and I never want to hear from you again. Never!
***
Curled up in the bed of his hotel room, Wouwambou, the captain of Team Wamba, coughs, shivering and chattering his teeth, eyes murky and gray in complexion. What an idea he had to want to accompany his trainer on this cursed frozen planet! While he was so at home, in the heart of the jungle, where the temperature is around forty degrees... but when he learned that the Akillian Federation was offering the trip for two in order to negotiate the conditions of the game of Aarch’s team against the Wambas, he jumped at the chance: the Wambas are a peaceful but poor people, footballers are very poorly paid by galactic standards (although they earn more than enough to live comfortably on their planet) and interplanetary travel is usually an expensive dream...
But Wouwambou had forgotten that, on Akillian, the average temperature is minus ten. As a result, he’s got a rife fever, he’s sick like a swamp gnok. He waits for the doctor, but wonders how he will be able to pay him: a bad flu was not included in the fees… and a doctor’s fee on Akillian is one month’s salary for a Wamba! Too bad, he has to get better, otherwise he will die here, and his team needs him...
There is a knock on the bedroom door. Ah, the doctor, finally!
- Come in, - he manages to articulate in a hoarse voice, between fits of coughing.
It’s not the doctor. Unless Artegor Nexus has changed jobs...
- What... what do you want? How did you find me?
- Why, - smiles Artegor. - When you are a fan of the Wambas like me, you will stop at nothing to visit their illustrious captain! But... it looks like you have a bad flu, my friend?
- Yes, I’m waiting for the doctor...
- And you don’t have enough to pay for one, I imagine? I know the Wambas are not rich...
Wouwambou stares at Artegor with his feverish eyes, wondering where he is going with this. The Red Tigers coach takes a wad of credits out of his pocket and places it on the bedside table.
- With that, you will have enough for a good treatment.
- But what... why...
Wouwambou doesn’t finish, seized with a new bout of coughing. Artegor places a holo-card reader on the table, then walks back to the bedroom door and says in an icy tone:
- She must not be able to play. Ever again. Am I clear enough? I am counting on you, dear friend!
The door slams behind Artegor Nexus. With a trembling finger, Wouwambou activates the reader. In the small field appears a slender young girl with silver hair, kicking a ball ferociously. A halo of bluish lightning emanates from her.
21 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
verbobitransitivo-blog
nobody said it was easy
omni-trademalta
OMNITRADE Operations
choosinghappinessandlove-blog
Untitled
blxndbxby
KIDRAUHL
krystalbarkhordarian-blog
Krystal Barkhordarian:
Adolescent Development & Health