#Nigeria police force

[saynaija]

Police Busts, Arrests 130 Foreign Nationals, Nigerians For Cybercrimes, Hacking

Police Busts, Arrests 130 Foreign Nationals, Nigerians For Cybercrimes, Hacking IGP Orders Thorough Investigation into Possible Security Threats, Networking The Nigeria Police Force has arrested 130 suspects comprising 113 foreign nationals (87 males and 26 females), primarily of Chinese and Malaysian origin, and their 17 Nigerian collaborators (4 males and 13 females) for their alleged…

[jayessentialsblog]

VeryDarkMan's unlawful use of a police uniform in a viral video is being looked into by the Nigerian police force (VIDEO)

After social critic Very Dark Man went viral with a video of himself wearing a police uniform and identifying himself as “CSP Very Dark Man,” the Nigeria Police Force opened an investigation into how he used the costume. The force has initiated a thorough and it vehemently denounces his unlawful use of official uniforms and accessories. According to Section 133 of the Penal Code Law and Section…

[accuratenewsng]

Kwara Police parade suspected kidnappers, who confess to killing of NSCDC officers

Kwara Police parade suspected kidnappers, who confess to killing of NSCDC officers

Nigerian Police Force, Kwara State Command on Wednesday paraded five members of two different gangs of kidnappers terrorizing, Kwara, Kogi and Ekiti States. Addressing Journalists during the parade of the suspected criminals, the state Commissioner of Police, Mr Paul Odama, said that the command is on the trail of other fleeing suspects, their arms and money collected from their victims. The…

[touchaheartnews]

ARMED ROBBERY GANG ATTACK SOLDIER: ARRESTED BY RIVERS STATE POLICE 

  Touchaheart Nigeria reports that the Rivers State Police has arrested a group of armed robbers/cultists who have been a terror to a host of communities in Khana Local Government, including burgling the residence of an Army personnel.   On January 2, 2024, the Police arrested three armed robbers who are members of the Dey-well cult group in Khana Local Government Area: 24-year-old Thank-God…

[godwin247]

Almost all young Sagamu Residents are Cultist - Nigerian police force PRO

The Police Force Public Relations Officer, Olumuyiwa Adejobi, has revealed that almost every young person in Sagamu, Ogun state, is a member of a cult group. He made this known in a post via his X page on Sunday. He wrote.”In Sagamu, almost every young person is a cultist. Okada riders, artisans, etc., are into cultism even more than students, and I think the whole town and Remoland, in…

[runawaysiren940]

The University of Oxford is currently showing off a collection of African items, among which is “a mask made by Nigeria's Igbo people and which was originally used in male-only rituals”, which women are not allowed to see (Radnedge). This mask is part of a collection which the museum describes as being “closely tied to British Imperial expansion”, and falls under “a policy to ensure women do not view the mask in relation to taboos about secret ceremonies, human remains, nudity as well as gender roles” (Radnedge). In other words, the cultural values of the group which the artifact was taken from are being respected, instead of the commonly accepted ones of the culture which the museum is a part of. Why are members of a modern, and increasingly egalitarian society held to the traditions of one steeped in misogyny and woman hating? Why is misogyny given deference and respect when it comes from another culture?

As “Art critic and author Ruth Millington” notes, “To deny all women, of all cultures, sight of something because that is a taboo in one particular culture seems an extreme stance, particularly given that this country is a modern, liberal and enlightened society. Surely women should be given the right to decide, after reading about any cultural sensitivities, if they wish to look upon the artefact or not. When it comes to art, we should all have equal rights, regardless of sex, to view what we would like to.” (Radnedge) Not to mention, the cultural sensitivities of women never seem to be held to the same high esteem. When muslim women mention that they cannot take off their hijab in front of trans-identified males, they’re called transphobic for it, and told that they are harming trans-identified males with their bigotry by doing so. Not to mention, the sudden confirmation that women do exist, and are a separate entity from men is hypocritical in a society where self-id exists, and anyone can identify as anything they wish, regardless of reality.

We see a similar pattern of single sex spaces being respected when it is a men’s club- such as in 2018, when a group of female protesters entered the men’s pool after identifying as male. This occurred in response to Hampstead’s inclusion of trans-identified males in the women’s pond the previous December. However, despite the women protesters “telling staff at the pond that they 'identified as male' and said they had the right to swim there��� police arrived 15 minutes later and they were forced to leave” (Daily Mail).

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-5780623/Female-protesters-break-men-lido-leap-pool.html. Accessed 21 June 2024.

Any other examples come to mind?

[beardedmrbean]

Abdulmalik Sarkindaji, the speaker of the local assembly in northwest Niger State, planned to support the marriage of the orphans, who have all lost relatives to attacks on villages by heavily armed gangs.

Sarkindaji said he was simply helping his constituents, but the minister of women affairs and other officials have denounced the proposal.

They have expressed concern that some of the orphans might be underage or being forced to comply for financial gain.

Mass weddings are not uncommon in Nigeria, especially in the mostly Muslim north, where they are seen as a way to help impoverished families manage their expenses.

But underage marriage also happens in rural areas where communities struggle with poverty, insecurity and little access to education.

'Totally unacceptable'

Sarkindaji, a member of the ruling All Progressive Congress party, pledged last week to help families in the mass wedding later this month.

But on Tuesday, federal Women Affairs Minister Uju Kennedy-Ohanenye called for an investigation into their ages, their consent to marriage and the identity of their potential partners.

"This is totally unacceptable," she told journalists.

"I have written a petition to the police... and I have filed a case for an injunction to stop him from whatever he is planning to do."

A senior special assistant to the presidency on community engagement has also objected.

Abiodun Essiet called on state officials to bring the women into empowerment programmes -- especially as it was believed some of them may be children.

"I am not against conducting marriage for orphans above 18 years of age if they give their consent to the marriage," she wrote on X, formerly Twitter.

"But I am against underaged marriage. Let children be children."

No details were immediately available on the ages of the orphans.

'Good faith'

Soon after the minister's remarks, the Niger assembly speaker told reporters he was withdrawing his support for the mass wedding and would let the families decide.

"The marriage for those orphans is withdrawn," he told reporters on Tuesday. "I did it in good faith."

But he was critical of the minister, saying she was "not from the north" of Nigeria.

He did not feel threatened by her action as he was just a "good samaritan", he added. "The minister should please find out who I am,... and how I have been supportive to my people."

His position drew support from the state's imams organisation and other Muslim groups. Accusing the minister of overstepping her position, they called for her suspension.

"We believe she made these pronouncements based on her position as a non-Muslim," Mahmud Lawal Murshid, Niger state President of Muslim Student Society, said in a statement.

"If she were a Muslim she wouldn't have said what she said."

Tough economic conditions

In January a Muktar Aliyu Betara, a Nigerian lawmaker from Borno state, sponsored a mass wedding for 180 girls from his constituency.

Aged between 17 and 18, they had lost their parents to jihadist violence.

Betara paid for all the wedding expenses as the families of the brides could not afford the expenses.

Last year, Nigeria's northwest Kano State financed and staged a mass wedding for 1,800 couples as part of efforts to help the poorest residents get married.

The initiatives came as Nigeria faces tough economic conditions.

High fuel prices and rising food inflation are driving some Nigerians, many who live on less than $2 a day, further into poverty in Africa's most populous country.

[mundanemoongirl]

Happy Black History Month!! To celebrate, I made this list to share some of my favorite books written by Black authors and have Black main characters

Blood Like Magic by Liselle Sambury

This is one of my absolute favorite books. It’s about a Black girl who was born into a witch family, and in order to get powers, she has to pass a task given to her by one of her ancestors. Her task happens to be to find her first love and destroy them. This book has elements of fantasy, sci-fi, mystery, and romance and the sequel is just as good. I will never stop recommending it.

Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor

Although the main character of this book is in middle school, I think it’s a good read for people of all ages. The story follows Sunny, a Nigerian girl with albinism. After learning she is a witch, she begins to live a double life. One where she pretends to be her same non-magical self to her family, and one where she learns about magic and herself with Orlu, her friend from school; Chichi, Orlu’s mysterious friend; and Sasha, an American boy who moved to Nigeria.

Caucasia by Danzy Senna

Caucasia is the coming of age story of a girl born to a White mother and Black father in the 1970s. As someone who passes for White, she struggles to find where she belongs. She experiences being both Black and White, changing her race as easily as changing clothes, depending on who she needs to be at the time. She also has to deal with her family splitting up and her parents’ activism that might get them into serious trouble.

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

I’m sure everyone’s heard of this one, but in case you haven’t: Starr was in her friend’s car the night he was killed by a police officer. She struggles afterwards to cope with his violent death and to speak up while remaining anonymous. This book is so so important. Police brutality never seems to stop, even in my own neighborhood. Everyone will benefit by learning more and speaking out against it.

Black Cake by Charmaine Wilkerson

Black Cake is about siblings Byron and Benny who are left with only a black cake and a tape recording when their mother dies. In the recording, their mother tells the story of someone they don’t even know, and the two have to learn to be a family again after a falling out they had years ago.

Here are some more that aren’t my favorites but I think others might love

Rust in the Root by Justina Ireland

This one is about a Black, queer mage in 1930s America trying to get a license to practice magic. Her new government job sends her on a journey to fix a blight that is more deadly than anyone expected.

Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi

Set in a land similar to Africa, the magi, people who have magic, have all been killed by the monarchy. One day magic returns and one of the last remaining magi teams up with the princess to protect magic and prepare the magi to fight for their lives.

Cinderella is Dead by Kalynn Bayron

200 years of Cinderella dies, the land is ruled by Prince Charming, who forces all young women to attend a ball to find a suitor. Sophia, who is queer, opposes this lifestyle and runs away. Once she’s away from the prince’s influence, she discovers the true story of Cinderella and what she can do to stop the balls.

[saynaija]

Publication Of Non-Payment Of Inspectors’ Salary, Alleged Protest Mischievous, Unfounded — Nigeria Police Force

Publication Of Non-Payment Of Inspectors’ Salary, Alleged Protest Mischievous, Unfounded — Nigeria Police Force The Nigeria Police Force has described a misleading publication propagated by a group of journalists, claiming that some Police Inspectors approached them at their correspondent chapel, in Uyo, to express grievances and protested against the non-payment of their promotion salary…

[thoughtlessarse]

Nigerians are protesting against a high cost of living, brought on by surging inflation and stagnating wages. Authorities fear the types of mass rallies that have been seen in other parts of Africa. Nigeria is bracing for a day of protests across cities and towns as people make known their anger over economic hardship that has persisted for years. Africa's most populous country, with a population of more than 210 million, is grappling with the country's worst cost-of-living crisis in a generation. The hardship is blamed on surging inflation, which is at a 28-year high, and the government's economic policies that have pushed the local currency to record low against the dollar. The price of petrol and the price of staple foods, such as rice, have shot up, while wages and salaries have remained stagnant. Nigerian President Bola Tinubi promised "renewed hope" when he was sworn into office in May 2023, but his government has struggled to create jobs. Now, protest organizers say they are determined to take matters into their own hands. Police block major roads in cities, organizers vow to press ahead with protests Local media reported that organizers rejected a proposal by Nigerian police to hold rallies in confined places — easily controlled by security forces. The government has, over the course of the year, offered to alleviate economic pain, including raising minimum salary levels and delivering grains to states across the country. But unions say the minimum wages fall far short of what is required to live a decent life. "We believe that this protest must go on regardless of the threat and intimidation," protest organizers said earlier this week.

continue reading

[queerafricans]

Nigerian members of the LGBTQ community please stay safe. The Nigerian police force are planning to go after the community.

[accuratenewsng]

Police bust POS syndicate for stealing ₦16.9 million

Police bust POS syndicate for stealing ₦16.9 million

Nigeria Police Force has arrested some suspects who unlawful access to a computer network and manipulation of a point of sale POS network to defraud the unsuspecting owner of the total sum of Sixteen Million, One Hundred and Forty-Nine Thousand, One Hundred and Ninety-Five N16,149,195.000 The suspects all-male trio of Sanmi Ayodeji, Felix Oluwaseun, and Adeleye Oluwaseun, aged 29, 24, and 32…

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Bengiyo's Queer Cinema Syllabus

For those who are not aware, I have decided to run the gauntlet of @bengiyo’s Queer Cinema Syllabus and have officially started Unit 2: Race, Disability, and Class. The films in Unit 2 are: The Way He Looks (2014), Being 17 (2016), Naz and Maalik (2015), The Obituary of Tunde Johnson (2019), Margarita With a Straw (2014), My Beautiful Laundrette (1985), Brother to Brother (2004), and Beautiful Thing (1996)

Today I will be writing about

The Obituary of Tunde Johnson (2019) dir. Ali LeRoi

[Available on Amazon and Hulu, Run Time- 1:44, Language: English]

Summary: A wealthy Nigerian-American is pulled over by police, shot to death, and immediately awakens, reliving the same day over and over, trapped in a terrifying time loop- forced to confront difficult truths about his life and himself. 

Cast: * Steven Silver as Tunde Johnson * Spencer Neville as Soren O’Connor *Nicola Peltz as Marley Meyers

___

I will tell you right now, this was one hell of a watch. It never lets you forget, from the very first second, how much of a tragedy this film is going to give you. God, I don’t even know what to say about this film. It is beautiful, it is poetry, it is horrifying, it is tragic, and real. This is a film I think a good majority of people should see. I don’t know if you all know this about me, but I am a slut for beautiful prose (it’s why Frankenstein is one of my favorite books) and The Obituary of Tunde Johnson delivers line after line of the most beautiful and devastating kind. 

One thing that I want to mention, because it just speaks to the absolute predictability and unfortunate reality of how often Black people are murdered by police, is that The Obituary of Tunde Johnson was released in 2019. But they set it in the future, according to @bengiyo, because they thought the film wouldn’t get released until 2020. The thing that was absolutely chilling about that choice, is not the year, but the date that was selected. 

“Babatunde Adesola Johnson was born on September 30th, 2002 to Adesola Johnson and Yomi Okafor in Lagos, Nigeria. On the night of May 28th, 2020, Tunde Johnson departed this life at 9:38pm in Los Angeles, California” 

Because, George Floyd was murdered on May 25th, 2020.

They couldn’t have known that, and it is so entirely possible that any day they had chosen would coincide with another tragic and preventable loss. But the weight of the first sentence of this film alone struck me. Because the premise of this film is that Tunde Johnson is stuck in a time loop where he is killed by police before the night is over. Tunde is the vessel by which repeated violent racism and genocide against the Black Community is committed over and over and over and over, in an endless, exhausting cycle. So it is a coincidence, but a sobering one to realize that Tunde died around with Mr. Floyd would have, and made me wonder whether or not his name would be forgotten. 

But secondarily, they chose Los Angeles as the setting for his first death. Which gave me pause because the only thing I could think about when I heard that was whether or not it was an intentional call to the LA Riots of 1992 which (for those who are not familiar with US history) began as a result of four police officers being acquitted on charges of using excessive force in the arrest of a man named Rodney King. 

9:37 pm on July 6, 2016 is when Philando Castile died from the wounds he suffered at the hands of police. 

It is hard for me to figure out what to talk about with this film because more than anything it gave me pause, it left me speechless and contemplative about their messaging. So, let me give you some lines: 

“I’m having really abstract ideas. Colors, hues, my next photo series. Something…something like, deconstruction. A young African American male, or Black masculinity….I just keep seeing red,” 

“We love you unconditionally. I want you to know. I want you to know that, to understand that, with unconditional love comes unconditional fear.”

“I will no longer die. I have become 200 hills rolled in to one. I am immovable.”

“I’m Black and gay, and even those two hate each other. Which means,like in the eyes of humanity, i’m like wo degrees off human. Something to be feared and laughed at, like this curiosity in the corner. I should be happier though, right? Dr. Martinez? Cause I”m one of the lucky ones, like I got a nice car, and a big house. All this stuff, supposed to make me feel like I’m worth something. People walk right through me, Dr. Martinez. No one sees me. Except him. Soren sees all of me. And if he can do that, then he can do anything.”

Like these are just beautiful, tragic words, each one carrying significant weight. 

My warning to those of you who may watch this (and again, I think most everyone should watch this) is that you will see repeated acts of violence done to a Black teen (or in this case a 30 year old actor playing an 18 year old). [And I will be talking with some details about those deaths from here] And part of what is striking about that is that the way we see him die changes every time. The first time Tunde Johnson dies, we are in his point of view, he is pulled aside for a traffic stop, and shot when he turns to talk to an officer, with his hand in his pocket and gets struck twice in the chest, one officer yelling “gun!” [he did not have a gun]. The second time Tunde Johnson dies, he is killed the same way, pulled over at 9:38pm, and shot when he turns around, but this time, we see it through the cop car’s dash cam. I think “I wonder if the solution to surviving the evening is having a white person in the car with him so the officers behave themselves” which was then immediately undermined when Tunde was shot in the driver’s side of a parked car, and shot by two white female police officers while his wealthy, white boyfriend Soren livestreams the cops to try to hold them accountable I guess? 

Crucially, this white boy escalates the situation with the police officers because he can talk back to them and be safe, and the police get aggressive, tell Tunde not to move and to step out of the car (you know, don’t move to unbuckle your seatbelt, but step out of the car) and fire multiple shots at him at point blank range. We see this happen through the livestream. 

His next death happens via the image of a 911 operator phone call transcript, you hear the gun go off in the background of the call. Tunde wakes up for the umpteenth time in the time loop, calls his boyfriend multiple times because he’s feeling like he’s losing his mind, and Soren doesn’t answer for hours, so Tunde is mad. And Tunde goes to school mad, and Tunde brushes past the front office at the school he goes to and should be known at and starts walking the halls, escalated. He sees his boyfriend fucking his girlfriend, gets mad, gets in a small fight with the two of them, and is shot in the hallway with his hands up while the two white people are completely fine, safe, and sobbing over the dead body of their friend. The lead up to that we see Tunde through the school’s CCTV screens. 

So, up through now the deaths we have seen have been quick in all accounts, one movement from Tunde sends the officers shooting, he drops to the ground, and then he wakes up gasping. Over and over, and over and then…the last time Tunde Johnson dies, we see the scene first through the window of a gas station. The famous, wealthy white man walks away for one minute, and Tunde is being brutalized, and he dies by being suffocated, trying to tell the police officer ‘I can’t breathe” but not being able to complete the sentence. I would have to go back to time that scene, and I am not going to do that because one time watching this kid die was enough, and the entire time he’s choking they stay zoomed in on his face, to time it to see if it is referencing any particular death by choking case of police brutality (I’m thinking very much of Eric Garner here). [To here]

(if you skipped any of that, or in general just to summarize, Tunde's deaths are recording: in his POV, by dash cam, by live stream, by security camera, by 9-1-1 call transcript, and in extreme close up)

I like that Tunde wakes up after this final death, he says “I will no longer die. I have become 200 hills rolled in to one. I am immovable.” and that in speaking those words, he has made them true. There is so much obvious genius in this film, the cinematography is beautiful. I love the way they keep adding details to the time loop to make each experience different, and that those differences start out miniscule, and change almost entirely the more times he dies. I love that Tunde finally seeing that his best friend since childhood, Marley, who is white will turn against him in an instant the second that he hurts her. I love that Tunde survives the night when he finally stops letting himself settle for the way Soren (also white) has been treating him. When he finally has enough with letting Soren not only deny their relationship, but to fuck someone else to keep up appearances. I like that we get enough of a backstory on Tunde to understand some things about him, but a small amount that makes us realize that he has a lot of other things in his past that are informing how he alks about through life right now. I like that it feels like Tunde is lived in, like he is a person, with a history, and that at any point we could ask the writers, the actor, or whoever about Tunde Johnson’s likes or interests, or his best or worst memory, and they would have an answer for you. 

This film will sit with me for awhile, that’s for sure.

By/For/About 

For and About Queers. I would say that this is a tricker one for me because there are some heavy handed messages in this show about like, white privilege and all that, that makes me feel like it is being written for people who do not hold the identities in the film, so I would be inclined to say it was mostly just About Queers, BUT I think that there are specific groups of queer people for whom this film may strongly be made for them. I do think this film does an incredible job of maintaining and reminding the audience of Tunde’s queerness, because there is a history of police brutality and queerness that cannot be forgotten, and by having Tunde be both Black and queer, there is literally no part of himself he can protect from police violence.

Favorite Moment

My favorite moment is Tunge’s monologue about being Black and gay. It was so beautifully performed, the words were so powerful, the way Tunde’s white or white-passing, female psychiatrist was reacting to the realizations of why Tunde exists the way he does. And I like the subtle messaging we get as a result of that, understanding that yay, it’s great that Tunde or his parents put some value on mental health, but how beneficial is Tunde’s treatment going to be if his psychiatrist holds literally 0 of the identities that he does? 

Favorite Line

The last line of the film. 

“On March 28, 2020 Tunde Johnson survived.” 

I don’t think I realized how much I was holding my breath throughout this film until I heard those words aloud. 

Score

10/10

P.S. it is reallllyyyy fucking telling about how people have engaged with this film when 95% of the things I saw in the tags for this film when I was looking for gifs are of Marley and Soren, the two white people, or Soren and Tunde together when part of Tunde's entire arc is shedding that dead weight.

photos from @kilimiria

Next up: margarita with a straw

[memphisnovels]

Evermore

Chapter 30. Ready for it

Previous chapter

Masterlist

She's backkk

Whatever is bothering dear Pietro??

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: Pietro and Nadia being Pietro and Nadia, flirty flirty bants, mentions of PTSD, canon-typical violence.

Lagos, Nigeria

I tightened my ponytail, adjusting my position atop the motorcycle.

“Eyes on target folks,” Steve spoke over the comms before telling Sam to tag a garbage truck. I narrowed my eyes, spotting his strange bird-like robot shooting through the sky.

“That truck is loaded for max weight and the driver’s armed,” Sam said.

I started the bike as my mind ticked over, revving the engine. “It’s a battering ram,” I murmured over the comms.

“Go now,” Cap said. I released the break, speeding toward the café where Nat stood from her table abruptly. “He’s not hitting the police station.”

I grabbed Natasha’s arm, dragging my foot on the ground to slow down marginally before pulling her onto the bike behind me. I heard the crashing and saw the explosion of dust in the air as the truck rammed through the gate of the Centre for Infectious Diseases. A blur of silver and blue zipped by me, following the others into the wreckage, my lips tugged upward slightly. “I’ve got eyes on Rumlow,” I spoke spotting the black zipline from the south of the building, extending to a truck.

“He has a biological weapon,” Steve informed.

“We’re on it,” Nat responded as we closed in on the men surrounding the truck. “I’ll take the left side you take the right?”

 I nodded, turning the bike sharply to allow her to leap off before I sped up and dropped the bike to the ground, rolling off of it as it pummelled toward one of the guards. Another turned to me after hearing the commotion and ran forward, cocking his gun and aiming it for my head, the shot never made it through the barrel as I sent a widows byte shock into the center of his chest. I grabbed him and used his as a pole to vault and kick the next guard in the chest, when the first was down I blocked the punch that was thrown my way and grabbed a hold of his wrist, in a single maneuver I ducked beneath his arm and pulled it to the left causing the bullet he fired to hit his colleague who had been running at me from behind.

“How many of these fuckers are there?” I muttered to myself.

I could hear Natasha fighting someone beside the truck but spotted another of the guards on the roof, readjusting his gun to aim it at her. I jumped onto the bonnet, yanking his ankles to make him fall onto his back, disarming him was easy but he certainly put up a fight until I slammed his head against the windscreen, cracking it and rendering him unconscious. I glanced to the side to check Natasha’s position when a sharp pain shot through my scalp. Rumlow’s dark, fury-filled eyes met mine as he yanked me to my feet by my hair. I pulled the knife from my leg strap, jamming it into his thigh and twisting, prompting him to let go of my hair. When I was freed from his grip, I turned to strike him in the neck, the only exposed flesh I could see. He blocked my attack grabbing a hold of my arm, I twisted to kick him in the side, but he held tight, so I punched him in his bleeding wound, he groaned; part frustration, part pain. He threw another punch which I dodged easily, punching him in the ribs when he was turned. His elbow came back hard into me, but I landed two more punches before he managed to get a hold of the back of my neck. I slammed my fist into his arm again and again, but he didn’t even flinch, yanking my head back. His rough gloved fingers dug into my nerves, sending pain shooting down my neck. In retaliation I jammed the base of my palm beneath his chin, sending a shocker into his neck. His grip only tightened, making my eyes narrow. He laughed dryly.

“I don’t work like that no more, Pimenova.” He shouted yanking me downward by my neck and forcing me to fall through the hole atop the truck. Two men were sat by my feet but I paid them no mind, glancing up to see Rumlow peering down at me with a look of maniacal glee in his eyes as he pulled the pin from a grenade. “Bye-bye, Nadia.” The metal clinked as it hit the ground by my feet. Rumlow slammed the entrance closed, ticking filling my ears. A split second passed before I was on my feet, grabbing the first guard who stood by the barrel of his gun and slamming it back into his head. I heard shouts of my name over the comms as I twisted the second man’s arms and pushed him in front of me to block the brunt of the explosion that followed shortly after.

My body slammed into the metal doors at the back of the truck before being launched outward onto the hard ground, a ringing in my ears blocking out the chatter on the comms. Grass tickled my cheeks as I lay there coughing my guts up, eyes fluttering as the light blinded me. I let out a cut-off grunt of pain as I moved, struggling to lift my head into my hands. I heard another call of my name, garbled like I was underwater. A hand grabbed my shoulder and I blinked hard to force my eyes to adjust to the light. Blurry red hair filled my line of site.

I pushed off of the ground to sit up more. “Nat, Nads, come in.” Steve addressed over the comms, worry evident in his tone. I gave Natasha a thumbs up before rubbing my hand over my face, the ringing sound finally clearing.

“We’re here, Nads is okay.”

“Rumlow’s in an AFV heading north,” Steve responded.

I accepted Natasha’s hand, letting her help me up. “I’m really beginning to not like that guy,” I muttered. A streak shot by me before my face was enveloped within warm hands. Pietro’s bright gaze tinged with concern as he scanned my face.

“What the hell happened, are you okay?”

I held onto his elbow nodding fervently. “I’m fine, I promise, you need to go after Rumlow.” He seemed unconvinced but nodded at my words eventually, after a final nod from me he shot off after the truck. I ran toward the discarded motorbike, pulling it up. “Come on, I’ll drive,” I called to Nat who shook her head playfully at me as she hopped onto the back of the bike.

“They’re splitting up.” Sam’s voice filled my ears. I sped up, navigating through the entrance of the market.

“We’ve got the two on the left,” I responded bringing the bike to an abrupt stop and launching onto the bonnet of a car before running over it. I could hear Natasha’s footsteps close behind me as I ducked and weaved through the stalls, vaulting over a cart that got pushed into the way. I had the two men we were tailing in my sites, but they diverted down a side pathway.

“He doesn’t have it. I’m empty.” Sam said only making me run faster. I dodged civilians as I moved to run parallel to one of the men, curving and jumping onto a table to tackle him to the ground, we both rolled through the dirt after the collision. He pulled a gun from his belt but I grabbed his hands before he could aim, pulling his arm up and forward to punch him in the stomach. With a swift turn, I slammed his hand onto the table hard making him drop the gun. He managed to kick me in the stomach, making me stumble slightly but I caught myself quickly, running at him and stepping onto his bent leg to jump up and lock my legs around his upper warm, swinging myself down, causing him to be thrown back into the dirt. I landed on my feet again, pulling the gun from the belt, but the cocking of a different gun stopped me in my tracks. I turned to see the other guard holding Natasha around the neck, gun aimed at her head. I turned to aim my gun at the man behind her.

“Put it down.” I narrowed my eyes at him, pulling the slide back, a metallic click sounding between us. “Put it down. Before I put her down.” He pressed the gun further to her head. I calculated the time it would take me to pull the trigger allowing for his reaction time.

The previous guard cleared his throat, causing my eyes to flicker toward him. “Drop the gun or I’ll drop this.” Between the tips of his fingers was a vial of red and yellow liquid; the specimen they’d stolen from the disease center. I swallowed heavily, eyes flickering between the two men before I met Natasha’s gaze, the slightest twitch of my expression was all it took for her to nod, Sam’s strange bird robot descended a moment before I shot the man behind Nat in the head. The robot shot the other man causing him to drop the vial but before I could react Pietro shot by me, the wind tousling my hair. In mere seconds he was standing before me with the object in hand.

 “Fucking hell.” I breathed out. “Payload secure. Thanks, Sam.” I added glancing toward his robot.

“Don’t thank me…”

I rolled my eyes moving to help Nat up. “I’m not thanking that thing.” I nodded toward the metal bird that was still hovering by my head.

“His name is Redwing.”

“Good for him. I’m still not thanking it.”

Sam tsked. “He’s cute, go ahead, pet him.”

I ignored his teasing approaching Pietro who smirked at me before nodding toward the vial between his fingers. “Pretty hot, huh?” I raised an eyebrow at him opening my mouth to respond but a load explosion sounded nearby, windows shattering and flames filling a wing of the large building beside the market. The force of the wreckage threw Pietro and I backward, the vial flying out of his hands, I launched forward, dropping and rolling across the gravel to land beneath it. My heart was thudding against my chest, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding when it was safe in my grasp. When I moved back to my feet Pietro was more focused on the building that was in flames than the fact that whatever was in the bottle could’ve just spread. When I looked upward, I realized why. There were people screaming and running around from within the fire.

I heard Steve ask for fire and rescue, but I felt rooted to my spot.

Wanda was devastated. That much was evident even in her silence that stretched the whole trip back to the compound.

We’d stayed after the mission was complete, assisting search and rescue to evacuate as many people as possible. No one made it out unscathed, those that survived were barely holding on.

She was just trying to help. Rumlow had a bomb vest, a lot more people would have died if she did nothing. That is what we’d all told her, though it was obvious she didn’t believe us.

Pietro wasn’t unaffected by what had happened either. He’d looked almost haunted as he watched the flames emerge from the windows, heard the screams and pleas for help. I kept a close eye on him on the way back, attempting to decipher what he was feeling. When we arrived at the compound barely a word was exchanged between any of us, there was an air of exhaustion and defeat hanging around that no one wished to linger in. I strayed from Pietro then, opting to head to the bathroom after I’d watched him wander down the hall to his room. I scrubbed the dirt and defeat of the day from my face, deciding to shower after, eager to check on Pietro before I worried about ensuring my hair no longer smelt of smoke. When I could no longer feel the grime clinging to my cheeks, I made my way down to the kitchen to find Steve leaning over the bench, wringing his fingers together whilst staring off into space. I paused in the doorway surveying him for a long moment, he was so out of it that when I spoke, he jumped slightly, evidently startled by the sudden presence.

“If you think any harder your head will explode.”

He pressed his lips together in a sort of tired smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m guessing everyone else has retired for the night.”

I nodded slowly. Noting the look in his eyes, guilt and… maybe sorrow. “It was a shitty day,” I spoke. Moving to grab a plate from the cupboard and select an assortment of foods; some berries from the fridge, a bread roll, some cheese, and a bottle of water. He didn’t speak as he watched me assemble the items. The only acknowledgment was a quiet hum from him.  I walked toward the doorway, glancing back at him. “I know that you’re the leader of this strange motley crew… but not every loss is yours to bear alone.” I looked down for a second before meeting his eyes. “You should know that, Steve.”

He swallowed heavily, nodding once, twice. “Yeah, I know. It’s just… a shitty day.” He nodded again.

“Feed yourself and go to bed. Tomorrow might not be so bad.” I told him, gesturing toward the second plate I’d left out on the bench filled with food.

Steve smiled at me again, but this time it seemed more genuine. “Thanks, Nads. You know-” he paused momentarily, as if searching for the words. “I’m glad you gave us a chance that day.” I raised an eyebrow at him. “Even if you weren’t convinced we had much of a team back then.”

I shrugged gently. “Well, I guess I didn’t have anything better to do.” His chuckle followed me down the hallway and despite my nonchalant exterior that he seemed to be able to see through in that moment, I smiled to myself when I was out of the room.

A dim glow could be seen under Pietro’s door, letting me know he’d yet to go to sleep, though I had suspected as much. I knocked gently waiting for him to invite me in before I opened the door. He didn’t look up from his lap as I entered. “We talked about this. You don’t need to knock, just come in.”

“Well, I’d hate to walk in on you when you’re indecent.” I teased, hoping to lighten the mood a little. He didn’t respond to my words, continuing to look down. That was when I knew something was really wrong, I’d given him the perfect foundation for a dirty joke, and he hadn’t so much as given me a suggestive look in response. I swallowed heavily, glancing at the door for just a moment, considering giving him some time alone. Maybe he wanted space to think. However, I knew that my instinct to leave was more out of a hesitancy to be vulnerable than anything else and I wasn’t doing that, not to him, not anymore. I took a step forward, if I left now, he’d make himself sick with the thoughts occupying his mind. He’d fought for me to open up before to save me from drowning in my sorrow, I could do the same for him.

I sat down on the bed across from him, placing the plate between us. His hair was dry, debris still clinging to it, indicating that he’d also yet to shower. “What are you thinking about.” He opened and closed his mouth a few times, still looking down at his lap. I reached out for him, placing the palm of my hand against the side of his face. Thumb caressing his cheekbone gently. “Pietro,” I whispered. When he finally met my eyes, his were brimming with tears. I sat the plate on the side table, moving closer to him. Both of my hands fell to his then, grasping them as I attempted to decipher the look on his face. “Please tell me what’s going on in your mind.” He attempted to blink the tears away, but they did not go so easily. “The way they were screaming, the crying, the crumbling building… I-it was just like Sokovia.” I tightened my grip on his hands, nodding at his words. “She only wanted to help; I know that. But that’s also what we thought we were doing when we were working with Ultron.”

I said his name quietly, hoping that if I began to speak the right words would come to me.

When he looked up at me then the emotion in his eyes devastated me. His eyes were shining with the tears that sat along his waterline, soon joining those that had begun to stream down his cheeks. “How do you do this?” I furrowed my eyebrows slightly, unsure what he meant. “How do you know the right thing to do? We keep trying to help but it seems like we only make everything worse.”

I let go of his hands to wipe the tears from his face, with one I pushed the hair back from his head. Letting the other linger on his cheek. “We don’t. None of us know what the right thing is, all we can do is try, just like you.”

“But how are any of us supposed to know? It’s not right, having the power to just decide what should be done. Maybe we shouldn’t have so much power…” He hung his head.

“I don’t know, Piet. I’m sorry, I don’t know the answer.” He squeezed my hand before pulling me forward until I fell into his body. His arms enveloped me, holding me tightly to him. The pungent smell of smoke filled my nostrils, engulfing me even more strongly now that it was not just me who smelt it. I ignored it, running my hand through his hair. “Please don’t torture yourself,” I murmured against his neck. He buried his face further into my hair.

At some point we separated, agreeing that we both needed to shower, I hoped that the hot water could wash away some of the tension in him. The warmth of his hand filled mine when I turned toward his bedroom door, planning to make my way toward the shower nearest my own room. He tugged me back toward him slightly and he didn’t need to speak, I could see it all over his face. Even for me, someone not always the most adept at understanding others, it was evident that he couldn’t stand the thought of being alone right now. Despite myself, I went easily, with only some hesitation and then I followed him into the bathroom and began to peel off my clothes as he fiddled with the tap in the shower. He pulled his shirt over his head, not meeting my eyes as he began to undo his pants. I stepped into the hot shower whilst he removed his underwear. A moment passed and then I heard the door glass door close and felt him move closer to my back. I opened my mouth to say something, but the words died on my tongue when I felt his finger graze over the scar that traveled from the top of my shoulder blade to the middle of my spine. It had faded over the years now white and barely visible unless someone stood as close as he did.

 When he spoke his voice was quiet, it didn’t sound like he was crying anymore but he certainly did not sound like himself. “I’ve never seen this one before.”

“It’s old.” I matched his volume, barely audible over the spray of water hitting us.

“The Red Room?”

I nodded. “I was little.” I wasn’t sure why I said it, as if it were explanatory; contextual.

He asked me how it happened.

I told him it didn’t matter. Because it didn’t feel important to me now, not when his eyes had looked so very devastated while we’d sat on his bed. The Red Room and its various inflictions were the furthest thing from my mind.

“It does.” He was absolute, there was a seriousness in his voice that confounded me. I wasn’t sure why he seemed so prepared to die on this hill, but I wondered if maybe it was merely the easiest distraction for him right now. A momentary respite from the thoughts and sorrows plaguing his mind.

I swallowed, tilting my neck from side to side to relieve the pressure. “I was on assignment and back then hydra agents had a penchant for killing widows and taking the credit for our assassinations. I was young, inexperienced, too slow to realize he was behind me. The agent was a shit shot but the bullet shattered a glass door, and I went rolling through it when we were fighting.” Soap-suds covered my shoulder blades as he ran his hands over my tender muscles, cleaning the dirt from my flesh as I spoke. “They had me back in training the following day and some of my stitches popped, they refused to redo them because they wanted the scar to be a reminder of my weakness.” I heard Dreykov’s voice saying those words to me as I spoke to Pietro.

“How old were you?”

“11.” He stiffened, hand stilling on my shoulder. I looked down at my feet “I couldn’t complete the assignment… there was another girl with me, an older Widow. She killed him… because I couldn’t.”

I felt Pietro step closer to me. “You shouldn’t have had to.” His voice was thick with something I couldn’t understand. “They gave you scars because you were a child who did not want to kill.”

“They had to break me so that they could mold me into the person they wanted me to be.” I turned to face him, taking in the pensive look on his face. My hand fell over his bicep, thumb rubbing back and forth as I scanned his face for signs of how he was feeling. “It was a long time ago. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily. “Pietro,” I murmured.

It was a long while before he spoke. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you ever again.” His arms wrapped around me tightly, pulling my chest flush to his and burying his face into the crook of my neck.

“Well, that’s a bit of a tall order, considering our line of work.” I rubbed my hand over his back, gabbing the shampoo from the shelf and massaging it into his silver hair. When I was done, I directed him under the water spray to wash the soap from him, running my hand through his hair to help it along. He gazed down at me the whole time.

“You know you’re very distracting, hm?”

I asked him what he meant.

“It is very hard to be sad when you are naked in front of me.”

A small smile tugged at his lips. I rolled my eyes playfully at him. “You’re an idiot.” His smile grew slightly. “But I don’t want you to be sad so maybe that’s a good thing.”

That night as I lay beside him, stroking his hair because he’d asked me to, and if this brought him even a semblance of comfort, I’d do it, I remained awake for a long while. For a time, I gazed upon his face, studying each of his features from the tip of his nose, along the bridge, and then across his dark eyebrows. He grasped the back of my shirt tightly in his hand even after he’d fallen asleep, his arms wrapped around my middle, head a comforting weight against my stomach. He’d slept like this nearly every night since I’d returned from Brazil. I wondered if it was his way of ensuring I couldn’t slip out whilst he slept again. He’d told me he forgave me for my sudden disappearing act, and I believed him. He truly didn’t seem to hold it against me; however, it was evident that our abrupt separation had not left him unaffected.  I thought about what he’d said earlier, how do we know what the right action is? It certainly felt like a lot of our actions lately had been the wrong ones.

In the morning, I took my time wandering down to the office Dr. Norris had been meeting me in.

“How have you been feeling since we last spoke? Still no sudden episodes?”

I shook my head, fiddling with my fingers. “No…”

“You seem unsure?”

“There haven’t been any episodes, but I have been remembering things. It’s not as overwhelming as it was before but things are coming back to me.”

Norris made a note in his booklet. “That’s good, Nadia, it’s what we’re trying to accomplish, we want to deconstruct Hydra’s conditioning to free your mind.”

I nodded slowly. It was bizarre to me, having things come into focus the way they were, without all the pain and loss of reality. The calmness with which these things returned to me almost made me disbelieve that they were really mine. Truthfully the images that I saw in my mind disturbed me, partially because it was incomprehensible that I could have merely lost so many years of my life from Hydra’s conditioning and also because I wasn’t sure how to piece them together. How did any of it fit into who I am now? There is a whole life with these recurring characters whose faces I can never quite make out with complete clarity, and it is so foreign to me, but my mind urges me to open myself to it. There is a part of me that begs to be connected to this unfamiliar past.

I still couldn’t bear to listen to that song, dream a little dream of me. It didn’t bring on an episode anymore but whenever I heard those notes, the soft humming of the woman’s voice would always follow, the remnants of who I had once been.  Letting go of it seemed the only logical answer to me, it was in the past. I am not that child anymore and I will never be her again. Holding onto it would only make everything worse. That was what I should do, let go, let the memories pass through my mind, and then release them. It was for the best.

However, when I lay in the quiet of the night, with nothing but my mind and Pietro’s gentle breaths to keep me company, I could not help but fade into it. Let the humming fill my ears, let it warm my chest like warm milk and honey. F.R.I.D.A.Y. hadn’t been playing the city sounds lately, I hadn’t asked her to. Pietro was enough of a reminder of where I was, and the dark walls of the Red Room were not the ones I lived in when I lay warm beneath my blankets.

“If Hydra were trying to recruit you, why would they try to kill you?”

The question took me by surprise, pulling me swiftly from my thoughts. I met Pietro’s eyes from across the table, furrowing my eyebrows as I thought for a moment about his words. “I suppose when I was a widow, I was just a faceless soldier, we did not have individual identities we were just assassins. Or perhaps it was their inability to kill me that sparked an interest.” I shrugged slightly before raising an eyebrow at him. “Why do you ask?”

He shook his head, looking down at his hand. “It was just on my mind.” I gnawed on my lip.

“I don’t pretend to understand how Hydra thinks and it doesn’t really matter now.” I reached across the table to touch his hand for a second before pulling back. “Put it out of your mind.” There was something in the look he gave me that stuck with me. I furrowed my eyebrows ever so slightly, mentally checking each corner of his face for a tell. It wasn’t clear to me what it was, why I felt the need to do a double-take. I shook off the strange feeling, doing as I’d told him to and putting it out of my mind. It’s just my perpetual paranoia, echoes of the life I’d lead.

Pietro nodded, not meeting my eyes for a long moment but when he did the small smile, he gave me made me forget all the strangeness and the air of exhaustion that lay thick over the compound. His hand slid across the table to chase my own, fingertips grazing over the smooth flesh. I watched intently as he pulled my hand to his lips to press a whisper of a kiss against my knuckles. Even when I was shaking my head at his sappy antics my lips still curved upward. My inability to bite my smile had his own growing. “You’re really very beautiful. You know that?”

“You’re just realizing?” I taunted, biting my lip to contain my amusement.

He shook his head, a breathy laugh falling from his lips. “No. No, I’ve known that since the moment I laid eyes on you, it’s very irritating.” I snorted, rolling my eyes playfully. He tugged my wrist suddenly, pulling me to stand between his legs. My forearms rested over his shoulders as he held my hips, fingers pressing gently into the flesh. “Every time I look at you, I feel like I’m going crazy.”

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, smile fading as I became aware of my heart thudding in my chest. “Sorry,” I murmured.

He laughed a little. “No, you’re not.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel crazy.”

“You don’t have to try.” Pietro pulled me closer to him, his chin grazing my ribcage as he looked up at me. I swallowed heavily as his hand slid down my leg to rest over my thigh which was revealed by the soft shorts I wore. His fingers flexed over my flesh, fingertips pressing into the back of my leg teasingly, just as he’d done to my hip. “You still haven’t told me how hot it was when I caught the vial.”

I shook my head yet again, taking a step back, he let me go, hands drifting from my body leaving it cold. “You are astoundingly sure of yourself.” His eyes mapped the path of my arms as they crossed over my chest. “It’s very irritating.” I mirrored his earlier words. He smirked at me.

Before I could even comprehend it, he was up and our chests were flush, he held my hip in one hand, the other tucking a lose strand of hair behind my ear so he could whisper in it. “I think you like it.”

I clenched my jaw, willing the smile to subside before narrowing my eyes at him. “I don’t.”

His grin only grew. “Oh, this again? You know how much I love it when you're mean.”

“You’re sick in the head,” I spoke turning and beginning toward the doorway, I barely made it a step before he’d spun me, pressing my back against the wall and claiming my lips with his. The moment we made contact my façade dropped, the previous game seeming much less fun in comparison to this. My hand slid into his soft hair, tugging slightly causing him to hum, my other hand pulled him closer by his shoulder. My back flattened against the wall with the force of his body, knocking the air from my lungs but that was the last thing I was focused on.  He pressed kisses all over my face causing me to laugh and attempt to dodge his incessant pecks, it was no use as he held me tightly and kissed me again and again. “Pietro!” I attempted to speak between his onslaught and my laughter, but it was very difficult. When he found my lips again, I squeezed his arm slightly. “Not here.”

In the blink of an eye, my back was hitting the soft, cushioned surface of his bed. I maneuvered my way on top of him, pinning him down to allow myself some respite. He smiled up at me adoringly. I let his arms go but remained straddling his middle, hands planted against the duvet as I hovered above him, wiggling my eyebrows teasingly at him. His smile grew. Out of my peripheral, I saw one of his arms raise and I expected him to attempt to flip us or offer a suggestive touch, yet his palm planted itself firmly against my spine, smoothing up and down the arch of my back. His other hand wrapped around one of my forearms that lay by his head, not a tight grip but a comforting presence that left a warm spot in its wake. After a long moment of adjustment, I let my head drift down toward his, pressing a tender kiss to his lips before resting my forehead atop his. It was intimate, exceedingly so, and perhaps at one time it would have frightened me, sickened me, but it was Pietro. That thought alone soothed any doubt that crept into my mind. My eyes fell closed.

“You were wrong, you know?” He hummed questioningly in response to my words, prompting me to continue. “Yesterday you said that you keep making things worse, but you’ve never made things worse for me.” There was a long silence between us and when I opened my eyes again his content expression had faltered, a break in his moment of serenity.  I studied his expression for a long while. “Did I say something wrong?”

He shook his head immediately. “No, no of course not.” His hand came to cradle my cheek. The words were frantic as though he really needed me to hear them, but he still seemed withdrawn. “I just- it’s been a long few months and my head is all over the place. I’m sorry, everything’s fine. You didn’t say anything wrong.”

I narrowed my eyes, unconvinced by his words. That niggling feeling from before returned. I sat up, letting his hand drop from my cheek. He chased me, sitting upright as well, hands now resting on my thighs once more.

“Pietro…” I swallowed heavily before placing my hands on either side of his face, thumb caressing his cheekbone. “Didn’t we agree that we would tell each other the truth, I’m sorry that I haven’t always done that but I’m trying now. Really, I am, please don’t start keeping things from me.”

The way his face fell further into something distraught had me re-evaluating my words. Was it what I’d said or was there something deeper eating at him? He glanced between each of my eyes before swallowing heavily. Finally, he opened his mouth to respond but the familiar voice of F.R.I.D.A.Y. filled the room before he could speak.

“Captain Rogers wishes to speak with Pietro in the conference room at his earliest convenience.”

I sighed softly, moving to my feet and offering him my hand to help him up. He looked to the door and then back at me, eyebrows furrowed. “We can talk later.” I crossed my arms over my chest, nodding once at him, forcing a tight-lipped smile onto my lips. He shot me one final glance before leaving the room.

[rockislandadultreads]

Disability Pride Month: Genre Fiction Recommendations

Noor by Nnedi Okorafor

Anwuli Okwudili prefers to be called AO. To her, these initials have always stood for Artificial Organism. AO has never really felt...natural, and that's putting it lightly. Her parents spent most of the days before she was born praying for her peaceful passing because even in-utero she was "wrong". But she lived. Then came the car accident years later that disabled her even further. Yet instead of viewing her strange body the way the world views it, as freakish, unnatural, even the work of the devil, AO embraces all that she is: A woman with a ton of major and necessary body augmentations. And then one day she goes to her local market and everything goes wrong.

Once on the run, she meets a Fulani herdsman named DNA and the race against time across the deserts of Northern Nigeria begins. In a world where all things are streamed, everyone is watching the "reckoning of the murderess and the terrorist" and the "saga of the wicked woman and mad man" unfold. This fast-paced, relentless journey of tribe, destiny, body, and the wonderland of technology revels in the fact that the future sometimes isn't so predictable. Expect the unaccepted.

Fortune Favors the Dead by Stephen Spotswood

It's 1942 and Willowjean "Will" Parker is a scrappy circus runaway whose knife-throwing skills have just saved the life of New York's best, and most unorthodox, private investigator, Lillian Pentecost. When the dapper detective summons Will a few days later, she doesn't expect to be offered a life-changing proposition: Lillian's multiple sclerosis means she can't keep up with her old case load alone, so she wants to hire Will to be her right-hand woman. In return, Will is to receive a salary, room and board, and training in Lillian's very particular art of investigation.

Three years later, Will and Lillian are on the Collins case: Abigail Collins was found bludgeoned to death with a crystal ball following a big, boozy Halloween party at her home—her body slumped in the same chair where her steel magnate husband shot himself the year before. With rumors flying that Abigail was bumped off by the vengeful spirit of her husband (who else could have gotten inside the locked room?), the family has tasked the detectives with finding answers where the police have failed.

But that's easier said than done in a case that involves messages from the dead, a seductive spiritualist, and Becca Collins—the beautiful daughter of the deceased, who Will quickly starts falling for. When Will and Becca's relationship dances beyond the professional, Will finds herself in dangerous territory, and discovers she may have become the murderer's next target.

This is the first volume of the “Pentecost and Parker” series.

Borderline by Mishell Baker

A year ago, Millie lost her legs and her filmmaking career in a failed suicide attempt. Just when she’s sure the credits have rolled on her life story, she gets a second chance with the Arcadia Project: a secret organization that polices the traffic to and from a parallel reality filled with creatures straight out of myth and fairy tales.

For her first assignment, Millie is tasked with tracking down a missing movie star who also happens to be a nobleman of the Seelie Court. To find him, she’ll have to smooth-talk Hollywood power players and uncover the surreal and sometimes terrifying truth behind the glamour of Tinseltown. But stronger forces than just her inner demons are sabotaging her progress, and if she fails to unravel the conspiracy behind the noble’s disappearance, not only will she be out on the streets, but the shattering of a centuries-old peace could spark an all-out war between worlds.

No pressure.

This is the first volume of the “Arcadia Project” series.

The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang

Stella Lane thinks math is the only thing that unites the universe. She comes up with algorithms to predict customer purchases—a job that has given her more money than she knows what to do with, and way less experience in the dating department than the average thirty-year-old.

It doesn't help that Stella has Asperger's and French kissing reminds her of a shark getting its teeth cleaned by pilot fish. Her conclusion: she needs lots of practice—with a professional. Which is why she hires escort Michael Phan. The Vietnamese and Swedish stunner can't afford to turn down Stella's offer, and agrees to help her check off all the boxes on her lesson plan—from foreplay to more-than-missionary position...

Before long, Stella not only learns to appreciate his kisses, but crave all of the other things he's making her feel. Their no-nonsense partnership starts making a strange kind of sense. And the pattern that emerges will convince Stella that love is the best kind of logic...

This is the first volume of the “Kiss Quotient” series.

[beardedmrbean]

Two brothers from Nigeria who targeted a 17-year-old in a sextortion scam have been sentenced to 17 years and six months in jail in the US.

The Ogoshi brothers, from Lagos, lured Jordan DeMay into sending them explicit images by pretending to be a girl his age - then blackmailed him.

He killed himself less than six hours after they started talking on Instagram.

It is the first successful prosecution of Nigerians for sextortion in the US, where it is a rapidly growing cyber-crime, often linked to Nigeria.

Jordan's mother, Jenn Buta, held pictures of her son in court and wept as she read a victim impact statement. "I am shattered to my core," she said.

She welcomed the ending of the trial, but said there was no good outcome from the tragic case.

Jordan DeMay was a popular schoolboy from Michigan.

Samuel Ogoshi, 24, and Samson Ogoshi, 21, sent him a friend request on Instagram pretending to be a pretty girl his age and then flirted with him.

Once they received explicit images from the teenager, they blackmailed him for hundreds of dollars, threatening to share the pictures online with his friends if he did not comply.

Jordan sent as much money as he could and warned the scammers that he would kill himself if they spread the images.

The criminals replied: “Good… Do that fast - or I'll make you do it.”

John DeMay told Marquette federal court in Michigan he still has nightmares after finding his son dead in his bedroom. He said his family was forced to move home to escape the memory.

If you've been affected by the issues in this story, help and support is available via the BBC Action Line

The brothers pleaded guilty in April to conspiring to sexually exploit teenage boys in Michigan and across the US.

Thirty-eight other US victims were also identified as being targeted by the men. 13 of them were minors.

The brothers sat in court in orange jumpsuits with handcuffs.

Their defence attorneys said the brothers' crimes were fuelled by drug abuse and the sextortion scam culture in Nigeria.

The judge said the crimes showed a "callous disregard for life", especially given they continued targeting other victims after learning that Jordan has died.

Both brothers apologised to Jordan's family.

"I'm sorry to the family. We made a bad decision to make money and I wish I could change that," Samson Ogoshi said.

In the first case of its kind, US police tracked the criminals to Lagos last summer and successfully extradited them for trial.

Another Nigerian man linked to Jordan’s death and other cases is fighting extradition.

Speaking to the BBC in May from Jordan's family home in the city of Marquette, Jordan's mother praised the police for their work tracking the sextortionists down.

But she said she had mixed feelings about the Ogoshis being behind bars.

"It's a relief that someone is being held accountable, but there's no good that's coming out of this situation for my family or for the individuals responsible's family," she said.

"I miss my son more than I can describe to you, but the mother of those men is probably missing her two sons as well now. She too is really just an innocent bystander of sextortion crime," said Jenn Buta.

Researchers and law enforcement agencies point to Nigeria as a hotspot for this type of crime.

In April, two Nigerian men were arrested after a schoolboy from Australia killed himself. Two other men are on trial in Lagos after the suicides of a 15-year-old boy in the US and a 14-year-old in Canada.

Nigerian authorities are also working with police in Scotland to investigate the case of 16-year-old Murray Dowey, who killed himself in December.

In January, US cyber-company Network Contagion Research Institute (NCRI) highlighted a web of Nigerian TikTok, YouTube and Scribd accounts sharing tips and scripts for sextortion. Many of the discussions and videos are in Nigerian Pidgin dialect.

Nigeria cyber-security professor Adedeji Oyenuga from Lagos State University says he hopes the news of Nigerians being sentenced will filter through to criminals and put them off.

"The Ogoshis case has already sent a bad signal. I am hearing from street level that it is having an effect and it might not stop criminals turning to these crimes, but it will likely reduce the numbers," he said.

There had been an increase in the number of local victims too and Professor Oyenuga says Nigerian police have had some success in tackling the criminals.

It is not the first time that some of Nigeria’s young, tech-savvy population has embraced a new wave of cyber-crime.

The term "Yahoo Boys" is used to describe a portion of the population that use cyber-crime to earn a living. It comes from the early 2000s wave of Nigerian Prince scam emails which spread through the Yahoo email service.

Dr Tombari Sibe, from cyber-security firm Digital Footprints Nigeria, says cyber-fraud such as sextortion has become normalised among young people in the country, but he hopes that news of the Ogoshis' sentencing spreads fast.

"They see cybercrime as a bloodless crime, with potentially lucrative financial rewards. This case needs to be given sufficient coverage to show these young people that sextortion can lead to loss of life and long prison sentences," he said.