#Crossfire Hurricane

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

102 pieces of paper

[gettothestabbing]

“Upon receipt of unevaluated intelligence information from Australia, the FBI swiftly opened the Crossfire Hurricane investigation. In particular, at the direction of Deputy Director Andrew McCabe, Deputy Assistant Director for Counterintelligence Peter Strzok opened Crossfire Hurricane immediately. Strzok, at a minimum, had pronounced hostile feelings toward Trump.”

“The matter was opened as a full investigation without ever having spoken to the persons who provided the information. Further, the FBI did so without (i) any significant review of its own intelligence databases, (ii) collection and examination of any relevant intelligence from other U.S. intelligence entities, (iii) interviews of witnesses essential to understand the raw information it had received or (iv) using any of the standard analytical tools typicallv employed by the FBI in evaluating raw intelligence,” the report concluded.

“Had it done so … the FBI would have learned that their own experienced Russia analysts had no information about Trump being involved with Russian leadership officials, nor were others in sensitive positions at the CIA, the NSA, and the Department of State aware of such evidence concerning the subject. In addition, FBI records prepared by Strzok in February and March 2017 show that at the time of the opening of Crossfire Hurricane, the FBI had no information in its holdings indicating that at any time during the campaign anyone in the Trump campaign had been in contact with any Russian intelligence officials,” it said.

“In the eighteen months leading up to the 2016 election, the FBI was required to deal with a number of proposed investigations that had the potential of affecting the election. In each of those instances, the FBI moved with considerable caution. In one such matter… FBI Headquarters and Department officials required defensive briefings to be provided to Clinton and other officials or candidates who appeared to be the targets of foreign interference,” it said. “In another, the FBI elected to end an investigation after one of its longtime and valuable CHSs went beyond what was authorized and made an improper and possibly illegal financial contribution to the Clinton campaign on behalf of a foreign entity as a precursor to a much larger donation being contemplated.”

“And in a third, the Clinton Foundation matter, both senior FBI and Department officials placed restrictions on how those matters were to be handled such that essentially no investigative activities occurred for months leading up to the election. These examples are also markedly different from the FBI’s actions with respect to other highly significant intelligence it received from a trusted foreign source pointing to a Clinton campaign plan to vilify Trump by tying him to Vladimir Putin so as to divert attention from her own concerns relating to her use of a private email server,” it said.

“Within days after opening Crossfire Hurricane, the FBI opened full investigations on four members of the Trump campaign team: George Papadopoulos, Carter Page, Paul Manafort, and Michael Flynn. No defensive briefing was provided to Trump or anyone in the campaign concerning the information received from Australia that suggested there might be some type of collusion between the Trump campaign and the Russians, either prior to or after these investigations were opened. Instead, the FBI began working on requests for the use of FISA authorities against Page and Papadopoulos.”

“Our investigation determined that the Crossfire Hurricane investigators did not and could not corroborate any of the substantive allegations contained in the Steele reporting. Nor was Steele able to produce corroboration for any of the reported allegations, even after being offered $1 million or more by the FBI for such corroboration.

“The FBI learned that Steele relied primarily on a U.S.-based Russian national, Igor Danchenko, to collect information that ultimately formed the core allegations found in the reports. Specifically, our investigation discovered that Danchenko himself had told another person that he (Danchenko) was responsible for 80% of the ‘intel’ and 50% of the analysis contained in the Steele Dossier.”

“In December 2016, the FBI identified Danchenko as Steele’s primary sub-source. Danchenko agreed to meet with the FBI and, under the protection of an immunity letter… the FBI conducted multiple interviews of Danchenko regarding, among other things, the information he provided to Steele,” it said. “Danchenko was unable to provide any corroborating evidence to support the Steele allegations, and further, described his interactions with his sub-sources as ‘rumor and speculation’ and conversations of a casual nature. Significant parts of what Danchenko told the FBI were inconsistent with what Steele told the FBI during his prior interviews in October 2016 and September 2017. At no time, however, was the FISC informed of these inconsistencies. Moreover, notwithstanding the repeated assertions in the Page FISA applications that Steele’s primary sub-source was based in Russia, Danchenko for many years had lived in the Washington, D.C. area.”

“The FBI knew in January 2017 that Danchenko had been the subject of an FBI counterintelligence investigation from 2009 to 2011. In late 2008, while Danchenko was employed by the Brookings Institution, he engaged two fellow employees about whether one of the employees might be willing or able in the future to provide classified information in exchange for money. According to one employee, Danchenko believed that he (the employee might be following a mentor into the incoming Obama administration and have access to classified information. During this exchange, Danchenko informed the employee that he had access to people who were willing to pay for classified information.”

“The FBI converted its investigation into a full investigation after learning that Danchenko (i) had been identified as an associate of two FBI counterintelligence subjects and (ii) had previous contact with the Russian Embassy and known Russian intelligence officers… at that earlier time, Agents had interviewed several former colleagues of Danchenko who raised concerns about Danchenko’s potential involvement with Russian intelligence. For example, one such colleague, who had interned at a U.S. intelligence agency, informed the Office that Danchenko frequently inquired about that person’s knowledge of a specific Russian military matter.”

You can read the report here.

[tachyonblu]

Had an interesting discussion with Rob Noerr last night. It began as an interview about my research into GamerGate, but gradually transformed into an impromptu debate about January 6th and Trump. “We’re not going back GamerGate are we?”

[jojossillywalk]

this guy has been running around europe by himself with nothing but a gym bag for 3 entire years :) methinks that he is structurally a man and functionally an unrelenting species of weed.

[only-lonely-www]

Let them do Crossfire.

[goodspiritsnewsat]

GSN Review: Crossfire Hurricane Rum

The Rolling Stones recently introduced their very own signature rum “Crossfire Hurricane,” inspired by the opening lyric of their hit song “Jumpin’ Jack Flash.” This endeavor comes on the heels of their global album launch in Times Square, where they announced ‘Hackney Diamonds,’ their first studio album in 18 years, to critical acclaim. The Stones’ love affair with rum began in the ’70s while…

[the-eternal-quest-for-balance]

I'm seriously fed up with the people who can only regurgitate Democrat Propaganda. It's like saying the Steele Dossier was factual, that Russian Collusion was accurate. Well, fact based deniers, here's a little information to chew on. Not that facts, truth, honesty, integrity, or anything like that matters to any of you.

A senate report, a CNN source ( if you can believe that ) and an article from the Hill.

President Donald Trump's Presidential Campaign WAS SPIED ON.

Obamas DOJ and buddies in the FBI wiretapped Trump and his campaign.

There will never be enough facts to sway the blind sycophants of the Left.

May God have mercy on their souls.

[ceoofyearning]

I only pray, don’t fall away from me

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: The world feels like it’s falling apart around you, but Azriel finally comes home and helps you hold all the pieces together.

Tags/Warnings: Hurt and Comfort, depressive themes & thoughts, anxiety, nightmares, mentions of a minor character death (not the mc/reader) || please mind the tags.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: this week was though so here’s a bit of a hurt & comfort fic; hope your days are kind to you guys xoxo

Links: Fic Masterlist | My Art

You’re so damn tired.

The last few weeks have been difficult, to say the least. The healing house has been filled to the brim with the wounded and sick. Altercations with Beron’s soldiers by the border have been increasing at an alarming rate, while countless spies from the continent have been winnowed in after being caught by Koschei’s contingent forces. You can’t even begin to imagine the state of the civilians that might’ve been caught in the crossfire. 

There is tension in the air with the threat of the inevitable war looming on the horizon. It doesn’t help that the winter chill, in all of its foreboding fury, has come to ravage the lands and its people. You love your work as a healer, you really do. Some days, the thought of the good you do, the people you help, is enough to keep you going. But too often, it feels like a thankless job that leaves you drained to the core. 

In your free time, you’ve been parsing through ancient texts in search of information on Death Gods and anything that could be used against Koschei. His looming threat is a cloud of dread that hangs over everyone, especially Rhys. The least you could do is to help carry the burden. It’s not like you could sleep, anyway. These days it is as though your mind adamantly refuses to let you rest. At the very least, the task keeps you distracted when you’re stuck alone in your apartment. 

Ever since Azriel had been sent to the continent for a reconnaissance mission nearly a month ago, the apartment you share has started to feel a little too big, too desolate. Before you knew it, the white walls had been transmuted from your home into what felt like the bars of a cage. 

The two of you haven't been apart for so long since the mating bond snapped. You didn’t think you'd feel his absence as acutely as you did, but it felt like the loss of a limb where the wound refused to heal and you were already bleeding out. His part of the bond is blacked out completely, a devouring void where Azriel’s comforting presence should have been. It’s for your own safety, he said. But you can’t help it. You’re plagued with worry, with imagined hurts and tragedies, amplifying the brewing conflict in your mind. 

It is easier to catch yourself when Azriel is near. When the thoughts begin to swirl like a hurricane around you - winds whipping, oceans rising - it feels like Azriel’s arms are the only safe harbor you can rely on. But Azriel isn’t here now. 

What frustrates you most is that you’ve been better recently. You’ve been good. You ate your meals, slept reasonably, even had a goddamned routine set up. You guzzled down your tonics in hopes of smoothing out the edges of your frayed mind, that perhaps it could lend you some semblance of normalcy. But no. Weeks of being haunted by nightmares, of overextending yourself, of loss and suffering seeping under your skin day by day have taken its toll. 

You are just too damn tired. 

A child died, barely over thirteen years old. She was bastard-born, which meant she had nothing to her name other than the rags on her back and her birthright to suffer generational oppression and cruelty. This is the worst winter the Night Court has had in centuries, and she didn’t even have a decent roof over her head. Needless to say, she hadn’t been in the best health. But despite that, the moment her cycle had come, the men forced her to go through the clipping. In her struggle, the imbeciles accidentally nicked a vital artery. Normally, her Illyrian healing would’ve granted her a strong chance for survival, but she had been so sick, her body weakened by hours spent in the frigid cold. 

By the time you had been summoned to heal her, she no longer had the strength to recover. Numbness washed over you at the image of her unseeing eyes, the same shade as Azriel’s in the right light, trained toward the vast empty sky. You have a feeling it isn’t a sight you’d forget any time soon. 

You don’t know how long it’s been. The room is shrouded with a thick blanket of darkness, the only respite coming from the dwindling candlelight by your bedside. Only silence exists within these four walls, interrupted by the occasional patter of water leaking from the kitchen sink. You burrow deeper into the sheets, inhaling the trace of Azriel’s scent that still lingered like it would somehow quell this ache inside you. 

Despite spending most of the day bedbound, you’ve barely had any sleep. There is no respite to be found in the dreaming, only nightmares lying in wait. It seems your mind has a knack of bringing your worst fears. Azriel bruised, bloodied and utterly alone, lost, somewhere in the vastness of the continent, hazel eyes - his, then hers, then his again - glazing over, crimson seeping into the arid ground below. 

For the last few weeks, you’ve gathered your grief and worry like rocks to wear around your neck. Your body is heavy, the phantom weight sinking and settling within the marrow of your bones, refusing to leave. It feels like you could stay in this bed forever until you dissipate into nothing but sand, smoke and thought.

You managed to send out a request for the texts Rhys needed translated, but not much else. You’re thankful he directly portalled them on your worktable because you don’t think you could brave the journey to the library today. You don’t think you could do much of anything today, in all honesty. 

So there you lay, bundled up in a collection of blankets, at least three inches of cotton and down that never seem enough to warm you. A book rests in your hands, yet your eyes remain unfocused, not truly seeing the words.

You run your thumb over the crisp paper, knowledge older than you, older than this city and yet you couldn't even bring yourself to focus long enough to dissect their true meaning. Your will is liquid in your hands, slipping through the cracks in between your fingers. Accidentally, you tug too hard on a page and it tears easily beneath your touch. If you had your wits about you, you would’ve been horrified by what you’ve just done. But as you are now, it is difficult to care. 

That’s what you feel like at this moment, you realize. These past few weeks have left you feeling spent, worn out, paper thin. Absently, you stretch out your hand towards the candlelight, close enough to feel the warmth lick against your cool skin. The flame casts a brilliant silhouette around your shadowed hand. It’s a wonder why golden light doesn’t seep right through. 

That’s how Azriel finds you.

The front door of your apartment creeks open, letting in a flood of muted morning light. Your first instinct is to retreat beneath the covers to shield yourself. Azriel calls your name in the silence, worry permeating each syllable. No doubt, he is cataloging the mess your shared space had become in your unintentional neglect. 

You say nothing, wondering if you could just close your eyes and pretend to be asleep, anything to escape his scrutiny. A breath of relief escapes him when he finds you in bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he sits beside you. 

The urge to curl tighter around yourself is strong. But he repeats your name and, as though he had cast a spell, you unspool before him, your muscles unwinding, one fiber at a time. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks, voice painfully soft.

“Okay,” you croak out from beneath the blankets. 

Azriel gradually draws the sheets away from your body, giving you ample time to protest if you’d like. Then, he rests his hand on your shoulder. Unbidden, a shiver runs down your spine, followed by a stuttered breath. You don’t realize how much you missed his touch until his textured hand begins its soothing path up and down your back, his heat sinking into your skin. 

Shame washes over you despite the bone-deep comfort you find upon his gentle ministrations. You don’t want him to see you this way. Azriel deserves better, the voices in your head insist. He deserves a mate whose mind does not devour itself at every given opportunity, a mate who does not quake beneath the weight of the world and the idea of their own immortal existence.

As though detecting your train of thought, his shadows leave their preferred perch on his shoulders to pool around you instead. Tendrils of darkness brush away the tears on your face, while some thread through your hair like a gentle breeze. 

On the other hand, Azriel urges you to rest your head on his lap. He begins to run his hand through your hair, uncaring of how greasy and tangled it has become. Eventually, his voice pierces the silence, injecting warmth into the distance between you. He hums a tune you do not recognize, but you can't help but cling to each winding note like a lifeline. Azriel has always had a beautiful voice - depthless, silken and soothing. It feels like a privilege to hear the song that he normally reserves for his shadows.

You must’ve been a pitiful sight to behold, and yet Azriel never looks at you like you are. He always treats you like something to cherish, something to love, like you’re someone he’s spent lifetimes desperately waiting for and you’ve been entirely worth the wait. A traitorous part of you feels like you’ll never deserve it, this love.

Azriel must sense the hurricane of emotions waging a one-sided war in your head, despite the mental shields you adamantly keep up. But he doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t brush off your worry with empty words and false promises. Instead, he simply says, “I love you.” 

He speaks it as though it is a fact like one would say that the sky is blue, and the grass is green, and the world would keep on turning in peteruity, orbiting the sun the same way you’ll continue to orbit around each other. His chapped lips ghost over your temple, murmuring your name like a plea, a prayer. 

“More than anything in this world,” he adds as he pulls you into his embrace. 

Your body is pliant for him, arms winding around his neck like that is where they’re meant to be. His arms wrap around your waist to hold you impossibly closer. Webbed wings stretch to curl around the two of you, creating a cocoon of darkness that keeps the rest of the world at bay. With your head resting on his chest, you could hear his heartbeat thudding in chorus with yours. 

“I love you too,” you reply after a long stretch of silence. “But sometimes I wish you could’ve had a better mate.” 

“There is no one better,” Azriel insists. “There is only you, my love; through light, through darkness, through whichever end. Only you.” And you feel the truth of his words as surely as the twinned beating of your hearts. Sometimes it’s hard to convince your traitorous mind that you could have this, that someone could love you so deeply despite having seen you at your worst. Azriel presses another kiss against your cheek, and despite yourself, you begin to believe his words.

You don’t know how long Azriel holds you like that, but it finally feels like a stretch of eternity you could bear.

“What can I do to help, love?” Azriel prompts, cupping your face in the cradle of his scarred palms - their texture, a familiar comfort. 

You turn over his question in your head for a few moments, savoring his scent, the sensation of his skin against your own. A part of you is tempted to ask him to lay beside you for the rest of the day, for a week, for an entire lifetime. You know Azriel would if you asked it of him. But beyond this room, the world continues its elliptical path around the sun and time still ticks on regardless of how disconnected you feel from your own reality. 

“A bath,” is all you manage to say.

Azriel nods, before reluctantly peeling himself from you. “Have you eaten?” 

“‘M not hungry,” you mumble as you sink back into the sheets, sighing as the comforter swallows you up. In truth, you can’t remember when your last meal had been. Hunger didn’t seem so pressing in the last few days.

“That’s not what I asked.” Azriel’s tone leaves no room for argument or negotiation. 

“No,” you finally answer, although with much trepidation. “Not yet.” 

He hums, clearly displeased, but says nothing else. You can already imagine the frown that must be stretching across his face. But it seems Azriel’s presence alone is enough to quieten your mind, at least for now. You must’ve been dead tired because it doesn’t take long for the rhythmic sound of Azriel's familiar footfalls to lull you into dreamless sleep.

"Love," Azriel whispers, his hand hovering over your shoulder, rousing you from your shallow slumber. You blink languidly until molten eyes come into focus. The candlelight flickers, and shadows dance across his face. Azriel’s normally sharp features are softened by the tenderness in his expression. You’ll never tire of waking to the sight of him. 

With a groan, you half-roll half-stumble out of bed. Azriel stays an arm’s length away in case you need him, but he’s careful not to crowd you. His shadows have no such reservations, however. The dark tendrils fretfully twine around your arms, making you smile. You thank them quietly, and for a moment, they seem to dance with delight. Regardless of your initial unsteadiness, you manage to pad all the way to the bathroom.

Upon crossing the threshold, the sweet scent of jasmine immediately overtakes your senses. The tub has already been filled up, steam rising from the sun-covered surface. You begin to unbutton your tunic, clumsy fingers tumbling through your first few attempts. Azriel steadies your hands with his firm grip, his shadows gently circling your wrists. 

“May I?” He asks, gesturing to your tunic, and you nod, not wanting to think anymore. His movements are precise, almost clinical, while he undoes the first five buttons, before bunching the garment in his hands and pulling it over your head entirely. Your skin breaks out in gooseflesh once exposed to the cold air. Azriel is careful to keep his gaze on your face, even as you step out of your undergarments. 

Azriel only betrays his composure when he traces your cheekbone, like he can’t quite help himself. From this distance, you have to crane your neck to look up at him. For a moment, the two of you only stare at each other. The bond glows bright between you, the golden thread gleaming as though it hadn't spent the last few weeks completely stretched thin. 

But then, Azriel withdraws, tilting his head to the steaming tub. Obediently, you step into the water’s warm embrace, the heat nearly stinging your skin. Logically, however, you know it’s only because you’ve allowed yourself to stay in the cold for too long. 

A relieved sigh escapes you as you sink further into the tub. One of his shadows rushes to pillow your heavy head as it rests on the tub’s rim. You thank the sweet little thing, and swirls of black sway back and forth like a dog wagging its tail. Meanwhile, Azriel takes his place by the head of the tub, sitting back on his heels. 

“I’d like to wash your hair,” he says and you're touched by the earnest quality his voice takes. 

“Okay,” you breathe. You’ve never been good at denying Azriel anything, nor did you want to. The more the ice beneath your skin thaws, the more you find that you want him near. 

Azriel begins by running his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp as he pours warm water over your head. With a pop of a bottle, the floral scent of shampoo fills the air. He lathers the substance on your head, his touch tender even as his fingers work through the knots in the strands, untangling them with care. 

After a while, he rinses off the suds and coats his hands with oil. He begins combing his fingers through your hair, starting from the ends and working his way up. The rhythmic motion of his fingers is calming as he draws circles against your scalp. You find yourself melting into the moment, feeling utterly content for the first time in what feels like a very long time. 

Once done, Azriel grabs a small towel and asks, “Do you want help washing?”

You shake your head, wanting to do this for yourself, at least. Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he spares you a soft smile. With that, Azriel leaves the towel by the tub and politely excuses himself from the room. With the door left slightly ajar, you could still hear him move around the apartment followed by the lyrical clinking of silverware against ceramic.

It takes you a few minutes to gather the energy to lather yourself with soap, and a few more to finally rise from the bath. But once the grime is off your skin, you feel a bit of the weight wash off with it too. You feel a bit more like yourself.

After drying off, you tug on the silk robe Azriel has left for you, securing it loosely around your waist. Upon exiting, you spy him by the dining table, scooping a generous serving of soup into a bowl. The mouthwatering aroma of rich broth wafts through the room, and you realize just how hungry you are when your stomach growls in protest. You approach him from behind, making sure that each step is audible.

Azriel continues to set up the table, but you can tell he’s aware of your presence from the way his shoulders seem to relax. The sudden urge to have him close is palpable, an instinct so deeply ingrained into your being. So,  gradually, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face on his back. You take a deep inhale, breathing him in - a lungful of moontime mist and cedarwood smoke. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” you murmur against Azriel’s back, your voice muffled by his shirt. 

“I’m glad to be home,” he whispers. His hands abandon their task in favor of twining his fingers with your own. 

Azriel turns to face you and holds your face in his hands. Beneath the swathes of sunlight, his eyes are alight with golden flame, flecks of green scattered over his irises like an afterthought. There is nothing but love in his gaze, nothing but acceptance. 

“Thank you,” you say, tilting your head so the words could kiss his lips, not quite touching but close. “For being here, for loving me, for choosing me, everyday.” 

“I will always choose you,” he vows, before planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Today,” another peck on the tip of your nose; “Tomorrow,” one more on your cheek; “And all the days after,” he finishes with a chaste caress on your lips.

Then, he rests his forehead on yours, your bodies slotted against each other like a lock and its predestined key. In Azriel’s presence, you find it easier to breathe, easier to simply be. For the first time in a long time, your mind is clear and your heart beats in a calm, languid pace that matches his own.

“I’d like to kiss you,” you request, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. Azriel’s gaze is searching, scouring for any hint of anything short of absolute certainty. Perhaps you should tell him that in this world of constant change and chaos, he’s the only one you’re certain of.

Azriel must be satisfied with what he finds written across your features because he replies, “So kiss me then,” the ghost of a smirk playing across his lips.

You’re surprised to find that it’s easy to return the playful expression. Your rise to the tips of your toes while your fingers thread through his raven black hair. When your lips touch, it is as though the world breathes a sigh of relief. Reality realigns and everything outside the two of you and your shared breaths turns inconsequential. He moves against you with practiced ease, like the natural ebb and flow of the tide.

An eternity of this, you think, doesn’t seem so daunting after all. 

AN: i’m not sure if that was too much but thank you for reading 💙 As always, i’d love to hear everyone’s thoughts

English isn’t my first language, so if you see any mistakes, please lmk thru dm! 💙

Also, I just wanted to yap about the Az fics im in the process of writing:

1. Vampire!Azriel x Reader (Working tittle: Ashes in my wake)

I just love the idea of cannibalism (or yk, blood drinking) as a metaphor for love in literature so here we are. ( @/annikin-im-panicin this is ur influence) This one is a bit of a dark fic (nothing too crazy tho, I think), so i’m not sure how it’ll be received. But the idea has been haunting me for yonks so I just had to write it.

2. Tattoo Artist!Azriel x Lucien’s Best Friend!Reader (Working tittle: Drink dry the river Lethe)

This one is a multichapter fic (maybe 4-7 chapters, we’ll see) so it might take me a while before I start posting, but i’ve mostly finished writing the first (very smutty) and second (very angsty) chapter. I ‘m not entirely sure what direction to bring this yet but maybe you guys can help me decide?

Unrelated to Az, but i’ve been brainworming a poly dark-ish innocent!reader x Feysand fic, and a slightly less dark and more sappy(?) poly warrior!reader x royal!nessian fic. I’m so excited to start these but my pile of wips is giving me the stink eye 😂

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Obama Indicted Trump 🤔

Pre-Indictment #4 Facelift

Post-Facelift

Speechless. Stunning. SMH

Remember what Hillary Did:

"Russia Russia Russia"

https://twitter.com/KevinTober94/status/1691264994996895744?s=20

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [35] - Confessions

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: A nightclub can be a good place for confessions.

Word Count: 2400

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

You knew Bucky was trying to stay out of your way, you just knew.

Since you had first gotten married, he had never spent the night outside until tonight. When you woke up, the spot next to you was empty, so you huffed out a breath and went to the bathroom to take a shower. After that, you made your way downstairs to feed Alpine but the noise by the door made you turn your head.

Bucky hadn’t seen you just yet -he probably thought you were still asleep- and he made his way upstairs while you tilted your head, crossing your arms but keeping completely quiet in the kitchen. Even if you wanted to go upstairs after him, he didn’t take long, probably just changed his clothes and came back downstairs, stopping in his tracks when he saw you.

“Hey,” you said and he offered you a small smile.

“Hey,” he said, already making his way to the door with you following suit. “I have a meeting, I’ll see you tonight at the—”

“Bucky,” you said, your heartbeat speeding up and he froze by the door, then cleared his throat and turned to you.

“Hm?”

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

You pulled your brows together. “What? The fuck does that mean, no?”

He bit inside his cheek, averting his gaze from you.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said. “You heard what I said, so—”

“So what, we just don’t talk about it?”

Bucky paused for a moment, then nodded his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Charm, I have this meeting—”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“It doesn’t change anything, okay?” he said. “What was I supposed to say? I was an ass to you because I took all my anger at my father and projected it onto you?”

“George never said anything to me,” you mused. “Neither did my father.”

“I doubt he mentioned it to him,” he said. “I mean…at least not until you came back from college.”

“But before that, only to you?”

Bucky pursed his lips together, still unable to look you in the eye and nodded.

“That was still an asshole move,” you pointed out and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, then nodded his head again.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck before his eyes found yours. “I’m sorry Charm. I really am, I was a dick. I never should’ve—that whole bullshit was between my father and me, you didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire. I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me for it, but I’ll try to…make it up to you. I’ll make sure you get that crown.”

You crossed your arms, pursing your lips and Bucky swallowed thickly, then cleared his throat.

“I’m just gonna—” he motioned at the door. “Uh, see you tonight at the club.”

With that, he walked out of the apartment and you leaned your back to the wall with a groan, pressing your palms on your eyes.

 “The club,” you muttered to yourself. “Right. Great.”

                                               *

The whole reason why you were going to the club was because of Rhett. He had mentioned wanting to go out and Clint’s brand-new club sounded perfect for the occasion, and you figured once everyone drank a little, making the deal would be much easier.

“Please tell me it’s a good club,” Rhett said as you both got your coffees and sat down to your table. The café you had picked was right across your father’s skyscraper, your surname shining against it and you heaved a sigh, then leaned back.

“One simple listener would think you don’t trust me, Rhett.”

“I flew here because I trust you,” Rhett reminded you. “Your taste in clubs however…”

“We met at a club, dumbass.”

“I’m still not convinced it was a club of your choosing, but your friends’,” Rhett pointed out, making you scrunch up your nose at him, then lightly kicked his shoe.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What does the rest of Chicago think about you doing business with New York?”

Rhett heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his curls, his rings catching your attention for a moment.

“They don’t necessarily love the idea.”

“None of them?”

“Most of them,” Rhett said. “My father thinks it’s a terrible idea.”

“Ah.”

“Caleb—you met Caleb, he also thinks it’s a bad idea.”

“Caleb is a dick.”

“And Alice and her family as well,” he said and scoffed. “But that one has more to do with you than the business.”

“Did you tell her I’m married to Bucky?”

He hummed. “She knows,” he said. “Still thinks…”

“That you and I are going to sleep together?”

Rhett shot you a small grin. “Yep.”

“I’m not the cheating type.”

“Never thought otherwise,” he said. “One does wonder though…”

You sipped your coffee. “Wonder what?”

“If we broke up for no reason.”

You lowered your coffee cup to give him a reprimanding look.

“There was a reason,” you said. “Business.”

“You don’t think we could’ve made it work?”

“Nope,” you said. “I’m not the type to play the housewife, you know that.”

“I never asked you to do that.”

“But that’s how Chicago works,” you said with a laugh. “And I would never be a mistress either so…”

He opened his mouth to retort but before he could, someone cleared their throat behind you, making both you and Rhett turn your heads and you rolled your eyes when you saw Ian.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I just left your father in his office,” he said. “You’re not gonna go and say hi?”

“Nope, I’m busy with my guest,” you said and motioned between them. “Ian, Rhett. Rhett, this is Ian, my cousin.”

“And her father’s heir,” Ian corrected you, extending his hand and Rhett raised his brows, eyeing his hand before looking up at him with a quizzical glare. You bit back your smile and nodded at Ryan by the door before turning to Ian who lowered his hand.

“Why is an heir who’s not even a firstborn talking to me?” Rhett asked you, completely ignoring Ian and you shrugged, smirking.

“No idea. Ian?”

“I speak for my uncle.”

“I’m not talking to your uncle either, buddy,” Rhett said with a snort. “We’re in the middle of a conversation and you’re interrupting us.”

A look of surprise crossed Ian’s features before he threw his shoulders back.

“Mr. Davis, if we’re going to do business, it is important that you respect me, if my uncle hears—”

“Oh we seem to have some miscommunication here,” Rhett said. “I’m not doing business with you, or your uncle. Go tell your uncle the only person who I’ll speak to in terms of business is his daughter, and that I don’t appreciate being put in a situation where I have to talk to a second-choice heir who doesn’t even deserve a title that moves through family.”

You pursed your lips together to hold back your laughter as Ian gritted his teeth.

“I’m his nephew.”

“Not his firstborn,” Rhett stated. “Not even his spare. Back in Chicago heirs have to prove their worth, and nothing I heard about you is worth anything, Ian. So why don’t you go back to your kids table and leave the grownups to have actual conversation about business? Because unlike you, your cousin here knows what she’s talking about.”

Ian looked like he was considering saying something and Rhett tilted his head, smirking as if daring him. Ian lingered there for a moment before throwing you a glare, then scoffed.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said and stormed out of the café while you let out a giggle.

“Aw,” you mocked him. “I think you hurt your feelings.”

“Someone had to, you guys are being too soft on heirs here,” Rhett pointed out, making you laugh. “Anyway, we were saying?”

                                                 *

Clint really did have a good taste in clubs.

A couple of years earlier, you would be dancing on the dancefloor and drinking to your heart’s desire. Your father’s notorious name always worked in your favor in the city, and clubs weren’t an exception to that. With a wave of your hand, your bodyguards, -or Bucky’s, Steve’s or Sam’s- would be dragging anyone who bothered you or Becca outside, but now that you came to the clubs only to make deals, you didn’t dance or drink too much.

Rhett seemed to be in a good mood along with everyone else as he laughed at something Steve said, then sipped his whiskey while Bucky had his arm thrown over the back of the sofa you both were sitting on, and as much as you wanted to keep your conversation from earlier going, you knew you couldn’t in front of Rhett.

“So yeah he turns to me and says, ‘Chicago will not like this’ and I’m like, ‘Motherfucker I am Chicago!’” Rhett said, letting out a laugh. “Apparently this guy he was working with, he didn’t even tell him my name, just sent him there.”

“No way.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Which wasn’t even the first time someone within my father’s ranks tried to kill me.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Even family, once.”

“How did you get out of that?”

Rhett smiled and nodded in your direction. “You’re looking at my guardian angel there.”

Bucky raised his brows. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s a long story,” you said. “And I barely did anything.”

“No no, she had the opportunity to actually cross me after she dumped me,” Rhett said. “But she didn’t.”

“Yeah well…” you said, leaning your head to Bucky’s shoulder. “I just don’t like traitors.”

“No, loyalty is—” Rhett motioned at you. “Her loyalty is something else. So you might be the luckiest man I’ve ever met, Barnes.”

You let out a laugh while Sam tilted his head and Steve stole a look at Bucky whose jaw clenched.

“Oh he knows,” you said, squeezing Bucky’s arm. “I remind him in case he forgets.”

Bucky hummed, pressing a kiss on top of your head, nuzzling into your hair and making your heart skip a happy beat even if you knew it was for show.

“And you don’t have to look so tense man,” Rhett said with a grin. “She rejected me earlier, so…”

Your eyes widened as you looked from him to Bucky whose glare turned sharp.

“I have no problem starting a war between Chicago and New York, Rhett,” he said. “Careful now.”

Rhett scoffed a laugh. “Or what?”

“Alright, before anyone says anything they might regret,” you stopped Bucky before he could retort and stood up, tugging Bucky by the hand. “Buck, a word?”

Bucky looked like he would say no, but you led him out of the VIP room to the nearest bathroom, nodding at the girls inside.

“Out,” you said and they scurried out of the bathroom before you slammed the door behind you and turned to Bucky.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Trying really hard not to shoot your ex,” Bucky retorted. “How about you?”

“Bucky…” you said, running a hand over your face. “We are not starting a war between Chicago and New York just because you’re feeling a bit territorial—”

“A bit territorial?” he repeated. “A bit territorial? Charm, the whole reason why that asshole can still talk is because you told me not to shoot him, but if he keeps pushing his luck—”

“That’s a joke!”

“I told you though, didn’t I?” he insisted. “I told you he’s here to…fucking steal you away.”

“The fuck am I, a loaf of bread?” you snapped at him. “This is not Les Mis, no one is stealing me away, do you hear yourself?”

“Do you?” he asked. “What did he mean, you rejecting him earlier?”

You looked up at the ceiling, reminding yourself to be calm.

“He was talking about when we used to date,” you said. “And I said we couldn’t have made it work anyway, that’s it. That’s what he means.”

“But he still hopes for it.”

“We’re married, Buck,” you reminded him, “It may be because of the business, but I’m sure you remember our deal—”

“Yeah, for you maybe.”

You pulled your brows together. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Bucky.”

“It’s business for you, Charm,” Bucky spat. “Which is fine, but don’t stand there and assume that it’s the same for me, okay? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Your frown deepened.

“You married me for business,” you said. “So that I could get to the top, so that Ian wouldn’t break the truce, so that—”

“That’s what you think, huh?” Bucky asked, a dry laugh climbing up his throat and your heartbeat sped up as you stared at him.

“Then why?” you asked back and Bucky licked his lips.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Bucky I’ve had it up here playing this fucked up game with you,” you said, your voice low. “What, you’re pretending to be jealous of Rhett—”

“Pretending?”

“Yeah and you’re bluffing to start a war over some pissing contest—”

“I’m not bluffing.”

“You’ve been avoiding me since we left the therapist’s office—”

“Charm.”

“And I want us to talk but you keep running away from whatever nonsense—”

“I’m in love with you.”

The simple sentence managed to make you stop talking, your eyes snapping up to his as you gawked at him, your mouth half open.

“I married you because I’m in love with you,” he said. “I’m willing to start a war with Chicago, with New York, with your own father, because I’m in love with you.”

Bucky loved you.

He was in love with you.

The happy disbelief pinned you to your spot while the music echoed in the bathroom, and he let out a dry laugh.

“There,” he said. “Now you can reject me and we can just—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence when you snapped out of the haze and turned around to lock the door, then made your way to him to pull him into a kiss, a pleasant warmth spreading from your chest to your whole body. He wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you closer, and you let out a giggle when he pulled back a little to look at you.

“You’re…you’re not rejecting me?”

“Bucky,” you said, grinning wide. “You can be such an idiot sometimes.”

With that, you stood on your tiptoes to kiss him again, a squeal leaving your lips as he lifted you and carried you to the bathroom vanity.

Chapter 36

[jojossillywalk]

the inherent homoeroticism of your rival's ability being fundamentally a hard counter to your ability but you beat them anyway through your utilization of the environment, understanding of tactics, and usage of their own ego against them

[k9punkout]

AND IF I SAID THAT ivan's perception of till's determination and hostility was generally wrong and unintentionally undermining of his actual mental instability. IF I SAID THAT this pov rubbed off on the fandom and plays into several till mischaracterizations. WHAT THEN.

okay so hear me out on this one. ivan's acknowledged that he could never quite understand till like he could all the other children. everyone else fell into a sort of pattern, a puzzle that can be solved with a simple analysis and adapted behavior. everyone except till.

till was no solvable puzzle. all the pieces to him were distorted, broken, missing. a living hurricane, a walking contradiction. he was gentle in his violence, quiet in his loudness, complex in his simplicity. ivan could get no true read on him, and that's why he grew so drawn to him.

and while i do believe that till is just an eccentric and unpredictable person at heart, a large part of his chaotic nature is due to his trauma. his rapid and intense mood swings, his aggressive behavior, his easily overwhelmed mind, his fluctuating ego, and many other aspects to him are all signs of abuse related mental instability. ivan saw all of that, witnessed all the abuse and all its side effects, but it never really struck him that holy shit, this guy needs psychological help.

and it's not like that's HIS fault either. Ivan was never really taught how people work, he learned via absorbing how the other children interacted instead (which isn't really efficient, he's no mind reader or anything). i wouldn't be surprised if he had no clue that mental illness even EXISTED; he always referred to himself and sua as simply "twisted" rather than trying to figure out if they could be helped or fixed, or WHY they stood out from the others.

he never even questioned his own hatred for himself. he simply thought it was reasonable, because of course, who wouldn't hate a monster like him? once someone knows who he is deep down, there is no redeeming quality that he can genuinely exhibit to exonerate himself from his rotten, detached mindset. in his mind, he deserves the isolation.

ivan truly sees himself as the worst person in the world, which makes till, by comparison, simply a confusing kid who isn't scared to fight back. ivan thinks till's willpower stems from great mental strength rather than desperation and fear. this would lead him to both misinterpret till's actions and overestimate his mental strength, all while underestimating how rapidly his sanity is withering.

this is shown quite a few times around the series. in "Confession," he refers to till as the "victim of his shallow emotions," demonizing himself and painting till as his victim. as if till could do no harm. as if till was the ONLY victim here. (i can't stop thinking about how much till would've hated that word. victim.)

in a slightly more elaborate retranslation of Cure that someone on this app did (i tried to find it but i sadly couldn't), the word "scars" ("even if your cruel words carve scars beneath my eyes") was said to be better translated into "scratches." a flesh wound. nothing debilitating, nothing severe, just painful for a while, and then gone. insignificant. the harm he inflicts is insignificant compared to everything else that he is.

i'll stick around, i'll stay, because the bruises we leave on each other are nothing compared to the spark he ignites within me.

till punches and kicks and screams and snarls, and to ivan, it's no problem, just something that makes him unique. he'd do anything to see him fight. so what if he gets caught in the crossfire? so what if he's killed while he's at it? it's all worth it. till could just continue on without him, it'd be so easy. he's strong, he never cared for him all that much anyway.

till is unpredictable, till is unique. it's just the way things work. nothing about it needs to be changed. the destruction he causes to himself and to others doesn't need to be fixed, it's already perfect. he's perfect, in all his imperfections.

THATS where the toxicity lies in ivantill. not because ivan is totally possessive and wants till to belong to him and only him or whatever some of the fandom says. but because ivan so obsessed with till that he'll die for him while calling him his victim. that he'll acknowledge till's hostile behavior and his quickness to rage and violence and consider it something to be loved rather than concerned about or feared. he'll hone in on his own flaws, never acknowledging till's, never seeing how they're destroying EACH OTHER, and exclusively focusing on the harm that HE'S done to till.

it's why ivan was always bothering him. he wanted to see him lose his temper, wanted him to fight and struggle. (more often than not, this was a good thing, as it often happened whenever till was sad/out of it, but just because something's beneficial in the moment doesn't mean it makes for a healthy relationship).

of course, none of this means that ivan DIDNT want till to be happy. he wouldn't have tried to escape with him if that was the case. he liked seeing till angry, but not any more than he hated seeing till miserable. despite not quite understanding him, he still wanted the best for that boy.

i think ivans warped perspective affected the way many people characterize till. a lot of people treat him as a more gentle person than he is in canon, and while it's true that he's mentally weak, he'd never cower in the face of someone stronger than him, like many people seem to think. he's vulnerable in the explosive and reactive sense, not in the powerless and delicate sense.

so far, we've gotten so much of ivans perspective of till that people seem to forget that he literally committed a murder in round 2. and he looked REALLY happy abt that shit. my mans freddy was a father of two and till did NOT care. not to mention that he didn't even spare acorn a GLANCE the entire round.

idk man the guy's a lil cuckoo loca we might need to remember that

[in1-nutshell]

HELLO‼️ I hope you are safe and well with the hurricane and I'm so glad that I'm able to finally send a request so here it is‼️

There's not many rescue bots oneshots and I want to change that, so in Rescue bots theres human skater buddy with their head in the clouds leading them to getting into trouble frequently (like nearly getting hit by a car or just getting into the crossfire of the rescue bots shenanigans) and it's like to a point where the whole when they are out on a mission have to keep a spare eye/optic out for the little human‼️

I hope you'll be able to get to this before it's deleted or whatever, but still, I can't wait to see what you come up with for this concept. Thanks, and have a good day/night‼️

Introducing Danger magnet Buddy! love this concept!

Hope you enjoy!

Human Buddy the skater and a danger magnet

SFW, Platonic, Human Reader

RB

The Burns family had known about Buddy’s little quirks for years.

They were after all good friends with Cody throughout their childhood.

The kid had their head up in the clouds or down with their skates.

Luckily, Cody always seemed to find ways to get them back down to Earth.

Too bad there wasn’t much he could do about their terrible luck with dangerous situations.

They never mean to be in these situations, they just happen when they’re around.

It took a while for the Burns to finally understand it wasn’t their fault.

It was a small island, one was bound to get stuck in the crossfire at some point.

When the Bots arrived, Cody made sure to debrief them a bit about his friend’s tendencies.

Heatwave is convinced that Buddy is doing it for attention.

There is now way someone can be THAT unlucky.

Not even on this island.

Kade and him have little talks about Buddy being a ‘danger magnet.’

Kade: “You think they are doing it for attention?” Heatwave: “Isn’t it obvious? There’s no way they aren’t doing it for any other reason.” Kade chuckles. Kade: “We used to think that too… but after a few years of seeing their little dumb face around, you kinda start believing it.” Heatwave: “What do you mean?” Kade: “There a bit of a danger magnet.” Heatwave: “Why is that a magnet you have!?”

He does start believing the existence of ‘the danger magnet’ after a few missions where Buddy just showed up randomly.

Heatwave hates to see Buddy in the line of fire, especially when they have no control over it.

Always reminds his team to keep an extra optic out for the little skater.

Speaking of skates, Heatwave actually likes seeing Buddy skate around the bunker.

Especially when they show off some of their tricks.

Buddy is a bit oblivious to why Heatwave is so insistent to them staying with Cody on com job.

Chase and Boulder are confused.

Why does Buddy go to these dangerous places?

They aren’t durable enough to be so close to the danger.

Chase has a separate file on all of Buddy’s incidents.

Chief Burns: “Chase? You, okay?” Chase is typing on a data pad. Chase: “I am simply reporting Buddy’s latest incident on today’s rescue. Today they were stuck in the same tree as Mister Pettypaws… I still wonder how they got up there with their skates…” Chief Burns: “Oh, don’t think too hard about that Chase. That’s just how Buddy is.” Chase: “Do they like danger?” Chief Burns: “No, they just have a bad record of being in places at the wrong time.” Chase: “… I can try to clean their record if you allow me access to them.”

Boulder takes a more direct approach and asks Buddy why they keep going towards danger.

Buddy just shrugs and goes back to their skates.

The green mech decides to ask the others about Buddy’s behavior instead.

Boulder: “Is something wrong with them?” Graham: “Nothing’s wrong with them Boulder.” Boulder: “Then how come they always seem to be near our dangerous missions? Even Cody doesn’t do that too often.” Graham: “When you’ve known them as long as we have, you start believing the phrase ‘wrong place and the wrong time.’ We can’t exactly explain it, but the best we can do is look out for them. No one can control what happens outside Boulder.” Boulder: “Hmm… I guess you’re right.” Later… Chase and Boulder look at their creation with pride. Buddy is wrapped head to toe with bubble wrap. Buddy: “How am I gonna skate like this?” Chase: “Sacrifices must be made Buddy.”

The pair find Buddy’s skating to be interesting and a bit relaxing… as long as Buddy has the proper safety equipment on them.

 Buddy doesn’t like the ‘creative’ ways the bots are trying to keep them ‘safe’, but the thought is what counts.

Blades, unlike the others, fully understands the phrase ‘wrong place, wrong time.’

But he also believes an outside force is making Buddy go to these dangerous places.

Already has a bulletin board with the red string trying to figure out what could be making the little skater go to these places.

Blades shows the board to the rest of the bots. Blades: “I’m telling you guys! There’s a connection somewhere!” Heatwave: “… How long have you been working on this?” Blades: “Not important.” Chase: “Blades, is it highly unlikely that something is making Buddy do these things.” Blades: “But if you see what happened last month and 5 months ago—” Boulder: “Blades, when was the last time you recharged?” Blades: “Not important.” Heatwave: “I’m calling Dani.” Blades: "Wait don’t!”

He just doesn’t want Buddy to get hurt by being in places they aren’t supposed to be.

Blades has a separate med kit in his subspace labeled ‘Buddy’s’.

The bot loves Buddy’s skates and has already asked Doc Greene if he could make a pair for him.

Heatwave has tried to stop him from getting these skates too many times to count.

He isn’t known for being the best with balance.

Buddy enjoys Blades making little videos and changing music while they skate around.

[tachyon-at-rest]

Other as in : choose multiple categories (or class 5 hurricane three separate times)

[anexperimentallife]

Male musicians are allowed to explore different characters and imagine experiences in song. Women musicians, with a few rare exceptions, are assumed to write strictly autobiographical songs--especially if they're doing pop or indie-sounding music.

"If she's writing about being sad and broken-hearted, something terrible must have happened to her." Maybe. Or maybe she was just like, hm, I think I'll write a sad song.

Like, I'm pretty sure Mick Jagger knows approximately jack shit about being a "street-fighting man," and that he wasn't "born in a crossfire hurricane." Elton John probably never did the Crocodile Rock with Suzie. I don't think any Beach Boy ever worked on the sloop John B with their grandfather. Freddy Mercury, to the best of my knowledge, never killed a man. David Bowie wasn't an extraterrestrial (okay, that last one might be debatable). And hell, just TRY to keep track of all the characters Bruce Springsteen has portrayed musically.

But I don't see people giving any of them shit for writing songs about experiences other than their own, because everyone understands they're writing from a character's perspective.

When a woman writes a song with a story or a character perspective in it, though, folks assume it either a) happened to her, b) she's trying to claim that it did, and/or c) she really feels that way. And if it DIDN'T happen to her, she's criticized for "pretending to be something she's not."

Wonder why that is.