#GIVE HER A GUN AND SET HER LOSE ON THE JUDGES

[raininyourblackeyes]

Barb's face when G/F got their score tho:

[atanx]

Since I've been replaying Subnautica recently, I've been thinking more about Below Zero.

From what I've seen, people tend to give Below Zero more shit than I think it deserves. Now, out of the two games I would very much say that Subnautica is my favourite, but I think comparing the two games is a bad idea in general because of how fundamentally different they are.

The premise of Subnautica is that you're a janitor whose spaceship crashed on an alien planet, leaving you as the only survivor when you wake up 8 hours after the crash. You aren't prepared for this. You're all alone. And you have been infected by a bakteria with a killcount in the billions. You know nothing at all about this world. This sets up real terror, helplessness and the knowledge that even if someone were coming to save you, they would experience the same fate as the rest of your ship's crew. You're not stranded on 4546B BY CHOICE.

Below Zero however, is drastically different. You have gone to great lengths to willingly smuggle yourself onto the planet to find out just what happened to your sister to cause her death. You come very much prepared and you're more than willing to face all the risks. You can also theoretically leave at any point. All you'd have to do is show yourself to Alterra and they would probably escort you to a prison themselves. You do not get infected. You are also not alone.

This willingness and initiative in Below Zero is a huge detractor from the terror of it all. And it is why I think a comparison is unfair.

(Also, you have a Truck. In Below Zero. And Truck-kun is there, ready to deal massive damage for you! Honestly I think it's way too OP. Fucking Shadow Leviathans become nothing more than a NUISANCE. But well, it fits with the theme of the game.)

All in all, Below Zero had nice environments, nice creatures, nice gameplay, a better base building system and some pretty intruiging storylines!

In my opinion, the endgame is pretty lacklustre. Any terror I felt regarding leviathans or the like abated very quickly, even though I have barely 30h in Below Zero. Meanwhile, going to the Aurora in Subnautica still scares the shit out of me 80h in.

Although I have to mention here that some of the familiarity you build up in Subnautica carries over. You can never get the same experience as playing Subnautica for the first time ever again. Because now you've already experienced it once.

Below Zero isn't really a worse game for not being able to do this, though. It's a good game, it's just... not as memorable. Because Subnautica is truly special. From its stellar soundtrack to its satisfying gameplay and moving story and setting, Subnautica is a fucking masterpiece. Sure, it has its flaws, but they're more charming than detracting. To me.

And it's unfair to expect anything else to deliver the same experience. Because nothing can.

And when comparing Below Zero to Subnautica, so many cool things lose their shine in its shadow. I still vividly remember jamming out in the seatruck to Diving In Too Deep from Nerdout. The story of that one old wreck that managed to survive by distracting the big gun was some really good writing. The frozen leviathan terrified me so hard even though I knew it wasn't going to come alive. Robin and Al-An's conversations are genuinely interesting an entertaining. The kelp area is really cool and the oxygen flowers are such a good gameplay change! Sam's storyline hit me right in the feels! MARGUERIT. The ice worm hit me straight off of my snowfox and down a cliff so I had to run the rest of the way. The research crew are also lovely characters!

There are a lot of things to love about Below Zero and we shouldn't let them pale by judging the game with standards Subnautica lifted to the fucking moon <3

[natashxromanovf]

Hey, John!

Spencer Reid x chronic pain condition!fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1682

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of a gun, mentions of gunshots

REQUESTED: {x} by anon, platonic relationship

SUMMARY: When a police officer talks bad about you behind your back, you later prove him wrong. 

A/N: thank you for this request! gif credits @toyboxboy

It’s on days like these that you feel the most useless to the team - sure, your brains make up for the fact that you can’t go on the field, and you know you’re crucial for the team to work, yet deep down there’s always that feeling that you don’t belong there. The case had already started bad since you were having a bad day with your pain, but you still managed to go with them, mostly because you know this case is going to be a complex one, so they will need all the minds they can get.

“Here, let me help you,” Spencer says as he helps you out of the plane, the heat of Los Angeles immediately blowing into your face. You thank him, softly smiling at him. Spencer has been your best friend ever since you joined the team. He has helped you a lot over the years, never once complaining when you asked him if he could do something for you - and you’re infinitely grateful for that. He really has been the best friend anyone could ask for.

A couple of minutes later you arrive at the precinct, thankful for the fact that they have an elevator. You set up as soon as the sheriff shows you where you can put your things, time being quite an important factor in this case.

As usual, Spencer stays behind to set up a geographical profile, asking you for help on this one since there were a lot of victims already, hence there are a lot of paths and points to mark. You of course help him, and once you’re done you move back, trying hard to notice a pattern.

“I can’t see one,” you confess, a deep, focused frown taking over your face.

“Me neither,” he answers, and you can practically see the wheels in his head turning. “I need coffee,” he declares, taking his eyes off the map. “You want one?”

“Yes, please,” you practically exclaim, a chuckle escaping Spencer’s mouth.

“Okay, coming right up,” he mutters, walking out of the room. You try your best to focus on the piece of paper hanging in front of you, but there’s a police officer that just won’t stop staring at you and it’s making you lose focus every time you think you found something.

Deciding enough is enough, you look at him, giving him a smile full of attitude. He immediately averts his gaze, going back to talking with his colleague. Sadly, you can say you’re used to people judging you silently; it’s okay when they simply look because let’s be honest - if you saw someone in a wheelchair you would look too, and it’s okay when they look once, maybe twice and move on with their lives but what really bothers you is when they stare and they keep staring, especially if it’s on a case and the one silently judging is a police officer.

After this very unpleasant interaction, you simply turn your head back to the board, starting to look for any kind of pattern again. And yet somehow, you can see it now - it’s an unfinished heart. That tells you a lot about the unsub so you decide to go look for Spence, instead of just waiting for him to get back.

But when you start pushing yourself out of the room, you see the cop that was staring at you before now talking to Spencer and you can’t help but eavesdrop, once you hear they’re talking about you.

“...I don't know what people like her are even doing as FBI agents, they’re no use. They can’t go out on the field, all they can do is hang out at the office the whole time,” the officer whispers, and you could’ve sworn you saw murder written in Spencer’s eyes. Yet there’s a part of you that fears Spencer’s reaction - like is he actually going to agree with him or is he going to stand up for you?

And of course, Spencer chose the latter. “You know, agent Y/L/N is actually very important for the team. We couldn’t save half the cases we get if it weren’t for her. She’s extremely smart and sometimes, she sees things all of us overlook. Some crucial things too. She’s a total badass so if you have something to say about her condition, please don’t talk to me about it. Really, I don’t want to hear another dumb thing come out of your stupid mouth.”. You have never heard Spencer talk like that to anybody, especially not to a fellow law enforcement officer. But in the end, you’re glad he started now.

After saying what he had to say he walked off, stopping in his tracks when he saw you near there. He had a sympathetic smile on his face, one you were very grateful for at that moment.

“Come here,” you gesture for him to bend over and he does so, immediately being wrapped in one of your special hugs. “Thank you,” you say silently, a small smile stretching over your lips.

“No need to thank me, Y/N/N, I just spoke the facts. We really do need you, you know,” he explains, handing you your coffee once you let go of him.

“You really do, don’t you?” you joke, pulling a laugh out of him. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you I found the pattern,” you add, getting back into the work mood. You show him the unfinished heart and explain where you think the unsub might go next. There are two points he may go, either one end of the heart or the other. Thankfully, there were enough officers to send to both locations, along with the BAU team.

There was one thing, in particular, you missed though - something that was exactly in the middle of that “heart”. It was the police station you’re currently at. Right exactly in the middle stands this building, tall and proud.

You knew something was missing, something you missed. It was bugging you so much that you went back to check. You looked at everything. From the lines the points were connected with, to the surroundings of the crime scenes until something in you clicked. You looked to the middle, and everything suddenly made sense. Of course, his target was the police station all along.

You quickly drove to the phone on the table but before you could dial Hotch’s number into it, a gunshot rang through the room. You quickly dropped the telephone and pushed yourself to the bullpen, only to see a white male in his early 40s with a gun pointed at one of the officers. Just like you profiled. The unsub must have panicked when he saw the police closing in - so instead of completing the heart first, he went straight for his final target.

“Hey!” you shout, getting the unsub’s attention. His gun immediately points to you instead, making you put your hands up in defence. You got this, you were trained for these kinds of situations. The first rule of any hostage negotiation is to try to talk the target down. Calm them down, present them their options in the most negative way for them possible. If that doesn’t work, just stall until help arrives. You profiled that he wouldn't negotiate so you went straight to phase two. Stall.

“Who the fuck are you?” he nervously asks, waving his gun around. A mental breakdown? You didn’t profile that but it’s better to know from the beginning than be surprised at the wrong moment later.

“I’m SSA Y/N Y/L/N,” you calmly answer, breathing steadily even though you feel like your heart will explode any second now. “And who are you, if I may ask?”

“You don’t have to know!” he quickly replies. He’s jumpy. Good. Maybe you can use that against him. This will either be a very good or a very bad trait of his.

“Okay, let’s just call you John, shall we?” you suggest, still holding your hands up.

“Sure,” he replies, the gun in his hands held high. That’s when you see a familiar silhouette behind him. Spencer Reid in all his glory. You have never been so relieved to see him. He catches your eye, telling you his plan with one look. You slightly nod the minute the unsub’s eyes avert for a second. Everything is up to you now.

“Hey, John!” Emily shouts from the other side of the room, making him whip around at the speed of light. Yet he wasn’t faster than you. As soon as Emily screamed, you pulled out your gun, shooting him in the thigh before he hurts anyone. And at that moment, Spencer jumped on him, seizing the gun and putting the unsub to the ground. Immediately officers were on him, cuffing and holding him in place.

“Are you okay?” Spencer is at your side in a second.

“I’m fine,” you smile. “A little shaken up, but aren’t we all?” you question, more rhetorically than anything else. He lets out a sigh of relief, looking away only to lock eyes with the cop that was previously talking bad about you behind your back.

“See, I told you she was a badass,” he declares, taking in the officer’s shaking form. “Hope you can stop shaking soon and realise that the woman right there,” he points to you “is braver than you ever were and will be,” he finishes, not paying the man in blue any more attention.

“My hero,” you joke, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I think Emily and you are the real heroes here,” he says in reply, underappreciating himself. Again.

“You were pretty cool too,” you wink, shaking your head as you chuckle.

“C’mon, let’s get you home, it’s been a long day,” Spencer comments, getting up from his position, going to walk behind you so he can push your wheelchair. You’re very grateful for him at this moment. He showed up and that’s all that matters - you knew you could count on him and his smart brain.

criminal minds taglist: @velvetcloxds @mollysolo @hallecarey1 @mirclealignr @cupids-crystals

spencer reid: @eichenhouseproperty

i hope you enjoyed this! don't forget to like, reblog and/or comment, it really helps writers with motivation <33

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[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Pretty Pointy Smile Chapter 4

Summary:  Bucky was born different, and has been judged for it ever since.  His father has had enough and sells him to the circus.  The acceptance and love of his newfound family, and the beautifully fierce ringmaster, help him realize he’s not the monster everyone else made him out to be.

vampire!bucky barnes x curvy!reader

This is set in more of like the 1950-60s/ish time period.

Warnings: eventual smut, physical assault, a gun, a lion attack

The local sheriff was irate, but took one look at the state of Bucky and decided fair was fair, so no charges were brought against the circus.  The man attacked by the lion was not too pleased but decided to let things go instead of ratting out his friends and catching a charge himself.

The next few weeks were rough as the circus still traveled and Bucky had to lay still.  The vampire act was cut for the time being so he could heal, and it made him feel useless to just be idling by while everyone else had to work.  It also took a financial toll on the circus since it had quickly become their big moneymaker.  He looked forward to the day Happy would clear him and he could start again.  

“Come on, Happy, give me some good news,” Bucky sighed as he was inspected again.  The bruising had gone away, the wheezing slowly dissipated, and his lip healed.  He was just happy that he didn’t lose one of his fangs from the assault.

“I know you’re wanting to get back out there kid, just give me a second,” Happy teased him, listening through the stethoscope again.  After a beat he pulled away and gave Bucky a wink.  “You’re good.”

“All good?” Bucky smiled wide.

“All good, vampy.  Get back to work,” Happy clapped his shoulder as he packed up his medical bag.

“Thanks, doc!” Bucky clapped Happy’s shoulder back then quickly ran out of the tent looking for Y/N.  He found her by the elephants, giving treats to her favorite Penelope.  “Y/N!” Bucky called as he jogged up to her.

Y/N whirled around to him, her eyes giving him a once-over.  “Bucky, why are you running?  You have to heal–”

“I’m healed!” Bucky cheered, raising his hands above his head.  “Happy said I’m all good to go!  We can start the act again.”

“Oh!” Y/N smiled widely and rushed towards him.  She opened her arms and he quickly stooped down to pick her up in a hug, swinging her around and laughing.

“I’m so happy, Buck.  Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Y/N asked as she seemed to inspect his face when he put her down.

“I’m fine, all good to go.  I’m ready to get back into it.”

“Great.  Let’s practice tomorrow before the show to make sure we’re all still good with our blocking, then we can do it again starting tomorrow night.”

“Sounds perfect,” he smiled widely at her.  

Y/N squeezed his arms, giving him a brilliant smile back.  “I’m so happy to have you back.  I won’t have to be in the sideshows anymore after tonight.”

Bucky looked at her puzzledly, “What do you mean? You’ve never been in the sides before?”

Y/N sighed, her eyes turning away.  “Yeah, well, the vampire act has been such a hit that without it we’ve had to do different things to make up for the loss.  And I used to do sides all the time when I started,” she waved off his question and started walking towards her personal tent.

“Wait, what exactly are you doing for the sideshow?” he asked as he followed her.

“Well, show this off,” she answered curtly, showing him her tattooed arm.  

“What do you mean ‘show it off’?” he asked, a strange feeling twisting his stomach.

“It means exactly what it sounds like, Buck,” she started to walk more briskly towards the tent.

“So you’re sitting in one of the sides, just showing off your body?” Bucky asked incredulously.

“Yes, that’s the whole point.  I’m covered nearly head to toe in tattoos.  What good is that if I don’t show them off once in a while?  And it gets us more money,” she said as they reached the tent.

“Yeah, but…” Bucky didn’t know what to say, or why he was feeling so angry about the idea of Y/N doing this.  She’d done it before, she’d chosen to get the tattoos, she wasn’t ashamed of them.  So why was he angry?

“But nothing.  Look, is it enjoyable having people ogle you?  No.  But it works.  Now leave me be, I have to get changed.”

***

Later that night as Bucky was helping backstage with the big tent show he kept feeling that strange feeling from earlier.  He didn’t want Y/N sitting in a booth dressed in very little showing off her body to others.  It didn’t feel right to him.  Yes it paid, and probably well, but he didn’t like it.  He kept chastising himself mentally.  She doesn’t belong to you.  You are not together.  She can do as she pleases.  Why would she ever be with you anyway?  It was a long show that night.

After it was all over the sideshow acts quickly dispersed to their booths and tents.  The public from the big tent show and those still trickling in would follow the flow from booth to booth, getting snacks and treats, getting their fortune read, looking at the bearded lady and other strange acts.  Bucky decided to roam around and see the sides, or at least that’s what he told himself as he beelined it to Y/N’s tent.  Tents were reserved for the more private or pay-per-view types of acts.  He got in line, which was pretty long and full of men, he noted, for the tattooed ringmaster.  The line slowly trudged along, and the sounds of hoops and hollers could be heard periodically.  Bucky knew this was a bad idea, that he wasn’t going to like what he saw, or maybe like it too much, but his body was moving of its own accord at that point.

Once it was his turn he handed the ticketer his coins, who gave him a wink when they recognized him, and walked into the tent with a few other people he was grouped with.  There was a small stage with a gate around it to stop people from walking up onto it.  The top of the stage was shrouded in a black and white striped curtain.  A gramophone in the corner was playing some music.  Once everyone was inside and the tent door was shut, a crew member inside the tent switched out the record on the gramophone, and as the upbeat music began the curtain was pulled back.  

Y/N was sitting on a stool in the middle of the stage, half turned away from the crowd, and wearing a skimpy bathing suit that matched the black and white striped curtain.  Her hair was pulled all up in a messy updo, curls falling out randomly, with a large white ribbon holding it all together.  Her makeup had been purposely messed up a little, the bright red lipstick smudged along one side of her mouth.  Her body was on almost full display, showing off just how many tattoos there really were, some of them peeking out from the bathing suit.  The crowd whooped, whistled and hollered as she slid off the stool and fully faced them.  She started to pose in different positions, dancing a bit as she would shift from one pose to another.  

Bucky’s eyes were as wide as saucers, his jaw hung open.  He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t this.  Y/N posed and danced through the whole song, her hands sliding around her body to bring attention to some slightly larger tattoos, and once it ended she blew a kiss and sauntered back over to the stool, sitting on it as the curtain closed around her.  

They were quickly ushered out once the show was over.  Bucky felt like he could use the fresh air and quickly walked back to the big tent.  He didn’t know what to do with himself.  His hands were shaking and his nether regions were throbbing.  He’d taken care of himself before, but this felt almost desperate.  He stumbled through the tent’s backstage area, apologizing as he bumped into people, and quickly found his way to a secluded corner of the fairgrounds.  It was very difficult to ever have a moment’s privacy or peace when working in a circus.  Bucky had seen others sneak off to try and get some alone time together, but the sounds of moans and skin slapping skin were always easily heard.

He hid behind some equipment set off to the side for storage, plopping himself down so no one could see or hear him.  Once he felt the coast was clear he undid his pants and pulled them and his underwear down to his mid thighs. His cock quickly jumped to attention, slapping against his stomach.  He took hold of himself and pumped gently, moaning quietly at the relief.  He hadn’t done this in a long time, hadn’t felt the need to, but then again he’d never had much experience with women before.  His fangs were a little too much for them usually.

As his pace picked up he pictured Y/N, nearly naked, sliding off that stool and dancing to meet him.  He gripped his cock a bit harder, his head falling back as he envisioned her touching him, molding her tattooed body against his.  He’d held her so many times while doing the vampire act that he could almost feel her ass pushing against his cock as he held her by the throat.  His hips bucked up into his fist as he moaned a little louder.  It was like he could almost hear her moan his name as he pictured her sinking herself onto his cock.  “Y/N!” he whimpered as he came, shooting threads of cum onto his hand. It took him a few minutes to come down from the euphoria.  As he cleaned himself up and wiped his hand off in the grass he suddenly felt dirty.  You’re such a creep, what would she think of you doing this?  Here?  Outside and in public?  Thinking of her?  It felt like he was being punched in the gut again.  He moaned out of frustration as he tucked himself back in his pants, quickly getting up and shamefully walking back towards the big tent.  How am I going to get through rehearsal tomorrow?

**picture is from Pinterest, it's AI so "artist" or "creator" is unknown**

[boyakishantriage]

"oh of course. Yes, why all humans are such violent, vile, monsters who kill and slaughter and devour each other for a slimmest of margins of power. It's not like I'm a unique bitch or anything, no. It's all humans who are pure evil."

The Terran stood over the two, having wriggled her way through vents as she glared at at the two. Guns immediately raised at the grate.

"wow. I mean, you're really gonna shoot a fuel cell?"

She cut in before the pellets went flying. The two aliens froze, one glaring between the grates, there really was a fuel cell. That alongside the voice in the vents meant...

"yeah, I'm still wriggling my way through your ship. Not annoying, but y'all leave so many tools around it's frankly hilarious how easy it is to dismantle your security in here."

The sound of something wriggling above them, guns aimed at the roof.

"oh and uh, there's a few pipes here. No idea what coolant, or oxygen, or electrical wires are. No idea at all, this engineer has zero clues on what they could possibly do if you shoot em."

The two guards powered weapons, if it was a bluff it'd be a very dangerous one to dare considering how thin the metal was in the prisoner's room.

"So, what now?"

"simple. Catch."

A single grenade was dropped from a vent to their side, rolling down the hatch between the two. Both leaping around corners or the floor, as the smoke grenade went off. More grenades flew out, more gas, a few decoys and a cluster.

"BYE!" The sound of sprinting, as the smoke dissipated enough they could see the give grenades. One discharged, two decoys, an other smoke and one of their cluster grenades.

"oh Wi-"

BOOM

Echoed through the ship, door sealing behind the Terran as she slid into a vent, the metal absorbing most of her energy as nearby pirates ran towards the room.

The pirates had modified a shuttle, rigged it to be able to detach when the ship was blaring emergency signals, with space for prisoners and half of the crew. Food, armoury. Each ship had enough to start a small raid that'd allow a rebuilding. A small civilian cruiser modified for battle, that doubled as a mini base from the pirate capital that was probably a lot of jerry rigged ships fused together. Portable, functional and very annoying. This was a pirate ship, more privateer on paper, but considering the jerry rigged nature of most of it, well it probably had to do with my friend managing to send a tiny signal to earth.

Truly was dubious, but my Wendy, like she had in the Somali pirates thing, had left enough gaps and loopholes that it's very possible to catch the pirates. Probably made a stupid smart excuse to explain it, making the work she did specifically so she couldn't not add these gaps in security. Smart girl. Plus. She'd arranged the ship in a very familiar structure, anyone with half a brain could figure out how ships vents worked and she'd set the ship up so if you hit the armoury, firstly you'd not lose every weapon. Secondly, you'd have fumes to escape with. And thirdly, those fumes were linked by vents, connected and closed by doors opening and closing around the ship with all the vents to important places large enough for a human to wriggle through. For maintenance.

Again, smart girl.

Grenades dropped down into the ship's bridge, Wendy glancing at the monitor film on the back of her phone. The pirates weren't letting her go, with her intelligence and 4D thinking she might as well have been an infinite goldmine. Moved to be transported to a base to reinforce it, she'd contacted a friend who'd be able to contact a friend who'd contact her buddy on earth. And judging off the explosion and pirates rushing to check vents, she probably was wriggling her way to the vent under her desk. A hint of lavender wafting below her feet.

The Terran had gone missing, pirates scrambling as they checked vents, the armoury was missing several grenade boxes. She'd vanished and nobody knew where on earth she'd gone in three hours, until someone noticed the flying away prisoner ship, the smoke alarm having triggered and the ship in a state of emergency.

The aliens stared out the window, the ship slowly rising up to the middle of the glass window, the engine chutes warming up at the massive blind spot, with it being an emergency the turret meant to cover it was busy shooting garbage as they'd released their contents, alongside the saved up smoke.

ZIP.

And then. It was gone. Flashing lights, pirate emergency signals across all channels, a massive monolith for people to find the ship. And the engine's ability to move was jammed from all the fans being jammed in the vents. Only able to move left or right, which'd spread the signal further.

"... So. I think we got played."

[offender42085]

Post 0384

Adam Fulford, Colorado inmate 178473, born 1984, incarceration intake at age 33, scheduled for parole December 2037, with full release October 2049

Kidnapping, Assault, Attempted Murder, Fleeing  

Nearly eight months after Fulford led law enforcement officers on a massive manhunt across Fort Collins, around Horsetooth Reservoir and into Loveland, a Judge sentenced the 34-year-old man to 35 years in prison and 24 years of mandatory parole.

During one evening, police say Fulford fled from a central Fort Collins apartment complex when they tried to serve an arrest warrant related to missed court appearance in a felony drug case.  He fled on foot before hailing a taxi and directing the taxi driver to evade police, they said. During that time, the taxi driver was shot in the leg — though Fulford's defense said both the driver and Fulford said the gun discharged accidentally.

Police say Fulford hid overnight near Horsetooth Reservoir. The next morning, he stole a car at gunpoint and led law enforcement officers on a chase topping speeds of 100mph. It ended when he smashed into a car driven by Tara Hildebrand, who was taking her two young children to school in Loveland.

Fulford's sister read letters from both herself and Fulford's brother, in which they described him as a caring and giving man with a wonderful sense of humor. They said the father of two was temporarily waylaid by depression and addiction amidst the trauma of losing his father, his job and his dog in a short amount of time. He also endured a breakup, they said.

They did not excuse his "egregious mistakes," they said, but they knew him to be much more than his crimes.

"Adam is not a saint, but he is a loving, compassionate, artistic father," his sister said. As she spoke, Fulford bowed his head and wiped his eyes.

The prosecution and defense offered their own contrasting narratives as to how the crime unfolded.

The Prosecutor described Fulford as a "maniac with a gun" who was not taking responsibility for his actions and distorting the events in a light favorable to himself.  He said Fulford was solely responsible for the manhunt and the subsequent, high-speed chase.

He initially faced 29 allegations, and the list eventually exceeded 50, including 48 felonies.

"Let's be clear: The police don't set the speed in a chase," he said. "... The speed was entirely controlled by Mr. Fulford."

Fulford's public defender countered that Fulford never intentionally caused any injuries and that he should not be defined by his worst mistakes.

"His actions were entirely out of character," she said, going on to describe him as a talented artist and a devoted father. "This is the man that I have gotten to know."

Finally, Fulford took the stand and read from a letter he'd written on a stack of paper. During his lengthy and tearful statement, he apologized to his victims for the emotional and physical pain he caused them.

"My heart broke into 1,000 pieces when I found out that I injured a family and shot a man," he said.

He later added, "I do understand what I've done and what could have happened."

He said that, after what he described as targeting by police, he adopted an "outlaw mentality" and his mind became his own worst enemy. During the night he fled from police, he said he continued to hide and to run because he feared he'd be fatally shot.

"My fear of being killed was not paranoia," he said. "It was a certainty."

He concluded by again apologizing to his victims, thanking his family for their ongoing support and asking for forgiveness in the community.

Ultimately, the Judge accepted the sentence previously stipulated in a plea deal. Fulford was convicted of seven felonies: aggravated robbery, two counts of first-degree assault, motor vehicle theft, second-degree burglary, vehicular eluding and possession of a dangerous weapon. The Larimer County district attorney dismissed dozens of other felony and misdemeanor charges.

The Judge also sentenced Fulford in an unrelated case for which he pleaded guilty to possession of a controlled substance. He received 18 years in prison and three years of mandatory parole, to be served concurrently with his other sentence.

[afterthegreatunknown]

Randomity: Never Underestimate the Power of a Computer Hint

[The AO3 link is here]

“Hey Fiona, do you know the computer password?”

Isadora sticks her head inside Fiona’s bedroom. The older girl is currently lying on her bed, flipping the pages of her history book on a chapter Isadora has no idea what it’s about, taking notes in her spiral notebook. Judging from image of two people in a carriage, with another person pulling a gun on them, it might be the chapter that covers World War One.

“I do, but why ask me about it, as if you don’t know what the password is,” says Fiona, not looking up from the history book. “Hector, Fernald, and my stepfather know it, since they set it up. Quigley was able to use two weeks ago to print something off for his Spanish class. And Duncan used it just last month to research something about The Thistle of the Valley incident.”

“If you’re think one of brothers told me, they didn’t. My brothers are still brothers who like to see their sister suffer sometimes,” answers Isadora. “Neither one of them told me it.”

Fiona snaps her head upward. “Really? That makes a bit of a difference then.”

“Are you going to tell me the password then?”

“Depends on why you’re asking me for the password. Was there not a hint regarding the password? I know there was a hint the last time I used it.”

“How is ‘Look down from the top, at three you’ll stop. It’s six long, you can’t get it wrong,’ a hint? An apparent hint that are in two freaking couplets!” Isadora throws her hands up into the air, and then brings her thumb and forefinger together. “I’m these seconds away to losing it, Fiona.”

“Well, I can’t have that happening on my watch,” says Fiona, sitting upward on her bed now. She takes off her glasses, and wipes them with her shirt. “Do calm down, Isadora. I’ll tell you the password. But be warn. You’ll might slap your palm to your forehead when hearing it.”

“I serious doubt it,” says Isadora, giving the older girl a smile. “With a hint that ridiculous, the password must be something that has to be told from the get-go. So, care to tell me it?”

Fiona closes her eyes, and gives a deep sigh. “…Qwerty. The password is Qwerty.”

Isadora stops her smiling. She opens her mouth, but no words came out. Qwerty. Qwerty. QWERTY. Isadora couldn’t help but slap her palm to her forehead, as Fiona said. “Son of a bitch! It’s telling me to stop at row three when looking at the top, and look at the six letters!”

“Aye,” says Fiona, reopening her eyes. “Don’t get angry at yourself. It’s not every day you run into an Occam’s razor, and in poetry form at that.”

“Yeah,” says Isadora. “A weird Occam’s razor. Thank you for the help, Fiona.”

“You’re welcome. Have fun with whatever you plan on doing on the computer.”

[concernedlily]

more cousin-related break up canon divergence

It has a title now! pt 1 and also cross ref this devastating gifset of Porsche freaking out about falling in love with his cousin

this bit is all exposition but we're gonna get back to the plot and UST soon

He heads up to his mother’s room after, brain working with plans. Kinn has obviously been panting after getting everything lined up for Porsche since the second he handed over the ring. Porsche has a spreadsheet with Theerapanyakul intelligence and Kinn’s personal notes of everyone in Thailand with a negotiable relationship with the law; a chart with every funding injection the main family’s legit business operations are expecting from the minor family’s money laundering over the next three years; and meetings in the diary, with Kinn, with the three people Kinn judges as most able to tell him exactly what’s going on with the minor family’s deals. 

There’s only one reservation in Porsche’s mind about it all, a big screaming red one, and it’s intimately linked to both the woman Porsche is going to see and the elegant jail cell he’s going to see her in. 

Kinn is behind all the plans he’s suggested to Porsche, and Porsche trusts Kinn to his bones now. But Korn is behind Kinn, whether Kinn always realises it or not. If Korn thinks he’s put a puppet at the head of the minor family… well, Porsche is still learning. But Kinn’s priority is to give Porsche an organisation that keeps Porsche safe; but Porsche’s priority is to keep Kinn safe, always.

That’s what the minor family is for, protecting the main family, keeping them out of the worst work of their business, so it fits. For now. Porsche won’t hesitate to drop it all, give it all up, to look after Kinn. Once a bodyguard, always the bodyguard’s rule.

His mum is as silent as ever. She indicates she’d like to play chess on the pretty set already in her rooms, and Porsche tries but the closest he’d ever got to a game was a playful round of strip chess late in Kinn’s room one night and it turns out that was not the best practice for a regular game with his mother. He loses in five minutes and she purses her lips at him and sets the board up again. 

It’s weird, and not totally pleasant; and he feels awful, like the worst son alive, for thinking that. She’s his mother, and she’s been through so much, it’s not her fault her mind doesn’t work the way he remembers and longs for. It’s not her fault she doesn’t recognise him, seventeen years and a lot of miles later. It’s not her fault she doesn’t act like… like she knows him. Like she loves him.

He’ll bring Chay, when he’s sure he knows how she’ll react to it. For now he brings flowers, setting them up carefully in a nice vase on the table where she likes to paint so she can choose them as a subject if she wants, plays the fucking chess, and chatters to her as neutrally as he can, about Bangkok and world affairs and how he’s thinking of redecorating their house to give Chay somewhere to hang out with his university friends next year.

He’s there for an hour, and he has to stop himself from setting that as the target for next time, and he has to stop himself from going down to find Kinn and look for comfort from him about it.

It would be so much easier if Kinn were angry with him, if they were normal exes full of resentment about the end of their relationship, it would be so much simpler if Kinn wasn’t an option. Porsche’s self-control has never been strong and now it’s the only thing between himself and all the love and support and sweetness he craves. He’s so afraid that barrier won’t hold against the thin layer of disgust about a blood relationship most of him doesn’t even really still believe is real.

He goes back to the minor family compound instead, installs another lock on the rooms he’s chosen for himself, on the opposite side of the courtyard from where Gun and Vegas and Macau had their private rooms, and tries to get a night’s sleep that doesn’t involve waking up breathless that his ammo has run out and he needs to choose between arming Kinn and being able to defend him himself.

***

It gets smoother after that. Gear shows up with the sunrise the next day and sets himself up in the courtyard with three mobile phones and a little black book that could probably bring down eighty per cent of the organised crime in Thailand if it ever fell into the wrong hands. Three days later Porsche has a crowd of muscle, including a half dozen calm experienced killers on loan from the Lerttravinonts as bodyguards (he’s going to seriously owe Tae, but it’s worth it), introductory meetings in his diary (he also now has a diary, and a narrow-eyed woman in her fifties with another two phones and knives up her sleeves to manage it) with the key players in the minor family’s operations, and three or four money men whose fall from the graces of some of the biggest accountancy firms in the world isn’t entirely explained combing through records and tracking down where the money comes in and where it goes back out. 

It’s not something that Porsche has ever bothered about, even when Yok tried to interest him in the business side of the bar, before she figured out he was just fine as a bartender and didn’t want or need any grand life plan beyond seeing Chay right. But the minor family’s operations are what gives the main family the money and under the table power to do business, and that means understanding this stuff is taking care of Kinn. And that means Porsche is going to get a grip on it, because it’s the only thing he has left that he <i>can</i> do to take care of Kinn.

Most importantly the compound is busy again, the market open: the uncles and aunties, the families and small business owners who look to the minor family for protection have crept back home now it’s clear that the main family won’t be coming with guns and bombs for revenge and other families know the minor family isn’t as ripe for shaking down as putting Porsche in place might have looked. 

Porsche likes that. He may not be equipped to step seamlessly into running a crime organisation that turns over hundreds of millions of baht a year, but he knows the noise and rhythm and tight-knit protectiveness of the kind of community on the outskirts of the minor family and he knows how to join it; he knows how to make use of it. 

There’s a dive on the premises, really just a room with a few kegs of beer and chairs and tables too rickety for the customers of the stalls and shops in the market. Porsche makes it clear that from now on it’s open for business but not <I>business</I>, orders a hell of a lot of high-end liquor on the main family’s credit, begs Yok to lend him a couple of her guys for a day or two, and gets his ass behind the bar. 

Now when he walks through the market he’s greeted by those in the compound’s loose circle of industry with recognition and affection, the way he’d seen them welcome Vegas. He knows people’s names, who they’re feuding with, who they’re sleeping with, what they want, what they need, and they’re starting to know him. 

(He asks Gear for one personal favour and Arthee’s cremation ceremony is just him and a bewildered, weeping Chay. Porsche does everything perfectly, with the respect and honour due a beloved uncle, and doesn’t cry. He can never know, now, how Arthee had really felt about him and Chay; whether he’d come to love them or only ever seen them as a job, whether he’d cared about everything his gambling put them through. He lets Korn’s revelation go up in smoke with Arthee’s body and hopes his next life is happier. 

There’s one elaborate wreath with no name, the flowers a deep dark red. Porsche doesn’t text to thank him.)

[nityarawal]

10/19/2023

The Balance

Rattle No More!

Morning Songs

Middle Eastern

Mothers

Are The Best

On Planet Earth 

We Understand

Your Jealousy

Just Not 9/11 Curse

Salman Rushdie

Didn't Take 

An Eye For An Eye

Authors Aren't That

Kind

Not Vindictive

Whose Gonna Loot

America

Whose Gonna Loot

Camp California

Back

Brokers

Judges

Jewish Attys

More Like Pirates

We Love Camp David

Just Not

Gaza Probate

Scams

How Many Mommies

Murdered In This War

On Breeders 

Democracy

How Many Moms

Laughed Out Of Courts'

Crying For Children

You Admit Atty Sexton

That You Gossiped 

Over Our Texts

Laughing At Infidelities

Humanity

Fallen Stars

Smears

You Admit Atty Sexton

You Set Bad Example

Grooming Baby Cops

In Gracie Jujitsu

Coming Out

Daddies Sterling

Gay Man's Clubs

Our Sons

You Admit Atty Sexton

You Kiss Wasser's

A**

For Johnny Depp

Camille too

For Anjolina

Jolie

Beatings

Kim Kardashian

And #FreeBritney

Dhani Harrison

Her Minions Breaking

Women

Parents

Breeders

#WeHeardYou

Sirs

Death Or Divorce

Sometimes

Both

You Admit Atty Sexton

You Ghost

Mothers Blind

A War On Moms

You Admit Atty Sexton

You Broke

Moms'

Hearts

Fidelity Hippa Laws

In Crimes

In The Coffee Room

Atty Sexton

Laughing At Moms

You Terrorize

9 To 5 Audit

Bribes

Atty Sexton

Tell Us More

Divorce Lies

Full Disclosure

Atty Sexton

Syrupy Saccharin

Jaded Groomer

Why On Earth 

Do We Love

Your Cloying Kind

Atty Sexton

What's Your DA

Son Propagating

Conflict Of Interest

DA War

Atty Sexton

Killing Women

AOC You See

What's Going On

Triangulating

Moms

Atty Sexton

Into Probates

Dr. Bug

Were You Behind

Lobotomies

With

Atty Sexton

In New York City

With Organised

Psyche Teams

Why'd You Kill

Our Moms

Atty Sexton

With Bad Judges

Dr. Bug

Prefers Her

Body

Dr. Psyche

To Male Political

Prostitutes

Blowing

Trafficking

Cambridge Spies

Dr. Psyche

You Want My 

Body

Dr. Psyche 

Wanna Swap

Dr. Psyche

Did You Propose

Block The Muses

Estrange Ja

Restrain Us

Dr. Psyche

You Want To Swap

You Want To Lose

Dr. Psyche

"War Is Lose

Lose," Our Naturopath

Eric Says

Dr. Psyche

Are You An Atty Too

Like Atty Dr. Alan Silverman

Grooming

Camp California

In Courts

Conservators

Bars

Yeah

He Has Us Sleeping

On The Forest Floor

Like Anastasia

Beds'

From Russia's

Ringing Cedars

Red Shank Sleeping

Bags

Pine Sap

Just Like Elon Musk

At Tesla

Space X

When Are 40%

Chirping

Tweeting

Writing

Singing

Citizen Journalists

X Activists

Recovering

Camp California

Lugging Trailers

Remodeling

Storage Units

Flooding

Palaces

Munchkins Basking

In Bliss

With Kids

Peace Parties

Military

Skedaddle

When In Doubt

Blame Nonces

Own In England

Kick His Soldiers Out

Blame Mistress 

Cambridge Harlots

James Bonds

Marines

No Longer Attractive

Cheaters

Who Can't Look

In Eyes

Silencing Euros

Coddling

Baby America

When In Doubt

Blame The Trannys

From England

When In Doubt

Yell

#NotMyKing

Bozos

You Don't Need

To See

My Who-Who

When In Doubt

Refer To Data

Collected

When In Doubt

It's All Mine And

Yours

Ours

Just A $500 billion

Dollar Prototype

Refund

Not From Moms'

For The, "Women

In Me,"

Daddy Dearests'

Poets

#FreeBritney

You Got Our

Stories

Since 1973

You Got This

Captive On Our

IPhone

Held By Spies

And Ignoramus

Alibis

Immature Cops

Giggling Like Attys

High On

Fentanyl

OD'ing

Big Bad Attys

Lie

Meth Addicts

Think 'Ya All Got

The Guns

Big Big Big

Guns

Entertainment

Best Outcome

"Likely Most

Entertaining,"

Outcome

For Courts 

Our Fans

Deluded Attys

Judges

"Till Death Do 

Us Part" -

"Or Divorce" - It's

True

So

Under International 

Law

Apartheid

Slave Owners

Laws

Close Courts

Why You Opress

Us

With International

Apartheid

Intergalactic

Intellectuals

Rattling

Peace

Bloody Peace

Treaties

Not Being Passive Aggressive

We Mean It

Rattlers

You Think Mammas' 

Won't Negotiate

For The Real Thing

Peace

Bloody Peace

Tea

Rattlers

Rocket Timing

Not Right

Bros'

We Beg For Merlin

Moms'

AI Dissolution

Tonight

Give Us Our Checks

Mamma Mayas'!

#FreeBritney

Queen's In Our Midsts'

Meg-X- It 

Said

"Check Mate!"

Mex-X-It

Said

"Stalemate!"

Authors Call

"Checkmate!"

Writers Strikes

"Stalemate!"

Sterility

#FreeBritney

Declare It

Own It

"Checkmate!" 

Moms Lives Matter

And Kids

Re-Administrate

Moms Banks

Send Back Our Funds

Baes

Homes

Stocks 

We're Not Probates

And Our Millions Of

Attys And

Their Jewish

Colleagues

Lied

#Free Britney

Attys

"How I Met Your

Mother," Dads

Offspring

Actors

Writers

Don't Have Rights

To The Bribes

"TMRockstars"

"TMMoms"

"TMBreeders"

"TMLakshmi"

"TmActors"

And Certainly Not

"TMTedMosby"

Or Comdeians

'Cuz Your Own Boy

Our Imaginary 

Boyfriend

Under The Umbrella

Of Transcendental 

Meditation 

TM MONOGAMY Vows

Loyal Like A Dog

Muses

To Tracy

Mamma

Get Your Mantra

From Maharishi's

Teachers'

And Undo

This Karmic Genocide

Artists Flutter Wings

Singers Squawk

Prove To Us It's

Freedom Of Speech

Or We'll

Worry Minutely

That You'll End Up

Like Your Elder

Voice

Bob Sagat

"Hand Of God,"

Prank At Court

Pacing Crying

Listening To Your

Tweets

Wasn't Funny

On News

Grieving

Writing

Begging You And 

Attys 

From Hospitals

With Restless Leg

Syndrome

Caged

Beating 

Boldly

Bravely

To Stop Medicating

Rufi-ing Us 

Gastro Intestinal

Murders

Rapes

Get An Alibi

Get Married Peace

Sorry You've Been

Blocked By "D"

Camp David

"D Block J"

Plates Say

Sorry J's

Stand Tall

Stand Strong 

Yogi Footprints

Mountain Pose

Steadfast

Jojo

Joshua 

Stand Tall

Ja- My Lord 

Stand Tall

Joshua

Jojo

Peace

Jyoti - My Light

Peace

Shakti- My Balance

Mother Earth

Peace

Anjali- My Offering 

To Goddess

Libres- Venus

Mars Rattlers

No More

My Son- My Martian

My Warrior

My Love

My Kyan

My King

My Lord

Wants More

More More More

Balance

Peace

Highly Sensitive

Beings Need

More More More

Sisters

Libres

Lean Into

"Women

Life

Freedom"

Please

Peace

Peace

Peace

Baraye

Merci!

Peace,

Nitya Nella Azam Davigo Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

[harrison-abbott]

gift for the kiddos

It was my niece’s birthday and I was invited to the party. I’d bought her this collection of kids books that I liked when I was wee, when my father used to read them to me. And my brother, my niece’s father, also had that same thespian charm and so I hoped it would be a good set of gifts.

The stap of my bra had died. Snapped, rather, yesterday: and I only remembered when I made to put it back on. And all of my other bras were in the washing basket and smelly.

So I went down to the supermarket to get a new bra for the day, knowing I should have had all of this convenienced by now. In the supermarket I went to the clothes section promptly and I bought a packet of my size. These days I avoided the mirrors and when I was buying clothes items I didn’t test them in the changing rooms for this reason; as I used to be pretty chuffed with my appearance, but I wasn’t in modern days, had lost confidence. And perhaps physical beauty or non beauty is among the most fickle of judgemental aspects, if you think of it: how people can like you for your looks one moment, and the minute your facial structure alters, they lose intrigue, or if you put on a little wait or your hair goes grey, or if simply the depth of eyes goes spoiled and is no longer novel and thus not as gleaming.

When back at home I showered and as the water flumed over my body I worried how my brother might think of me when I arrived and what he thought of me in general. You know, that classic comparing yourself to your sibling, disorder. That historic fallacy which all of us do, if indeed we have siblings. Even if we look at it objectively and we’re in the green light, we still feel threatened that their feats will put is in the red.

I put on the new bra after the shower. It wasn’t comfy. But I put this down to my mentality.

And I had to be there at the house within two hours. So I ate half a sandwich and then headed out. Took the train. With my bags filled with the gifts for the kiddos. And I’d gotten a posh bottle of wine for my bro and his wife.

My brother’s wife didn’t like me that much and I’d never really understood why and my tactics around her had always been to simply be polite and conversational and this tactic had never quite worked for some reason and my brother was deeply embarrassed when I was near her and acted in this macho bully big bully older bro way in a jokey way and so I took the regressive edge and laughed along with his shit banter in order to try and appease her. It was quite like being under a rude assistant manager at work who you have to nullify in order to keep your peasant position.

When I knocked on the door I waited fifty seconds and then she opened the door. She was a very pretty lady indeed. And her smile had nothing behind the shiny teeth; nor did her short hug give off any animalistic warmth.

When my brother saw me he said “Hey Sis!” in this singsong bravado and it was obvious he’d been drinking.

The children were playing videogames in the living room. My niece was watching and I went up and said happy birthday to her and she looked uncomfortable and didn’t respond and her brother, my nephew, was shooting zombies on this big flatscreen. Strafing zombies with a machine gun. And I wondered why my brother had let them do this, bought them this game, that was so gory and tacky and crude … But, who was I to judge, without any kids myself.

[newstfionline]

Thursday, September 28, 2023

New York judge finds Donald Trump liable for fraud (CNN/AP) Judge Arthur Engoron has found Donald Trump and his older sons liable for fraud in the state of New York, just days before the former president was set to go to trial against the New York state attorney. The judge, granting New York Attorney General Letitia James’ motion for summary judgment (a judgment without need for a trial), found Trump and his sons “to be liable as a matter of law for persistent violations” of state law, including giving lenders and insurers falsified financial documents and multiple cases of fraud. The judge determined, among other claims, that Mr. Trump overvalued his Mar-a-Lago estate by 2,300% in one financial statement, and that he once claimed his Trump Tower penthouse was three times its actual size, overestimating its worth by anywhere from $114 million to $207 million. “A discrepancy of this order of [magnitude], by a real estate developer sizing up his own living space of decades, can only be considered fraud,” he wrote. The case will still go to court, but the attorney general will not have to prove that the defendants falsified financial statements used to secure loans—instead, they can focus on prosecuting Trump’s camp for insurance fraud and false business records.

Notebooks, Pens and Bulletproof Backpacks: A New School Year in America (NYT) It was the beginning of another school year in America, and Brenda Valenzuela, 37, called her children into the living room to make sure they were prepared. “Keep in mind that the threat can come when you least expect it,” she told them, remembering how small the shooter had looked that October morning in 2015, how he smiled as he walked into the classroom, how he aimed for the teacher’s head, fired from point-blank range and then laughed. It had been almost eight years since the last time Brenda went back to school herself at a community college in Oregon, where on the third day of class she happened to step out into the hallway to answer a phone call as a man walked by her into the classroom with six guns concealed in his backpack. Ten people were killed and eight others were wounded. “Uninjured survivor” was how a police report described Brenda that day, which had seemed true enough until she returned home to the heart palpitations, the vomiting, the PTSD, the clinical depression that caused her to lose 70 pounds, the suicide note, the six mental breakdowns, and the 26 medications prescribed to dull a constant hum of anxiety and insomnia that crested each year when her children returned to school. There have been at least 538 more school shootings since the one she witnessed at Umpqua Community College, according to federal data. Each fall, thousands of victims and survivors send off the next wave of potential victims and survivors, and Brenda had decided that if the country was incapable of solving the problem, at least her children would be prepared. “This is going to be your lifesaver,” she told them, as she handed her kids new backpacks equipped with bulletproof shields in the rear compartment.

In U.S., 47% Identify as Religious, 33% as Spiritual (Gallup) Nearly half of Americans (47%) describe themselves as religious, another 33% say they are spiritual but not religious, and 2% volunteer they are “both.” Although the vast majority of U.S. adults have one of these orientations toward the nonphysical world, the 18% who say they are neither religious nor spiritual is twice the proportion Gallup measured when it first asked this question in 1999. Over the same period, the percentage identifying as religious has declined by seven percentage points. These results are based on a July 2023 Gallup poll, which updated a question that had been asked previously in 1999 and 2002. All told, 82% of Americans have some type of spiritual belief system. This proportion is down from 90% in 1999 and 87% in 2002.

Over 100 masked teens ransack and loot Philadelphia stores (AP) Groups of teenagers swarmed into stores in Philadelphia’s Central City on Tuesday, stuffing plastic bags with merchandise and fleeing, although police made several arrests, authorities and witnesses said. An Apple Store was hit at around 8 p.m. and police chased fleeing teenagers, recovering dropped iPhones and a “pile of iPads” at one spot, a police statement said. More than 100 people who appeared to be teenagers looted a Lululemon store, NBC10 Philadelphia reported, citing a police officer. The thefts occurred on the same day that Target announced it will close nine stores in four states, including one in New York City’s East Harlem neighborhood, and three in the San Francisco Bay Area, saying that theft and organized retail crime have threatened the safety of its workers and customers.

Brazil’s Amazon rainforest faces a severe drought that may affect around 500,000 people (AP) The Amazon rainforest in Brazil is facing a severe drought that may affect around 500,000 people by the end of the year, authorities said Tuesday. Many are already struggling to access essential supplies such as food and water, because the principal means of transportation in the region is waterways, and river levels are historically low. Droughts also impact fishing, a means of subsistence for many riverside communities.

France’s Water War (Foreign Policy) As France grapples with soaring temperatures and ever more ruinous droughts, a full-blown water war is unfolding in the country, with heavy clashes, injuries, and arrests. Tensions are running high over the use of giant artificial reservoirs for irrigation, which some farmers rely on to cope with water scarcity but which critics say are making the problem worse, accelerating the depletion of limited groundwater resources for the benefit of only a handful of big producers. It’s one of many conflicts over water access breaking out with growing frequency all over the world, as climate change dries soils, increases temperatures and makes crops thirstier, and reduces the annual snowpacks that traditionally replenished freshwater flows. Water diversion in China is stoking regional ire. In Central Asia, access to scarce water resources is exacerbating cross-border tensions. Climate change and upstream dams, as well as poor water management, are drying out Iraq and Iran. Egypt and Ethiopia have been at odds for years over an upstream Nile River dam that threatens downstream countries. Western U.S. states are bickering over the dwindling resources of the once-mighty Colorado River, while in Germany and Chile, contentious access to water is fueling domestic strife.

Hungary’s Wartime Snub (Foreign Policy) While Ukraine scrambles for support across the Atlantic, it’s losing allies in its own backyard. On Monday, Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban announced that Budapest would no longer support Ukraine on any international issues until Kyiv restores language rights to ethnic Hungarians. Orban has long criticized a 2017 Ukrainian law restricting the use of minority languages in schools, arguing that 150,000 ethnic Hungarians are not allowed to learn in their native tongue. Hungary’s foreign-policy cold shoulder comes as the European Union prepares to vote on Ukraine’s potential membership in December; accession to the bloc requires unanimous consent. Joining the EU has long been a goal of Ukraine’s, especially as membership would strengthen Kyiv’s war-battered economy. That makes Hungary’s support vital for Ukraine’s future.

Russian Black Sea commander shown on video call after Ukraine said it killed him (Reuters) Admiral Viktor Sokolov, the commander of Russia’s Black Sea Fleet, was shown on Russian state television on Tuesday attending a defence leaders’ meeting remotely, a day after Ukrainian special forces said they had killed him. In video and photographs released by the defence ministry, Sokolov was shown as one of several fleet commanders on video apparently joining an in-person meeting of Defence Minister Sergei Shoigu and other army chiefs, although not speaking. It was not clear when the video was filmed. Ukraine’s special forces said on Monday that Sokolov had been killed along with 33 other officers in a missile attack last week on the headquarters of Russia’s Black Sea Fleet in the port of Sevastopol in Crimea.

Nagorno-Karabakh: More than 40,000 refugees flee to Armenia (BBC) Some 42,500 ethnic Armenians have now fled Nagorno-Karabakh, Armenian officials say—a third of the population of the enclave which Azerbaijan seized last week. Hundreds of cars are backed up on the one road leading into Armenia. Azerbaijan says residents will be safe, but Armenia's prime minister says "ethnic cleansing" has started. Nagorno-Karabakh—recognised as part of Azerbaijan—had been run by ethnic Armenians for three decades. At least 200 ethnic Armenians and dozens of Azerbaijani soldiers were killed as Azerbaijan's army swept in. As part of a ceasefire deal, separatists have agreed to surrender their weapons. The Azeris have said they want to treat ethnic Armenians as "equal citizens" but a limited amount of aid has been allowed through and many residents are fleeing.

North Korea Says It Will Expel U.S. Soldier Who Fled Over the Border (NYT) North Korea has decided to expel Pvt. Travis T. King, the American soldier who fled across the inter-Korean border into its territory on July 18, the North’s state media said on Wednesday. After 70 days of investigation, North Korea found Private King guilty of “illegally intruding” into its territory and decided to expel him, according to the North’s official Korean Central News Agency. The news agency said that Private King had confessed to illegally entering North Korea because, it said, he “harbored ill feeling against inhuman maltreatment and racial discrimination within the U.S. Army and was disillusioned about the unequal U.S. society.” Private King, 23, had been assigned to South Korea as a member of the First Brigade Combat Team, First Armored Division. After he was released in July from a South Korean detention center, where he spent time on assault charges, he was escorted by U.S. military personnel to Incheon International Airport outside Seoul on July 18 to board a plane to the United States, where he was expected to face additional disciplinary action. He never boarded the plane. Instead, he took a tour bus the next day to the border village of Panmunjom, were he crossed into North Korea.

A fire at a wedding hall in northern Iraq has killed around 100 people and injured 150 (AP) A raging fire seemingly caused by fireworks set off to celebrate a Christian wedding consumed a hall packed with guests in northern Iraq, killing around 100 people and injuring 150 others as authorities warned Wednesday the death toll could still rise. Authorities said that flammable building materials also contributed to the latest disaster to hit Iraq’s dwindling Christian minority. In the fire’s chaotic aftermath, officials offered conflicting death tolls and security officials said they detained staff at the wedding hall as part of their investigation.

Loneliness (The Pudding) Loneliness is a serious problem in the United States, as the percentage of time that people spend alone—particularly young people, who otherwise have historically spent more of their time with others than older people—has shot up. Social isolation has been linked to some serious health problems, and socially isolated people are 50 percent more likely to die prematurely. In general, people who reported themselves as feeling more fulfilled or the closest to living their best life are the ones who spend more time with friends and family than the ones who reported feeling less content.

[storiesforallfandoms]

sucker for pain ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 1494

request?: yes!

“can you please do a colson one where the reader is getting their first tattoo and he’s by her side then he realizing they have a pain kink and yeah”

description: in which he finds out his girlfriend has a kink he’d never imagine she’d have

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

*i changed it from the reader getting their first tattoo because i missed the “first” part when writing for some reason i’m sorry i hope you still like it!*

gif credit to @poppy-in-the-woods !

“Are you sure you want to get a tattoo on your ribs?” Colson asked as you waited in the lobby for your next tattoo. “You know how much that hurts, right?”

“It’s one of the more painful places,” you said. “I know that. Have some faith in me, baby, I’ll be fine.”

Colson still looked skeptical, but decided to drop it. You were stubborn and you were set on getting this tattoo, he knew he wasn’t about to talk you out of it.

You had decided a week or so back that you wanted to get a tattoo in honor of Colson. Instead of something small, like his initials or his name or something, you decided to get your favorite of his lyrics tattooed on your ribcage. You even had him write the lyrics out so you could get his writing as the font for it.

It was a bit big of a tattoo, and you were getting it in a very painful place, so Colson was worried you weren’t going to be able to handle it when the tattoo started. He insisted he wanted to come with you to be your emotional support if nothing else.

“Hey (Y/N)!” your tattoo artist, Mack, said as he walked into the parlor. “You’re early! Wanna get started now?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, why not?”

“Okay! Follow me in.”

You followed him into his area and he pulled the curtain across to block the view of anyone from outside. He turned back to you and Colson, eyeing your famous boyfriend for just a moment. “So, he does realize you’re going to be shirtless for this entire thing, right?”

Colson chuckled and nodded. “I’m aware you’re going to be starring at my girlfriend in just a sports bra for like an hour or more. Don’t worry, I’m cool with it.”

You could see Mack’s shoulders slump as he sighed with relief. “Okay good. You would not believe how many boyfriends lose their minds over their girlfriends having to take their shirt off for a tattoo, even if their tits aren’t actually out. If (Y/N) wasn’t a regular, I probably would’ve turned her down for this one just for my own safety.”

You laughed as you began to unbutton the blouse you had decided to wear - much easier to get back on once the tattoo was done. You laid down on the table and Mac started to line up your tattoo on your ribs.

“Last chance to back out,” Colson said as he sat down next to you.

You shot him a look. “Why are you so intent on me giving up on this because of pain?”

“She’s a tough chick, man,” Mack agreed. “I don’t think she’s ever flinched while I’ve given her a tattoo. It’s like she gets off on the pain or something.”

You shot a glare at Mack that he didn’t see as he was back on to you before relaxing your head back on the table. Colson looked at your curiously, making a mental note of what Mack had said.

The tattoo began and Colson took your hand in his. You looked over and smiled at him for a moment, wincing slightly when the needle touched your skin first. The pain suddenly radiated through your ribcage, but it didn’t bother you the way Colson had expected it would. You would wince every now and then, but you still had a light hold on his hand.

When Mack was finally finish, the black letters were bolded by the red of your irritate skin. Mack cleaned it and placed the bandage over the fresh tattoo. “I won’t give you the spiel on how to take care of this thing for the next few days.”

“You’ve said it so many times I think I know it word for word at this point,” you teased. You winced as you sat up from the table, both from the pain from the tattoo and from the stiffness of your back. “God, you guys need more comfortable tables. Feels like I was lying on the floor for an hour.”

“You’ve been there before, you know how uncomfortable it is.”

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him before turning to Colson. “What do you think, babe?”

Colson’s eyes studied the tattoo for a moment, still processing the fact that you got a major tattoo on your ribcage and barley flinched the entire time. “It looks really good. Is it what you wanted?”

You smiled. “Of course it is! I have something to remind me of you forever now, which means please don’t break up with me. It’ll cost so much to get this removed or covered.”

Colson chuckled and also rose from his seat. “I promise babe.”

You pulled your button up back on and headed to the front to pay for the tattoo. You couldn’t help pulling your shirt up to look at the tattoo once more as you and Colson started walking towards the door.

“Mack is probably the best tattoo artist I’ve ever been to,” you said. “He’s just phenomenal. I don’t think I’d trust anyone else the way I trust him.”

“He seems to know you pretty well,” Colson commented. “Like the fact that you seem to be into the pain that comes from getting a tattoo.”

You felt your face heat up as you tried to look away from Colson. You kept your voice as light as possible as you said, “Yeah, well, I’ve gotten a few tattoos at this point. I’m just used to the pain of the needle I guess.”

“I’m literally covered in tattoos and sometimes the pain is still unbearable for me,” Colson pointed out.

“We’re different people, Colson. Different people handle pain differently.”

Colson looked over at you as you tried to avoid his eyes. You wished you had been the one to drive so that you could get out of this awkward situation a lot sooner.

“Babe,” Colson said. You sighed and finally turned your head to look at him. “You know I am the last person to judge you on your kinks, right?”

You nodded. “I know, but...I’m just worried what your reaction would be if I straight up told you that I have a pain kink.”

“Well, for starters, I’d tell you that you’re dating the right guy since all I do is hurt myself.” You chuckled at this. “When did you realize you got off on pain?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I was a teenager I think. It might’ve been when I got my first stick and poke tattoo. All my friends hated the pain and complained for days, but I found myself kind of liking it. When I started having sex, I’d ask my boyfriend at the time to choke me or spank me, basically anything that caused the slightest bit of pain.”

Colson shuffled in his seat, a bulge beginning to grow in his pants that he was hoping you wouldn’t notice.

“Not all guys are into the idea, weirdly enough,” you continued. “I’ve been with some guys that consider it a deal breaker. I even had a one night stand just completely stop having sex with me because I kept telling him he wasn’t being rough enough. I guess I just associated that negative reaction with the kink in my mind and never wanted to tell you in case you thought the same way.”

Colson chuckled. “(Y/N), I have a foot fetish. I am literally the last person you have to worry about thinking your pain kink is weird.”

You smiled. “Yeah, you have a point. I just don’t wanna scare you off. I like you a lot, Colson.”

Colson reached over and took your hand in his, giving it a slight squeeze. “You won’t scare me off. I wanna know what you’re into, and what will make you feel good when we’re having sex.”

“You make me feel good anyways,” you assured him. “But, if you’re really interested in getting to know that side of me more, I could show you exactly what I’m into.”

"Even though you just got a new tattoo.” You gave him a look, which caused him to laugh. “Okay, fair enough. I’d love to learn, although it may take me a long time, fair warning.”

“I’ll give you all the time you need.”

Colson smirked and leaned over to kiss you passionately. You turned as much as you could in your seat to cup his face and deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth for a short while. When you pulled away, Colson nipped at your bottom lip, which caused you to clench your thighs together in anticipated pleasure.

“Get us home before I climb on your lap in this parking lot,” you told him.

Colson didn’t have to be told twice. Within seconds, he had the car started and was racing out of the parking lot and back towards his house.

[randominagines]

Remember that famous scene in which Zemo wakes the Winter Soldier up? Splendid, you're here too in this case and you're Bucky Barnes' gf

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Fem!reader

Setting: civil war

Warning: violence, language, fluff, angst

P.s. if you find any mistake please correct me, English is not my mother tongue and I want to improve. Reblog, if you can, it helps a lot, thank you💕

P.p.s. gifs belong to the creators

The Winter Soldier

Y/n wasn't exactly having a good time: everything was going just fine untill her boyfriend told her to hide, because the whole world was going to accuse him of being responsible for the explosion of a bomb. She didn't even have the time to actually ask what was happening, she simply knew about Bucky's past and imagined that the whole thing had something to do with the Winter Soldier.

"Baby, please, just stay hidden, I'll come back for you as soon as they will lose my tracks." He whispered, his lips gently kissing hers while his hands caressed her face. She looked at him, half worried, half mad because of how powerless she was."Okay, I'll wait here, but listen carefully, Bucky Barnes: if something happens to you, I'll come and search for you." She said, her voice firm. He chuckled and looked at her. "Doll, I wouldn't have expected any less from you. My stubborn, brave y/n." He said, her name sounding so different when he used to pronounce it, as if it was the name of the most important thing in the world. She smiled at him and kissed him passionately, her hands refusing to let him go. "Be careful." She whispered on his lips, he nodded and reluctantly stepped away from her. "I love you." She said, he stopped and turned to look at her, his blue eyes widened: she had never said that to him.

They had been dating for a while and Bucky was still trying to recover from everything that happened. Having a normal life was not easy, but he was doing his best and she was so patient and comprehensive. Since the day he had meet her, he felt a connection. Day by day, he started to trust her fully , telling her his story and opening up completely. She was a great listener and never judged him for his past, on the contrary, she always tried to understand and put herself in his shoes. Now she was standing there, completely vulnerable, scared to lose him and worried sick for what was about to happen, and she was telling him that she loved him. Bucky felt his stomach twisting. "No one ever said that to me..." He whispered, his legs automatically moving to led him to her; she smiled, her hands immediately taking his. "I love you, Bucky Barnes, come back to me." She said before kissing him again. He kissed her back, his tongue immediately searching for hers while his hands caressed her waist. She ran her hand through his long hair and felt shivers down her spine when his vibranium fingers stared to slide under her shirt to caress her bare skin. Suddenly, they heard a noise: they both brusquely stopped kissing and stepped toward the window. "They're here." He whispered.

She looked down: at least ten car were approaching the building and surrounding it. Another man entered the building and Y/n immediately recognised him. "He's here too, Buck." She said pointing at Captain America. He sighed and nodded. "Why is he here?" He asked, more to himself that to her. She looked at him. "You know why, he's trying to save you." She said, he nodded. In that moment, the cars stopped and a dozen of agents started to enter the building with guns and other weapons. She gasped and looked at him, tears burning behind her eyes. He caressed her head. "Doll, it's okay, stay here and don't worry." He said giving her one last kiss on her forehead. He looked at her. "I lo..." He was trying to say, but she put her hand on his mouth. "Whatever you were about to say, just come back and tell me later." She said and he nodded, his eyes scanning her. He looked at her while leaving, his face serious and his heart racing. She smiled at him, but as soon as he left, she bursted into tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Who are you?" The blonde woman asked as soon as she was escorted inside the building. Telling the agents that she was with Steve Rogers and knew about his plan had immediately convinced them to escort her to his same room, to valutate if she was a threat too. Y/n rolled her eyes and cursed inside thinking that now she had to deal with the agents of Shield. She bit her lower lips and looked at her. "My name is y/n and these people just arrested my boyfriend." She said crossing her arms. The agent standing in front of her frowned, but the man next to him, known to everyone as Captain America, almost chocked. "Wait, you're Bucky's girlfriend?" He asked, his face a mask of incredulity. She nodded. "Yes, Steve, I am. Bucky told me something about you, anything he could remember." She explained and Steve sat on a chair, all those information to process running through his head. The other man in the room frowned. "So the old man has a girlfriend, unexpected." He joked and the blonde girl rolled her eyes. "Listen, what's your name?" She asked y/n and she looked at her.

"I'm Y/n." She said looking at the monitor where her boyfriend was shown, she gasped and covered her mouth: he was in a cage built for a much more dangerous kind of criminal, his arms and legs chained and his eyes filled with frustration. She hated seeing him like that. "Oh my god, but he didn't do it, he's not responsible for that explosion..." She whispered, tears running down her cheeks. Steve stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. "Listen, y/n, I believe you. I want to help him, and Sam and Sharon are with us, but we need a plan." He said and she nodded, Sam puffed. "A very good plan." He pointed out and she ran her hands through her hair, her eyes not being able to stop looking at the monitor. "I'm not a soldier, I'm a doctor, I don't know how to fight; I mean, Bucky taught me something but I'm still learning, anyways, I'll help you as much as I could." Y/n said and wiped her tears away, Steve nodded. Sharon smiled and walked toward her. "Did he have a plan? Somewhere safe to run?" She asked and y/n nodded. "He did, but I don't know the details, he didn't have time to explain." She said and the girl nodded. Steve was about to say something else, when a man sat in front Bucky. They all looked at the monitor and from that moment, everything just happened faster than how y/n could realize. The electricity went off, Steve and Sam ran to Bucky, y/n and Sharon tried to join them but the most aggressive, dangerous, heartless version of Bucky came out of that room. Y/n widened her eyes in the moment she meet his eyes: that was not her Bucky.

Something in him was completely different, as if someone had switched off his human part. "Stay behind me." Sharon said pushing her behind her body. Y/n was felt like she was living in a dream: Bucky was fighting against Steve, the hands that were usually so gentle, so lovely, on her body now trying to kill his best friend. Sharon started moving her hands to make her understand to hide. She nodded and ran toward the stairs, her legs so heavy that she almost thought about simply laying down and close her eyes untill that moment would have been over. She took a deep breath, the noise of the hand to hand combat filling her ears, while she started to go upstairs. She could see the end of the staircase when a man jumped in front of her, cutting off her road. She gasped and looked at him: the blue, familiar eyes of her boyfriend seamed almost black in that moment. He scanned her, his rage stopping for a moment to make room for the confusion.

She heard Steve screaming. "Y/N, RUN!" He shouted while running toward her. She decided to stay still instead, and looked at him, her eyes in his. "Baby, it's me, it's y/n." She whispered to him. He tilted his head, his hands squeezing the banister. He walked toward her, his eyes stuck in hers. She didn't wince, didn't run, didn't show any sign of fear. Now that he was standing in front of her, she realized that he was just Bucky. "Buck..." She whispered. He widened his eyes, his hands covering his face, he was practically growling as if he was arguing with himself. Before she could say something else, he turned and ran away. She looked at him leaving and felt her heart skipping a beat. Steve immediately joined her. "Are you okay?" He asked putting a hand on her shoulder, his body impatient to follow him. "Yes, he didn't touch me." She said and he nodded before running toward his friend. Y/n heard footsteps approaching and managed to come out from the trance she was in; she turned and looked at Sam, he shook his head with a hand on his arm, he was probably hurt. "Well, at least he spared you." He complained sitting in the floor.

Y/n walked down the stairs and kneeled down next to him. "Let me see it." She said moving his arm, he didn't oppose. "It's dislocated, stay still, I'll fix it." She said standing up and taking his arm. He opened his mouth. "Wait, what the hell..." He tried to say, but she relocated his shoulders with a strong movement. He moaned in pain. "Fuck!" He cursed touching his arm and moved it a bit to check everything was fine. He widened his eyes. "It's... It's okay..." He whispered in surprise, he was incredulous. She smiled helping him to stand up. "Of course it is, but do not push it too much." She ordered. In that moment, Sharon joined them. "Glad you're having a pleasant conversation, but we have to leave this place before they arrest us. Again." She said and y/n tried to protest. "But Bucky is stil here." She cried but Sam put a hand on her shoulder. "We won't be able to help him from a cell." He said and she sighed and nodded. The three of them started to move. Y/n thought about Bucky, about how he stopped from hurting her and looked at her as if he was torn and she hoped that Steve had managed to take him away from that place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky was feeling dizzy, his head hurting like hell and his whole body feeling heavier than ever. He looked at Steve, his best friend since always, and slowly stood up. "Steve?" He called him and Sam left them alone, understanding that Bucky wanted to talk to him in private. Steve walked toward him and touched his shoulders. "How are you feeling?" He asked him, his big eyes scanning him. Bucky shook his head. "Steve, she was there, did I...?" He asked, his eyes filled with panic. The captain immediately understood that he was talking about y/n. He shook his head. "She is the only person you haven't touched." He said and Bucky widened his eyes: controlling himself was almost impossible when he was under the influence of those damn words, he actually tried for years but with extremely poor, sometimes even null, results. "I didn't hurt her..." He whispered, as to make those words even more real, his hands running through his hair. Steve nodded. "I saw you looking at her, she called you name, and you looked like you were fighting against yourself." He explained and Bucky left out a breath thanking God for not having done anything he would have regretted for the rest of his life.

Steve imperceptibly curved his lips in a smile. "So, you have a girlfriend, uhm?" He joked and Bucky chuckled, the familiar smile of Steve finally melting his tension. "I'll beat your ass again." He said and Steve raised his arms in surrender, his smile lighting up his face. "Okay okay, I'll stop teasing. She really cares about you, she came for you, almost got herself arrested." He explained and Bucky nodded, he couldn't help but smile thinking about her. "I know, I care about her too, where is she?" Bucky asked and Steve looked at him. "Sam wanted to make sure you were, well, yourself again. He is searching for her so you can..." He couldn't finish his sentence because y/n suddenly ran toward them, her arms wrapping aroun Bucky's torso. He immediately hugged her back and kissed her head, his arms holding her tight. "Oh my god, baby, are you okay?" She whispered, her face pressed against his chest. Steve smiled and left the room to give them some privacy. Bucky gently caressed her head and looked at her. "Doll, I'm fine," he said and cupped her face with his hands, his blue eyes filled with concern. "Are you? I am sorry if I scared you, I didn't want you to see me like that." He said, his thumb tracing her lips. She squeezed his shirt. "It wasn't your fault." She said, her eyes stuck into his. He sighed and turned, the sudden detachment making her wince. He covered his face with his hands. "I'm still a fucking mess, I'm dangerous," He said and y/n shook her head. He sat down on a chair and put his elbows on his knees, his back curved and his eyes looking at the floor.

He felt empty and disappointed. "Simple, stupid words. That's what it takes to mess with my head and make me a death machine again." He whispered, his eyes getting watery. She kneeled down in front of him and put a finger under his chin to raise his head: their eyes meet. "Bucky, why are you so hard on yourself?" She simply asked, her voice gentle but firm. He looked at her and shrugged. "I just finished hurting people out there." He answered, tears running down his cheeks. She gently wiped them away with her thumb. "Okay, listen to me now: I know you feel guilty and I know you are disappointed. You've been trying your best for months and now this happens and makes you believe that you made no steps forward, but it's not like that, at all," she said, her y/e/c eyes looking at him with pure love.

"I've seen you, everyday, struggling with your bad memories, your regrets, your fears and vulnerability, and do you know what I see? I see a man who went through hell and still tries to be a good person. I'm proud of you, I'm proud of the man I love and I fell for every part of you, even those messy, fragile, insicure parts. You're a good person, Bucky, maybe you did bad things but your past doesn't define you." She said, her eyes filling with tears as well. He gently caressed her cheek. "Doll, today I was the Winter Soldier, not James Buchanan Barnes." He said, sadness filling his voice. She shook her head. "The Winter Soldier," she said and those words were almost impossible to pronounce, she knew how much he hates them and she hated them too. "He wouldn't have stopped, you did. When I called your name, you looked at me and I saw you, I saw James Buchanan Barnes." She said squeezing his shirt, her hands on his chest. He took a deep breath. "I stopped because, for a moment, I managed to see you. I saw you standing there and I knew that I could never have done anything bad to you, because I love you, y/n." He gently said while pulling her closer to him, she smiled while letting out the tears.

"No one had ever said that to me too." She whispered and he smiled before kissing him, his hands gently grabbing her to make her sit on his legs. She put her arms on his shoulders and parted her lips to let his tongue in. He caressed her legs while deepening the kiss, he needed her like never before. She caressed the back of his neck while smiling on his lips, her fingers playing with his hair. "Baby, I want to check on you now." She said while caressing his face, he had a cut on his cheekbone. He nodded, immediately understanding that she was talking about a medical checkup. "I'm fine, y/n." He gently said trying to kiss her again. "Let me be the judge of that." She said and he chuckled. He gave her a quick kiss before gently helping her standing up and doing the same. She raised his shirt and got distracted for a moment, his body was so mesmerising she couldn't help herself but stare at it. He noticed. "Doll, you'll drive me crazy if you look at me like that." He said and she blushed a bit, thinking about the fact that Steve, Sam and Sharon were two rooms away from them. He looked at her mischievously and she bit her lower lip before finally checking him seriously.

He was not bad, he had a few bruises and a couple of scratches. She touched a cut on his hip and he gasped. "You'll need stitches here and I must disinfect the cut on your cheekbone, but you're okay. Come, I have a first aid kit." She said and caressed his waist before pulling the shirt down. He immediately grabbed her hand and pulled her in his arms for another kiss. She looked at him in concern. "Why has that man done all of this to you?" She asked referring to the man who had woken up the Winter Soldier. He shook his head. "I don't know, but we'll find out." He said and she sighed while caressing his chest. "Promise me you'll be careful." She said and he nodded, his lips on hers while his hands caressed her back. "I will, I have a very good reason to." He whispered before kissing her, she kissed him back. "I love you." She said between a kiss and another, he smiled, finally feeling something real, something beautiful. "I love you too, doll."

[nextdoor-neighbors]

What Friends Are For

Link to Part Two!

Request: Hi! Idk if you’re taking requests but I got this idea and it won’t leave my head lol: reader is best friends with the twins and/or closest to George (like platonic soulmates) and wants to lose their virginity so George is basically like “yeah sure I can help you out, what are friends for?”

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Smut, language

A/N: Sorry I’ve been gone for a bit guys, but here’s this, I hope you all enjoy! It’s been a while since I’ve written a George one!

You were the last virgin in your friend group.

You hadn’t told anyone, mostly because you were slightly embarrassed. So, your friends were just under the impression that you’d hooked up with someone one night and lost your virginity, but wouldn’t tell them who.

It’s not that you didn’t want to have sex. You did. It was just the matter of finding someone to have sex with that was difficult.

But one night, the pieces finally come together, as you sit with your best friend, George Weasley, in his dorm. The rest of his roommates and your friends are out, but Merlin knows where. You guess that Angelina and Fred are probably off hooking up somewhere, because when Fred wasn’t with you and George, he was always with her. Not that it bothered you; you’ve always enjoyed alone time with George. The two of you had always been closer than you and Fred, because George always seemed to understand you better. You’re convinced that he knows you better than you know yourself.

Now, you lay on his bed with him as he reads to you (an activity that you always kept from Fred, knowing he’d tease you endlessly about it), but your mind is elsewhere. You’re more focused on how close you are to him in this tiny bed, how your arms are pressed together, and how you can feel his body heat.

An idea pops into your head, and the second it’s there, you know it’s not going to leave.

“George,” you say, abruptly.

He stops reading and glances over at you.

“Yeah?”

“I wanna lose my virginity.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow so you can turn to look at George better. A look of confusion crosses his face, his eyebrows furrowing.

“You said you already-”

“I lied,” you admit, “because I was embarrassed that I was the only one in our friend group that hasn’t had sex yet. And since you guys talk it up so much, I just... I don’t know.”

George sets the book on his nightstand and turns his body to face yours. There was no denying how attractive he is, and plus, he’s probably the person you trust most in the world. What better person to get some experience from?

“You didn't have to lie, Y/N,” George says softly, “we wouldn’t have judged you because of it, or anything, if that’s what you were worried about.”

He reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, which, any other time, you wouldn’t think twice about. But now - with these thoughts of losing your virginity to George on your mind - the simple gesture takes your full attention.

“I want to, though. Lose my virginity. And-” you continue, knowing George, “not just to fit in, or whatever you’re thinking. Because I want to experience it.”

George pulls his lower lip in with his teeth, and you know him well enough to know that he does that when he's thinking about something.

“I mean...”

You wait for him to continue, not wanting to jump the gun, but you somehow just know that the two of you are thinking the same thing. You usually are, after all.

“I could...I could help you out?”

You can’t help but smile nervously. “Are you sure?”

George returns your smile, looking much more at ease than you feel. “Yeah, what are friends for?”

You laugh, but it’s quickly cut off by George pressing his lips against yours. You make a soft noise of pleasure against his mouth as you scoot closer to him, wrapping the arm that’s not propping you up around his neck and sliding your fingers into his hair. His hand finds your waist and grips it tightly, his fingers digging into your skin.

He half rolls so that he’s on top of you, pressing his body down against yours so that you can feel practically every inch of him.

His mouth leaves yours, kissing and sucking alone your jawline and neck. You tilt your head back to give him better access, pleasure flooding your body. You feel yourself growing more wet by the second as his tongue traces your collarbone and his hands slide under and up your shirt.

George pulls away, sitting up, and you worry that something’s wrong until he says,

“Take your shirt off.”

You immediately listen to his command, removing your shirt as he does the same. You take a moment to look at his toned chest, the freckles spattered over his pale skin. He gazes at you in return, eyes searching your body before he makes eye contact with you again.

“If at any point you want to stop, Y/N-”

You shake your head. “I want this, George.”

A small smirk forms on his lips as he moves his attention to your lower half, pulling at your skirt. He tosses it aside, leaving you in your bra and underwear. He drags his fingers down your stomach and along the hem of your panties teasingly.

“George,” you whimper, bucking your hips up towards his hand.

“What?” he says, innocently, that smirk still on his face as his hand finally slips under your panties, his fingers teasing your entrance.

You let out a moan as he pushes a finger inside of you.

“You’re so wet already,” he murmurs, his other hand coming to rest on your thigh, gripping it tightly as he begins pumping his finger in and out of you.

“Fuck,” you say, tilting your head back at the pleasure, but George’s hand leaves your thigh and wraps around your neck.

“Look at me,” George demands, adding another finger, so you do exactly that, meeting his eyes. Between the eye contact, his hand around your neck, and his long fingers curling inside of you, the pleasure is almost too much to handle, building inside of you and spreading down your legs.

Much to your disappointment, George takes his fingers out of you and lets go of your neck. He begins to get off the bed, undoing his belt. Your eyes are glued to his bulge straining against his pants, because you can already tell that he's big, which is confirmed once he pulls down his pants and boxers in one move, his erection springing free.

“You’re so big,” you say, and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to take him.

He grins, joining you back on the bed and straddling your legs, pulling your panties down and tossing those to side, just as he did with your skirt.

“I’ll be gentle. If it hurts, let me know, and I’ll stop, okay?” George says, guiding your legs, pushing them up so that your knees are up and your feet are planted firmly on the bed. He pushes your thighs apart, looking you over a few times.

“You’re gorgeous, Y/N. Absolutely stunning. I say that in the most friendly way possibly, by the way.” He winks at you as he positions himself at your entrance.

You can’t help but giggle. “Right. Of course.”

He leans down to kiss you, hard and passionate, before beginning to push himself inside of you. You gasp at the sensation, at how big he is, and how he fills up every inch of you. It definitely hurts, due to his size, but you don’t want him to stop.

“Fuuuck, Y/N,” he groans, “you’re so tight.”

He pauses, once he’s mostly inside of you, letting you adjust to him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice quiet and strained.

“Yeah, George, keep going.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He starts slow, trying to be as gentle as possible as you get used to him, but quickly begins increasing speed. He lets out groans and grunts as he thrusts into you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You clutch at him, digging your nails in his back.

“Fuck, George-”

“You feel so good, Y/N-”

You feel yourself edging closer and closer to orgasm, and judging by George’s less controlled thrusts, you guess that he is, too.

“I’m close, George,” you whimper.

“So am I,” he breathes, “Cum for me, princess.”

After a few more thrusts, you release, the pleasure shooting through your body. You let out a loud moan, and George finishes shortly after, inside of you, groaning into your skin.

He pulls out of you, slowly, and grins at you as he looks you over, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“What do you think?”

You smile back, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him. He looks gorgeous like this: flushed, hair messy.

“Are you asking for a post-sex rating, Weasley?”

He laughs, pushing himself off the bed to grab his shirt off the floor, which he tosses at you. You don’t hesitate to put it on, laying back down after you do so.

“Yes, Y/L/N, I am. If you have any critiques, I’ll gladly hear those, too. Anything to improve my game.” He winks at you before grabbing his pants and pulling them back up.

You laugh. If you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t mind doing that again, with George. After all, it’s just a friend helping out another friend.

Right?

[the-anxiety-ridden-writer]

knives on my body, blood on my hands

Chapter One: The House At The End of The Street, The Cabin Buried in the Woods

THE CLOCK HAS BARELY TICKED PAST NINE O’CLOCK when the last light flickers off. Ink black shadows swell in the thin backstreets whilst gray storm clouds obscure any light coming from the shining moon.

The old town plunges into darkness and hidden within it, a little girl revels in it. Tilts her head back and let’s the beginnings of the storm wash over her, as if the rain water that begins to seep into her very being can wash away the red that has stained her soul.

(It can’t, the blood on her hands will transcend lifetimes)

A bright clash of lightning brings her out of her thoughts. She melts into the shadows and continues on her way, making her way down the street with eerie silent footsteps.

Perhaps a lesser man would have stumbled down the street, unable to walk the burrard street without tripping over himself. But the little girl moves with a silent grace in her step, weaving around the bumps and cracks even when she can barely see the boots on her feet.

The training of her handlers, years spent in the Hydra and The Red Room overcoming her. She could walk the streets - could walk a path around the world and still carry the deadly grace and efficiency that they had beaten into given her.

Besides, the little girl was just The Asset to her handlers, Hydra’s own personal Angel Smerti. She was no man, much less one of low value.

The house at the end of the street is quiet when she enters it. The screams of the lightning hide the soft whine of the window when she opens it and the creak of the wooden floorboards when she lands on them.

The Asset squints her eyes, letting them adjust to the darkness and trail over the bookshelf lined walls. She stepped towards the oak desk, lifting one of the files scattered on the surface. She let her eyes scan the pages within before setting it down, letting the words winter soldier, car crash, two victims and serum mull over in her head before filtering it away for later, a loud clatter pulling her attention to the doorway.

A poison slick dagger is already soaring through the air and embedding itself in the figure before she can fully get a good look at them. The figure - a frail, old man with thinning white hair - stumbles back from the force of the knife, dark eyes widening in fear as the Asset stalks over to him.

She gives him quick once over, letting her eyes roam over the man as his muscles begin to tense up until he can’t move at all, until he is nothing but a mere puppet that the Asset can pull all the strings of. A puppet that the Asset can cut all the strings off of.

She carefully ignores how those last thoughts bring a small sense of dread and horror that pools in her stomach. Turn her head to the voice telling her ‘what’s one more body to add to the pile?’ And the voice asking her ‘just how monstrous have you become?’

(too much, far too much for someone her age)

The man finds his voice, previously lost in a sea of gasps and whimpers, “Please.” he begs, eyes wide, a wrinkled hand pressed to the dagger buried within his stomach.

“Please don’t ki-“ the Asset cuts him off, yanking the dagger out and shoving it into his throat. It doesn’t take long for the old man to leave these mortal planes, drifting off to be judged by an otherworldly being that can distinguish a saint and a sinner and never the between. To the otherworldly being that thinks he has any right to judge the actions of a human being trying to survive.

No, Death has never discriminated between the saints and the sinners.

‘And neither shall I’ the Asset thinks, ripping her dagger from his throat to slip back into the many holsters that cover her clothing.

She lugs the old man into the study, manhandling his body into the smooth leather chair, resting his head upon the oak desk, staining the folders with his blood. She stepped back, observing her work with a critical eye. It almost looked like the poor man had fallen asleep at his desk, if you - you know - ignore the blood.

The Asset eyed the scented candles perched atop one of the bookshelves, promptly labeled Cinnamon Sugar! Warm Spring Sunshine! and Peach! The Asset raised an eyebrow, an idea coming to mind.

An idea that would end in the echoing cries of firetruck sirens throughout the quaint street, the horrified muttering of neighbors and the ashes of an old man's study.

•☽○☾•

IT’S DAWN by the time the Asset makes her way back to where her handler—a sleazy, middle aged man that she hadn’t taken the time to remember his name—is currently based.

The sky is a disarray of colors, the sun spilling a cup of bright yellows and exotic oranges over the previously dark canvas. The Asset finds herself staring up at it, and feels a deep longing begin to stir. For the sky ran everywhere. It ran through the deepest of forests and the driest of deserts and over the endless waves of the ocean. The sky ran everywhere, demanding to be seen and heard and free and the Asset found herself envying it.

Truth be told, there used to be a fire in the Assets soul, before she was called Asset and went by the name that had been sewn into a velvet blanket by a woman that may have cared. It would burn through her veins, close to her heart and on days when her trainers would be harder on her than the rest for her heritage or when one of the girls - a pretty blond who went by Rowena - would make a cruel remark about the shape of her eyes, she’d let the fire consume her, let it burn through her and come out of her mouth, searing into them, until Rowena wept ugly tears into her hands and the trainers unleashed a flurry of punches and kicks before demanding an apology. The Asset can’t remember if the girl with her name sewn into a blanket had ever apologized, had never wanted to dwell too much on those memories.

(she hadn’t, the girl took all the pain and torture with her head held high. she refused to apologize for the fire in her soul. )

The Asset shook those thoughts away as the cabin her handler—Ivan Vanko—had holed himself up in came into sight. Just the sight of it, and the thought of facing Ivan had her straightening her posture, wiping any sign of weariness and schooling her face until there were no cracks in her porcelain mask, nothing for Ivan to dig into to expose all her thoughts.

There’s no noise when she enters, the door shutting silently behind her. She tenses, tilting her head to the side before pulling out one of her knives. Moving down the hall, she keeps her senses sharp, With no idea who she’s up against, she waits, muscles wound tight and her mouth a hard line, eyes darting around the slim hallway walls. She doesn’t have to wait long.

A hand thrusts out of the first doorway to her right, a strong pull has her flying through the air and losing the grip on her knife. Pain erupted in her shoulder but she didn't give it the time of day. Instead she rolls to her feet, springing up and throwing every ounce of her strength into the flying kick that sends her assailant slamming into the wall with a yell of pain.

The Asset lets herself breathe, if only for a second. Her eyes assess her assailant — a well dressed man with balding hair — cataloging every weakness she can find, from the way he favors his right side to the fading bruise on his right temple, while he lay recovering.

This time, when he lunged for her, she is ready.

She side steps his attack, digging her knee into his injured side, and sends a sharp elbow into his already bruised face. A loud crack echoes in the room, and when he stumbles back, a scream of pain that can only come from deep within himself, a small twisted part of her is pleased to see his nose is far from the correct position.

Adrenaline thumps through herself, a synchronized sympathy that plays in tempo with her heart. When both he and his little friend that had been waiting, watching in the shadows of the room lunge at her, she already knows who the victor of this battle will be.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is where their dance begins. Or rather, her dance begins.

She dodges his friend's attack, turning and arching her leg in the air, slamming it into assailant number two — a short woman who was barely taller than The Asset — side. It leaves her stumbling back, groaning as she falls like a corpse into the glass table in the center of the room.

The Asset grunts as strong arms encircle her, lifting her up, up, up. She grunts, moving her arm up and once again digging her elbow in his face. It connects with his eye this time, the action leaving him stumbling back, clutching his hand to his eye. The Asset doesn’t give him time to recover, doesn’t have enough sympathy, enough empathy, enough mercy in the body that has been crafted with the fists and guns and needles of the men and women who have used her, trained her, killed her.

It’s why the dagger slips so easily out of its concealed holster and into the man's chest. A cry of agony is silenced with the arc of her leg, her foot connecting with his Adam's apple. He toppled over, hands held to his chest as if he can relieve the pain that she has brought to his body.

She stared him down, the soft creak of wood under her foot echoed like screams around the room. She plants one foot on his chest, pressing down as she pulls the dagger from his chest, baring her teeth behind her ninja-esque mask as he screams.

She leaves the man there, bleeding, beaten, broken and goes to find her handler.

AN: I don’t know what this is, but it’s dumb. I’m also dumb tho and I’m thinking of adding on.

Special thanks to @unmaskedagain , @nightlychaotic and @nobodyfamousposts for introducing me to maribat. I love all of your maribat posts.

Tag list: @avengerthewarrior , @nightlychaotic

[consumeconstantly]

Innocence, avoidance

Summary: Jason Todd cracks crass jokes and dirty comments like they’re his lifeblood. It turns out, he’s just getting it out of his system before he sees his little sister again. (Or: Marinette gloms onto Red Hood after her parent’s death, and there’s no way anyone can stop her from being with her older brother.)

___________________________________________________

Jason Todd, AKA Red Hood, is not the kind of man people go to when they want to complain about their life problems. They go to him when they want a quick, oftentimes violent solution; Red Hood isn’t exactly a renowned empath. In comparison to his other Bat Family counterparts, he is at least 10 times more crass and almost 15 times more violent. 

It is accepted that although Red Hood makes situations turn out for the better, he is no shining paragon of human virtue and kindness. People trust him to watch their backs and not to fuck them over so long as they’re working within his very clearly defined set of values, but he’s just not the kind per person that anyone would entrust their kid to during their Friday date night.

Until somebody does.

The door to the warehouse is already open, and he has a gun in his hand, ready to threaten the little crowd he’s gathered today when a woman hops out of her car and shoves a pig-tailed girl with wide blue eyes and an almost blindingly neon pink outfit towards him.

“There you are, you weren’t at the drop site!” says the woman, who instantly begins to back away from the two of them once the little girl picks herself up off the ground that she landed on. Red Hood notes the license of the getaway car, making a mental reminder to deal with them later, but the car makes tracks. The little girl frowns at the disappearing car, eyes the gun in his hand, then decides that she’s going to stay put. 

Red Hood looks at the rabble that has convened in the warehouse, down at the little girl, then back again. There are at least five people in the room that are eyeing the little girl greedily, and he’s sure that if he just lets her go, she’ll be captured by one of them faster than he can bat an eye. He doesn’t exactly have time to put the girl in a safe place, not when it’s taken him months and a good number of heads in order to draw these people here. 

She looks wary of the gun and of him, but not scared. Everyone else? Half of them look like they’re about to burst out laughing, and the other half have looks that he’s eager to wipe off their faces.

“Aww, look at that! Hood has finally found his way into the dark side of the business. What’s next, prostitution?”

Without hesitation, he shoots with deadly accuracy at the man’s hand. The man keels, bending over and clenching his bloodied appendage. Other than the man’s screams, the room goes completely silent.

Red Hood casts another glance at the little girl, who has, slowly but surely managed to inch away from him and into a safer position. She’s holding onto her sparkly purple plastic backpack like it’s the only thing that’s keeping her alive. Smart kid, not to run. Or was it dumb? He wouldn’t shoot her, and he’d take out anyone else who tried to, but the girl didn’t know that. She probably just assumed that she was going to his next target.

“All of you shut up while I deal with this.” He inhales deeply and kneels down to get on eye level with the girl. Not that she can see much of his eyes, given his helmet, but still.

He has half a mind to go after the woman, but he’s not about to leave the little girl amongst the group of criminals that are gathered in the warehouse with him. Briefly, he wonders how the hell that couple even knew that he was going to be here tonight. He also wonders what he’s going to do with the kid. “What’s your name, kiddo?”

She looks up at him, hands clenched around a plastic pink backpack with some kid’s cartoon on the back, then looks out at the people that have gathered. There’s a moment of silence, and Red Hood is sure that she’s weighing her current options. Smart kid. Eventually, she shifts her body weight closer to him, apparently drawing the conclusion that he is the safer option than the other people who are here tonight. Smart kid.

“It’s Marinette, sir.”

No last name. Not sure if that’s a pointed decision to keep her identity at least partially concealed, or just because she doesn’t have one.

“And those weren’t your parents?” It stands to reason that the people in that care aren’t her parents, but he needs to make sure.

Marinette clenches her backpack tighter. “No, sir.”

“Where are they?” He has a sinking suspicion if those weren’t her parents, and she’s not up in tears, asking for a phone to call them, that--

“They’re dead, sir.”

Sometimes, Jason wishes he could be wrong on things like this. 

“Then who were they? And don’t call me sir. Too formal.” 

“My mom’s... second cousin, I think? I never met her before, but I got sent here anyway.” 

One of the men shifts. He’s one of the men who Red Hood pegged as a possible child trafficker. Underneath his helmet, Jason’s eyes narrow. He now has a fairly good idea of how the couple figured out that he was going to be here tonight.

“Do you know how to get back home?”

At that, Marinette's mouth almost twitches up into a smile. “No sir. I don’t think there’s a home to go back to, anymore.”

Red Hood sighs. Putting the information presented to him together, he quickly comes to the conclusion that Marinette’s parents have died recently and that nobody in her immediate family has found out about their passing, or they don’t want her. Somehow, the couple picked her up-- possibly when she was going to a friend’s house, judging by the whole school girl look she has going on-- and thought she would fulfill the trafficking requirements laid out to them. 

That means that there aren’t a lot of options available to her. He can redirect her to the foster care system, but everybody knows foster care messes up kids permanently. Even though she looks to be pretty street smart, he couldn’t just let her live out on the streets in good conscience. Her outfit looks too clean for her to ever have lived in poverty, and she definitely checks the box for a lot of the trafficking rings that have been popping up recently. Mixed descent, the possibility to be pretty when older, and very, very pure. She’d get picked up off the streets within hours if she just let her be. 

He decided that he’s let her have the final say. “What do you think I should do in this situation?”

She shuffled her pink ballet clad shoes, eyes darting to the sides. He had to give the girl this much at least; even though she had the whole innocent look going for her, she was very aware of her surroundings. Her body language implied that she didn’t believe him to be that much of a threat— and in any other case, he’d fault her for that, but given that let their surroundings were a drug den he’d let it go— and tilted herself so she could have as many people in her sights as possible. “Sir, I think as long as you could get me out of here safely, I’ll figure out how to take care of myself.”

The man Jason was watching, the possible trafficker, tensed. Yeah, Jason is definitely going to have to take care of him later. This kind of a reaction as good as cements the suspicions he’s had. 

“Tell you what, princess. Do you mind waiting outside for me? I’ll help you out once I’m done here.”

Marinette eyed the rest of the room. “How long will you take?”

She’s asking all the right questions. Maybe it will be easy for her to fit into the slums of Gotham. 

“Not long,” Red Hood promised. “Ten minutes at most.”

The collection of people who have gathered in the warehouse all swallowed uncomfortably. Everybody knew that when Red Hood dealt with things quickly, it typically ended in copious amounts of bloodshed and shock. 

“Okay,” Marinette paused, grip loosening on her backpack. “Ten minutes.

#

Red Hood doesn’t particularly want to have Marinette around for the violence that’s about to occur, but she’s already seen him shoot one person, so it’s too late to shield her innocence. And violence? It’s a slippery slope.

He makes quick work of the room; half of the people he brought out here, he kills off directly. The other half are made to watch as the people they’ve associated with for years die in front of their eyes. This is a power play. A way to… persuade them to reform. Because the people he’s left alive? Red Hood has left them alive for two reasons. One. They’re not nearly as bad as most of the higher ups in Gotham. Two. If he kills all of the people who have dabbled in anything bad, the chain will be completely messed up, and there will be too much room for unknown variables to make their way up the ranks. He wants people he can control. And the people he’s left alive? He can keep all of them in line.

Marinette is not waiting outside for him. They’re right next to Crime Alley. This is not going to end well.

#

He’ll give the little girl props for somehow managing to avoid his detection. 

To be more precise, he’s hoping that she’s simply avoiding his detection, and hasn’t gotten swept up in something bad. 

It takes Jason three hours-- three hours-- to find the girl who can’t be much older than ten. Probably not even ten, judging by her size. 

“You’re lucky it’s me finding you, and not someone else, Pixie.” He finally catches a glance of her glaringly sparkly backpack, complete with fairies and unicorns covered in some sort of holographic overlay.

Marinette immediately backs up, looking definitively worse for the wear. She’s gained rips in her clothes and  a nasty looking scraped knee. Her face loses all color when she sees him. “S- sorry, sir. I swear I wasn’t running away, it’s just that there was someone outside who tried to grab me, and--”

If Jason didn’t know better, he’d believe the girl. 

However, he does have a decent number of connections, and those connections ensured that nobody was going to be able to come near the warehouse once his ‘meeting’ started. Though, he’ll have to have a talk with them, given that someone tried to pass the goods right before it started. Jason is fairly sure that the couple has been apprehended by now, but checking later tonight won’t hurt. 

Which means Marinette made the decision to run.

Again, that would have been a very, very smart decision had she not found herself in Crime Alley of all places. It looks like she’s learned a little bit about why she should stay away from places like this.

“It’s fine, Pixie. Like I said earlier, just call me Red Hood, or Hood. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Marinette balks.

Jason sighs. “Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but you can trust me. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. All I want is to see you safe.”

“But,” Marinette bites her lip. Her eyes drop to the guns at his side. That’s… that’s a good reason not to trust him, to be honest. If he were in her position, he’d already be running.

“Do you have anyone you can contact? Anyone you trust? I can take you to them.”

She’s starting to tear up, and god, Jason cannot deal with crying children. Marinette’s big, blue eyes and pigtails and her general smallness. He just can’t. “Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. What, do you-- do you want a cookie or something? I can bring you to a bakery before we talk? Sweets are supposed to cheer kids up, right?”

Marinette lets out a watery laugh. 

“I like macaroons,” she offers.

#

“So, how old are you?”

In the warmth of the bakery, Marinette looks markedly more relaxed. She went to the bathroom to clean her face and cut off, and now she looks like the poster child of one of those band aid ads. Lively, a little mischievous, and, you know, a child.

She takes a delicate bite of the shortbread cookie-- not a macaroon, there aren’t many reputable bakeries in Gotham that are close and have French pastries. “Nine and a half.”

Oh man, she’s younger than Replacement. 

“You’ve really got no family here? None at all? No friends you can call?”

“No, I’m from France.”

Well, that certainly answers a lot of questions. But brings up additional ones. “You speak English very well.”

“Maman and Papa ran a very popular bakery. We got a lot of foreigners. Before we moved to Paris, we lived in New York.” She takes a sip of her drink, whipped cream stuck on her nose. “And I don’t remember anyone from New York. We moved to Paris when I was three.”

Jason sighs. “What do you want to do?”

“Maman said that if I were ever left on my own, my only job was to survive by any means.” 

“That’s…” He tries to find the right words. “Interesting advice.”

In what parallel universe do parents of a bakery in Paris-- one of the major cities in the world with the lowest crime rates--tell their children to survive by any means?

“Did she tell you how?”

Marinette tilts her head, pigtails bouncing. “She told me to trust my instincts and never to trust the police.”

Great. That explains why she didn’t ask for someone’s phone to call the police. Not that the police in Gotham are the best people to go to for a case like Marinette’s, but then again, there’s not really anybody good to go to for a case like hers. 

Vague advice is the best way to get a kid killed. But since Marinette isn’t already dead, it stands to reason that her instincts haven’t failed her yet, and he really does have no clue what to do with her.

He briefly contemplates taking her to Bruce, but strikes the idea down almost instantly. Marinette fits all of the requirements to become a Robin. Tragic backstory, black hair, blue eyes. He’s not going to put another child into Bruce’s hands just so he can ruin their life by not doing his job. Besides, Bruce doesn’t know he’s alive yet, and he wants to keep it that way for now.

“Then what do your instincts tell you to do?”

Does he feel like an idiot for asking a nine year old that? Yes, but what else is he supposed to do? Taking care of kids was never part of the job description when he signed up to be Red Hood. (Then again, it wasn’t like there was a job description to begin with.)

Marinette takes another bite of one of the cookies on her plate. “They tell me to stick close to you.”

Even better. She’s imprinted on him.

@jasonette-july-2k20