#Kids Electric Vehicle

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - October 22-28

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1. Industrial wastelands to wildlife oases: Five nature wins that have actually worked

“[An archipelago in the Indian ocean] experienced a major whale comeback after signing up to a debt for nature swap[….] In Sri Lanka's capital of Colombo, local efforts have transformed what was once a rubbish dump to a wetland teeming with [wildlife….]”

2. Louisville launches America’s first 100% electric garbage truck fleet

““These innovative EV collection trucks will fulfill our trash, compost and recycling needs, reduce noise pollution, and include larger windshields to increase each driver’s field of vision and lower greenhouse gas emissions[….]” [The trucks are equipped with] audible devices that alert nearby drivers and pedestrians to compensate for their quieter operations.”

3. How a nearly extinct crocodile species returned from the brink in Cambodia

“By the late nineties, [Siamese crocodiles] were thought to be extinct. […] Today there are about 1,000 Siamese crocodiles in the wild[….] The first crocodiles were reintroduced into the wild in 2012 and they have begun breeding in the wild: over a hundred eggs were discovered in the forests in July, the most so far.”

4. Before his death, this conservative combat veteran filmed a PSA advocating for his transgender son

““Eric [“a conservative South Carolina U.S. Army combat veteran and father of a transgender child”] believed in the importance of freedom for trans kids — the right to live authentically and without fear,” [his widow] said. “He saw this not as a political issue but as a human one, recognizing that every child deserves the chance to thrive and feel whole.”” [Curator’s note: obviously, utmost condolences to Eric’s family; I’m including this as good news because it’s impactful to see a respectable member of the political party more often known for transmisia instead publicly advocating for his son’s human - not just political - rights]

5. Azores to create largest Marine Protected Area in North Atlantic – and a 'blueprint' for the rest of the world

““The Azores’ waters are a hotspot for marine life, hosting a third of the world's whale and dolphin species,[…” and harbouring] “cold-water corals and sponge fields that act as nurseries and feeding grounds for countless species, from deep-sea sharks to commercially valuable fish stocks.””

6. ‘It’s a big lever for change’: the radical contract protecting Hamburg’s green space

“Citizen power forced Germany’s greenest city-state into a binding agreement balancing housing and nature[….] The authorities signed an agreement with the citizen’s initiative to protect 30% of Hamburg’s land area – 10% as untouchable nature reserves and 20% with a looser conservation status – and ensure the share of public green space in the city rises over time.”

7. Behind the Scenes at the Federal Bee Lab Powered by Native Plants

“Once native plants reappeared at the lab, he says, the impact was dramatic. In the first year, many of the region’s 200 native bee species arrived in droves. [… B]irds Droege had never before seen on the premises began to turn up to feed on the native plant seeds[….]”

8. Atlanta neighborhood hired case manager to address rising homelessness. It's improving health and safety for everyone

“Michael Nolan, an Intown Cares social worker, is trained in an approach that emphasizes individual autonomy and dignity, recognizes that being homeless is a traumatic experience, and prioritizes access to housing. [… H]iring a social worker has enabled East Atlanta Village to resolve conflicts gently, through conversation and negotiation.”

9. Loggerhead Sea Turtle Nests Make a Remarkable Comeback in Greece

“As long-lived and migratory species, [loggerheads] contribute to the health of seagrass beds and coral reefs, which are vital habitats for many marine organisms. Their nesting activities also contribute to beach ecosystems and help promote biodiversity.”

10. Rapid genome analysis of a Whippet sighthound sets new standard for biodiversity research

“[Scientists] have sequenced and analyzed the complete genome of a Whippet sighthound in less than a week. […] Rapid analysis is increasingly important for the conservation of endangered species, [… giving] insights into their biological relationships, evolution and adaptations to environmental conditions.”

October 15-21 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[champstorymedia]

Family First: The Best SUVs for Comfort, Cargo, and Kids

In today’s fast-paced world, families need vehicles that cater to their every need—comfort for long drives, ample cargo space for family gear, and kid-friendly features to keep the little ones entertained. When it comes to these requirements, SUVs have become the go-to choice for many families. In this article titled "Family First: The Best SUVs for Comfort, Cargo, and Kids," we will explore some…

[kidsautozone]

Buy Affordable and Stylish Kahuna BMW Kids Motorbike

Kids love to bike ride, and the Kahuna BMW Kids Motorbike offers them the perfect opportunity to enjoy the thrill of the road. With its sleek design modeled after a real BMW, this motorbike provides an exciting and safe riding experience. It features working headlights, realistic engine sounds, and sturdy construction, ensuring both fun and safety. Ready to gift your child the thrill of riding? Come to Kids AutoZone and buy this stylish BMW Kids motorbike at affordable prices without compromising on quality. Don’t miss out on this chance to bring joy to your child’s playtime. Visit our store today and let the adventure begin!

[safecastle-sale]

Seeking excitement and fun? MotoTec USA is your one-stop shop for electric scooters, kids ATVs, go karts, and dirt bikes. Explore our extensive range of vehicles, perfect for all ages and skill levels. We also offer replacement parts, accessories, and custom payment plans. Unleash your inner adventurer with MotoTec USA!

[myshop24]

Rev Up the Fun with RC Cars: High-Speed Racing for Kids | Toy Cars Gifts

Exciting High-Speed Racing: The article highlights the excitement of high-speed racing with RC Cars, emphasizing the adrenaline-pumping experience these toys offer for kids and adults alike.

Dazzling LED Lights: It focuses on the captivating LED lights of RC Cars, explaining how they enhance both the visual appeal and safety of these remote-controlled vehicles.

Perfect Gifts for All Ages: The article underscores the versatility of RC Cars as gifts, suitable for kids aged 4 to 9, boys, and girls. It elaborates on the benefits of gifting these cars, such as promoting creativity and family bonding.

[moonlightcycle571]

Captain Marvel not understanding anything about technology yet somehow being a technopath

I think it should be established that Billy Batson knows nothing about technology. He was stuck in the time bubble for over 50 years, and even then (before during and after), he’s a street kid. Man’s still on radio and old vehicles.

Every time she leaned something slightly techie, he gets flabbergasted. Mispronounces the name of so many machines and has no idea what’s the differences between an IPod and an IPhone. He understands even less why Sam’s song is beefing with an apple???

Having said that, Captain Marvel can be terrifyingly proficient in tech at random times, and the reasoning behind it is so dumb that any tech-savie person in the vicinity are either banging their heads or foaming in jealousy.

Electrics use electricity. Cap is technically Living Lightning. And magical. All Cap needs to do is think about something for it to appear in the nearest screens.

Batman: the access to the security are heavily locked and would take to much time to enter from the outside

Marvel: I got it! *camera footage appear on the screen*

Batman: hn?

*or*

Oracle: I need to bypass multiple firewalls. The coding is so complex, but if you give me ten minutes-

Marvel: oh it’s cool *waves his hand*

Oracle: …

Oracle: did you crack the code by waving your hand…

Marvel: yeah I just swishes off the weird blocks

Oracle, inwardly: THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE

Oracle, outwardly: *noticeably restrained* cool 🙂

*Or*

Marvel: Hey Vic, do you want to get milkshakes?

Cyborg: I can’t, the father box is acting up. I’ve been glitching all day.

Marvel: oh let me help

Cyborg: you can’t just-

Marvel: *slaps Victors shoulder* there!

Cyborg: … how???

Marvel: I asked nicely! 😁

Cyborg: I’m going to die now

Bonus:

Somewhere in a dark unused part of the watchtower, many capes gathered.

Barbara Gordon: Today we will welcome a new member to our support group. Introduce yourself, tell us why you’re here and will can start the meeting.

Roy Harper: Hi, I’m Arsenal, and today Captain Marvel broke my grenade launcher. He then felt bad and made me a pocket rocket launcher. Meaning it’s a rocket launcher but when I press a button, it turns into a small box for me to carry around. I asked him why make a rocket launcher and not a grenade launcher, and he asked me what’s the difference.

*echoes of ‘oooh’ and ‘welcome to the club’*

Tim Drake: I taught him on how to set a Facebook account and helped him set his profile. I go out to get an energy drink. I come back and he’s hacking conversations of the mafia, giving me info on the trafficking ring I’ve been tracking for a month.

*sympathising nods from everyone*

Jaime Reyes: Last Thursday, my scarab got scratched and was having trouble repairing itself. Marvel came in and put a bandaid on it. The worse part is… it actually worked.

*cue groans through out the room*

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #32

My baby, you’re my baby.

Imagine dis…

You know, I have the songs Mitski - I Bet on Losing Dogs and Reba McEntire - I'm A Survivor.

So in memory of the ever ending loop finally dissappearing and now replaced with Wake up by Llunr… Here it goes…

…

In the heart of Gotham, The Teen Titans who are being led by Tim Drake (Robin), along with Conner Kent (Superboy), and Bart Allen (Kid Flash) are fighting a powerful magician. They had managed to hold their ground, but they were unable to pass the unending minions summoned by the magician, nor could they land a decent hit on the magician, who was fighting fire with fire. Knowing they needed magical ability, they asked Zatanna to handle the caster while they focused on the minions.

The air crackled with electricity as spells collided and blended in a frantic dance of light and power. Just as they were ready to gain the upper hand, two opposing spells from Zatanna and their opponent collided in what appeared to be a last-ditch attempt. A flood of raw, uncontrolled power surged toward them, wiping out the majority of the minions and now heading towards them, and before they could react, they were bathed in blinding light.

…

When the light went off, they found themselves in a completely dark room. Their senses heightened, and they stood alert, as all three of them wondered what the magic's effects would be. Light gradually appeared around them, presenting a scene that perplexed and concerned them.

A teenage male with dark hair stood in the center of the room, carrying a baby swaddled in a blue and star-printed blanket. The boy's eyes were sad and shiny, and his cheeks were swollen with unshed tears. He rocked the baby softly and sang a sweet tune. Surrounding him were walls and a small window that was too high and narrow for him to escape, but just right for a newborn baby.

On the other side of the window, another teen came this time with dirty blonde hair and freckles and bright green eyes. Crouching to look at the teen mentioned above, who is still humming as if in his little universe. He looked at the first teen, full of sadness and grief, and said, as no sound came from the scene, that it was time.

The dark-haired kid took a deep breath before pulling out a little necklace covered with snowflake decorations. He wrapped it around the baby's neck, his hands quivering. Tim automatically stroked the similar necklace that hung around his neck, disguised by the layers of clothes he wore.

Tim knew he was adopted; he had always known. He had always resembled his adoptive parents, Janet and Jack, making him the ideal heir to the Drakes. He had attempted to locate his biological parents but had only encountered dead ends. Now he understood he was seeing a long-forgotten memory.

The dark-haired teen gave the baby to the other kid, who cautiously reached through the window. As he did, Tim noticed the thick chains that shackled the dark-haired teen's body, blocking his escape. The boy stared at the infant one more time and mumbled something Tim couldn't hear.

The blonde teenager appears to convince the other teenager that he will find a suitable home for the baby he is currently carrying.

The dark-haired teen flashed a sorrowful smile and looked longingly at the baby, who was now struggling to wake up as if realizing that the person holding him was not his mom.

The blonde teen nodded and prepared his motorcycle, placing the baby who is now trying to have a crying feast in a sidecar alongside what appeared to be his dog with red eyes for further protection and sped off.

All three of them looked at the chained teen as he held his gaze to the vehicle up until it went smaller and smaller and until it vanished from his sight.

Just as they thought the scene was over they were immediately shattered as a large metal door that seemed to materialize behind them opened wide and out came walking someone they knew as they were already in the middle of investigating.

Vlad Masters

Someone who gained his wealth through mysterious ways that warrant an investigation as most of the deals are more favorable to Masters than to his so-called partners.

They saw Masters grab the teen roughly and began hissing through gritted teeth something, leaving bruises wherever he handled the chained teen.

The teen, on the other hand, seemed so detached, as if he completely removed himself from the present as he let Masters rough handle him.

…

Tim wanted to scream, to rage as both of his teammates were already holding him back from running towards something they know is something of the past.

That is his parent GODDAMMIT!, Tim raged in his mind, usually he would have been calm and collected, logical, and gathered the facts. But a single memory made all of his restraints snap.

All Tim ever wanted was to be loved, something he never received during his stay with the Drakes. Both Janet and Jack kept on mentioning how Tim should be grateful that he is the one chosen to stay under their roof with thousands of dollars at his fingertips.

But here he was watching something he was too young to remember, something that his head kept flashing.

The soft hum of a melody that he would sometimes hear deep within his mind as he tried to cry himself to sleep.

A single necklace is a connection between him and his biological parents.

Watching how helplessly his father was? Mother? Be abused, be chained down.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t find a lead, Masters sent someone to handle the blonde teen who brought him to a nice orphanage before the Drake couple adopted him.

…

The scene faded as Tim, Conner, and Bart were brought back to reality. They awoke to find Zatanna watching over them, her expression filled with concern.

Zatanna said that they had been bound in a deep memory spell, which the magician had created to capture them in a recurrent memory, rendering them unable to discern between the memory and the real world. However, because she also sent out her counter, it only displayed a fleeting memory to stop them from ending up like Sleeping Beauty.

She chuckled as she glanced at them questioningly, hoping for the best, and thought they witnessed a memory that reminded them of a dark time during their hero times.

Tim sat up, still holding the necklace. He had observed a memory from his past that he had never known existed. It wasn't just a last-ditch attempt at a spell; it was a look into a long-held secret that he had forgotten.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[ozzgin]

I've kept my promise and returned with dino smut. Switch it to a dinosaur hybrid if you're too afraid of the full package. Content: gender neutral reader, NSFW (gangbang), monster dinosaur smut

"You've got to be kidding me."

You kick the wheel and walk away, trying to steady your breathing. This can’t be happening. Behind you, the guide continues to tinker with the car engine. He has a reassuring smile plastered on his face, but you can tell from the cold beads of sweat that he’s just as terrified.

You are stranded in a desert filled with dinosaurs. Scientific miracle? Sure. Presently your death sentence, too.

“Don’t walk too far from the vehicle, (Y/N), otherwise I can’t reach you in time if something happens.”

“What, you have a black belt in dinosaur fighting or something?” you scoff at the man.

“Now listen, do you think we didn’t anticipate these scenarios? I am equipped with this little guy here”, he says, pulling out a small, electric device. “Has enough juice in it to shock a T-Rex.”

Maybe he has a point. The Jurassic Park proudly dons a reputation of flawless service and guaranteed safety. Surely they must be equipped to deal with something as insignificant as a car breaking down in the middle of a guided tour.

You attempt to smile back, gathering some courage. In your newfound peace you didn’t really notice that the massive rock behind the car has moved, or that it was never a rock to begin with.

A wide row of razor teeth engulfs your official tour guide, and the enormous mandible closes with a loud snap. The upper half of the man detaches in a surreal, surgical cleanliness. You stare, mouth agape. It takes you a second to process the execution you’ve just witnessed, but the ear-shattering screech swiftly wakes you out of your trance.

Escaping from an entire pack of ancient predators feels rather futile, but that doesn't stop you from crawling up the steep hill, hoping the damned creatures can't follow. Had you known your comfortable car ride required survival skills, you would've worn a different pair of pants.

What's even more ridiculous is the nature of your perpetrator. Of course, you tell yourself, you had to trust a company that can't differentiate between the Cretaceous and the Jurassic. What's one or two million years? What's one or two dead humans in the grand statistics of their park?

You finally reach the top of the hill, and trip over some overgrown roots. Your collapse is cushioned by the scarce bushes patching the ground. Suddenly, you feel the branches vibrating against your burnt cheeks. Dear Lord, futile indeed. The heavy, bulky legs of the Carnotaurus approach you in a chaotic trample, nonchalantly stepping over your last bits of hope.

Knees scraping against the rocks, you close your eyes and shield your face, bent over like some beggar awaiting punishment. You're petrified. Did the guide feel anything when his innards stretched and tore under the unforgiving mouth?

The rough, scaly skin of the monster brushes against the back of your thighs. There it is! Flesh coming undone, bones giving in to the...wait. What are they doing, exactly? You subtly tilt your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the strange event.

It seems that your resigned position has given them different ideas. The horned beasts investigate your scent with peculiar interest. A brief altercation ensues, in which they lock their horns together and their tails swing around threateningly, nearly crushing you in their blind aggression. You cry out and try to distance yourself from the thundering scene, but a clawed foot pins you back into the ground.

You suspect your present captor is the winner of the conflict, standing above you triumphantly as the others wait aside. Is this the part where you become a grand meal? Its enormous teeth graze your clothing, and the threads come undone.

In a most unexpected turn of events, it's you who ends up stuffed. You don't know what pain to focus on: your back hurts from the rhythmic swaying, bare skin grating against the parched earth; your privacy is burning from the sudden, invasive stretch, as the creature buries itself deeper with each hungry pound.

Eventually, a familiar knot begins to form in the pit of your stomach. The thrusts become smoother, your legs weaker. Shameless moans begin to roll out of your drooling mouth, and you hold onto the Carnotaurus' rugged hips. Its mouth is slightly open, panting and groaning, blowing hot air against your already feverish body.

Your own high is interrupted by a thick, hot wave of fluid abruptly crashing against your inner walls. The beast detaches itself from you, leaving you heaving, dripping and sighing in disappointment. The least you could've gotten from this erotic absurdity was a decent orgasm.

Your naked body is suddenly shrouded in shadow. You look up to see a different member of the pack positioning itself between your legs. Glancing at the others, a horrifying, perverted thought occurs to you: they're taking turns, fucking you relentlessly.

Perhaps you will get your chance, after all. Or multiple.

[loonylupinblack3]

Powerless

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: extremely toxic!rafe, violence, swearing, many threats issued

Summary: you hate being a Pogue. Hate how vulnerable and weak and powerless it makes you. Rafe reinforces this for you.

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: heavily based off of season 1 episode three of obx when pope is delivering groceries and Rafe jumps him. also the ferrari sf90 spider is actually my favourite car so i yapped about it a lil bit :)

You were helping Heyward load the grocery bags onto the boat alongside Pope and JJ, stacking the bags of food and other knick knacks in the middle of the vehicle. 

“You kids get these groceries over to Figure Eight,” Heyward instructed, grunting as he lifted a pair of heavy bags off the dock and moved over to the boat, Pope, waiting at the ready, taking them from his father. “Get straight back here when you’re done.” He gave you a pointed look. “No fishing.”

You grinned at him, saluting him as you grabbed a pair of bags from him and placed it on the boat. JJ was right next to you, with Pope behind, the three of you working in tandem.

“I promised delivery by this afternoon,” Heyward continued. “Rich folk don’t want to wait for you lazy sons-” Seeing JJ with his arms already outstretched waiting for another bag of groceries and a beaming smile on his face gave Heyward pause. “Oh, JJ, thank you.” As soon as JJ grabbed the groceries he continued. “-sons of bitches.”

He glanced at you. “Excusing you, of course, Y/n. You’re always a delight.”

You beamed at him and JJ gave a scoff. “How come you get all the praise and I get nothing?”

You sniffed, flipping your hair to the side. “‘Cause I’m better.”

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

“Are-”

Heyward interrupted the two of you. “Hey, alright enough. No bickering. Get your asses moving and deliver these groceries.”

You all gave the man a salute and entered the cabin part of the boat as Pope started it up. Heyward didn’t trust JJ enough to drive the boat and knew you’d end up going the wrong way with your poor sense of direction, so Pope was in charge of steering the vehicle.

You drove through the river, leaving the Pogue side behind and entering Figure Eight, the Kooks domain. You noted the large houses, clean and tidy, and the smooth way they all seemed to be running with enough electricity and clear running water to their heart's content.

“Doesn’t even look like the storm hit there,” Pope exclaimed in indignation. No doubt he was thinking about your own houses, all of them damaged in some way and not yet fixed.

JJ twirled a pocket knife in his hands. “That’s because they got generators, bro. Get used to it.”

You scowled, shaking your head. “And then they say the juice will be out all summer at the cut.”

Pope shook his head, jaw clenched. “Nice to be a Kook.”

You nodded your head in agreement as JJ said, “lucky bastards.”

“One day I’m gonna become a Kook,” you said. “Dunno how yet, but I’m gonna go full Kook, with a pool, mansion, Ferrari SF90 Spider.”

JJ and Pope both groaned as you mentioned your favourite car, again. Sometimes they found you just never shut up about it, going on about the horsepower, the V8 engine, the fact it was the very pinnacle of Ferrari technology, with the thrill and versatility of open top driving.

“Time for you to stop talking,” JJ said, commandeering the conversation. You didn’t mind, content to listen to him for the rest of the way to Figure Eight, where you docked the boat and divvied out the grocery bags between you.

You and Pope were gonna go together, with JJ taking the rest and heading in the other direction. You bid each other quick goodbyes and hurried with Pope, walking around the unfamiliar streets. Everything looked so much nicer here, from the pavement to the shops lining the streets, everything inside looking like it cost more than a week's worth of your pay.

You took a shortcut, walking through the golf course instead of around it. The employees let you through without a second glance. It was surprising what you could get away with as a Pogue working in Figure Eight. The two of you walked on the side of the golf course, talking under your breaths as you looked around cautiously.

“I’m also going to golf here every week,” you stated, watching a particularly fit woman swing a golf club, her muscles flexing with exertion. 

You could almost imagine it being you, the golf club, hat, skirt, everything. If you really thought about it, the girl almost looked like you, similar hair colour and figure.

Pope laughed. “You hate golfing.”

You shrugged, swinging the bags in your hands slightly as you walked. “Yeah, but it's what Kooks do isn’t it?”

“What is your obsession with being a Kook?” Pope asked. “I get being rich, everyone wants it, but you seem almost obsessed with it.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself when movement caught your eye. You involuntarily recoiled when you recognised Topper and Rafe heading towards you. Pope noticed too, muttering swear words under his breath and advising you to just walk past and ignore them.

“Hey what’s up guys?” Rafe asked, putting up an innocent facade. He used his golf club to stop your walking, pressing it to the box of beers in Pope’s hand. “Hey how much for one of those beers?”

Pope turned to the side, trying to push past. “They’re not for sale.”

Rafe made a tutting sound. “Wait, wait, wait.” He stopped Pope as he tried to pass, forcing the two of you to stay there. Topper was standing directly in front of you, creating a barrier of sorts across the pathway. “You can just give us one, then, right?”

You wanted to snap at him. Wanted to ridicule him, ask him if he knew what not for sale meant. You were scared though, and you knew it wouldn’t help you or Pope standing up to him like that.

“Or you can order one like everybody else,” Pope replied, again trying to push past.

Rafe was rougher this time, ignoring Pope’s struggles and shoving him back. The coil of fear in your gut tightened. “Listen. Wait, wait, wait, you’re not listening to me. Um…” he gestured with his hands. “You’ve got so many bro, and we’ve got nothing.”

“Got nothing man,” Topper chimed in.

You scowled. “They’re not ours, they’re already paid for.”

Rafe looked at you, surprised you spoke, and then all of his attention was on you. You regretted even speaking, because his attention was like a guillotine, one wrong movement and the blade would fall.

“Oh, already paid for?” Rafe asked. “Knowing you Pogues, you probably stole them, right?”

Before you could stop him he was in front of you, his golf club snagging at the plastic bags in your hands as he pulled. Everything fell to the floor, and you heard the distinct sound of glass shattering.

“What the hell Rafe?!” You cried. “You owe us for that!”

He laughed, getting all up in your space. “Oh I owe you do I? I don’t owe you shit, Sweetheart.” He grabbed your chin, his fingers forcefully curling around your skin.

“Hey, get off her!” Pope yelled, grabbing Rafe’s shirt and yanking him back. You were grateful for the space, rubbing your jaw as the fear weighed you down, down, down.

Rafe spun around, “don’t fucking touch me you Pogue.”

“Come on man,” Topper said from his other side. They had him surrounded. “We just want a beer.” He made a lunge for it. “Just give us one of these.”

Topper and Pope were full on wrestling with the box now, and the fear was in your throat, especially when Rafe joined in, tripping Pope up and making him fall to the floor with a slam, rolling over a few times.

You gasped, going to him, but Rafe got there first. He had a bruise on his head, looking red and scratched. He scrambled upright, a hatred kindling in his eyes as he threw a punch. Rafe was ready though, avoiding it easily and using his golf club to slam into your friend's stomach. When he was bent over Rafe slammed it down again, Pope crumpling to the floor.

You couldn’t watch it anymore. As he raised his club again you moved forward, shoving him to the side. You only managed to move him because he wasn’t expecting it, and even Topper looked surprised, doing nothing to stop you because really, how much damage can a girl do?

You planted yourself in front of Pope, and when Rafe, laughing in disbelief, walked up to you, you were ready. You swung your fist but it was in poor form, Rafe catching your wrist mid-movement. His grip was tight enough to make you wince.

“Getting involved?” Rafe asked you, moving forward until you were chest to chest. “That’s cute.” His voice was low and mocking. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

You yanked your arm back. That was the second time he’d grabbed you and your skin felt dirty, his fingerprints crawling all over you. Rafe just seemed amused, a cruel delight in his eyes. There was no fear in his expression and why would there be? He was a Kook. He had his friend right behind him ready to defend him if needed. His real competitor was still on the floor, pain immobilising him. No, there was no fear in his expression, only a sick satisfaction of knowing exactly how much control he had over this situation.

Pope gave a groan, attempting to pull himself upright but Rafe didn’t even glance at him. His focus was zeroed on you, the intensity of his gaze making your stomach churn. “What’s it like, being a Pogue? Being powerless?”

You opened your mouth to snap at him, to say something humiliating and knock his ego down a few inches, anything to stand up against him. Rafe seemed to know you too well though, grabbing your jaw in a bruising grip, his fingers cold and rough. More threat than affection. “You’d be better off with me, y’know that?”

It wasn’t a flirtation he spoke to you – it was a threat. You could hear the danger in every word, the treacherous promise that he’d never leave you alone, that this sick game of his would only end on his terms. You could see the lines between desire and control blurring, and nauseatingly realised that Rafe’s affection for you might be even more dangerous than his fists. 

You tried to jerk away, revolution surfacing inside you but Rafe only tightened his grip. “Nah, don’t do that,” he warned almost lazily. “Don’t make me hurt you too.”

You wanted to cry. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to fall. You’d hate to give him the satisfaction of seeing them roll down your face. All of this was a game to him, a test to see how much fear he could wring out of you. The worst part was you knew he would do it, just because he could.

Your gaze darted to Pope, your friend just managing to sit upright. Topper was standing to the side, an uneasy expression on his face. You didn’t want Rafe to escalate things any further, because you knew he would, just to prove a point. He noticed your line of sight and forcibly pulled you closer to him so he could whisper in your ear.

“You’re lucky I like you,” his breath was hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. An edge of cruelty laced his tone, as did delight, the same one a kid would get from playing with their toys, which was what you were to Rafe. “Otherwise you’d be right there next to him.”

Before you could answer he shoved you back, hard enough to make you stumble. A sickeningly smug smirk was on his face as he picked up two cans of beer off the ground, chucking one to Topper.

“Catch you later Sweetheart,” he called to you, going as far as sending you a wink, acting like everything had just been harmless fun, which you guessed it was to him.

You watched him saunter away, leaving a mess in his wake that he seemed to do everywhere. Except this time it was worse, because with a sickening dread you realised the next thing he’d leave a mess would be you.

And you suddenly had an answer to Pope’s earlier question. Why did you want to be a Kook so badly? It was simple, really. This whole interaction had just reinforced the feeling that you were too vulnerable, too weak. And the answer appeared from the ashes of Rafe’s destruction, a truth you guarded with your heart.

You didn’t want to be powerless.

[foldingfittedsheets]

So yesterday we frantically researched cars and electric vehicle credits that could help up buy one. I picked a dealership specifically based on a rebate for EVs. We called to make sure they had the car we wanted to see and a young man said they did and told us to ask for him when we arrived.

When my beloved hung up the phone I gleefully whispered, “He sounds weak. Perfect.” I wasn’t being serious but it made them laugh.

We arrived and waited for him to bring the car around and when he popped up he was a young man clearly new to the sales industry. He talked at high speed but struggled to actually clarify benefits. He did not ask a single question about us.

In the test drive we specifically mentioned the EV credit and he agreeably talked about how he wished he’d waited a few months to get his dad a car since the credit came out after. We commiserated and I marveled at the silences he left. I’ve been in sales so long and I cannot fathom not asking a customer questions about their lives.

When we got inside he gave a quote. It wasn’t terrible. I had leveraged in the need for the dealership to pay off the amount left on my beloved’s dead car, but I still shook my head and said we needed lower and pulled out my phone to shown a slightly worse Leaf I’d found in terms of mileage but still several thousand cheaper.

He went away. We waited. My beloved was concerned but I reassured them that whatever he came back with I’d accept. He came back with almost 3K lower as he’d finally added the EV credit. The one we called to ask about. The one we mentioned in the car and I’d hinted at twice.

I smiled and said I’d pay cash but I still can’t believe that kid. To not include the rebate we’d specifically come in for meant he’d had to drop his price even further which worked out great for us but was a wild misstep. I hadn’t been serious when I’d called him weak but this is the first car sale I went away not feeling taken advantage of.

[rootedinrevisions]

Lost in the Crowd

Summary: Glen surprises his Swiftie girlfriend with VIP tickets to The Eras Tour. The night is supposed to be magical. But due to some missteps with Glen’s security team the night doesn’t quite go as planned.

Warnings: Unwanted Physical Contact (being grabbed without consent)

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: This is a mix of a one-shot I started sometime last year, paired with a request from @hunterthecharmer. Hope you guys like it! ♡♡

The city starts to fade as the black SUV pulls onto the final stretch of road leading to SoFi Stadium. Even with the windows up, you can feel the electricity in the air. The distant pulse of music, the collective thrill of thousands of voices buzzing with anticipation, and rows of cars all heading to the same place. Neon lights flash against the night sky, illuminating the massive stadium in shades of pink and purple. 

The moment you spot the giant screens displaying Taylor Swift | The Eras Tour, your breath catches. You turn to Glen, eyes wide with disbelief, but he’s already watching you, a slow, satisfied grin stretching across his face. 

“Surprise, sweetheart.”

Your heart pounds. “Glen—are you serious?”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Figured I’d finally see what all the hype is about. And what better way than to experience it with my favorite Swiftie?”

The reality hits you all at once. You’re here. At The Eras Tour. With Glen, your sweet, kind, loving, caring, amazing boyfriend.  In a matter of minutes, you’ll be inside, singing at the top of your lungs with thousands of others. 

Outside the car fans flood the sidewalks in sequins, fringe, and rhinestones, friendship bracelets stacked up their arms. The sheer joy radiating from the crowd is contagious. People are laughing, posing for pictures, trading bracelets. All completely wrapped up in the magic of the night. The moment the SUV slows near the VIP entrance, screams erupt. Phones flash, cameras lift, and suddenly, the excitement is tinged with a new kind of energy.

Glen is used to this. He shifts effortlessly into his easygoing charm, offering waves and quick smiles through the tinted window. But before he even reaches for the door handle, his security team is already in motion. Four men, dressed in black, move in sync, positioning themselves around the vehicle. The second Glen steps out, the crowd surges closer.

Then he turns back to you. Reaching for your hand, he helps you out of the car, his touch warm and steady. The stadium looms behind him, massive and glowing, but for a second, all you see is him. The way his eyes search yours, making sure you’re just as excited as he hoped you’d be.

He leans in, voice low. “Ready?”

You squeeze his hand back, heart racing. “More than ready.”

As you and Glen make your way into the building, all around you Swifties in dazzling outfits move in excited clusters. Sparkling dresses inspired by every era catch the light—Fearless gold fringe, Red heart-shaped sunglasses, Reputation black sequins, Lover pastel dreamscapes.

Girls pass by wearing cowboy hats and "Not a Lot Going on at the Moment" T-shirts, some wrapped in bedazzled denim jackets with lyrics hand-painted on the back. A group of fans nearby are trading friendship bracelets, their wrists stacked with colorful beads spelling out inside jokes and song titles.

A girl in a sparkly pink corset and white boots gasps when she sees Glen. “Oh my God, it’s Top Gun Ken!” she squeals, immediately grabbing her friend’s arm.

Glen lets out a breathy chuckle, flashing them a quick wink. The moment is pure joy, electric and contagious.

He turns to you, his hand still wrapped around yours, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Worth the surprise?”

Your heart swells. “Are you kidding? This is—”

A sudden shift in movement cuts your sentence short. The security team moves into position. Four guards subtly adjust their positions, closing in around you and Glen as the crowd thickens. They move in sync, fluid and professional, one stepping ahead, another flanking Glen’s right, the last two just a step behind.

You know they’re here for protection. For Glen’s safety. You understand the need for it. But as they shift, you are pulled away from Glen’s side.  

You feel the shift before you fully process it. One second, you’re right at Glen’s side, his hand warm and steady in yours. The next, a strong grip clamps down on your arm. Before you can react, you’re being yanked backward.

A sharp breath catches in your throat as you stumble, your free hand instinctively pushing against the solid chest of the security guard hauling you away. The force of it wrenches your arm, almost painfully, as he moves you further from Glen.

"Hey wait, what the—" You try to pull away, but his grip is unrelenting.

Then, just as suddenly, the guard seems to recognize you. His gaze flickers to your face, registering who you are. His expression doesn’t shift, no recognition beyond simple protocol, but he reaches out anyway and grips your upper arm with firm pressure as he guides you closer to Glen.

Your breath catches as you pull away, brushing it off, but the action doesn’t go unnoticed. Glen catches it. All of it. In an instant, the easy warmth in his expression shifts. 

His jaw tightens and he looks at the security guard. "No need to grab her like that, man."

The guard hesitates, the weight of Glen’s gaze pinning him in place. A beat passes, thick with unspoken tension.

Then a clipped, muttered apology. "I thought she was a fan. I was just-."

“Grabbing her?” Glen’s jaw tightens further. He slides his hand down to rest protectively on your lower back as you lean into his side. “Touch my girlfriend like that again and we’ll have problems.”

“Yes, sir.” The body guard quickly says. 

Glen pauses for a second, his gaze still fixed on the security guard. Finally he takes a breath and continues walking. His arm sliding to fully wrap around you, pulling you against his side so that you can’t get separated or pushed away again.

The bodyguard keeps his eyes forward, saying nothing else. But there’s an unmistakable tension now, a sharp edge between him and Glen that wasn’t there before.

Glen doesn’t say anything else either. He doesn’t have to. But as he leads you forward, his hold on you doesn’t loosen. Not once. Glen keeps you close. His arm, still wrapped around you, slides down until his fingers find yours again. This time, his grip is firmer. Secure.

"You good?" he asks, leaning in so only you can hear. His voice is warm, low enough to cut through the noise.

You nod, squeezing his hand in return. "Perfect."

But then the crowd surges. The packed mass of people pushes forward, shoulder to shoulder, making space impossibly tight. Security tenses, adjusting their positions in sync. They form a tight perimeter - solid, unyielding, hyper-focused.

On Glen. Not You. 

At first, you don’t think much of it. You stick close, trying to keep your footing as the wave of movement shifts.

But then someone bumps into you hard. Your fingers slip from Glen’s. You stumble just a step, and for just a second. But it’s enough. Another push from behind. You lose more ground. 

And then suddenly he’s gone. Glen is gone. The wall of security closes around him, moving forward without you. None of them notice. Your heart slams into your ribs as you lurch forward, trying to squeeze between bodies.

"Glen!" Your voice is swallowed by the sheer deafening roar of the crowd. Music thumps from inside the stadium, laughter and conversation layering over it. 

The movement of the crowd shoves you back again, and again. No one is looking for you. Glen’s security, his highly trained, ever-vigilant security, hasn’t even realized they lost you.

Your breath quickens, a flicker of panic starting to rise. You stand on your toes, straining to see over the crush of bodies, but Glen’s nowhere in sight.

Another shove. A sharp elbow clips your side. You stumble back, blinking rapidly as the flashing arena lights blur in your vision.

Meanwhile Glen glances at his side, and it hits him. You’re not there. He looks down at his hand that you had been holding and it’s empty. Glen stops in his tracks, scanning the faces around him, expecting to see you just a half step behind.

But you’re not there. His brows knit together as he realizes he doesn’t see you anymore. His usually easygoing demeanor evaporates, replaced by a rush of controlled panic. His chest tightens, his heartbeat thudding too loudly in his ears.

“Where is she?” The words are sharp. 

His voice is low and even, but something about his tone makes all four security guards freeze. They turn to look at him, confused.

“Where’s my girlfriend?” Glen says again, voice raising slightly.

One of them glances around and then says, “she was just-” He then stops, realizing he doesn’t actually know where you are.

“You lost her?” His tone doesn’t change, but the air around them does. The guards who are all trained professionals, hired to keep him safe, all begin to realize they’ve messed up badly.

Glen exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening as he doesn’t wait for them to figure it out. You’re lost in an arena filling up with seventy-thousand people. He doesn’t have time to waste.

He’s now moving through the crowd. His movements are fluid but frantic, but he’s not stopping. People shove and push, but nothing can slow him down now. His pulse is racing. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. The security guards struggle to keep up with his hurried pace.

With every step, that familiar flicker of dread takes root in his stomach. He can’t see you. He can’t feel your hand in his. You’re gone.

Meanwhile panic starts to seep into your chest. Where is Glen? He was just right there with you. He couldn’t have gotten very far, you think to yourself as you continue to scan the crowd for him. You try to hold yourself steady, taking deep breaths. This isn’t the end of the world. He’s nearby, he has to be nearby.

But then, it hits you—you don’t have your phone. Your outfit doesn’t have pockets, so Glen had your phone tucked into his jacket pocket, just in case you needed it.

You try to glance around, but the crowd of people are pressing in. There’s too much noise, too much movement. You can’t even tell if he’s near. You wish you could signal him, but you can’t even raise your arms without someone else bumping into you.

The world feels like it’s shrinking around you. You also can’t just meet him in the VIP area because you can’t get into the VIP area without him because he has your tickets too.

It’s then that your breath catches. There’s no way out of this. The sick feeling in your stomach twists tighter. You’re completely on your own in a crowd of thousands, no way to contact him, no way to find him.

Tears well up in your eyes, unbidden, but you blink them away. You can’t break down, not here, not now.

And just as you’re about to lose it, you hear it. “Sweetheart! Hey!” Followed by your name. The sound of your name rings through the chaos. 

You whip your head around, trying to catch a glimpse. And there just a few rows of people away is Glen, his face a mix of relief and worry.

"Glen!" You say in relief

His feet are already moving, quick steps, weaving through the crowd toward you. He reaches you in seconds, grabbing your hand to pull you toward him.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re okay,” he mutters, his voice low, soothing, but with an undertone of tension that you can’t ignore. The words are a relief—a promise that you’re safe again—but the intensity behind them makes your heart race just a little faster.

You can feel his quickened pulse and the tension that’s been building in his body ever since he realized you were gone as you wrap your arms around him. His relief is palpable as he tightens his hold on you, his movements steady but almost protective too.

The noise of the crowd begins to fade as the two of you make your way into the VIP area. It’s quieter here, more secluded, and Glen’s focus never wavers as he keeps you close to his side the whole way. 

But there’s a stillness to him now, as though something inside him is trying to process what just happened. The security team trails behind, but they don’t speak. Or they don’t dare to speak is more likely.

Once the door shuts behind them sealing off the noise of the crowd, Glen finally turns to face his security team. 

His voice is low, calm, but there’s no mistaking the anger simmering beneath. “How did you lose her?”

The lead security guard stammers, his face paling. “It was crowded, sir. We were keeping you secure—”

Glen shakes his head, cutting him off with a look that speaks volumes. “And you didn’t think to watch her, too? She’s with me which means you’re here to keep her safe too.”

Silence. No one answers, and the tension in the room becomes suffocating. It’s not just the quiet. It’s the weight of a mistake that shouldn’t have happened, and the reality of how much you mean to Glen.

Then, the same guard who had overstepped earlier—the one who grabbed you—mutters something under his breath.

Glen doesn’t let it slide. His eyes flick to the man, his posture rigid but controlled. “What was that?”

The guard, not picking up on the severity of the situation, shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s not our job to watch her. Our job is to protect you. That’s what you pay us for, right? She can handle herself.”

A cold silence follows. The air thickens. The weight of the words hangs between them, and even the other three guards shift uncomfortably as they sense the shift in the room.

Glen doesn’t move or react immediately, but something in his eyes darkens, a flicker of anger that’s carefully contained. He steps forward just enough to close the distance. It’s not a step that threatens violence, but one that exudes dominance.

“Let me get this straight,” Glen’s voice is deceptively calm and measured, but beneath it there’s a razor-sharp edge. “First you grab my girlfriend and try to jerk her around. Then you let her get separated from me in a crowd of thousands. You didn’t notice. You didn’t look for her. And now, instead of owning that mistake, you’re telling me it’s not your job?”

The guard opens his mouth to say something, but Glen doesn’t let him finish.

“You’re done.”

The words are cold, and they settle like ice in the air. The guard blinks, eyes widening. “Excuse me?”

Glen’s gaze never wavers. His voice never rises. It’s smooth, calm, like a glacier moving at its own pace, unstoppable. 

“You’re fired.”

The rest of the security team exchanges nervous glances, but no one dares speak up. The tension in the room is almost suffocating, and even the man who’s been dismissed doesn’t argue. He looks to his colleagues for support, but no one moves to help him. There’s nothing left for him here. He sighs and turns to leave.

Glen stands still, his focus now on the man in front of him, the lead security guard. Glen’s  eyes narrow, and the silence between them stretches on, like a silent promise that this mistake will never happen again. And it’s clear to the other three men that it will be unacceptable if something like this happens again.

Finally Glen turns back to you, his expression softening as his gaze meets yours. His jaw loosens slightly, and the hard lines in his face relax just enough for you to see the concern beneath.

He steps closer, cupping your face gently in his hands. His touch is tender, a contrast to the cold tension that still hangs in the air. 

“You okay?” His voice is quieter now, softer, but the intensity is still there.

You nod, and for a moment it feels like he’s not convinced. His brow furrows as he examines you.

“That should’ve never happened.” His tone is firmer now, more resolute, the promise in his voice unmistakable. “And it won’t happen again.”

His words are a reassurance. And you know deep down he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure nothing like this ever comes close to happening again.

The air in the VIP area is quieter and cooler. The crowd’s energy still pulses through the arena, but here  it feels like the world is just a little smaller. It’s easy to forget the chaos that just unfolded, especially with Glen standing there

He lets out a breath  like he’s finally exhaling the stress that had been building up in his chest over the past half hour. His eyes soften as he looks at you.

“I didn’t mean to overreact,” he says, his voice now warm, an undertone of apology in the way his lips pull. “But I can’t just let something like that go.”

You smile up at him, a small, knowing grin. “I know,” you reply softly, your fingers brushing across his hand in a gesture of reassurance.

As the lights dim and the crowd’s roar grows to a crescendo, the energy of the arena shifts. The first chords of Taylor Swift’s opening song crackle over the speakers, and you can feel the rush of excitement flood back. The tension fades into the background, leaving only the vibrant, pulsating rhythm of the concert ahead.

Glen leans in, his voice low in your ear as the music begins, “You ready for this?”

You laugh, unable to suppress the excitement bubbling inside of you. “I was born ready.”

He grins, his eyes lighting up with shared excitement. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you from behind as he holds you against his chest, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. The warmth of his body is a comforting contrast to the cool air around you.

For a moment, there’s nothing else but the two of you, surrounded by thousands of fans, but lost in your own little world. The excitement of the concert and the electric atmosphere sinks in deeper now, but it’s the quiet intimacy between you and Glen that makes this moment special.

You turn your head slightly to glance up at him, feeling his presence more than seeing it. He’s so calm, so steady, even now. He’s like an anchor that keeps you grounded no matter how chaotic everything else gets. His hand finds its way to your stomach, fingers splayed wide, holding you gently but firmly in place.

The music swells, and you can’t help but give in to the rhythm, moving with the crowd. But you stay connected to him, his grip on you never loosening.

As Taylor’s voice echoes through the stadium, the lyrics of the song perfectly mirror the way you’re feeling in this moment—alive, unburdened, and completely immersed in the experience.

Glen’s hand shifts, resting at your hips now, guiding you as you sway to the music. His touch is gentle as the crowd around you erupts in a chorus of voices singing along.

Every now and then his face dips closer to yours, lips brushing your ear as he sings softly along with the song, a private moment amid the sea of fans. His breath warm against your skin, creates an intimacy that only the two of you share.

With each song that passes you can feel the weight of the earlier tension lifting, swept away by the music, the crowd, and the ease between the two of you. The feeling of being protected and cherished is still fresh in your mind, but the electric pulse of the concert washes it away, leaving nothing but fun, laughter, and the joy of the shared experience.

You glance up at Glen, meeting his gaze, and for the first time all night, you feel an overwhelming sense of peace. No words are needed between you now. Just the rhythm of the music, the feel of his hand on you, and the shared joy of the experience.

[dickgraysonmybeloved]

One of the Batkids would buy a cyber truck just to mess with Bruce as a) they’re the main competitor for Wayne electric vehicles (WEV) and b) it’s so ugly and impractical (its the impracticality that messes with him the most, everything has a function in Wayne tech, and kn bat tech, this monstrosity should not be allowed to exist in his eyes)

Now I’m not sure which kid did it but I know one of them would

[safecastle-sale]

This powerful and stylish dirt bike is perfect for kids ages 13 and up. 

Its 36v 500w motor can reach speeds of up to 16 mph. It also has adjustable speed to find the perfect setting for your child's age and skill level.

The MotoTec Demon Electric Dirt Bike is also equipped with front and rear suspension, knobby tires, and a rear disc brake, so your child can enjoy a smooth and safe ride.

Order your MotoTec Demon Electric Dirt Bike today and let your child experience the thrill of the open road!

[seat-safety-switch]

Bicycles kick a lot of ass these days. When I was a kid, a bicycle would only go as fast as you could pedal. Maybe, if you were really a huge asshole, you could take the bus to the big city and buy one of those mini-moped kits from a motorcycle shop. Then you could break playground-zone speed limits with enough two-stroke burble and pop to arouse every police officer within thirty miles.

Nowadays, you can slap some Chinese-made wonder magic on your Norco and do three or four horsepower without even knowing how to solder. In fact, it's much better if you don't know anything about electronics, because that level of knowledge will prevent you from extracting the maximum value out of your investment of "some vape batteries" and "a motor I found on Amazon whose name YouTube can't consistently pronounce." Electrical engineers are just too damn afraid of fire to go really fast.

Sure, you have to show fealty to the all-knowing microcontroller inside the magic motor box. Pinky-swear to it that you live in the hypothetical lawless wonderland that would allow you to have this much wheel-bending, mind-melting torque on a public pedestrian pathway. Honestly, it's its own fault if it believes a shifty character such as yourself. Not that the local cops are going to pull over Bob Tongsheng on his way to deposit your money in his bank, either. It's this kind of primitive hot-rodding that once made this country great: neglecting the existence or worth of anyone and everything outside of your vehicle in lieu of Go Fast.

Sure, this sort of thing will only last for awhile. Pathways are already filling up with lots of zingy e-mopeds and e-deathscoots, ridden by perfectly normal people. Your 1500-watt stealth bomber build is going to get pulled on by a pensioner within a year or two, as the market begins to demand enough cargo room (and rollover protection!) to do a once-a-month Costco run with the entire fam in tow. Inevitably, the cops are going to have to crack down on the whole deal, too.

For a glorious, shining moment, you too can dig a rusty mountain bike out of a creek and have it doing 50 miles an hour by watching a YouTube video. That's something previous generations simply could not have imagined. Which is their loss, really. If they had gotten off their asses earlier and figured out the lithium-ion battery, we could all be driving $100 50-horsepower ebikes right now instead of having to pay Big Battery for the "latest and greatest" in burning your garage down.