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heartthrobin · 2 years ago

Text

please love me, like the wave does the shore

aaron hotchner x female!reader

wc: 7.9k

warnings: fake!dating, SO much pining, mentions of murder, only one bed, Hotch is very whipped lol, this is so cliché it should be a crime

an: the moment y’all have been waiting for! i hope you kids enjoy! this will probably become a lil series so stay tuned for part 2 :)

summary: murders along the glistening white coast of Cape Cod was not a good look for anybody. especially not the BAU. the case needs a turn around, a big break, but most importantly: a Mr and Mrs.

Portraits of grinning faces watched you from the whiteboard.

Women’s eyes twinkling. Husband’s grinning to the camera. At their wedding, in the woods during a camping trip, on a birthday.

"We have fucking nothing!"

Names and dates lined the edges of what used to be treasured memories in red marker. Memories each couple was not around to remember anymore.

"We have the profile." Hotch's voice was stern. It made the hair on your arms stand on end.

Outside, the ocean crashed loudly against the shore. Seagulls gabbled in the distance near the dock.

"You know that's not enough."

Chatham was one of the most influential and wealthy suburbs in Cape Cod, if not the whole state. Discovering strung out bodies on the crisp white beaches almost five times that month wasn't fitting for the shoreline that housed some of the most elaborate mansions in the county.

The BAU had been in Cape Cod for nearly three weeks. Two weeks too long in the bureau's opinion: a view shared by the team.

Derek slammed his hand loudly against the white board, over a photo of a tall, cream, wood-boarded resort sprawled over the edge of the coast. Seagull's Rest: Couples Retreat and Spa.

"Seagull's Rest is the only place that connects them.” He huffed, pressing his finger into the printed photo. “Every day that passes is another honeymooning couple that's in danger."

Emily sighed somewhere behind you. David lingered by the edge of the desk where Spencer was driving his eyes over some Greek mythology textbook, working the human sacrifice angle he’d been insistent on sharing with you over coffee that morning.

Police chatter busied the space between you and the other agents.

"Morgan," you pressed, "we have no idea what that even means. It could be maids, spa staff ... for all we know, it could even be other guests."

The room was warm, bright: through the window you could overlook the ocean. A scene too beautiful to deserve the blood painted across it’s portrait.

Nights dissolved into mornings at the sheriff's station. Coffee mugs finding purchase in the maze of photos, medical reports, staff lists: all leading back to the one place all four couples were spending their vacation.

"You know what this means, don't you?" David's voice carried over from behind you. You turned to face him, his gaze set hard upon Hotch's.

The team leader's jaw was tight.

He looked like he was considering David's words closely, sucking in a breath like it hurt him to do so.

Emily's chair squeaked where she leaned forward in it, "What is he talking about?"

Hotch's narrow eyes turned to face the team again. "We need to go in. Work the case from the inside."

"Undercover?" You probed, jaw loosening in surprise.

The team hadn't worked an undercover project in almost two years. Everyone understood that they were a last resort, when general good-old detective work wasn't doing the trick.

Hotch nodded stiffly.

"We're gonna need a couple to go in. Two of us. The pair has to match the preference of the unsub."

There was a heavy quiet before a collective understanding, a collective resignation.

"Fine." Derek nodded. He turned to face the board again. "The husbands, what are we looking for?"

"Alpha males, domineering personalities." David lifted a photo off the desk, examining it closer. "All high-power careers, wealthy. They have a handle on these women. Other couple's in the course with them reported the husband being out of touch, unaffectionate."

Spencer rose to stand, "But no specific physical traits. Unlike the women, they share a specific appearance: the hair, the height, the body shape. They all look like—"

Cold passed over your whole body from the highest point on your head. Like ice water had flooded your shoes.

"Like me."

Teeth sunk into the corner of your lip, the metal taste of blood nipped at your tongue.

It was impossible not to feel the weight of the team’s gaze, how they flickered quickly between where you sat and the photos against the board.

Spencer shrugged, nodding slowly. "Yes, like you."

You chuckled softly, missing most of the humor in the situation as you sunk further back into your chair. "I guess that's settled then."

It wouldn't be your first time working undercover, but you couldn’t say you were as experienced as your colleagues.

You'd joined the BAU last, working every possible hour and chasing down every possible lead to try stay in one of the most coveted positions at the bureau.

It definitely wasn't the easiest thing you’d ever done.

Yes, the team was welcoming - Emily worked hard to make you feel at home, empathizing with you about the difficulty of transitioning into such a team: a team that knows each other's every move and every thought before they themselves have moved or thought - and Spencer was always a friendly face.

Derek was considerate and David was a genius in the line of duty, a marvel to watch work.

What really made it difficult, was Hotch.

In the beginning, he was wary of you. You could feel him lingering when you worked, every decision you made or observation you gathered was held under the magnifying glass of Aaron Hotchner.

With time, he eased up. Trusted you with more, scrutinized over less.

It was then that the next - considerably more concerning - problem began, when you began to miss having his presence over your shoulder.

When your eyes began to linger over his hands where they rested on his holster, or fixate quietly when he brought that steaming morning mug to his lips - sipping oh, so gently.

You were so sure he'd kiss with the same tenderness. The thought kept you up at night.

The feelings you so embarrassingly held for your boss were pushed deep into the corners of your brain.

You felt secure in the knowledge that you acted as casual as possible. Nobody had mentioned anything, and the thought of Hotch ever catching even an inkling of an idea would be enough to never walk back into BAU headquarters ever again.

The only person who really knew anything was Emily.

It had slipped after a drunken night out, on the couch in her apartment, your fat tears staining her blouse: "he's so fucking hot I can't do this!"

And there he was. Silhouette dark against the cast of the sunlight through the window, looking down at you from his towering height. "You're sure you're ready for this?"

His voice wrapped carefully around your throat and you almost choked on its softness.

You coughed instead. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He nodded once, turning back to Derek. "The male?"

Derek shook his head, "Rossi and I went over there a couple days ago to question the owners. They know we're FBI."

The room turned to Spencer, who blinked big hazel eyes at the room innocuously.

You did little to suppress the giggle that bubbled out from your chest. Your heart knocked loudly when you felt Hotch's eyes flicker over his shoulder back at you.

"You wanna be our dominant alpha, Reid?" Emily's lips tugged into a playful grin, clicking the end of her pen loudly.

Soft laughter permeated the room, David knocked Spencer’s shoulder teasingly.

Spencer flushed a light pink, his gaze finding purchase at the open space between his two feet. "Yes. Very funny."

It took more than a few seconds for you to realize that without Spencer, there stood only one other possible candidate.

Your eyes climbed the length of Hotch's long black blazer sleeve. When you reached the top you found him already looking at you. You shivered.

"I suppose that means it’s me then."

Purposefully avoiding his gaze, you found Emily staring right at you - a grin curling up at the corners of her mouth.

"Mr and Mrs Hotchner." David chirped, a mischievous edge to his words. "Congratulations."

You managed to squeak out a sarcastic "thanks Rossi" but Hotch stayed quiet. It made you want to sink into the crevice of your desk chair.

Instead, he turned back to Spencer.

"Get Garcia on the line. She needs to set up aliases and get us registered for the next couple's course as soon as possible."

Spencer nodded once before disappearing into the next room wordlessly.

Next, he turned to you - sucking all the breath out your lungs.

God, he made it so hard to act normal when he showed up in that fucking suit and that perfectly professional haircut.

"I want you to go over the backgrounds of the women again. Get a feel for the unsub's preference, there may be a personality type that he likes best. I'll do the same with the men." You nodded, going to stand and finding yourself always just a little too far from his chest.

"While we're away, the rest of you need to work off the intel we feed. Let's solve this before there's more bodies."

Agents began moving in every direction: out the door, back towards boxes of evidence, but Emily crossed the room to you: eyes wide and alight with mischief.

She grabbed your hand, pulling you from the room and leaving Hotch behind. "This is going to be so fucking good."

Your stomach churned.

Just shy of two days later, you found yourself sitting in the front seat of a Mercedes Benz - god knows the bureau has its ways - only two streets down from Shellshore drive, where tucked into the curve sat Seagull's Rest: the beautiful lodge on the Cape Cod coast that offered couple's courses for new and old marriages that delve into the depths of the soul and connect partners in love and touch.

At least that's what the pamphlet said as it stared up at you from your lap.

It sat at the top of the stack of case files, documents and photos hidden beneath. You pulled out the ID from the midst of the stack.

The photo you'd taken the previous afternoon glimmered up at you: Mrs Eleanor Thompson.

With less than a couple inches of space dividing you, in the driver's seat, sat Hotch.

Penelope was talking over the car speaker.

"I signed you guys up for the Honeymooner's Retreat. It's six days long, but I'm sure you'll be out by then. There are five other couples doing this course with you, you'll find their names in the documents I sent. All their records are clean."

"Garcia, I want you to cross reference all the course instructors with anybody who has—"

Hotch's voice faded from your surroundings, your brain stuttering electrically as your eyes raked over his outfit.

A tight fit black polo that was hugging his chest and chino pants begging for relief over those long thighs.

The last two days had been painful.

You'd slept almost nothing: tossing and turning for hours over the idea that you'd soon be in much closer proximity to Aaron Hotchner than you'd ever been. Too close.

Emily had tried to calm you down, "just ... focus on the case, okay? whatever happens happens."

It was easy for her to say.

Her legs didn't liquify every time Hotch sent small praise her way, like they did on you, and she didn’t have flashing images of taking care of him in the way he never does himself plague her in the small moments of quiet throughout her day.

Making him breakfast, or taking his blazer off after a long case ... undoing the buttons down his shirt—

"They're expecting you for check in at five o clock."

Your eyes found the digital clock on the dashboard, it blinked red at you: 16:47

"Thank you Garcia."

"Yeah," you added quickly, "Thanks Garcia."

"Good luck lovebirds." The teasing lilt in her voice did nothing to calm the high power washing machine your stomach had transformed to.

Heat rushed over your face.

You could feeling Hotch watching you from the corner of his eye. "Are you sure you're ready to do this?"

Sliding your stack of pages into the Louis Vutton handbag at your feet, you forced a smile to press up into your lips.

"To marry you, Hotch?" You feigned a soft sigh, "I've only waited all my life."

The bubbling in your stomach simmered only slightly when Hotch rolled his eyes, what was almost a smile teasing at his lips. "I'll take that as a yes."

The car rumbled to a start beneath you, the expensive engine purring.

"We know what to look for. Keep your eyes on the guests, the instructors, anybody we interact with."

It was hard to focus on Hotch's advice when his wide hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

But you nodded anyways.

It felt like less than a few seconds before the car was being pulled into a luxurious white cobblestone driveway. A sign etched in ivory-coloured wood overhead marked the road: Welcome to Seagull’s Rest.

Bellboys stood in the distance under a grand arched entrance in cream uniforms, luxury cars stretched out in every direction of the parking lot.

The car rumbled to a stop. A valet attendant was already approaching before you’d even a second to gather what was left of your courage.

Hotch turned to you, slow and deliberate as was his manner, leaning precariously over the console. "Remember, we're being watched."

The door opened abruptly on your side, you glanced up to meet the face of the young man holding open the door. He couldn't be older than twenty.

He smiled. "Good afternoon and welcome to the Seagull's Rest."

Your eyes flickered back as Hotch climbed out from the other side, you smiled up at the boy before lifting the end of the olive-green sundress you'd been coerced into wearing and stepped out.

Hotch had rounded the car before you'd even straightened out. He tossed the keys at the attendant.

You were taken aback by how quickly he could escape his usually impeccable manners.

"Be careful with the luggage. There's things in there worth twelve times your salary."

You sucked in a sharp breath when he took your hand into his, sliding his fingers between yours. His palm was pressed so firmly you thought you might collapse.

He made matters worse when he cleared his throat loudly, "Come on, honey, let's go."

The reception was a bright open room, preceded by a tall oak arch, and a high ceiling loomed over the expensive wood of the front desk.

A small framed woman stood behind it, smiling as you approached. "Good afternoon, welcome to Seagull's Rest."

Hotch only nodded curtly in greeting, pulling you abruptly up against his side so that his hand wrapped over your waist. You only hoped he couldn’t hear your heart thumping hysterically against your ribs.

"James and Eleanor Thompson." He grumbled, "We're here for the Honeymooner's Retreat."

"Of course sir, if I could see some identification please?"

Hotch slid over the two fake ID's and the woman began to tap away at the computer.

Your eyes slid up to the view from the window beyond the desk, how the sun was almost setting over the ocean visible through the crystal-clear window.

Unsure if it was driven by purpose or simply instinct, your arms snaked up to rest around Hotch's hips, letting your head lull against the side of his chest just softly.

His chest swelled. You tried not to read into it.

"Baby," it took a moment, presumable for Hotch to realize you were referring to him, but he hummed in response, not looking down at you.

"Hm?"

You motioned to the window, "Look how beautiful it is. You couldn't have chosen a better spot."

Instead of Hotch, the woman at the front desk spoke in response.

"We boast one of the best spots along our coast. The morning yoga sessions are spectacular if that's something you enjoy, and we have cocktail evening tonight at our restaurant on the beach." Her voice dripped in sugar, sliding the two ID's and the keycard to the room back over the counter.

"That sounds wonderful—"

Hotch's stern voice pierced through your own, "Yes, well, we'll see."

The woman - Leslie, as her tag suggested - glanced carefully between Hotch and yourself. She offered you a quietly sympathetic look before meeting Hotch's face again.

"Y-Yes, of course sir."

You stayed quiet after that, allowing her to direct James and Eleanor to their room. Second floor at the end of the hallway.

Hotch huffed dramatically, grabbing the cards from the desk.

His hand slid from your waist and you almost had enough time to mourn the loss of his warmth against your side before that large hand wove itself back between yours - simultaneously warming and chilling every blood vessel in your body.

Hotch pulled you in the direction of the elevator. Nothing was said between you, only the swish of your dress and the heavy step of his leather shoes against the floors.

You two followed the corridor as instructed, gaze flickering curiously up to your fake husband every few moments before your interest caught the better of you.

"You're a little too good at playing the asshole, James." Your hand squeezed gently against his, "Something you want to tell me?"

He shook his head, "Nothing comes to mind."

The luggage was already waiting at the foot of the bed when Hotch pushed the door open, allowing you to step in first.

A gasp escaped you.

The room had to be the most exquisite thing you’d seen in all your life.

It was lined in crisp white and cream decor, a velvet couch along the one wall and a sprawling balcony that overlooked the ocean - the sound of the waves filling every crevice of the space.

There was a thud and you turned to find Hotch opening his briefcase, pulling out the neatly packed pressed shirts that lay within.

"Hotch—"

Quicker than it took you to blink in fright, Hotch's hand closed over your mouth. He shook his head, tapping his ear. "Wires." He mouthed.

You nodded quickly, feeling stupid.

His hand dropped and embarrassment flushed hot over your neck. You looked away from him.

This wasn't a holiday and Hotch wasn't your husband.

Eight people were dead.

Unease burnt at your chest, the same kind that had been building with every passing day and every piling body. You moved in silent to unpack your own handbag where you'd placed your files.

Hotch watched you carefully, as you leaned over the bag - silhouette forming against the red and purple tones of the picturesque sky behind you.

He stared a little longer than necessary, capturing the view to his mind.

It was something he found himself doing too often. Whenever he could find a moment, an excuse. His gaze would linger on your frame, your face.

When your fingers would twitch against your necklace or when you laughed a little too loudly for the Quantico office when Spencer told his terrible, very specifically not funny jokes.

But he was Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, and nothing if not the epitome of professionalism.

He planted himself far enough from the line to where he could go about his day and pretend like he didn't lose sleep at night thinking about you.

"James, did you pack the charger?" Your voice was loud, but wavered slightly. You didn't look up to his face as you usually did.

Hotch tried to convince himself that he didn’t notice.

"Yes, honey, it's in the side pocket."

There was no charger and definitely no need to ask about one besides making casual conversation in the case that wires tapped the room.

Reminded of the very real circumstance, Hotch abandoned the shirts on the bed to move around the room.

Behind him you were doing the same.

He lifted lamp shades, checked under drawers, desks and the headboard for any listening device that could have been planted before they came in.

You shuffled around behind the television stand and at the railings of the curtain before slipping into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes passed in silence before Hotch climbed back to his feet from where he was crouched down under the bed frame.

"We should be in the clear." He announced to you where you still occupied the bathroom.

"Check what I found." You emerged, sundress flittering around your ankles.

He cursed the sway of the material. Somehow you'd arrived in that green dress to the sheriff's station and it had made every nerve connecting his body to his brain turn fuzzy and the man of steel that was Aaron Hotchner was having a harder time than usual keeping his eyes to himself.

You waved a white envelope at him, "It was stuck to the window."

Hotch took it from you, it was addressed to a Mr and Mrs Thompson.

"That's us." He muttered, finger sliding to break its seal.

You stood against his side, close enough to read the letter where he slid it out but also just close enough to make Hotch's head spin from the waft of your perfume.

Good afternoon Mr J and Mrs E Thompson,

We welcome you to Seagull's Rest and want to thank you for choosing to participate in our Honeymooner's Retreat. The next few days will work to strengthen the bond of love and trust between any new married couple, and of course up the intimacy!

Tonight we will be hosting a champagne evening where you will be afforded the opportunity to meet the couples that you'll be spending the next six days with.

Meet us at the Pelican Perch Restaurant on floor 1 at six o clock. We look forward to meeting you!

Kindly, Seagull Rest Staff.

The page crinkled beneath his fingers.

"This is perfect." He muttered, looking sideways at you. "It'll give us a chance to see the unsub in a social environment if he's here."

The unknown subject (unsub) was clarified before you and Hotch had left the station that morning.

David's voice still rung in his ears:

"Someone who is calm and casual in social settings, easy to get along with but holds a position that allows people to trust them. It's what he uses to lure two people at a time to their deaths."

You glanced up at the antique clock on the wall hanging above the television. "That means we should leave soon."

Hotch nodded, "Leave the packing, we'll do that when we get back."

The sun was disappearing behind the glittering ocean surface when the door shut behind you and Hotch again.

His hand slipped down over your wrist before sliding into your grasp, between your fingers and over your knuckles.

Hotch could spend all night convincing himself that holding your hand was imperative to maintaining your cover because you were married and that was in the best interest of the case, but it would still do little to calm the way his heart began to beat from his throat when your grip tightened gently around his.

You made small talk on the walk down to the restaurant, as any couple would.

Mentioning the spa and the interior designs of the glamorous hallways you passed on the walk down to the Pelican Perch restaurant on the water.

The views of the lodging was almost nothing compared to when you two walked under the green vine archway into the restaurant.

Hotch heard your little gasp beside him and was sure it made his heart grow two sizes.

Above your heads hung a glittering maze of white fairy lights overviewing a large wooden floor with tables set in every corner. The bar glittered with bottles of every colour, size and shape that lined the shelves and the wide stacking doors were opened out onto the shoreline.

A soft jazz played and near the center of the room, ten chairs were stacked in a semi-circle around a small podium.

"This is so beautiful." You whispered, almost so soft he didn't hear it.

He looked down at you, enamored by the way the lights reflected off your eyes and your lips were parted in surprise.

"It is." But his eyes never left you.

Already, three or four couples had taken seats, keening over each other as if they two were the only people in the room.

It was almost six. Hotch tugged your hand gently in the direction of the expensive looking chairs, leaning down close to your ear: "Keep your eyes on the people."

You giggled as if he'd said something naughty, putting on a good show for the surrounding guests before leaning down to sit.

The lull of the music in the room almost convinced you that it was all real.

That as you sat and Hotch settled his arm over your thighs, pulling you close against him: that it was because he wanted, not needed, to be there.

Your eyes flickered over the people, a man and a woman were ushering people to take their seats and a tall thin waiter was sauntering around with a tray of champagne glasses.

You took two from his tray, handing the other to Hotch. He gave you a look to remind you to be careful, you could practically hear him chiding "remember, we're on the job."

The champagne was as close to velvet as you'd ever tasted, sliding down your throat far too easily as the man and woman took to the podium in front of you.

The room quietened.

"Good evening to all our lovely young couples!" The man's voice was smooth, warm.

He was older, every spit of hair from his body a stark shining white. The woman was the same, they matched the decor of the resort in the cream beach sets they adorned.

Wrinkles crinkled around her eyes when she smiled, "We're so glad to have you with us. Thirty years ago, we opened the Seagull's Rest to help any couple who felt they needed a place to connect with nature and each other, and since then it's become not only a home to us - but a home to every couple who steps through our doors."

You met Hotch's eye. Owners.

Laurie and Howard Ralph. The founders of the Seagull's Rest.

Howard spoke again: "every class is taught by a qualified, friendly and helpful instructor to make you feel safe in what Laurie and I like to call the education of love."

You'd seen their photos in files and on your tablet, somehow they looked even more pretentious in person.

While you knew you weren't looking for an unsub team, their demeanors didn't put them completely out of range for being possibly responsible.

At least that's as far as your brain could conjure up with Hotch's wide thumb rubbing circles into the side of your thigh - a motion you weren’t entirely convinced he realized he was making.

"We'd like to start off the evening with a few introductions, just to break the ice between you."

They were looking down the line of people, pointing to a Hispanic couple closest to the edge. "How about you two? Tell us your names, where you're from, how you met and your favourite thing about your partner."

The man stuttered, looking to his wife for support. She smiled up at him and you couldn't help the momentary swooping ache to have somebody to look at in that warm, soft way.

"Well I'm Alice and this is my husband Marco." She patted him fondly on the chest, "We're from New York."

"We met when we were kids, we lived next door to each other for fifteen years." The husband was a shyer speaker, but his adoration for his wife leaked through his words. "Before she left for college I asked her to be my girlfriend. The rest is history, I guess."

Laurie and Howard smiled plastically, like the grin was surgically attached there.

"That's lovely, and your favourite thing about one another?" Laurie pressed, before adding, "Remember ladies and gentlemen, this experience is about making yourself vulnerable to each other and to yourself!"

"I love how he can make me feel brand new after a terrible day."

"I love the way she knows me in little ways that nobody else does."

Slowly, the couples spoke down the line.

You were introduced to the Taylors, the Andersons, the Fletchers, the Schmidts.

As the line drew shorter, your breath grew faster.

Of course you knew your story, you'd had it drilled into your brain for the last two days, but your favourite thing about Hotch?

No, you corrected yourself, not Hotch. James.

Your brain fished for a lie, dipping past the bundles of things you loved about Hotch that could so easily be picked from the bush.

But would it be so out of line to admit something honest, something he'd never even realize was true?

Eyes fell on you.

Hotch cleared his throat, his grip over your thigh tightened.

"We're the Thompsons. I'm James and this is Eleanor. We're from Colorado."

His voice was strong, stern. Someone who didn't know Hotch might say it was how he always sounded, but there he held a jagged edge to his tone. "We met at—"

"Woah, woah," Howard interrupted, chuckling nervously. "James, you're running a bit away with us here. Why don't you let your wife tell us how you met?"

Hotch mustered the audacity to look affronted. "Alright."

You fought hard to suppress a laugh. Hotch was an abnormally good actor.

He turned to you, "Darling?"

You sighed, practically scribbling ditzy airhead over your forehead and lifting a hand to fiddle with the buttons on his polo, "Well, I met James in my last year at college—"

"Screwing the professor, very classy."

The whisper came from somewhere to your left and surprised you.

It was soft enough that you were sure Howard and Laurie hadn't heard.

The look on Hotch's face, however, proved that he had. He'd grown completely stiff under your hand.

You fought to regain composure, "H-He was working at a law firm that I was doing an internship at. It was love at first sight, right baby?" You patted his chest slowly.

He nodded, eyes darting anywhere but you.

The owners nodded, urging you to continue. "That's beautiful."

You looked up, met with the side of Hotch's face - he didn't look like he was going to speak first.

"My favourite thing about James is ..." your mind flickering between some cliché or just spitting out what you really wanted to. "The way he looks out for me. Always makes sure I'm safe, even if it's risking himself."

It was mild enough to pass off for just a casual comment but nearly specific enough that if he knew how you felt that he'd catch on.

He pulled his gaze from where it was fixated on the foot of the podium, sinking it into yours and making the room feel suddenly ten degrees warmer.

"My favourite thing about Eleanor is her laugh."

It was short and sweet and deep down you really hoped it was laced in truth.

By the time you looked away from your partner, the introductions had already moved down a couple. Judging by the way the tall blonde woman who'd just announced herself as Jade Atkins was staring at you, you could already gage that she'd been the one to make the professor comment.

You could still feel Hotch's anger radiating off of him. He was hard, tense and his jaw was set tightly.

Hotch was older than you, sure. You knew that.

It was one of the things that assured - plagued - you that he would never reciprocate your feeling.

He was mature and worldly, handsome in a way no man you knew could even remotely compare.

You were younger, not that much, but still. Enough that you could be looked at sideways by stuck-up bitches like Jade Atkins.

You knew you'd never be afforded a chance ... but then why did Hotch look so angry?

He knew he was older, but he also had to know that he left a trail of swooning women wherever he went?

"James ..." you whispered.

He looked quickly down at you, clearly of the impression that it was enough of a response.

"What's wrong?"

The word looked like they hurt forcing itself from his mouth. "Nothing."

You bit the corner of your bottom lip slowly, turning over his response in your mind.

Before you could find the sense to stop yourself, you reached up and took Hotch's jaw into your grasp, pulling it down closer to your face.

Following hesitantly until he was practically leaning over, you whispered into his ear: "ignore her, she just wishes her husband wasn't a cheating alcoholic."

You pressed a warm peck against his upper cheek, close to his eye and pretended that the brush of his almost-there stubble didn't make your heart swoop down into your stomach.

Letting go, Hotch straightened out again. He looked calmer, almost like he could smile.

His eyes flickered over the man, taking in his form. It took him a moment before he whispered back, "You're right."

Within a couple minutes, the last of the couples finished their introductions and the Ralph's were speaking again.

"Thank you all, again, for coming. Please, spend the rest of the evening getting to know each other, enjoying more of our champagne—"

"Imported straight from France!" Howard interjected and the couples laughed sporadically,

"—and savor the rest of your week."

Around you, couples rose from their seats. You detangled yourself from Hotch and did the same.

Initially, you had the full intention of floating around the room together, connected at the arm to analyze the guests quietly.

However, almost immediately, the women had dissected from their husbands to form a small group by the balcony.

The men had done the same, converging near the bar.

Blinking in surprise, you look up to Hotch for further instruction.

He nods towards the women, "You should go join them."

Your face crinkled in reluctance, "Don't make me go over there, James ... our friend isn't even supposed to be a woman."

Amusement was alight in his brown eyes, but his mouth remained a thin line.

"Then," he almost made you jump when his wide hand closed softly over your cheek, dragging the side of his thumb down your face, "go enjoy the company. I'll focus on the men."

Sparked by Hotch's warm touch, slightly dizzy on it, you nodded softly before turning to the women.

It was cool out on the balcony and the women greeted when you joined the circle.

You took a long gulp from your second glass of champagne, listening only half-committed to Patricia Anderson's story about their new condo on the Los Angeles beachfront.

"So, Eleanor was it?"

Recognizing the voice as the one who'd whispered brashly behind you not more than twenty minutes previously, you turned to the woman.

Your grip tightened around your champagne glass.

"Yes. Jenna, right?"

The woman gathered the nerve to look affronted, her tennis skirt swayed with the breeze over long bronzed legs.

"Jade, actually. Jade Atkins." She cleared her throat, "My husband is Richard Atkins, he owns all the Sonja Hotels north of the equator, I'm sure you've heard of him."

Another woman - Anne Schmidt - indulged her. "That's amazing, Elijah and I stayed there a couple months ago in Switzerland."

Jade nodded, looking proud, but seemingly intent on swerving the conversation your way.

"Speaking of husbands, yours is quite the catch isn't he?" The chatter of the other women dimmed slightly, the wives sensing the change of direction.

Taking another necessarily big gulp of your champagne, you nodded. "Indeed."

"He's very handsome ... how did you manage to tie him down?"

Her words dripped in condescension.

"Just got lucky, what can I say?"

Jade nodded, twisting a long golden strand between her fingers. Heat was beginning to curl at your cheeks.

"And he's so much older," she laughed airily, lifting her glass to sip at her drink, "but I guess that life insurance money makes him all the more attractive, hey?"

"Oh definitely. He also got a huge penis which helps."

Jade choked loudly around her glass and the women around you burst into fits of high-pitched laughter.

"Don't mind her," Imani Taylor pulled you aside, "All the Botox has gone to her brain."

You smiled kindly at her.

"So a lawyer you said, what's that like?"

Across the room, Hotch was sitting through a similar game of verbal tennis.

A circus of who's car is newer, bigger, better, who's company makes more money or sells more stocks.

He doubted he'd ever been so bored. That's maybe why his eyes flickered so often to where you were talking animatedly with a short woman in a hijab.

A heavy hand against his shoulder sucked him back into the conversation.

A sandy-topped man who Hotch quickly identified as Elijah Schmidt was patting him boyishly, "Don't worry about the girl, Thompson."

He didn't love the idea of you being referred to as girl but said nothing on it.

Clearing his throat, he shook his head vaguely. "Got to keep on eye on them. She can barely feed herself most days, only knows how to spend my money and crash my cars."

The words were bitter, like hot bile on his tongue but he insisted on maintaining a mutual expression. Nobody promised that playing an asshole was going to be any fun.

A handful of the men grimaced at his comment, while the rest just tutted offhandedly.

While the men were far from the nicest he'd met, in the couple minutes he'd spent with them, Hotch was almost sure that his unsub was not among them.

Despite most of their more than patchy backgrounds - mostly corporate scuffles, dug up by Garcia - none of them spoke with the ease that the suspect needed to have, the charisma and the trustworthy character. Hotch's energy was better placed elsewhere.

"Barely feed herself?" A gravelly chuckle filled the space, "Sure doesn't look like it."

Hotch's eyes narrowed on the short bald man laughing to himself, glancing over to where you stood across the room - a fat cigar between his fingers.

He recognized him as the man who sat with the woman who'd commented when you spoke. Richard Atkins.

Turning his whole body to the man, towering over his structure, Hotch's face twisted - his stomach contents boiling hot at the comment.

"I beg your pardon?"

Pulling at the cigar, the end lighting up, the man shrugged. "Just saying, y'know, she doesn't look like she's skipped a meal anytime recently—"

The expression curling onto Hotch's face must've been cause for alarm, if not the way his fist tightened at his side, because almost immediately two other men stepped in.

One at Richard's side, "Hey, hey, Richard, that's enough man."

The other patting Hotch's shoulder, "Thompson ... he's had a couple drinks, just let him go."

Richard seemed to find the situation amusing because he was chortling still to himself. "Of course, of course. My bad, just locker-room talk you know. No harm, no foul."

Seething white anger was tugging on every muscle in his body, and he fought hard to maintain composure - taking a cautionary step towards Richard Atkins.

"I'd watch how you talk about my wife if I were you. Otherwise we're going to have a problem."

Atkins only huffed, turning back to his friend and his cigar. The conversations started up again around him, but Hotch had lost interest.

His wrist watch told him they'd been standing there for almost an hour.

Cleaning out the bottom of his glass, he set it down on the nearest table before excusing himself, offering handshakes and a couple shoulder pats before moving towards the women.

A handful of men followed him, clearly keen to leave as well.

He found you by the railing, laughing gently at something the woman across from you said.

Hotch's arm slid over your waist from behind, dipping his head closer to your ear: "ready to go?"

You nodded, offering a quick goodbye to the woman and some others.

The walk back to the room was quicker than he remembered, or maybe it was the light buzz of champagne against the side of his head and how you were humming something that sounded like Etta James that made it feel too fast.

On return, the prospect of unpacking awaited.

"Anyone interesting among the husbands?" You asked from across the room, lifting shirts and dresses to stack into the open cupboard.

Hotch shook his head, dislodging the secret compartment at the bottom of his suitcase where the case files had been hidden. "The unsub isn't one of them. They're all, for lack of a better word, assholes. Nobody trustworthy enough to follow to your death."

You chuckled lightly, "The women were alright. Except for this one woman, that one who whispered that rubbish when we introduced ourselves."

Hotch's stomach turned at the thought of the woman's words. Screwing the professor, really classy.

The implication on your character made his blood boil.

"Let me guess, Atkins?"

You nodded, "How'd you know?"

"Her husband's a real piece of work too. I'm gonna find something to arrest him for before the end of the week."

Your giggle permeated the space and it worked to ease the knot in Hotch's stomach.

"Don't be so dramatic, James." You draped a towel over your arm, "Mind if I grab the shower first?"

"Of course." Hotch nodded, desperately trying to fan out the image that was quickly rendering in his mind of you in the shower. "I'm gonna phone Garcia."

The bathroom door clicked behind you and you sighed into the emptiness of the room.

You took your time showering, enjoying how the hot water eased the tension over your shoulders, before drying off and slipping into the most appropriate pair of pajamas you'd brought along.

It took some convincing to let yourself pack the silk shorts and tank top, after all: you would be sharing a room with your boss.

Quickly after you'd walked back into the room, Hotch had slipped into the bathroom himself with a towel and pair of pajamas hanging over his arm.

Images of all the people you'd met that very evening sifted through your mind like a deck of cards, flipping through them and filtering the ones you knew couldn't be involved.

The spray of the shower was loud and your mind reached precariously for an image of what Hotch looked like under the fancy head in the shower that had more than enough space for two ... how the hot water was probably gliding over his long strong arms, down his chest and through the happy trail at the base of his stomach leading down towards—

The water shut off and silence echoed across the room.

You heard shuffling behind the door, wondered quietly what he could be doing, but pulled your eyes back to the case file.

The list of connections between the victims and current guests were numerous, too many to be significant as people in this wealth category generally moved in similar groups.

The door clicked open.

"Put that away, you should get some sleep."

"I—" You looked up to meet Hotch's eye and almost swallowed your tongue.

His hair was still wet, drooping over his forehead in a way you'd never seen before, and his blue t-shirt stuck to his chest with dampness. He wore plaid shorts that exposed those long legs that had been so criminally hidden beneath his usual suit pants.

He looked so ... domestic, and it set every nerve ending in your body alight.

"I ... yes, boss. Was just looking." You set the file on the bedside table.

He nodded at you, a warm look on his face. "Want you well rested for tomorrow."

There was a short silence and the look cleared from his features to be replaced by another.

Hotch's eyes flickered between the bed and the couch, and for the first time in more than a while, a look of unsureness occupied his face.

"I ... I think I'll take the couch."

Your heart sunk.

"Why?" The question chased its way out of your mouth before you could reach to snatch it.

"I don't wanna make you ... uncomfortable, considering I'm your superior."

"I mean, the bed is plenty big enough for the both of us, Hotch." You stammered, desperate to be close to him. "It's probably gonna be painful to sleep on that couch anyways."

He hesitated.

"U-Unless you think it's weird, you can sleep on the couch it's fine." You wished you could sink into the sheets and disappear.

But to your surprise, Hotch nodded.

The bed sunk on his side as he lifted the covers, as close to the edge as he could from what you could see.

His head hit the pillow before he leaned over to flick off the light, you took it as a sign to do the same.

There was quiet for a long moment.

The door to the balcony was open, it was just too hot to close it, and the breeze curled over the sheets, wafting the smell of Hotch's shower gel into your face.

It took all you had within you not to sigh loudly and dig your face into his neck.

You thought the conversation had closed for the evening, but Hotch surprised you when his voice emerged from the darkness.

"You did well today. I know you were nervous."

A smile tugged at your lips. He could read you better than you thought he could.

"You've got a lot more practice at the husband thing than I do at the wife thing."

You could almost see the outline of his face against the light of the moon.

"Well, I hope this wife ends up better than the last one."

The memory of finding Hotch's ex-wife's body came starkly into view.

"O-Oh, Hotch." Your hand came to your face in embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have—"

"Hey, hey," he stopped you, "it's my fault. It was a bad joke, I shouldn't have made it."

You couldn't help the small giggle that escaped you, "I've never heard you freestyle a joke before, Hotch."

"Wasn't good?"

"It was terrible." You managed around the now growing laugh.

"And yet you're still laughing. Isn't that the goal?"

You shuffled over in the sheets to face him, even though you couldn't see much - the thought that he lingered there in the darkness comforted you.

"Not at that really bad attempt at a joke, I'm laughing at you."

Maybe it was your imagination, but you swore when the light from the lighthouse flickered quickly over Hotch's face that he was grinning.

"I'm glad I amuse you."

"Come on Hotch, you're telling me you don't have a single good dad joke?"

He was quiet a long moment, and for a second you thought you'd pressed too hard.

"Why do you never see elephants hiding in trees?"

Absolutely surprised by the question, you shook your head in the darkness. "Why?"

"Because they're really good at it."

The light from the lighthouse hadn't passed over his face again but now you were sure he was smiling and every muscle in your body twitched to grab his face in the darkness and kiss him until he was oxygen depleted.

"That's the worst joke I've ever heard, Aaron." But you shook with small laughter.

"Worse than the dead wife joke?"

"Okay, maybe not that bad."

Quiet fell again.

"You should go to sleep. We've got a long day tomorrow."

Fishing for the sheets, you lifted to tuck them under your chin. "Goodnight James."

"Goodnight."

Tags:

@montyfandomlove @aurorastuffsstuff @cdizzleswzzlebonzy @pureblood-blake @kad00x @lena-1895 @marimorena06 @farrah-444

#Aaron Hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds #fake dating #criminal minds fanfiction #Spencer Reid #emily prentiss #David Rossi #Derek Morgan #penelope garcia #only one bed #mutual pining

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yarochan · 7 months ago

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MAFIA AU lmk

Everything is based on general information about the mafia in the world and in China.

There may be inaccuracies and inconsistencies in the AU. This is not accidental. All actions take place within the criminal world. There will be cruelty, blood, and violence.

Briefly about the important things..

Difficult times have come in China, many people had to commit crimes in order to survive by any means. Pigsy, Tan, and Sandy made a deal with Wukong by joining his Triad and being under his protection, but in exchange they worked for him. A little later, Sandy escaped, at the moment his whereabouts and status are unknown.

MK was also planted and raised by Pigsy and Tang, he was literally raised by the street and the mafia. Until he reached adulthood - to the surprise of everyone, Wukong did not touch the boy - but on the day of his 18th birthday, he put forward conditions for joining a family.

At the moment, MK is a boy doing dirty work that Wukong doesn't want to do. Surprisingly, they are very close, and Wukong initiates the boy into all current affairs.

In China, as in other countries of the world, there are their own criminal groups. The most famous of them, called the "Triad," have been clandestinely engaged in criminal activities in the PRC for several centuries.

Current Triads in China

The Triad of Dragons

The largest and most influential mafia family in China, in addition, they do not have one common boss and they are known in all corners of China (Dragon of the West, East, etc.). Their activities are connected with casinos and some large companies in the country that they finance. They are little known for their murders, but who says that their life path could not have turned out that way?

The first head of the family was May's great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, he actually raised the authority of the triad in the criminal world, which persists to this day.

The Bull Triad

Information about the leadership of the princess iron fan

A female boss is a rarity in mafia circles, but when it's a wife or a trusted person who can curb several thousand thugs, it's a completely different matter. With the loss of her husband, she also lost all influence in the criminal world, since everyone remembers her police past and simply does not trust her.

Out of desperation, she took up the mafia's dirtiest niche - drug distribution in China. She got rid of all the traitors and weaklings and restored her family's influence in China. approx. Previously, the Triad was engaged in the supply of weapons together with Wukong.

The Wukong Triad

Second in influence, but last in numbers. Large families differ in the number of members and high staff turnover; the Wukong family is only those whom he really trusts and those who are fixated on negotiations with the most armed countries in Europe.

No one thought that Wukong would be able to achieve anything in criminal circles, but after an unsuccessful attempt on the head of the police station, he surprisingly quickly blew up into the air. At the moment, the family has contracts with the head of state and people who are not averse to buying several thousand cars. The family is not bloodthirsty, but enters into armed conflicts to protect and collect debts.

The Lady Bone Demon Triad

A little-known family, all spies and informants were executed by the boss of this triad. It is known that the family removes quite influential people from their places, destroys groups and conducts a very aggressive policy.

If we talk about the relationship of the triads, it is worth noting that at the moment all the Active groups are angry at Wukong, for one reason or another. There is periodic bloodshed on all sides because of these disagreements.

No one is focused on the LBD, but it is the main danger (as in the series).

All the heavenly ones are the police or representatives of any other organization for the protection of citizens in the country (the special services of the People's Republic of China). Of course, their task is to stop the activities of the triads, but who says they can't be under the mafia?

A little bit about the characters and their designs

is a performer, that is, the youngest member of the family. He was accepted into the group through a traditional rite of passage - he drank wine with his blood and swore an oath of loyalty to the Boss.

It seems that Wukong treats the boy with some love, but at the same time, MK is most often involved in armed conflicts, as well as in other similar work, such as debt collection / fights / etc.

His mother is an employee of the police station, until a certain moment the baby did not even know about it, a little later there was a conflict between parents and the child.

Red Son

He belongs to the Wukong triad, but is not a member of it, such are commonly called mercenaries, but Red san came to Wukong of his own free will and swore allegiance to him on his blood until it became known what had become of his father.

Red escaped from the Bull Triad because before the return of the KDB, the PVJ allowed his family to trade drugs in order to maintain authority among other groups. But besides the fact that this is the most disgusting kind of activity, even by mafia standards, Red also grew up surrounded by police officers, former colleagues of his mother. Some kind of moral framework was laid down for him and he simply feels disgusting.

Red has tattoos all over his back and arms, which is the main distinguishing sign of the mafia, although it is not mandatory in modern triads. Red's mother did this as soon as the child's body was formed, because after losing her husband, she wanted to see a new wealthy boss of the family, since it was very difficult for her alone.

Mei

She belongs to the Wukong triad but is not a member of it, such are commonly called mercenaries, but he is under the protection of the group because of MK at his request. Thus, the MK will be responsible for Mei's tests, but the girl will never allow this.

A daughter in a mafia family is certainly a joy, but apart from traditionally finding a faithful husband from the same criminal world to continue the family, and be a beautiful background for men, May could not offer anything more. She ran away from her triad, hoping to realize herself in the world.

The girl is an excellent gambler and cheater, knows a lot of card games and will be able to beat you even if she is naked.

All her legs are filled with tattoos, especially this image of a Chinese dragon with a lotus. She did it against the will of her parents, and her tattoos do not belong to the criminal world in any way.

Wukong

The head of the family and a respected citizen of his country. The main goal of his triad is to supply weapons throughout the country.

He used to be an ordinary thug who didn't value his own life or anyone else's. During this period, the police even took him away, but he escaped safely, tore up the entire station along the way, climbed into the office of the chief of police, wrote nasty things, stole important documents and photographed this outrage and sent the newspaper to the editorial office. It was a wonderful morning for the representatives of the law.

At the beginning of the journey, I worked with an organization, they called themselves the Brotherhood. But Wukong himself prefers not to talk about them.

He appreciates MK, sees him as a replacement for Macaque, and is afraid of losing him, as well as his best friend.

Macaque

He is an assassin in the LBD triad, a subordinate of the mayor and the second favorite of the Lady.

According to the newspapers, he has been dead for several years, buried without a body, and, according to Wukong, in principle, he is not in this world.

In one of the skirmishes, he was severely wounded and subsequently abandoned by Ukun, as he thought he had lost him. The LBD found him in a deplorable state and took him under its wing.

She was cold, and he had burns incompatible with life, so they came together.

The Macaque harbored a grudge against Wukong and never wanted to meet him after this incident, he believes that he did it on purpose, knowing that the Macaque was alive, in his opinion, Sun Wukong deserved only revenge. He learned about MK from informants in the LBD. The boy became his target.

For him, the preferred method of killing is to act in the shadows, quietly and without noise, that is, covertly.

Pigsy

Kapa, or one of the leaders, monitors the actions of MK, Mei, Red San, Teng.

The noodle shop is in place (acts as a typical mafia bar) and still works, delighting visitors with noodles. However, there is now an automatic revolver and several combat knives behind the counter. But it's true...just in case.

Tang

An informant of the Triad, surprisingly he knows everything that ordinary people could not know and does not know what everyone knows. In principle, otherwise it's still the same Tang, only now in a leather jacket and tattoos on his arms.

Ne zha

Inspector of the 3rd class of the China police in the status of a detective working on the case of Sun Wukong under the leadership of Erlan.

Not to say that he is the most successful detective, because somehow Wukuna always turns out to be one step ahead.

After several years of work, he has become so used to Wukong that he can meet him in a bar and tell him how things are at the police station, simultaneously throwing mats towards the Boss of the group. Maybe during this time they just became good friends? Who knows.

Recently, the mafia has begun to shed more blood, so the investigation and investigation have resumed with renewed vigor.

Sorry if there are mistakes in the text, I hope you like it!!!

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violetmuses · 2 months ago

Text

From Scratch - T. Richmond ❤️‍🩹

Title: From Scratch - T. Richmond ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Rebel Ridge” Film Universe

Character: Terry Richmond

Pairing: Terry Richmond + Female Reader

Main Storyline: After escaping Shelby Springs, Terry Richmond doesn't know what to expect.

@peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @deja-r @hyper-trash-panda @amethyst-loves-bucky @planetblaque @sweettea-and-honeybutter @lovedlover @xjjawsomex @readingisahobby @kindofaintrovert @nelo0wesker @gg-trini @cloveroctobers @maliagurl @nobodygetsza @twinklestarslight @yassbishimvintage @episodes-ff @sweetiepie4190 @kirayuki22 @katbakhoe @persethegawd @babybratzmaraj 🏷

=====

2024

With his cousin Mike gone, veteran Terry Richmond slid evidence by the police station and drove away, leaving that rural but dangerous town of Shelby Springs. There's no other choice.

Scoring this new home later, Richmond organized his few belongings and just planned to settle, hopefully comfortable within the unknown space.

After mowing his lawn this morning, Terry glanced across the street and noticed that someone took down one of those long-awaited “For Sale” signs.

Before long, this U-HAUL truck arrived without fail and different staff members hopped, ready to assist whoever else could join the neighborhood.

Once folks carried various boxes inside, another car pulled right into that driveway and this woman stepped out, gathering luggage from this trunk.

Thanking everyone for helping, you entered this house and closed the front door. No partner or wedding ring joined in sight, not yet at least.

Taking this much-needed shower, Richmond quietly acknowledged your presence.

Who knows what could happen next?

________

Later that night while listening to music, you cooked dinner, but someone rang the doorbell out of nowhere.

Setting down work in your new kitchen, you checked the lense of that peephole just in case and found this man holding gorgeous flowers.

“Can I help you?” You opened the door, but took the porch to stand by.

“Uh, sorry to bother you. I…” His deep voice almost chuckled through nerves.

You gently smiled for a moment. “I just moved here.”

“Me too.” Terry grinned back.

“Is everything okay?” You asked.

“Yes, Ma'am. These are for you.” Richmond postured the bouquet again.

“Oh!” Your voice nearly gasped upon realization this time. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Terry exchanged the flowers and planned to head back, but you still reached him.

“What's your name?” You cleared your throat.

“Terry…” His striking eyes locked down when Richmond faced you again.

“Nice to meet you.” You've nodded right back in return.

“Good night.” Just as Terry left the porch, you noticed that this tight shirt clothed one muscular frame and dark tattoos inked past corners.

Damn. Who are you? Your thoughts jumbled.

*******

After visiting porches back and forth, you exchanged numbers and invited Terry over, still offering boundaries no matter what happens next.

Nothing crazy lined up that afternoon. You both planned to share lunch and Terry would leave before sundown. You'd have work in the morning.

Tonight though, talking moved past midnight and you accidentally fell asleep on the living room couch.

Right before Terry could slip away, you somehow woke up again.

“T….” Your voice rasped.

“Don't worry. I'll leave.” Richmond knew so much better.

“It's dark outside.” You would caution him regardless.

“Appreciate your concern, but I live right across the street, remember?” Terry pointed.

“Yeah, but I'd feel better if you stayed here until tomorrow. It's late and I have a guest room upstairs.” You kept looking out, worried.

“Thank you.” Richmond nodded, heading to your guest room for the first time.

He was a good person even after moving away from Shelby Springs. Richmond deserved safety like everyone else in the world.

*****

By morning, you found each other leaving this house and stood in the driveway.

“Thank you.” Terry repeated himself.

“Of course.” You just held the car keys and smiled.

“Don't fall asleep.” His chuckled warmed your heart again.

“Very funny. Bye.” You planned to drive away, but Terry gestured for your chance to roll down the window.

“No more flowers.” Towering height, Richmond tapped the roof of your car and you left, prompting this man to grin all day.

#terry richmond x black reader #terry richmond x reader #terry richmond #rebel ridge #movies #aaron pierre #au fanfiction #fanfiction #slight angst #❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹#my writing #dark themes #violetmuses #💜💜💜#terry richmond x y/n #neighbor au

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peninsulaisms · 9 days ago

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Does your town have any urban legends or other strangeness?

my town is not much of a town. i live in a rural locality with barely a general store to call its own. but the mornington peninsula has a lot. as a place it’s widely considered somewhat evil by everyone who’s lived here long enough to understand it, but that adds to the charm. on the top of the peninsula you have trains which lends itself to many a ghost story or conspiracy surrounding them. one that i think most people, especially around frankston know, is the story of the strangled girl. the friend telling the story would always tell you that this had been witnessed by someone connected to them but not connected enough that you would know them. basically it would go like this, the person would get on the train somewhere along the frankston line and they would notice a girl staring at them, with someone in a hoodie leaning on her shoulder. a ticket inspector checks their ticket, says it’s invalid, and makes them get off. once off, the inspector reveals the girl had been strangled, and the hooded figure was holding her head up. as kids we used to say kananook station had a gate to hell in it because this women disappeared back in 1990 and still hasn’t been found in anyway. not a single lead. the police still have a 1 million dollar reward for anyone who knows anything about her. in a similar vein people used to say that that woman was actually in an a abandoned rubbish tip further down the peninsula. anyone who lives close to the former mornington train line will swear up and down they hear the ghostly whistle of the old trains that used to run on the line, even when the tourist trains aren’t running.

off course once you leave the reach of trains you get your usual “ghost wandering along the road” legends. for us on the mornington peninsula that was the “road of death” now you can also call it coolart road, but most of us on the ninch (our collectively affectionate nickname for the peninsula) know it better as the road of death or “slow down here, this road’s a killer.” then we do as coolart. it has everything, 30 accidents and 3 deaths in 4 years, mysterious drowning in a dam, the list goes on. but specifically the legend of our little road of death is the legend of a female hitchhiker who roams the side of the road. in some versions of the story, she steps directly in front of oncoming vehicles, causing drivers to panic. yet no collision ever occurs, she simply vanishes. other accounts align with the classic “vanishing hitchhiker” trope, where she is picked up by a passing motorist, only to disappear from the vehicle without explanation. In rarer tellings, drivers seek out an address given by the ghost, only to discover an abandoned house along coolart road with a little memorial to the woman on the fence.

i won’t only tell ghost stories but fuck is sorrento is good for ghosts. like, proper, bona fide ghost stories. the kind old women tell over the counter at the general store and kids dare each other to test out on long slow summer nights.

as an example, the peninsula cinema is a relic from 1894 and is famous for its ghost. a elderly lady in white who doesn’t seem to care much about the living. she haunts the old cinema section, mostly. back when the cinema was still showing movies, ushers would swear up and down they saw her. just a pale figure sitting in the back row of a showing no one had bought tickets to. she never caused trouble, just sat there quietly, staring at the screen like whatever was playing had her full attention. and no one ever saw her come or leave.

there’s also the continental hotel, a grand limestone building that dates back to 1875. george coppin built it, and if you ask any mate who’s worked a summer job there, he never quite left. staff have felt strange gusts of wind indoors, heard whispers in empty rooms, and seen shadows move where no shadows should. locals will tell you it’s george himself, checking in on his legacy.

then there’s marlene miller antiques, which, from personal experience i can tell you is less like a shop and more like a museum you can haggle in. and because it’s sorrento there’s a ghost there too. a woman in a blue dress and hat. if you ask marlene she’s not shy about making herself known. marlene has actually gone so far as to set up a little nook for her on the mezzanine: a rocking chair, some books, the works. she also doesn’t disrupt much apart from moving things around, chess pieces found out of place, mirrors tilting on their own. there is a bar in town i can’t remember the name of too save myself, but it used to be the morgue and that can tell you all you need to know on it’s face.

but as for general urban legends, you naturally have the big cat sightings. red hill, mount eliza, mount martha, arthur’s seat, all home to some strange unknown species of large cat if you ask your local conspiracy minded grandpa. most people here will tell you that “there’s cults in them hills” and they wouldn’t be wrong. just look up the world cult and mornington peninsula side by side and see how many results you get. there’s a really freaky “meditation retreat” in frankston south which is almost definitely a cult but only time will tell.

#asks #mornington peninsula #australia #australian gothic

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gacha-incels · 4 months ago

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article from the english edition of the Hankyoreh, August 29 2024

archive link

plain text

An accomplice in a deepfake pornography case at Seoul National University (SNU) received a five-year prison sentence on Wednesday in his first trial.

The case in question involved the making and distribution of pornographic deepfakes using the photographs of dozens of female victims, including university classmates.

This sentence was the first for an individual implicated in the deepfake pornography case at SNU. The legal judgment against the perpetrators came as the result of dogged efforts by victims, who had visited four different police stations since July 2021 to request an investigation.

Representing the 14th criminal panel of the Seoul Central District Court, Judge Kim Yu-rang sentenced a 28-year-old surnamed Park to five years in prison on Wednesday in a trial on charges including violation of the Act on Special Cases Concerning the Punishment of Sexual Crimes through filming with a camera or other device and distribution of falsified footage.

Park and other perpetrators are accused of circulating illegal deepfake pornography — manipulated explicit images or videos created using sophisticated machine-learning technology. They are suspected of using photographs of the faces of female victims to create 419 sexually degrading deepfake materials and distributing a total of 1,735 materials over a four-year period beginning in 2020.

Despite Park’s prison sentence, the victims are still tormented by the incident, which one described as being “like the world I knew came crashing down.” Most of the deepfake victims had to endure the torment of seeing images and videos in which their faces were used in scenes representing inhuman situations.

Inside a Telegram chat room where the deepfakes were circulated, the perpetrators made sexually degrading remarks about the victims and spread false information about their personal details and private lives. In some cases, that information was then used to approach victims for sexually exploitative purposes, to harass them, or to notify them of their victimization.

The seriousness of the deepfake pornography issue remains underestimated in Korean society.

As news of the widespread sexual crimes spread online, internet users responded by saying they had “no idea why it would be so traumatic” or that “the effects are trivial if it’s just a matter of a few people making and circulating images among themselves.”

Kim Soo-ah, a professor of communication at SNU, explained, “The system for regulating digital sex crimes is centered on the victims’ perception of feelings of sexual shame [rooted in traditional notions of chastity], and it appears as though deepfakes are seen as a lower-level crime than something like illegal photograph because it’s ‘not their actual body.’”

“In a male-centered society that sexually objectifies women, victims experience torment simply through the existence of [images and] rumors, regardless of whether the sexual images are false,” she said.

By Park Hyun-jung, staff reporter; Jang Hyeon-eun, staff reporter

#south korea #deepfake crimes #telegram #english article #hankyoreh #SNU #seoul national university

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mr-camhed · 4 months ago

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Some other Transformer characters i made/envisioned that i might archive/finish here:

Doominator, Junkion mercenary, Decepticon, transforms into The Ford Mustang in Death race, a cold, cruel and nihilistic survivalist that only believes in The tendency of evil and The goal of survival thanks to his tough upbringing.

Cometron, Autobot intelligence courier, Velocitronian, transforms into a GT1 street car, has an unhealthy obsession with being faster that she would risk her own life for it, idolizes Blurr.

Tailgater, Decepticon sniper and ground squad leader, transforms into an Audi A8, War crimes enthusiast who almost habitually murders civilians and medics so much he fragged a few of his own command officers mistaking them as civilians which causes chance of promotion down The toilet and frustration he can only quench by murdering more innocents and sometimes souring the relationship with Decepticon allying species. Leads a team of genericon called "Karashni Squad" with a fellow Decepticon named Bulwark who transforms into a compact station wagon.

Landread, Decepticon "pretender"(think IDW Ultra magnus, transformable robot in armor that makes him bigger transformable) and battlefield commander, outer armor turns into Main Battle Tank, inner robot turns into a station wagon. Spark brother to Bulwark, reckless and short tempered, believes in actions over words, hates substanceless egoist like Autobots and staff officers with a passion, functioning alcoholic.

Munitionwash/Ammunitionwash: Decepticon Conehead seeker assassin, transforms into vector thrust VTOL strike Fighter, dive bombing enthusiast, thinks dashing fast enough that further witnesses can't identify you with enough firepower to kill anyone close enough to bear witnessed suffices as assassination. Almost always smokes a cy-gar, which can be also used as a weapon.

Skywalk: Autobot female seeker(probably one of a kind), police patrol, transforms into a light multirole fighter in police livery, very ammo conservative, only shoots when she's absolutely sure about it is garuanteed to hit.

Algorithmaster: Decepticon Data analyst and communications expert, transforms into a long chassis Mercedes Vario TV van with a telescopic antenna mast. A Decepticon who keeps a low profile to hide its own perversity and sadism, Algorithmaster is a good substitute for Soundwave if you can't get ahold of him for intelligence or surveillance missions when he's not secretly causing chaos by disrupting The dataflow of wherever he is for fun or doing sentient life trafficking for money. Has The major Weakness of being top heavy in both modes but especially in van mode and toppling over almost garuanteed to break The antenna and heavily diminishing his effectiveness.

Whitenoise: Autobot aerial forces and later Cybertron Security bureau agent, transforms into an Antonov An-71 AWACS Aircraft. Determined on justice to The level of singlemindedness and even overconfidence, Whitenoise would often put herself into danger to pursue her enemies. She Was Algorithmaster's coworker in Iacon's telecommunications centres where she accidentally discovered his illegal activities which caused her to be kidnapped and almost brainwashed by Algorithmaster before she was rescued by Orion pax, Strongarm and wheelarch where she bodyslammed herself and a chair into Algorithmaster's back and broke his antenna to stop him from frying The officers' cerebral module with his data bomb attack that kept her in a trance like state. After she found out that Algorithmaster had escaped after The Kaon riots and Decepticon uprising and is still at large after The war, she began to embark on a quest to bring The criminal back to justice.

Duke O'Death(Pirate name/press nickname)/Speedstick(original name)/Stealthclad(preferred name to be called): Former Decepticon, currently leader of Space Pirate organization Deathkneller, wanted by both The Galactic senate and Blackbox Consortium for Attacks against their fleet, Empurata Victim and triple changer, transforms into an armored muscle car and a stealth attack helicopter. Semi schizophrenic, criminal with principle and a code, either completely disassociating and silence or extremely friendly and talkative depending on situation and almost no inbetween.

Transporticus Maximus/Giganticus Maximus/DeathKneller(real name unknown), ancient Titan whose origin is still mystery, transforms into a 20 mile long 10 mile maximum width interstellar warship with a black hole powered star destroying weapon that will completely exhaust its entire power supply to fire. It was found drifting in space by Duke O'Death after his former flagship Just Defense, a hijacked Galactic Senate heavy cruiser was crippled in a Battle against Galactic Senate task forces, with almost everything still in working order but nobody on board and The spark field in it destroyed. Its identity as a Titan is hidden from most of The people with parts grafted from other vessels, The destroyed sparkfield cloaked by a medibay for Mechanical lifeforms, and The chamber for its almost always inactive, temptingly presumable as dead cerebral module hidden behind a secrect entrance in Duke O'Death's personal quarters.

Projectile: former Decepticon fire support, bodyguard of Duke O'Death, transforms into a heavy artillery, has a massive hole in his head and cerebral module implanted into his chest. Determined and simple minded, Projectile does not think much beyond his own duty, and luck would have it, he almost always gets a reliable commander.

Pulldown: Former Decepticon road transport team, bodyguard of Duke O'Death, transforms into a wheeled heavy duty tractor, partner and mobility aid to Projectile. Similarity Determined and simple-minded, but also smart and confident, she would almost always finish her job with flying colors.

Heavytoll: Decepticon logistics support, transforms into a two wheeled heavy tractor, has no legs in robot mode and has to use his hands to walk and work, and doesn't believe in perfection.

Hardcore: Decepticon morale officer, Victim of an especially and deliberately botched Empurata-shadowplay combo, transforms into and R129 Mercedes SL 73 AMG sports car. Formerly a musician and DJ For underground radio in Tarn who was framed by a disgruntled neighbor which causes him to have his hands melted into nubs and mind completely destroyed; although he would later become a performer for Megatron during his gladiatorial fights after Hook rebuilt his hands as much as he can and gave him his mouth back. Capable of instigating neutrals and even weak minded Autobots into fighting for Decepticon with his music.

Trashmaster, Functionist universe Model worker, transforms into a garbage truck, being a lower caste worker who almost always have to clean up after The frequent pogrom of The disposable class, Trashmaster was forced to work hard to try and survive. However, hia hard work only ended up in tighter schedule and more demanding quotas that takes further toll on his physical and mental health which caused him to becomes addicted to at first drinking, before an escalation towards Circuit buffers, Circuit boosters and Circuit Speeders to cope with The pressure of cleaning up more and more bodies and maintaining a public Appearance, until his mental programming finally snapped and began ingesting Energon off corpses of The disposed and at first later extended to murder and cannibalization of still living Transformers which were overlooked by functionaries to keep the facade running.

Combiner teams:

Succorbots(pronunciation: Secure-bots<by Autobots and beings leaning towards goodness>/Sucker-bots<by Decepticons and beings leaning towards evil and uncaring>), Autobot search and rescue team similar to Protectobots, combines into Lifeline.

Members:

Speedbump, Leader and surgeon, transforms into an armored command and rescue truck, almost totally blind due to damage of brain module by a gunshot would inflicted by a Decepticon named Tailgater, Pacifist, never carries weapon, can't see beyond arm's length, still actively does search and rescue on battlefield. Torso of Lifeline.

Sundance, Medic, transforms into a UH-60 rescue helicopter, almost got killed by her spark brother before the war and was rescued by Speedbump and became his protege, also studies Psychology in hopes of trying to cure her brother. Left Arm of Lifeline.

Skylift, Transporter and Anesthesist, transforms into a heavy lift tiltrotor, was a Decepticon until the Faction became less about improving The life of The lower caste, The most aggressive of The group, gets a little excited when regular anesthetics fail to knock their lights out sometimes. Right arm of Lifeline and usually pairs with Recoil.

Signal, detector, minesweeper and hazard disposal, transforms into a wheeled ground penetrating radar/mine detector, formerly a treasure hunter who was enthralled by The experience finding life after a major earthquake killed his old partner, left leg of Lifeline, can ne paired with Recoil in vehicle mod.

Biclaw, debris cleaner and hazard disposal expert, transforms into a twin boom excavator with both caterpillar track and retractable legs, former construction, great at digging but still still slightly clumsy at medical, Right leg of Lifeline.

Recoil, Armsbot(arms micron but larger), security, transforms into a automatic incapacitator launcher, appointed by Autobot high command to make sure the team doesn't get killed, pairs with Skylift and can be used as a weapon for Lifeline(although Speedbump would not use it unless the other member insists).

Decapiticon, Decepticon Genocider group, used by Decepticon high command at most dangerous place in order to destroy enemies and hopefully these mentally unstable mechanical monstrosities would die in it too. Combines into Autocide.

Members:

Obsolence/Obselence, leader, triple changer, Empurata Victim, extremely Eugenic supporter, worshipper of powerful beings such as Quintesson; Unicron and Hytherion, wishes to be a Phase sixer or Warrior Elite, turns into an armored Fire truck with a heavy flamethrower and an Ekranoplan with heavy missiles, and The torso of Autocide.

Annihilate, ax/saw crazy helicopter gunship, wears a mask and favorite weapon is his armscon Powersaw. Would Kill anyone that's not his Decapiticon buddies if he pleases, Right arm of Autocide.

Thud, Sociopathic antisocial, turns into a heavy tank, The smartest of The bunch and only isn't The torso because he was beaten into submission by Obsolence, still wants to challenge leadership ever now and then, Right leg of Autocide.

Knackercracker, a lover of fighting unfair, turns into a wheeled MLRS that can sprout wings, Right arm of Autocide. Most normal member of The group, although The standard isn't really high.

Nonclockwise, seeker, transforms into a strike Aircraft, mind filled with contrary thoughts so much that it can only think straight when commiting war crimes. Left leg of Autocide.

Powersaw, Armscon, turns into a large circular saw. An unfortunate steel worker who witnessed his coworkers and friends murdered before being kidnapped and enslaved by The killers when The war broke out, Powersaw has no choice but comply and hope to be out of The misery as soon as possible. Handheld weapon of Annihilate and Autocide.

Clearifycons, Decepticon infiltrators that turns into sanitary related equipments. Combines into Stinkatron.

Members:

Dumpster, Leader, interrogator and intel gatherer, turns into a Dumpster truck and mobile trash crusher, an absolute slob coated in a concoction of blood, energon, tissue fluid and other substances that are absolutely repugnus to enemies, loves to destroy things that are considered beautiful. is The torso, left arm and namesake of Stinkatron.

Sewer, infiltrator and saboteur, turns into a "mobile waste fluid disposal unit", The most miserable being probably ever seen because of The body he was constructed cold in, and uses the negativity to absolutely raise hell to The enemies. Lower left leg of Stinkatron.

Sweepvan, infiltrator and assassin, turns into a streets sweeper truck, has mysophobia, and tries to keep enthusiasm for The job. Left hip and right leg of Stinkatron.

Grassflyer, infiltrator and surveillance, turns into an industrial mower. Often mentally detached from The work of cleaning, Grassflyer would uses circuit buffer(opposite effect to circuit booster) agent to break up The monotony which causes him to pick up other things. Lower left arm of Stinkatron.

Stratum, strategist and scout, turns into a sanitations department patrol station wagon, The smartest of The group who was kidnapped by his Sanitation department colleagues into The Decepticon cause, Stratum is trying to find balance of searching for means of escape and survival. Head and upper right arm of Stinkatron.

#Transformers #transformers design #Transformers Character #original character design #fictional character #original character

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beardedmrbean · 2 months ago

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A female student at a university in Tehran stripped to her underwear in an act of protest after being harassed by campus security officers over her hijab.

Videos circulating widely on social media show the unidentified student sitting outside the campus in her underwear while the security guards surrounded her.

Another video shows her walking around the campus in her bra and knickers while stunned fellow students film her on their mobile phones.

Her act of resistance began after a confrontation inside Azad University’s science and research centre on Saturday, when security forces physically attacked the student because she was not wearing a headscarf.

In response to having her clothes torn, she chose to remove her remaining garments as a protest, according to Iranian student social media news channel, the Amir Kabir newsletter and witnesses who spoke to The Telegraph.

Multiple witnesses confirmed her subsequent detention by the authorities. Video footage showed security officers abducting her from the campus.

Officers forcibly detain student

About 10 security guards were captured on video forcibly bundling the young woman into a vehicle. The footage showed a group of officers overwhelming her before she was detained.

“Oh God, how many of them are attacking just one person?” one onlooker was heard saying. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” another said.

“Around noon, near the entrance of the faculty, I saw a girl being grabbed and forcibly taken by security forces,” one witness told The Telegraph from Tehran.

“She wasn’t wearing a headscarf. Then they reached the security building near the entrance, where a male and a female security guard grabbed her and tried to take her into the office with force.

“She resisted, and her hoodie was torn off her body, it made her very angry and she took off the rest of her clothes.

“She angrily yelled at them and took off her trousers - she sat outside the campus for a few minutes and the officer became more aggressive.

“I couldn’t see much but, a few minutes after she started walking, several plain-clothes officers ambushed her and forced her into a car.”

Student media outlets reported that she suffered injuries during the arrest, including severe head trauma after being struck against a vehicle. Witnesses said traces of blood were visible at the scene.

#Girl of Science and Research

The footage has been widely shared in Iran and the student has already become a powerful symbol of resistance, drawing nationwide attention under the hashtag: “Girl of Science and Research.”

“If courage had a face,” one user posted on X with the girl’s picture. “That brave girl is my leader,” another user wrote.

Amir Mahjoub, the director of public relations at the university, said that she was transferred to a “police station” and claimed that she is under “severe mental stress and suffering from psychological disorders”.

The Farhikhtegan newspaper, affiliated with the university, also claimed, citing “official and unofficial sources” that the student has “severe psychological and mental issues”.

The report added that, after being handed over to the police by university security staff, she has been hospitalised in a psychiatric facility.

Whereabouts and condition unknown

There has been no further information about her whereabouts or condition.

Amnesty International has urged Iranian authorities to release the girl “immediately and unconditionally”.

It is not the first time that officials and media affiliated with the Islamic Republic have accused protesters of “mental disorders” and forcibly placed them in psychiatric institutions. The protest echoes earlier acts of civil disobedience, notably that of Vida Movahed, known as “the Girl of Enghelab Street”.

That show of defiance gained international attention in 2017 when a woman removed her headscarf and held it aloft on the tip of a stick while standing to protest against the mandatory hijab.

Observers have drawn parallels between these demonstrations, viewing them as key moments in Iranian women’s ongoing struggle for personal freedoms.

After the September 2022 death in custody of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini, and the subsequent protests, Iranian universities have also faced heightened repression and intensified control. The protests led to acts of civil disobedience by Iranian women and girls against the mandatory hijab.

New stricter laws

All women in Iran must conceal their hair with a headscarf and wear loose-fitting trousers under their coats while in public but a growing number of Iranian women have appeared in public without head coverings.

Iranian police and security forces have intensified their enforcement of the rules. A new bill making its way through Iran’s parliament is set to harden the regulations governing how women and men can dress in public, but authorities have started enforcing it before its formal approval.

Article 50 of the bill says anyone found “naked, semi-naked, or wearing clothing deemed improper in public” will be immediately arrested and handed over to judicial authorities.

The bill also implements gender segregation across a wide range of settings, including universities, hospitals, educational and administrative centres, parks and tourist sites.

People found in breach of the new rules also face a ban on leaving the country and using social media for a period of six months to two years.

“These girls will one day bring down Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, Iran’s future belongs to free women, not the mullahs,” a Tehran student told The Telegraph.

“She’ll be remembered as a hero by many women,” she said of the girl who protested on Saturday. “After this regime falls, her picture will be everywhere in Iran, like Mahsa Amin’s and many more.”

#nunyas news

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girlactionfigure · 6 months ago

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🔴 SUNDAY - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

❗️TERROR ATTACK - RAMLA.. car ramming attack followed by shooting, 4 hit and injured, 1 critical, 1 serious, 1 moderate, 1 lightly. Terrorist was eliminated. Nir Tzvi junction, next to an IDF base. Police identify the assailant as an East Jerusalem Palestinian (meaning has a residency permit).

❗️STABBER STOPPED - MARAT HAMACHPELA.. soldiers at the Cave of the Patriarchs, Hebron, caught a female suspect with 2 children: the suspect was asked by one of the soldiers to open her case for inspection and in response she refused. Search found a hidden knife. At the time of their arrest, she stated to the forces that she is married to a Hamas activist who is serving a prison sentence in an Israeli prison and her goal was to carry out a stabbing attack.

🔸DEAL NEWS.. Hamas now denies the reports that it has suspended the negotiations. Hamas is under increasing pressure. An assassination resounds at noon with dozens of dead, and Hamas hastens to announce that its door is open.

.. In a conflicting report - Hamas spokesman Jihad Taha: "Negotiations were stopped a few days ago as a result of Israeli intransigence and the insistence on placing new conditions outside of the agreed proposal"

♦️GAZA.. Rafah: forces attacked an anti-tank position, as well as a terrorist squad that posed a threat to them in the area, destroyed a number of underground shafts and terrorist infrastructure. Gaza City: eliminated a number of terrorists during close-range battles, a terrorist squad was detected moving in the area and making an attempt to plant a bomb near the warriors, the forces attacked and eliminated the squad.

♦️MORE IN THE TARGETED ELIMINATION.. The Al-Aqsa Martyrs' Battalions in Gaza officially announced this morning that Izz al-Din Akhila, the commander of the Gaza City Brigade and a member of the General Staff of the Al-Aqsa Martyrs' Battalions in the Gaza Strip, was killed in yesterday’s attack.

▪️PA CALLS ON TERRORISTS TO ENROLL IN SECURITY.. Palestinian Prime Minister Muhammad Moztafa issued a call this week to the terrorists operating in Balata to surrender their weapons and receive a monthly salary from the Palestinian Authority. Any of them who are interested can undergo training and join the security forces of the Palestinian Authority. The terrorist organizations in Balata rejected his proposal.

▪️WATER AND ELECTRIC OUTAGES IN LEBANON.. Water and electricity outages in some of the villages in southern Lebanon following an Israeli attack that hit the "Ein Tanya station" in Marja'ion.

▪️RED ON RED - LEBANON.. A senior Hezbollah leader responsible for one of the districts of Beirut was shot when a local resident was blocked from reaching his home by Hezbollah security - which turned into an armed battle.

▪️PROTEST - FOR WAR WITH HEZBOLLAH.. many protesters demonstrated at the entrance to the government meeting in Jerusalem, opposing an agreement in the north and calling for war against Hezbollah. Evacuees from the north, activists of the "If You Want" movement and the Tikva Forum spoke with a number of ministers who stopped to talk with them, and declared that they will oppose the agreement with Hezbollah, and will push a position that "will lead to a long-term victory in the north and south."

#Israel #October 7 #Hamas Massacre #Israel/HamasWar #Gaza #IDF #BDE #ISRAEL REALTIME #Hezbollah

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ukrfeminism · 2 years ago

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2 minute read

A man who self-identified as a woman in an attempt to justify a sexual assault in a female toilet has been jailed for 16 months.

Ian Bullock attacked a woman as she washed her hands in Birmingham New Street station toilets in March last year.

Bullock, 39, had entered the female toilets wearing a yellow hi-vis vest, which made his victim think he was an employee.

After she left the cubicle, Bullock moved towards her and bent down, before sexually assaulting her, the British Transport Police (BTP) said.

Bullock's victim immediately challenged him after he attacked her, prompting him to leave in silence. He then tried to disguise himself by removing his hi-vis and putting a hat on.

But Bullock's victim quickly alerted police and he was arrested at the scene. He later told police that he was in the toilets at the time because he identified as a female.

Detective Inspector Ian Wright said: "Bullock is a dangerous individual who deliberately changed his clothing that morning in order to loiter in the female toilets undetected and launch this vile, pre-meditated assault on the victim in a space she had every right to feel safe in.

"I would like to commend the bravery of the victim, who faced with an unimaginably awful situation immediately challenged Bullock and reported what had happened to station staff - meaning officers were able to arrive quickly and arrest him at the scene.

"We are absolutely determined to root out sexual offending from the railway network and in this case, Bullock deserves every day of the prison sentence he's been handed.

"If you ever experience or witness such behaviour when travelling, you can text us discreetly on 61016 or call 999 in an emergency."

On top of his 16-month jail sentence, Bullock was made subject to a 10-year sexual harm prevention order and made to sign on to the sex offenders' register for the same period.

As part of the conditions of the order, he is barred from entering or loitering outside female toilets, and wearing any type of high-vis jacket other than for a lawful employment purpose or when required on transport.

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upon-sunflower-trails · 1 year ago

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stone face (ace ventura x reader oneshot)

requested: yep!! heres to you, YourMomIsBlowingMe (i will never get over that username LMFAO) on wattpad

a piece of my heart will always belong to ace, the hyperfixation on both movies (and the cartoon) got me thru some tough times 😭

kinda unhappy with how this turned out but at the same time kinda proud... ironic i suppose! :P

You hated people. Always selfish, and always out to get you.

All your life, you'd worked dead-end jobs. Retail, customer service, fast food, hell, even a pyramid scheme. You did what you could to scrape by.

And then, you finally thought you'd made it big.

There were a few openings at the local sheriff's office- entry-level positions with little to no required previous experience. Nothing life-threatening or hands-on, though. More like taking phone calls and sorting papers.

Of course, you'd brushed off the offerings when you'd first seen them posted. Yeah, sure, wouldn't that be great.

And then you saw the starting wage.

Now, here you were, filing 'important papers' for your local police station. You didn't really care about the contents of the files. You always just had headphones in, listening to Satie, or perhaps Chopin.

Most days were the same. Life was fairly bland, and the one joy of life was dancing around the filing room as you listened to classical music.

Coworkers came and went, and no one dared to bother you while you were on your break. Even your current supervisor (a temporary one at that- a few months before you began working there, a whole lot of corruption and conspiracy had went down, causing the previous supervisor to be jailed) barely spoke to you. You got your work done swiftly and efficiently, and didn't care much for socialization.

All had been relatively normal until he showed up.

You relished the peaceful days at the station. Little to no reports, barely any paperwork to file, and a quiet afternoon in the break room. But it seemed that 'peaceful' day would head in a much different direction.

When a brightly dressed, energetic individual entered the station, you were already thrown off. Boisterous people weren't your kind of crowd.

However, this man was more than just boisterous.

He had announced his arrival quite loudly, to your annoyance. He threw his business cards up in the air, letting the cheap cardstock flutter down to the floor. You couldn't help but wonder if he held a grudge against the janitorial staff.

As you pressed your headphones closer to your ears, hoping to drown out this man's incessant noisemaking, you felt your self-proclaimed safety blanket be snatched away.

"Well, well, what are we listening to?" The man's voice came out in a drawl, surprisingly smooth. You snapped your head up, and the bright figure wore a shit-eating grin as he spun the headphones in his hand before slapping them over his own ears.

"Ah! Variation 5 from Paquita, correct?" he chatted idly, spewing some nonsense fact about the ballet. You glared up at him, grabbing your headphones back quickly as he was distracted by the sound of his own voice.

He shrieked dramatically, placing his hands on his head. "Hey, hey! Watch the 'do, woulda?!" His cries fell upon deaf ears as you adjusted your headphones.

"Don't make a fool of yourself, Ventura! That there's Y/N, they've been here for a few months and don't take shit from nobody!" One of your middle-aged female coworkers cackled at her own description of you, slapping you on the back much harder than you're sure she meant to.

You stumbled forward as a result of her force, your headphones being knocked out of your hands. You cursed under your breath, glaring back up at this 'Ventura' man as you picked your saving grace back up off of the floor.

'Ventura' stuck his hand out, imploring you to shake it. You did so, albeit extremely reluctantly. As his warm hand encased yours, you glowered.

"The name's Ace, Ace Ventura. I'm a... heh, pet detective. And ya see, I'm here to celebrate my three month anniversary of SHOWING UP THIS WHOLE STATION! OH YEAH!" He pulled his hand away to, well, pelvic thrust victoriously. You stifled a laugh at his antics, and your coworker made a strangled noise of shock.

"Well look at that, Ventura! You nearly cracked the stone face!" she joked. Ace tilted his head, staring at you.

"Stone face? What are you talking about, Montoya?" he inquired. You clenched your jaw, attempting to walk off. However, Montoya held you in a vice grip.

"Well, Y/N here hasn't cracked even a smile since they first started working here. Matter of fact, me and the guys were startin' to think it was impossible for them to show an emotion other than apathy!" she hollered, her dry fits of laughter becoming slightly grating to your ears.

Montoya was one of the few coworkers you could tolerate. She was motherly, but in a rough way. She gave off a tough-love vibe, the kind of woman to noogie you and smack you if she caught you underage drinking. Sometimes, though, she still got on your nerves.

Ace smirked slightly, and you grew even more irritated. "That so?" he teased. "Well, I bet I can get 'em to laugh by the end of the year, Montoya!" She stuck out her hand, and as they shook, they announced in unison, 'deal!'.

You threw your arms up in defeat, groaning. "Maybe your deal should be to see who can stop talking about me as if I'm not even here by the end of the week!" you cried. Slipping your headphones back on, you walked back to your filing room.

Finally, peace and quiet.

You hated Ace Ventura most of all. Out of every person you'd ever met, you were sure you despised him the most.

Your once-quiet and enjoyable breaks were now interrupted by your headphones being taken suddenly and a familiar voice sounding out from behind you, an irritating 'guess who?' leaving his lips.

You would immediately stumble to get your music back desperately, and each time he would name exactly the song you were listening to.

At this point, you were honestly surprised. Who knew such a foolish, idiotic man had such knowledge on works featured mainly in ballets?

And then, one day, he had caught you dancing along as you did your work.

You had never prided yourself in your dancing, but you had endlessly studied certain ballets for years on end. Call it a hobby or an obsession- either way, it was what got you by.

You were shocked when a pair of arms wrapped around you, lifting you up at the exact moment you had planned to check if the door was still closed.

"Guess who, sugarplum?" he sang cheekily, spinning you around slightly. You screamed, unable to control your sudden outburst of giggles.

"Hey, please, put me down!" you shrieked, still laughing as he held you close. You tried to ignore the way your body temperature rose at his proximity to you, and the way his arms were wrapped around you...

His voice was unnaturally low now as he muttered, "Told ya I could make you laugh." You furrowed your brow, annoyed once again.

"Go back to whatever it was you were doing, Ace! Tell Montoya about your little bet, and that you won, alright? But leave me out of this shit," you sneered. As you continued your work, you could tell Ace hadn't moved from where he stood. He stood there, still watching you, unmoving.

"What? Go on, you won your deal! Now go."

"That was the first time you said my name," Ace cooed, a stupid smile making its way onto his face. You rolled your eyes, turning away again.

"I like it when you say it. It's a lot better than the other names you call me," he joked. You cracked a smirk at his words.

"What? You mean shithead, bitchboy, and bastard aren't endearing enough for you?" you teased, and Ace let out a laugh.

You sighed once again, trying to push down the feelings that arose over his laugh. "Just... go now, please."

You would never admit that you had wished he would've stayed.

The station's New Year's party wasn't an event you had been chomping at the bit to attend. However, with incessant urging from Montoya and Ace, you resigned yourself to a night of observing drunken buffoons.

The partying never seemed to take a break. Montoya was already shitfaced by the time you got there, while you couldn't seem to find Ace anywhere.

"H-hey, Y/N!" Montoya stuttered out, her words slurring together. She leaned on you for support, despite your body nearly being crushed by the woman's much more muscular frame.

You coughed- her breath reeked of alcohol. "Jesus, how much did you have to drink?" The woman simply cackled at your words, grabbing a random solo cup from a nearby table.

"Oh, please Y/N! My fun has just begun!" She downed yet another swig of beer- or was it whiskey? You weren't sure what this party had to offer- before growing closer to you once again. "I'm surprised, Ventura said he couldn't get you to crack even the slightest smile. And now, here we are, end of the year. I guess he'll be losing!"

Your breath stopped momentarily, the shock seeping in. "A-Ace said that?"

He didn't tell her that he won their stupid little game? I guess he's... a little more mature than I gave him credit for?

Your train of thought was disrupted by Montoya's drunken squealing.

"I did it! Ha! You cracked a smile, I WIN! I'm gonna go tell that cocky Ventura right now! He's going to piss himself, hell yeah!"

You watched as Montoya slugged away, a small smile still on your face. You covered your mouth quickly, not wanting to draw anymore attention to yourself.

"How's it goin', sugarplum?" Ace purred, sliding into the space beside you. You turned away from him, desperate to hide your grin and the heat rushing to your face.

"A-Ace, I haven't, um... I didn't, oh, um..." Your words caught in your throat, and you had to stop yourself from burying your face in his chest that instant. He slowly moved your hand away, letting out a dramatic gasp as he witnessed your smile.

"Y/N L/N, smiling?! This isn't normal, you need to see a doctor this instant!" he shouted. Luckily, with the rest of the party noise, his showing off was drowned out. He pressed a hand to your face, pretending to be feeling for your temperature.

"Oh, my!" he exclaimed, a girl-ish Southern drawl being added into his eccentric speech as he continued, "Looks like you've caught yourself a fever right there!"

You ducked away, trying not to laugh. "Ace, enough! Now, being serious. You didn't tell Montoya about how you won your stupid deal?" you inquired. Ace sucked in a breath through his teeth, placing his hands on his hips.

"Well darlin', what can I say? My reward was just getting to see you happy," he teased, cupping your face gently. You felt like your eyes were going to bulge out of your skull as he leaned in.

Your moment, however, was interrupted by a victorious Montoya.

"Guess what, Ventura! I did it! I cracked that stone face like an egg, I'll tell ya! So you lost, and I won! Suck on that, pet boy!" she screamed, throwing her arms up (and subsequently sloshing the mysterious alcoholic beverage in her cup around haphazardly).

Ace chuckled, bringing you in closer to his side with an arm wrapped around your waist. "What can I say, Montoya. You won! But as you'll soon come to find, I've won a bigger prize," he said smoothly, fingergunning at the woman. In her buzzed stupor, she just shrugged and walked away.

You turned to face him, an unimpressed look on your face.

"Really? Now that was cheesy. What's next, you're gonna kiss me as the new year rings in?" you teased, pursing your lips.

Ace let out a fake laugh, pulling you in flush to his body. You looked away instinctively as he leaned in close, whispering to you as he had the day he won that foolish game.

"On the contrary, my dear, I've never been a man who likes to wait."

#ace ventura x reader #ace ventura #ace ventura pet detective #gender neutral reader #x reader #clarice fic #gn reader #reader insert #ace x reader

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