#having so many thoughts but again i WILL remain optimistic about buck they can’t do it AGAIN (bc i said so)

[ilostyou]

#it HAS to be something with chris bc buck will not be in mortal danger again this quickly i have to believe that

babe, are you forgetting the way they bombed Buck, gave him an embolism, and then dropped him in a tsunami in a span of like, 3 episodes?

i’m not forgetting 😔 i’m just choosing to remain optimistic 😔

[notmrskennedy]

Noticed

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

A/N - Howdy! Here’s another little something from my drafts. It’s a draft and a half again so be gentle with it. Also, I’m touch averse and I would be so happy to find someone I wasn’t upset with touching. But c’est la vie! I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary - The touch averse agent starts getting touchy....

W/C - 2.5k

Warnings - none I think, but lmk if there is something

-------------

If Morgan was being honest with himself, he thought you were dying. Or maybe ill. Or so feverish you’d abandoned every single principle you had. Because he’d been there that first day of yours, waltzing up from the coffee machine to see you nervously trailing behind Hotch. It was painful to watch, he remembers, so terribly nervous you’d envy the kid on one of his bad days.

He had smiled at you and stirred his coffee and remained optimistic that someone so obviously terrified would be a decent field agent. (You’d been decent and then some, especially in an interrogation room). There’d been one non-committal wave—distinctly reminiscent of a certain genius—and the first full sentence of, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t do the touching thing. Handshakes included.”

Every little touch plagues you. You’re six inches away at all times, lest someone accidentally bump into you or get the wrong idea that you might be willing to brush shoulders. There’s no friendly pats. No high fives. Certainly no hugs. Garcia is furious in her attempt to loosen you up—to no avail—but Morgan knows better than to push. Something makes you hate skin to skin contact and he’s not looking to share trauma stories with you. Not yet.

So this, Morgan thinks as he wanders into the bullpen while stirring his coffee, is a sign that you’ve lost your mind.

He watches as you carefully extend one palm to one Dr. Spencer Reid. Perched on the edge of his desk, you’re a regular fixture, just another cute figurine to add to the collection. It’s the end to some wild discussion he could hear in the kitchenette, full of flailing limbs and butchered sentences. Everyone always thought it was cute, if you stripped away how irritating it could be.

This is the point where you two are caught up in whatever moment you’re having, so much so that you extend an upturned palm between the two of you. Reid threads his hands through his hair, stunned at your peace offering. Or maybe an offering of something more than friendship. Morgan assumes its something more; not only because you have the softest grin he’s ever seen, but because your fingers are practically begging the kid to hold your hand.

Reid’s careful in how he asks his question—Morgan doesn’t know what it is, but he can just tell. The wide eyes. The scared contemplation. The are you sure parting the kid’s lips.

Grinning and blushing, you just wiggle your fingers. Murmur something that Morgan isn’t allowed to hear. Something only for Spencer. There’s surprise before he grips onto your hand, wriggling all ten combined fingers together. You giggle as you spin him around in his desk chair and get tangled up.

Dropped jaw and grinning, Morgan can’t believe you, so touch averse you, are willing engaging in such risky behaviour. There’s a weird few moments when he wants to remind both of you to wear protection in such endeavours.

And as he’s wondering if hands need condoms, the two of you let go and move on like nothing’s happened. You go back to punctuating your points with your flailing hands. Spencer goes back to distracting from his blush with paperwork.

Morgan goes to get more coffee, trying to stop imaging that you two were his kids, growing up without his consent. And maybe also the hand condoms.

#

It’s shortly after JJ’s wedding—about midnight as the cleaning crew are picking up the straggling drunks—both Hotch and Rossi notice. They’re leaned up against the bar, each smoking a cigar, watching a slightly tipsy you teach an awkwardly sober Spencer Reid how to swing dance.

It’s no secret that you and Reid get on like a house on fire, two nerds that couldn’t shut up about whatever weird ass shit was on your brains. Rossi never made much move to care. Hotch was too stressed to think about what the pair of you did off company time. Everyone, them included, imagined that what time you did spend together was three feet apart. In museums. Wherever. No one questioned what kind of weird nerd shit you did, especially stuff that they couldn’t really be bothered to care about.

Now, they’re forced to carefully consider the implications of how touchy you’re getting. With Reid.

He’s even more gangly and uncoordinated than normal, as Hotch and Rossi watch on, getting thrown around like a rag doll. It’s kind of adorable, Rossi thinks and shares a well meaning look with Hotch. The two of you would be cute and he’s hoping that you do get together. Rossi always knows about these things, even if Hotch is positive that you two are just friends. And as two professional gentlemen do, they made a bet.

Twenty bucks.

Your laugh—one that no one gets tired of hearing—echoes around Rossi’s whole yard, even into his house. Reid’s voice is about two octaves too high as you spin him around on his wobbly feet. You go from three feet apart to chest to chest and back again. Rossi remembers high school dances vaguely and Hotch absently thinks about Hayley’s old infatuation with Grease.

Rossi takes another long drag from his cigar, grateful for the indisputable proof that you two are shacking up. There is no way that two people so touch averse could be touching this much without prior exposure. The yard is a ruckus of both of your laughters, year after year of awkwardness falling off you both in sheets. They’re no denying you two shut in nerds are finally having some fun.

It’s warming both Hotch and Rossi’s hearts.

And their bet.

#

Penelope notices next. Who knew that such a simple interaction could leave her speechless? Stammering and stuttering over not even a full minute of insanity.

She didn’t know how she’d gotten sick, or what she’d come down with, but the only thing that was keeping her in her work chair was you. And the endless buckets of soup that you kept pouring down her throat. Without a case—thank god—for the last couple days, all that you’ve done is sit in the bat cave, keeping her and her soup warm.

It’s as you are finishing some corny ass joke that she thinks how sweet you are. How loving. Penelope’s love language has always been touch—she’s given too many hugs to count—but it’s taken her a minute to figure out yours. And as she stares into the chicken soup in her hands, she realises that it’s everything you do for her. Your love is literally palpable.

It’s in the bright keychains you bring back. Or the crazy pens. Or the way you always drive her home after drinking.

As she’s opening her mouth to tell you, tell you just how much she appreciates everything, when Reid pops his head in, whole body following. He’s got too much of a grin this early. But when he’s far enough into the room, he spreads his fingers out over your shoulder and squeezes. Says something about a case and you follow behind him with a wave of your hand at Penelope. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like Penelope hasn’t been the one furiously trying to break you out of your shell. The predetermined first to get a hug in the office.

You’re still up and still waving and by the time she’s got her wits about her, she’s asking, “You let Reid touch you?”

The empty room and the closing door don’t answer.

#

JJ is nearly the last to find out. Well, your little touching relationship with Spencer has been the only topic of gossip between anyone for the last six weeks. They can’t believe they hadn’t picked up on the little bits of affection passed between the two of you.

Hand touches. Shoulder squeezes. Quick brushes. The mystical hug Morgan claims he once saw.

For the rest of the world, you and Spencer were nothing but friendly. Maybe even best friendly. To the team of highly trained profilers who had been friends with the pair of you for a combined 15 years, this was marriage material. This was you and Spencer screaming the pair of you had eloped.

You two crazy kids had to be together, but the team was left to sussing it out for themselves. Neither of you two would ever say anything, never give anything up. But surely, the three of them—using Penelope would be cheating of course—could figure out when you two had started up. Because you had to have. There was no way all of this was just friendly.

And it isn’t. That much is clear when JJ gets a phone call from you while she’s looking a crime scene over for what feels like the gazillionth time. Some un-sub with the usual cocktail of daddy issues, anger issues, and a healthy dose of narcissism.

It’s rare you call anyone without good reason. You aren’t the type to just chat—everyone has speculated you got enough of that from Spencer. And once JJ says hello, you start bawling.

You’re sobbing and JJ has no idea what to do.

“Y/n, y/n,” she tries, hoping you’ll calm down enough to breathe properly. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s—it’s Spencer,” you hiccup. JJ can hear you sniffling into your sleeves. Can hear the blinkers go as you change lanes. “He’s not answering—not answering his phone. And he said he’d—that he’d call, but he hasn’t. And JJ something’s wrong.”

By the way your breath hitches and your sobs crackle into the phone, JJ knows exactly how bad it has to be. Spencer, however, is supposed to be following up a lead with Emily. Some paint huffer in his mom’s garage—nothing more than a routine witness report. She almost can’t believe something would go wrong.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“JJ,” you sniffle before the flood gates open again, “I can just feel it. Something’s wrong.”

JJ’s mind scrambles. As much as you played it off, you had a sixth sense. Every time, every countable time, someone got hurt, you knew before it happened. You had a gut for these things and JJ didn’t want to think about how bad this was going to be. How bloody. So she scrambles for her car and doesn’t wait for the other detectives to figure it out.

JJ’s halfway to the witness’s house when you make it there yourself. You’re still on the phone, doing a horrible attempt at trying to keep each other calm. You’ve traded the sobs for hiccups, thankfully. JJ can hear you climbing the porch stairs. She’s taking corners at 65 miles an hour.

Nothing seems fast enough when JJ hears the phone clatter to the floor and the shout of “oh my god, Spencer!”

Nothing is fast enough when you’re sobbing out, “You can’t die on me like this.”

Nothing is fast enough when JJ quietly but distinctly hears, “I love you too much for you to fucking die, Spencer Reid.”

#

Spencer Reid always thinks he’s the last to find out. He’s blunt and oblivious and thinks too much to just see what’s in front of his face. He was so sure they had all seen how in love he was, just how desperately he was clinging to the hope they wouldn’t notice. If they didn’t notice, you wouldn’t. Not while wearing the same sort of blinders he wore.

But once everything had come out? He was positive everyone else had known. That he’d come into work one morning and there would be a cake engraved with the words, “Congrats on Shacking Up!”

It never happened. No cake. No lights. No surprises. No one seemed to know or notice or anything. Spencer and you went on like nothing had changed—it really hadn’t anyway. He liked to laugh when you told him the two of you had been practically dating since the first time he’d offered to take you to a Korean film festival.

Two years later and he’s become very aware of you. And also the ache. All of the very dull and consistent ache in his body. Another scar to add to the collection, he bitterly thinks, out of anaesthesia enough to know that he’s in a hospital. That he’s been hurt. That someone’s holding his hand.

It’s calloused and soft and just perfectly latched onto his. A hand he’d waited to hold for too long. One that he’d be holding for the rest of his life.

Attached to the hand is you, sleeping haphazardly between his bed and a plastic chair. Your fingers are tangled in his, head rested on the crook of your arm and the bed. There’s too much of you curled up in a chair. It’s one of his favourite bits about you, just how dedicated you could be. How you were always there when he woke up and always would be.

He smiles and chuckles despite the pain in his ribs. You wake with a start, one startled gasp followed by a shuddery exhale as you realise again where you are. That nothing’s changed. That everything’s changed.

Through lidded eyes, he watches your eyes light up, matching you grin for grin. He watches the anger flash across your face for not even a second, and he knows exactly how bad you want to murder him for scaring you so bad.

Instead, you press frantic kisses to the back of his knuckles, message fully received. You missed him. You’d been terrified. You’d cried so hard, he can still feel the salt on your lips.

“Spencer,” you breathe, giving his hand one more kiss for good measure and pressing his knuckles to your cheek. “God, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m alive, y/n, I promise,” he whispers back. Hoarse and adorably okay. It’s one thing to expect to get shot going after un-subs. It’s another to get attacked by a PCP addled grandmother.

He wiggles a finger against your cheek. Even though he can’t see your red rimmed eyes or the dark tear tracts on your cheeks, he can feel the tear that pools on his finger. But before he can reassure you one more time, you shush him and tell him to get some sleep and that you’ll both worry about this later. Maybe over jell-o.

He grins.

#

The team, visiting the next morning, doesn’t have the heart to wake up either of you. Reid looks happy for the first time in—years—with you carefully curled into his side. Sure, there’s a scratchy hospital gown and some pesky lines overriding everything, but it’s cute. No denying that. Thank god you two knuckleheads are finally being open about it. Even if you’re sleeping.

Emily smiles to herself as she readjusts her sling. Morgan and JJ are trading exclamations of shock, while Hotch passes Rossi twenty dollars. You readjust and Reid’s arm moves to rest across your cheek. JJ isn’t subtle when she takes a photo, sniggering.

Emily is even less subtle when she snorts. “I guess I can finally let the cat out of the bag.”

Everyone perks up; she swears she sees Reid open an eye.

“Nearly six months ago, y/n drunkenly confessed to dating Reid. She’s a real wild card on tequila, let me tell you.”

“You knew?” Morgan screeches, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Emily shrugs, winces with her busted up shoulder. “Does it matter? Didn’t we all know?”

[tarithenurse]

Stolen - 26

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!gifted!reader Content: A sort of calm before the storm. No proof reading at all. A/N: Hey! So, GISH happened. And I’ve returned to work but under special conditions, thankfully. Also I might be very distracted from this fic due to a new hyper fixation – blame my husband for that! Ask or re-blog for tag.

26. Cupid Carries a Gun

...   Reader    ...

The word pissed does not even begin to describe what you’re feeling but at least you have the satisfaction of the weather matching your anger. Sitting in the queen’s parlour in the middle of the day, it has still been necessary to light candles all around while the dark storm outside pelts the windows with rain. Now and then a flash proceeds a roll of thunder, making you wonder if bad weather in Asgard are just a thing of nature or if it always requires Thor to be busy. Mostly though, you curse Loki.

“Where’s your mind at?” A book taps you lightly on top of your head, calling you back to the present.

“My apologies, your highness,” you mumble. Man, I gotta be such a disappointment right now.

Whatever she might think or not, the woman smiles sweetly as she puts the books and parchments away. “Perchance it would soothe your troubled mind if you told me what is wrong?” She stops your protests with a graceful hand. “What has he done this time?”

“...uhm?”

“My son. Over the years, I’ve had to deal with many whom he’s vexed. Mostly Thor, of course...” For a moment Frigga is the one lost in past events. “So...let me hear it.”

I can really, really NOT tell her that! Heat rises in your cheeks, possibly blocking your airways to prevent any words from escaping. “Nonono, it’s okay! Really! There’s no need -”

“Ah, I see...it’s what he didn’t do...”

I need to change the focus of this conversation! “He uhm he magicked me to sleep!”

A devilish smirk graces the queen’s face. “Do you want to get even or do you want to prevent it from happening again?”

“Both?” If that’s an option.

“Fortunately for you, this distraction is well timed. As you know, none of the lore and theoretical works I’ve procured has been of much use yet, and your description of your gift’s flow has gotten me thinking of the Älfir powers of old. I have managed to find one tome, however the translation is not completed.” She pulls you to your feet, urging you towards the softer seats rather than the desk. “Perhaps, what I will teach you now about Loki is of better use, even.”

... Loki   ...

She should be back by now. The raven-haired man scowls at the setup of the room: everything is perfectly clean, a thick log is burning happily in the fireplace, and a light snack awaits on the little table near [Y/N]’s favourite chair. All that’s missing is...her.

Naturally, Frigga could have chosen to extend the lesson’s time frame or perhaps invite the guest to participate in some social hubbub. Loki would like that. It’s a much more comfortable thought than if the Midgardian has been swept away by the Warriors Three, for instance. Or his brother.

As evening creeps in, it becomes increasingly difficult to remain optimistic. Maybe she has decided to leave on her own accord? The new concern is uncomfortable the way it gnaws at his heart.

Purposely staying out of [Y/N] way, he had observed her discreetly during the morning, praising himself for the sensible decision to do so because the woman was seething with anger and he had no illusions: it was due to his actions. After all, Hel hath no fury like a woman scorn. And so, it’s with a smidgen of anxiety in his guts that he conjures the disguise and sets out to find the stubborn woman in question.

Scurrying along the hidden passages, he asks the few servants he encounters on the way to the queen’s chambers initially before the gardens, the arched balustrade over viewing the courtyard, and eventually the grand hall. That’s where he finally gets a useful reply.

“The lady is at the library,” a maid informs.

Oh, really?

...   Reader   ...

There aren’t a lot of books you can read in the Asgardian palace library but in all honesty, you didn’t end up in one of the plush seats in the corner for the sake of the literature but rather due to the quiet. Frigga has given you a lot to think about on top of a practical assignment.

“A song for light,” you mutter under your breath, staring at your fingers which are doing anything but create a glow, “light...light....”

You’re too caught up to notice a slinking figure watching you through the nearest bookcase. If I were a glow worm, what would I sound like? But the only experience you have with things that both sing and shine is Lumiere and you’re fairly sure belting out “Be Our Guests” won’t do much good in this case.

“Perhaps milady ought to retire for the evening?” a warped voice startles you.

Freaking stealth-god! He might not sport the usual mesmerizingly green eyes, but you know it’s Loki simply due to the way he looks you over. Well, keep looking ‘cause you don’t own me and you can’t order me to do anything. Ha! The silence stretches, and you recognize the beginning ticks revealing the Asgardian’s impatience – no disguise can hide that – and you have to bite back a smile as you turn to look out the tall window again.

“Lady [Y/N],” he tries again, this time stepping over to stand right next to you.

Waving a hand dismissively, you send a thankful thought to Frigga. “Not now, I’ve got some...things on my mind.”

“Allow me to ease the mental burden.” Only a thin veil separates the sarcasm from being too obvious.

The footsteps of someone coming nearer reduces the simmering standoff to silent glares, then a librarian rounds the bookcase and bows discreetly to you, informing that he will take his leave unless you have any requests. Oh, it’s tempting to invent some reason for the man to stay, forcing Loki to keep up the charade, but for the life of you you can’t think of anything and have to watch him walk away.

“Thought you could escape me by coming here, hmm?” the god hisses into your ear.

It sends shivers down your back which you do your best to suppress. “I’m not surprised you don’t know this but I actually like reading. I love books. Perhaps you should have bothered to learn a bit before assuming you’ve got me figured out.”

His eyes gleam and a grin begins to split his face. “Is that so? You presume I do not know you?”

“Fine! What’s my favourite food?” When he doesn’t answer, you power on: “Yours was roasted duck with figs and nuts when you were little. On Alfheim, you seemed to adore the salad with warmed goat cheese and honey.”

“That wasn’t goat cheese.” He doesn’t manage to derail the conversation so he tries with a new tactic, lowering his voice to an obscenely sensual level. “What I do know is how your breathing hitches as I pinch your nipples. It’s no secret to me that your hips would buck if I were to slip my fingers between your soaked folds...and, my pet, even now the scent of your arousal is rising as rapidly as last night.”

“Yet all you do is talk,” you bite back, “empty words but nothing to show for it!”

You know you’ve pushed him past that line the history books and hindsight so clearly shows when his eyes grow dark, emerald and ruby peeping through the illusion. His fingers tangle into your hair while the other hand pulls the glowing cube from the air and the world is obscured by the cloud of magic.

[camillemontespan]

a kingdom divided [part nine] [drake walker x mc]

Part Eight here

In between seeing family and drinking as many Aperol Spritzes as I can, I managed to write the next chapter. Thank you to @ifyouseekheart  for offering her opinion and advice when I was struggling with writing this part.

 @sirbeepsalot   also thank you for the encouragement!

@jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @moonlightgem7 @tacohead13 @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @katedrakeohd @dcbbw @whenyourheartskipsabeat  @drakesensworld

                  ****************************************************

Drake could smell the coconut scent of her hair and taste her watermelon lip balm. The two fragrances mixed together, making him feel as if he was drowning in summer.

Camille let out a groan as his hips ground against hers. Her fingernails dug into his back and her legs were wound tightly around his waist, keeping him close to her. He loved how she felt around him and the noises she was making in pure pleasure.

They had been watching a box set on TV but one thing led to another and soon, their bodies were tangled up together. Their clothes had been discarded on the floor and their hands roamed each others bodies, appreciating the moment.

This was how it should be. No politics, no assassination attempts, no power struggles. Just Drake and Camille being a couple.

Drake pulled her up onto his lap so she straddled him and he leaned forward to take one of her nipples in his mouth. Since she had gotten pregnant, her breasts, which were usually perky anyway, had become fuller. Drake loved seeing the changes. Camille threw her head back as he bucked harder against her. 'Oh god, don't stop, don't stop!' she cried out. She pulled Drake’s mouth to hers and they kissed passionately.  Drake worked her harder, close to the edge himself.

The phone rang.

Drake groaned and glanced at the phone beside them. Camille kept her hips moving. 'Don’t you dare answer that,' she warned. Drake smirked, as whenever she adopted that tone of voice she was more Duchess like than ever.  The phone stopped ringing  and they continued to move as one. 'Drake, you are so good at this..' she breathed into his ear. The phone started up again. Drake sighed and regretfully, he reached out to pick up the receiver. 'We'll continue this in a second,' he promised her. Camille smiled. 'We better.' She continued to grind against him anyway, not caring that he had answered the phone.

'Hello?' Drake spoke into the receiver. His eyes widened and he looked at Camille. She saw the fear in his eyes and stopped grinding. 'We'll be there as soon as possible,' Drake said, his voice shaking. He put down the phone, biting his lip.

'What's wrong?' Camille asked, feeling her heart start to pound in nervousness. Her heart had started to pounded too much lately.

Drake took her hands and looked deep into her brown eyes. 'Please don't freak out.'

'That is a sure fire way to freak me out, what's up Drake?' Her voice was high pitched now. 

When he spoke, it came out in a harsh mumble. 'That was Liam. Bertrand's in hospital. His drink was poisoned at dinner.'

Camille tore herself away from her husband and stood up, pacing the floor. The room felt like it was turning into a blur as tears sprang up in her eyes. 'No,' she whispered. 'No, no, no..' Camille wrung her hands together. Drake stood up and went to her, trying to calm her down. 'Camille-'

'Not Bertrand!' she wailed. Tears fell down her cheeks and her entire body shook. 'He's like my adoptive father, I can't lose him!'

She sank down to the floor with her head in her hands. Drake's heart broke for her. He knelt down. 'Camille, look at me.'

She looked into his eyes, her expression distraught. Drake held onto her tightly. 'He's still alive,' he told her fiercely.

Camille's lip quivered. 'He is?'

'Yes, honey. I’m so sorry, I should have said that first. I’m a fucking idiot. We're going to visit him now. Can you be brave?'

She nodded mutely, clenching his hands. He helped her to her feet and watched her as she started to get dressed. 'It'll be alright,' he assured her.

When they were both dressed, Drake took the car keys so he could drive them to the hospital. He practically gunned it down the boulevards and avenues. Camille stroked her hands on her baby bump, as if to reassure her daughter that it was okay.

                                   *******************************************

They got to the hospital and, typically, the paparazzi were there outside, waiting for their prey. Drake helped Camille out of the car and proceeded to shield her from the press, who were now screaming the Duke and Duchess of Valtoria's names.

'Is it true the Duke of Ramsford has been poisoned?!'

'We've heard he's dead!'

Hot tears sprang up in Camille's eyes as she listened to them shouting. Drake squeezed her hand and guided her through the hospital entrance. They reached the reception desk and the nurse pointed them in the direction of the wing where Bertrand was being kept. Camille broke out into a run with Drake following her close behind. 

Leo, Maxwell, Hana and Olivia were stood around Bertrand’s bed. They jumped when Camille and Drake burst inside. ‘Fuck Montespan, give us some warning!’ Olivia said. When she saw Camille’s distraught face, she reddened and stepped forward to give her a tight hug. ‘Sorry babe. Burst through as many doors as you like.’ 

Camille looked past her to Bertrand. He was lying under the sheets with his eyes closed but she could see he was breathing steadily. Thank god.  Her eyes went to Maxwell, who’s face was streaked with dry tears. She rushed to Maxwell and threw her arms around him, enveloping him in a tight hug. Maxwell smiled weakly and held her tightly back. 

Drake spoke. ‘How is he?’

Leo sighed. ‘He’s fine, thank God. It was a close call but the doctors worked very hard to keep him from the brink.’ 

‘Who poisoned him?’ Camille asked, her voice laced with venom. 

‘A servant poured him the glass. Liam remained at the palace to question them. He wanted to come but we all felt it necessary that he stay behind and speak to the potential suspect.’

‘Wait, we don’t know if it was actually the servant?’ Drake asked in disbelief. Leo grimaced. ‘At this stage, given the rioting, we assume the servant is the culprit as they are not noble. But, that said, we have to keep all options open.’

‘You think it could have been a noble? ' Camille asked. ‘You really think the courtiers could stoop that low?’

Leo sat down heavily on a chair and looked at her seriously. ‘We all know what the court is capable of. The people we dine, drink and dance with are power hungry. There have been countless assassination attempts, many of them growing from inside the palace. I know you’ve only been noble for a year, Camille, so you might not see it yet but just watch. Keep your eyes open and you’ll start to see. You’ll hear the whispers, see the side glances, the way rumours are spread so easily.’

Drake tensed beside her. ‘The court can eat you up and spit you back out again,’ he said. Camille closed her hand around his, remembering the way Drake used to talk about the court. He had hated everything about it. Being made a Duke was a small price he had to pay to marry the woman of his dreams but the title still made him feel sick at times.

'Neville did say that some in court find Liam weak and they understood the reasons behind wanting a Republic, maybe going as far to support it..' Hana remembered.

Maxwell frowned. 'But why would anyone target Bertrand?' They all fell silent. Nobody knew why Bertrand had been poisoned.

‘What’s the plan of action?’ Camille asked, putting her Duchess hat on. 

‘Question the servants,’ Leo said. ‘But at the same, watch those at court.’

Hana’s eyes widened. ‘What if the servants rise up because we’re questioning them?’

‘The wine was delivered by a servant. The servants would expect us to question them, it’s just protocol. But we need to find out who did it and why.’ 

Olivia rolled her eyes. ‘It’s his whole ‘I’m the Duke of Ramsford’ persona. That shit isn’t going to make him popular, especially with commoners.’

Maxwell suddenly whipped around to face her, his eyes filled with fury. ‘Are you saying he deserved it?’ he asked, his voice rising. ‘That because he is proud of his lineage that he had it coming?’

Olivia paled. ‘Maxwell, I didn’t mean it like that-’

‘You did. You’ve never liked Bertrand anyway, you probably think it’s about time it happened!’ Maxwell shouted, hysterical.  Everyone in the room had no idea how to handle this outburst as Maxwell never got angry or upset. He was the life and soul of the party, the eternal optimist.  Camille grabbed Maxwell to stop him from advancing on Olivia. ‘Maxwell, you’re emotional, stop it! Olivia didn’t mean it like that. Shh.. we’re all upset right now..’

Maxwell quietened down and wiped his nose with his sleeve. He felt Hana place a hand on his back and felt comforted. He looked at Olivia, who’s face was white and her hands were shaking. He sighed. ‘I’m sorry Olivia. I didn’t mean to be a dick. I didn’t mean any of what I said. Please forgive me.’ 

Olivia cleared her throat. ‘I’m the one who should be sorry, Max. I’ll leave you be.’

She left the room with her head high but feeling lower than ever.

Olivia helped herself to a cup of coffee. She hadn’t wanted to leave the hospital yet, especially since she was actually worried about Bertrand. She sat down on a chair near the reception area and stared straight ahead, trying to focus her thoughts. 

‘Hey, trouble.’

She closed her eyes. Please no. 

Looking up, finally, she saw that Leo was standing before her. ‘Leo. You found me, as per usual,’ she said dryly.  Leo smiled. ‘You okay?’

She frowned, confused. ‘Yes. Don’t see why you care though.’

Leo sat down beside her, his knee touching hers. She moved her leg so it wasn’t anymore. He clasped his hands together and leaned forward, looking at her. ‘I do care, actually. Maxwell was pretty hard on you in there. I just wanted to check on you.’

‘I’m fine,’ she answered, not looking at him. She took a sip of the the coffee. It was crap coffee but it was black and she needed something warm. She wanted to feel something that wasn’t complete dislike of herself. 

‘No you’re not.’

‘Ha!’ she suddenly burst out. ‘So, are you saying I have feelings now? What a change from the other night when you basically said I was practically a robot.’

Leo reddened. Good, he was embarrassed. 

‘I spoke out of turn. Come on Liv, I’ve known you all my life. I know you’re one of the most emotional people ever. You’re fiery and you feel everything on a heightened level. You just try your best not to show it. Meanwhile, I am the one who’s practically a robot.’

She looked at him now. He did look quite guilty, which gave her a feeling of satisfaction. ‘You are a robot, yes. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.’

Leo clenched his fists. ‘Okay, not true.’

‘I’m right. What’s stopping you from running away from here so you can leave Liam in this mess again? Have you ran out of girls to fuck in Europe so now you’re back at court to try your luck again?’ 

‘I may treat women like objects but I care about my family and friends,’ he told her. She didn’t believe him. She couldn’t. 

‘Why are you here, Leo? With me? You should be in that room with Bertrand and everyone else.’

Leo sighed. ‘Maybe I know how it is to have people think you don’t feel anything. Hell, you’ve just told me yourself I’m a robot. But I know you do care and I know it really hurt you when Maxwell, who is usually like a puppy, started to shout at you. I know you wanted him to stop. That’s why I’m here with you, to offer you some form of comfort. You’ll see nobody else is. Your best friend, Camille? Yeah, I know you class her as your best friend though you won’t admit it. Even she isn’t here with you because she probably thought on some level that Maxwell was right. Or maybe she just thought you would want to be alone. But I know you don’t want to be alone. Only I understand the real you because I am like you.’ 

Olivia swallowed. She wished he would stop talking. ‘We're not alike, Leo. I don't treat people like objects. Why do you treat women like objects? Don't you get tired of it?’

He groaned and took her cup of coffee, sipping it. He gave it back to her, smirking at her shocked expression. How dare he take her coffee?

‘I can’t be tied down,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Not even a throne could keep me. I need freedom. I need to be free to do what I want and answer to no one. That includes women and the people of Cordonia. I hate responsibility and feeling like someone is dependent on me. I’m much better by myself, where I can’t hurt anyone. The women I sleep with are just... collateral damage.’ 

'You were more than willing to make me collateral damage the other night,' "Olivia said. 'You had a whole bottle of scotch in your room, if I remember rightly.'

'I did. The invitation is still open,' he answered casually, staring straight ahead.

Olivia turned to him, her eyes blazing. He had ruined their talk. 'Why would I want to be collateral damage? You think I would stoop so low? Go fuck yourself.'

She stood up and Leo followed. 'Liv -'

'Leave me alone, Leo. You'll never have me.' She stormed off down the corridor and entered the ladies room, just to get away from him. She needed to get away from him. He was dangerous.

Dangerous because he knew her so well. She stood in the bathroom facing the mirror and thought about those green eyes of his. Stop it. You are a Nevrakis. You don't become collateral damage. You don't depend on men to help you forget.

                                              ***********************************

Liam sat in front of the servant who had given Bertrand the glass of wine. She looked terrified. She was small, probably around 20 years old and shaking.

Liam adopted his fair, balanced voice. 'So... Sarah. You do realise that the wine you served the Duke of Ramsford was poisoned, don’t you?'

Sarah sniffled , tears welling up in her eyes. 'I didn't realise it was poisoned, I swear,' she whispered. 'My job is just to serve the drinks, I would never hurt somebody.'

Liam nodded. 'You've worked in the palace for two months, correct?'

Sarah nodded, wringing her hands together. 'I've loved it. The palace is beautiful and everyone's really kind..'

'Did you pour the wine yourself?'

'I did.'

'So how did the poison get into the glass then?'

She looked down. 'I don't know...'

Liam sighed and stood up to pace the floor. 'Please Sarah. If you know anything, please just tell me. I just want to protect my kingdom. I want it to be safe. If you know anything at all, even if you think its useless information, I don't care. Anything you know could be useful.'

Sarah bit her lip. Liam could tell that she knew something but he had no idea what. She finally spoke. 'There is a club. A club in the palace.'

'A club?'

'Yes. It's only a recent club and only the few who are radical are part of it.'

Liam stared at her, his heart hammering against his chest. 'Radical in what way?'

Sarah looked at him with tears in her eyes. 'The club wants a Republic and they won't stop until they get it.'

'Who are they?' It was like pulling teeth. She was giving information but not enough.

'Servants and nobles. They're working together to fight for a Republic. I'm so sorry. I don't know who is part of it, my servant friends aren't but they told me about it.'

'Does this club have anything to do with poisoning Bertrand?' he asked her, his voice strained. Sarah gulped. 'I think so..'

'Why Bertrand?'

Sarah tried to grasp for words. 'I don't know.. Maybe because he is the Duke of Ramsford? He is the one who talks about his title the most..'

'If they wanted to poison someone, the most obvious choice would have been me. I don't get it.'

Sarah looked down. 'You are protected by your friends.'

Liam stared at her. 'You seem to know a lot considering you're not part of this club.' Sarah's eyes widened. 'I swear, I'm not! It's just whispers that go around the servants quarters. I didn't know the Duke was going to be poisoned.’

Liam sighed. 'You've been very helpful, Sarah. Thank you.'

She looked at him, frightened. 'Am I fired?'

He looked at her, his eyes giving nothing away. 'How old are you?'

'Seventeen.'

'Go back to your quarters. Maybe don't serve wine for the next few events.'

Relief passed over her face. 'Thank you, Your Majesty! Thank you.' She looked like she wanted to hug him but thought better of it. Liam stopped her. ‘Wait. Can you do something for me?’ She nodded. ‘I’d like you to be my ears and eyes at court. You can see what I can’t. Can you do that for me?’ ‘Of course, Your Majesty.’ Liam bit his lip. ‘Do they have a name? This club?’ Sarah reddened but when she looked at him, her eyes were fiery. ‘Le Club Citoyen Secret.’ Liam sighed. ‘Why is it always in French?’

                           *********************************************************

That night, Camille couldn’t sleep. They had left Bertrand, Maxwell and Hana in the hospital room, having been assured that he could leave in a few days. Still, her heart hurt. She was sick of feeling anxious and terrified of what was next. She just wanted peace. She wanted to feel safe. Camille looked over to where Drake was sleeping. The sheets were pulled down, showing his broad shoulders and chest. Drake always made her feel safe. Silently, Camille reached out and ran her hands up his chest. She roamed his body, watching as he started to stir. ‘Mggggnnnn... Camille?’ Gently, she pressed her fingers to his lips and his eyes fluttered open slowly to look at her. She lay on her side, looking up into his eyes and he gave her a sleepy smile. ‘You okay, honey?’ he asked. She nodded, wrapping her hands around his neck, bringing him down so he was nearly on top of her. He shifted so he held his weight in his arms and he looked down, his gaze penetrating hers. ‘Can’t sleep?’ he murmured.

Camille shook her head. ‘I want to feel safe.’ Drake kissed her gently and stroked her cheekbone, his fingers grazing down to her collarbone and chest. ‘I can make you feel safe..’ he whispered. Camille smiled weakly. ‘You always do.’ His lips trailed down her cheek, down her chest and his hands brought up her camisole top. His mouth caught her nipple and he sucked, before kissing downward towards her hip bones. Camille’s breath caught. This is what she needed. She needed him. He was everything she had ever wanted. ‘I love you,’ she murmured.

‘I love you too,’ he whispered between kisses. He pulled her pyjama shorts down, along with her briefs, and his fingers found her. Camille arched her back and focused as his fingers swirled and twirled, finding secret places. He knew her body so well now. Her hands reached out to pull down his boxers and she was satisfied to see that he wanted her too. He angled himself so he could enter her and she braced herself for the size of him. Drake filled her gently and entirely. She let out a gasp and clenched the pillows behind her. Drake pulled her legs up around him and he ground into her, feeling her core. He moved so his body covered hers and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer to her. He tugged at her ear with his teeth and she let out a groan.

Camille watched as he moved, his eyes closed and his breaths coming out heavy. Her eyes studied him, like he was a map and she was the cartographer, seeking out everything about him. His broad shoulders, wide chest, his strong arms. The way he held her made her feel lucky and, just as she wanted, safe and protected.

[eccentriccowboy]

Assassin// pt. 1

Synopsis: ‘To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before’ inspired story where y/n and her best friends Luke, Calum, Ashton, and Michael compete in a game of Assassin.

you do not need to have read TATBILB to get this, it’ll be explained. But basically assassin is like tag where you have a specific target, but someone else is also targeting you. The game occurs in all hours in all places, unless otherwise disclosed as a safe zone. If you get tagged you are eliminated while the person who tagged you takes your target, tracking and chasing each other until there is one survivor.

Pairing: Slow burn relationship between bestfriend!Luke and Y/N (seems to be my specialty huh)

Warnings: swearing probably knowing me. also i didnt proofread this

Word Count: 1.7 k

Notes: i finally had time to write today bc school was cancelled today because of a hurricane warning WOOP WOOP I MIGHT DIE BUT AT LEAST I WONT HAVE MATH HOMEWORK.

*****

Rules:

1. Every house/apartment and workspace is a safe zone for all players.

2. A player is only eliminated when both the tracker’s hands are rested somewhere on the target’s body.

3. You can only kill your target, you can make alliances with someone, but you cannot make the kill for them.

4, Alliances are per round(until you/your alliance get out one or both of your target). After that you must either go separate ways or you can negotiate another alliance.

5. Winner gets to ask whatever they want of one of the losers.

6. No hard feelings and definitely no sore losers.

*****

“I’m not leaving my house, that’s how I’ll win,” Luke decided. Before you could correct him on how awful of a plan that was, he realized his mistake. “Wait, no, shit, that wouldn’t work,” he furrowed his eyebrows, clearly conflicted on what to do. 

“Don’t even bother coming up with a plan, I’ll get you out before you come up with step one,” Michael bragged. You rolled your eyes at that one.

“You shouldn’t be talking, mister. Remember last year when you were first out?” you smugly chided.

Michael’s face fell for a moment, before deciding to tease you back.

“Hey, at least I’ve won a year,” he remarked, subtly reminding you of how through the 15 years of playing Assassin with your four childhood best friends, you’ve never won once. “Four, actually,” he smirked, before getting off your couch to head to the fridge.

“Think you’re forgetting almighty Ashton over here, mates,” Ashton said, including himself in the conversation. He stood up from his seat on the couch and raised his hands in the air, pretending like a crowd was chanting his name. “Ashton, Ashton, Ashton...” he mumbled jokingly.

You giggled at your foolish friend’s behaviour. “You won’t even know what hitcha this time. I’m telling ya this is my year,” you nodded your head, not sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

Luke smiled at you, always the optimist. Luke had won the least amount of games over the years, besides you. He has only ever won twice, whereas Michael has won four, Calum’s won three, and Ashton has remained reigning champ with six wins.

“Never late for a comeback, Y/N,” Luke slung his arm around you casually, rubbing your shoulder. You hoped to dear god he couldn’t hear your heartbeat quicken as you leaned in to his embrace.

You don’t honestly know when you developed feelings for Luke, you just know they weren’t good. You have been friends with him since first grade, it’s not like you can throw away such a valuable friendship for a stupid relationship that wouldn’t ever work.

Instead, you calmed down your heartbeat as best as you could and hugged Luke back, accepting the fact a relationship would never work. It was a sweet moment, though, embracing Luke no matter your relationship status

“Can’t make a comeback when you can’t even win once!” Michael yelled from the kitchen, ruining the moment. You sighed, before getting up from the couch to grab a piece of paper and a pen to write the names on.

“Where ya goin’?” Luke asked, missing your warm embrace.

“Gotta write the names down somewhere,” you replied, opening your desk drawer. 

“Thought we were gonna wait ‘til Calum gets here,” he questioned.

You shrugged. “Gonna get a head start. Also wanna rig it so I get Michael’s name first.”

*****

Once Calum had arrived, you had already prepared the pieces of paper in a large hat for you guys to pick from. 

“Ready to be beaten to ground, losers?” Michael started again.

“No time for smack talk, let’s just get this over with so I can win,” you said. You shook the hat to scramble the papers, then one at a time you each selected a paper.

You grabbed the last paper, holding it close to your chest where no one but you could see what it said.

‘Michael”.

You tried your best to keep a straight face, while analyzing your competitor’s expressions. Calum and Luke both had on poker faces, while Ashton and Michael smirked at their slip of paper.

“Well this is gonna be fun,” Ashton remarked.

*****

You wanted to wait a while to kill Michael, as you basically had all the time in the world. Hell, these games could go on forever. In 2015, the game last over three months before Calum finally got Michael out.

And the longer you wait, the other guys will start attacking each other and dwindle themselves down, leaving less work for you to do. You just had to stay careful and not get caught by your attacker.

You devised a plan: you would only cook at home or order in for the duration of the game, you’ll switch up the route you drive to work every weekday. Say goodbye to a social life for a while because you aren’t going out anytime soon. But you will keep your eyes open if an opportunity arrises to strike Michael.

It continued like this for a week, and nobody made any moves. Everyone seemed to be keeping to themselves, hiding themselves from the rest. As far as you know, no alliances had been made, either.

As the days passed by and the game remained static, you began to become antsy. You wanted to make a splash, a big move that will shock the other players. It was time to get creative.

By the end of the day, you had a devious plan. The plan took time, persuasion, and dedication, but oh boy would it be worth it when you got Michael out.

*****

You had snuck out of your apartment complex at 3 am last night in hopes your attacker wasn’t watching you. You then got into your car and drove in the dead of night to Michael’s apartment building. 

Now here’s the part of the plan that would take great dedication. You parked your car outside of the apartment complex, far enough away where Michael could not see the car if he looked out one of his windows. You wandered to the back alley behind the building, pepper spray in hand in case the worst was to occur.

With no one around, you grabbed your phone out of your purse and turned the flashlight on, shining it on the floor until you found what you were looking for: the garbage cans. 

You weren’t going to rummage through stranger’s trash, you weren’t insane. But you did merely open the lid and peer into the cans to see what food you might find. And there, laying at the top of the fourth garbage can you checked, were empty cardboard pizza boxes.

Dominoes. Michael’s favourite pizza place.

And there were 5 of them. Enough to last a grown man about a week and a half. Almost as if this mysterious man was living off of delivery pizza instead of going out.

This couldn’t be a coincidence. You knew Michael would be too lazy to cook his own food. Now you just needed to use this information to your advantage.

*****

“Psst!” you whisper shouted to the delivery man standing at the entrance to Michael’s apartment complex, waiting for access.

“Psst!” you whisper shouted a bit louder, finally gaining the man’s attention.

He looked at you, bewildered, his eyes shifting from you to the locked gate then back to you. Finally, he took a few timid steps in your direction, where you were hiding in a bush. 

“Um, yeah?” the man asked, clearly still uncertain about the potentially insane women hiding in a fucking bush.

“I need to ask you a favor,” you put your hands out in front of your body in attempt to show him you were harmless. “Hear me out, okay? I’m playing this game with my friends, it’s called assassin. It’s basically just a harmless game of tag. Your delivering this pizza to 22B, yea?”

The man looked at you skeptically, before murmuring out a yes.

“Okay, well you see, the guy who ordered the pizza, his name is Michael, I’ve got to tag him out. Will you help me out?” you continued before he could say no. “Your part is super simple. All you have to do is tell Michael the gate won’t let you in and see if he will step out to come get it. I can’t get him while he is in his home.”

The man continued to stare at you. “What’s in it for me?”

You shrugged, “Name your price.”

“100 bucks,” he shrugged back.

“50,” 

“60,”

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes. “Just make sure he doesn’t see me, and if I don’t get him out, you don’t get paid.”

The man agreed to your terms, then called Michael back. “Hey, man, the electric gate’s giving me a bit of trouble. Do you mind coming downstairs to grab the pizza?” The man listened to Michael’s response, then looked at you and gave you a thumbs up.

“He’s coming down,” he said. You nodded, your heartbeat suddenly picking up. Oh god, what if you mess it up? 

You went back to your position in the bush, close enough to the gate entrance that you could jump out and place both of your hands on Michael easily.

As you waited for your unsuspecting friend to come downstairs, you reflected on the craziness you endured to get here. You stayed up until 3 am just to rifle through stranger’s garbage, for Pete’s sake! You deserved this win already.

Finally, you saw a tall man start walking to open up the gate. “Sorry, man, this happens all the time. I’m surprised it’s taken you this many deliveries this past week for it to finally happen to you,” Michael called out.

“No problem man, less work for me,” the worker chuckled. Michael opened the gate, suddenly distracted with trying to find the proper bills in his wallet. This was your chance. 

You lunged out of the bushes, your hands stretched in front of you. In the corner of Michael’s eye he saw a body of sudden movement, his head turning, but it was too late. Both of your palms landed on his left arm.

“AHA, take that!” You raised your hands in the air in victory. Michael clutched his head in his hands, in disbelief his game was over so soon.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, SHIT!” He uttered.

“What? Got no creative one-liners for this, huh?” You smirked.

“Yea, yea, just have fun with who you’ve gotta get next.”

Your ears perked at that. There’s still four other players blocking your way to victory.

“Who is it?” It was Michael’s turn to smirk now.

“Ashton.”

Well shit.

[wheelthefridge]

in honor of last night having been my last ever shift dishwashing at the same restaurant i’ve been at for the past four years here’s an absurdly long list of random chaotic moments that literally no one asked for that i’ve been compiling since day one:

bj, with a half full gallon of orange juice: this expired two months ago. *pours down drain* that was a long time ago

sam: YOU! I HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU!! *carries on normally with no explanation* bj: smack that! that too! smack those vegetables! punch that burger in the nose! chop that bun! bob: no, flick the bun. you have to flick it. 

*bad and boujee playing* bj: walks into kitchen, singing bj: you better know when to hold em, know when to fold em, know when to walk away, know when to run bj: walks out of kitchen, still singing

me: hey can you put the wet floor sign out for me dylan: sure dylan: *slips while putting the sign out* me:

sam: get this- i haven’t smoked pot in like three days and my brain is ready to roll! yeah!

joe: ha! oldest trick in the book i just started writing 

dude @bar: ten percent of people are over 6'1" other dude: what about 6'2"  dude 1: what? no. ten percent of people are OVER 6'1" - so that includes 6'2" dude 2: idk I know a lot of tall guys. taller than me dude 1: what? i’m saying- just- ten percent of everyone in the whole world- you know how many people there are in the world? 7 billion– dude 2: i thought it was six billion  dude 1: no, 7 billion- ten percent of 7 billion—

joe, digging through the trash: i’m just gonna peruse through here,, aaaaannnd….. nope not here me: what’re u looking for Joe: …..a book

didi: is eating a pistachio  katherine: is that sour cream

sam: some dirty whorebag wants two pickles 

joe: sam she am. that’s right. dr seuss wrote a book about her 

katherine: oh my goddd this song is always on i’m so tired of it joe: is it? i don’t think i’ve heard it before carolyn: eh it’s all just one long brazilian song to me

katherine: look at my straw i put it in the pencil sharpener 

sam: i’m on crack cocaine. you heard it here

sam, aggressively putting silverware in the tray: just the way the cookie crumbles me: yeah? sam, fake crying: yes

adele: if you’re ready- sam: what if I’m not bob: too bad. she only cares if she’s ready

something: *breaks* sam: time for the mop. and by mop i mean… this thing *holds up dustpan*

mike: you should go on junior master chef…. and only make fries 

sam, quietly as she speedwalks by me: panic panic panic panic panic panic panic panic

sam, beginning of the night: my goal is to make at least forty bucks tonight. hopefully sixty sam, later that night: i’ve made five dollars

sam, pouring a drink into the trash right next to the sink: you know, im not sure why i poured that in the trash. i’ve had a very off day

katherine, after accidentally spraying salsa on herself: i just sprayed salsa all over myself bj: i feel like that too sometimes. i love salsa so much

sam: can you imagine if i did like hardcore drugs how messed up i would be- i’m messed up soberly

someone: what’re you supposed to feed twenty kids  kerry: pizza bj: vodka 

sam: will you let bob know there’s gonna be seven in the snug bj: seven in the snug? that’s my band name. we’re really good

edson: *spins cover on counter and stares at it for solid thirty seconds before putting his finger down to stop it* edson: good. 

sam: what should i draw bj: you should draw casey, hanging from a cliff, with a pterodactyl flying towards them who is on fire, but, seems optimistic about it 

bj: life is too short for low fat cheese. remember that. 

sam, beginning of night, in a really good mood: guess what i’m drunk and high right now  sam, later that night: i was just pouring a beer and i dropped it. like my hand just let go of it sam, end of night: i’m never doing this again 

joe: you know who didn’t clock out yet?? i have two thumbs! joe: ……wait joe: you know who has two thumbs and hasn’t clocked out yet?? this guy!! me: there ya go buddy

bob: i’ve slept fifteen hours in the past four days me: that’s not good bob: yeah

edson: look edson: *holds out hand with top spinning in his palm* *giggles*

sam: i cannot wait for this day to be over  me: it’s barely started  sam: i took a shot before i got here. i have more in my car

bob: hi sam sam: hi bob  didi: hi sam sam: fuck off

joe: her? oh yeah her name is sarah whitaker  katherine: oh i think i know her joe: that’s funny because i just made that up. i’m willing to bet money that she’s nineteen tho me: why joe: bc i overheard her say that she’s nineteen

joe: i’m gonna send you a video but you can’t watch it now it’s needs full attention with headphones and the lights off 

bj: if you lose your hand, don’t replace it with a fork. that would be a bad choice. i know it’s probably the cheapest option, right up there with stick, but just spend the money. 

bj, on a different day: i think if you were to get your hands cut off, getting them replaced with plates would be a very bad idea. you can dig. and you can toss. but that’s about it. no playing the saxophone.  

colby: *doesn’t show up to work* bj: maybe i should leave him a message of just me crying 

katherine: i think an old man just asked me to live with him

sam: wait *pulls celery strings out of her mouth* that just came out of my throat

bob: i’m such a grump tonight. i’m in a good mood i’m just so grumpy.  bob: maybe i’m not in a good mood…

bj, after sending christa downstairs to get liquor for the bar: i put a live cobra down there too so… if she comes back with it dead in her hands…. she’s a champ. and that’s that. 

bj: i had a dog today did you have a dog? me: no bj: oh. well. 

dylan, holding phone camera at joe: hey joe can you pull ur shirt down joe, pulling the collar of his shirt halfway down his chest: yeah like this? dylan, taking picture: yeah thanks 

bj: HI-YAH carley: you’re a ninja!! bj: yes. don’t be alarmed. i only use my powers for good. 

bj, with one bottle in each hand, pouring water in the sink, mimicking cow milking motions: it’s like a cow. mooooooeeeeeeuuuuuhhhhhhgggg aaaaaauuuuuueuejhshhsii. that’s what cows sound like right?

bj: we have a dog, and we’re getting chickens. i’m not really sure why were getting chickens. do i consider myself a farmer? not really. 

bj: we should make a youtube channel of just me saying really random things to you and you not responding to me whatsoever me: mhmm

nancy: I’m sleeping

sam: *pours drink out on counter next to sink* sam: wHAT the FuCK was that!? why did i do that?? i’ve lost it! i’ve hit rock bottom!!

sam: *bends over* ughhhhhhhhhhhhh *straightens up* ok i’m fine

bj: yum! that’s how i rate the soup. two yums up!! *laughs for like a full minute*

sam: i got my motorcycle license over the weekend and now all everyone’s saying to me is “no don’t get a motorcycle they’re so dangerous” like shut the fuck up if i die i die it’s my choice 

bj: i think if i were to be turned into some kind of commercial type of food, if i got turned into a nugget, i think i’d be indignant. i’ve lived my whole life and now i’m a nugget??? “oh i was a great roasted-“ i was a nugget. i was eaten with fries out of a box with a small soda. 

bj: hello everybody. i have arrived. please remain calm.  bob: *screams*

radio: the fastest lawn mower in the world goes up to 150 miles per hour! bob: …….why??

sam: i just meowed in scotty’s face and he was completely unfazed by it. like a full on Meow. 

bob: lemme just touch these live wires with my wet hands  bj: bob has gone offline

katherine: i totally forgot to put their order in for i don’t even know how long me: ……..i’m sure it’ll be fine katherine: i mean, nothing matters, right? right. nothing matters. 

bj: hey did you guys hear that kate: yeah what was that bj: oh i was just yelling……….. about the soup kate: me: katherine: bj: i’ll try to keep it down next time

bob: you sleep a lot when you’re old. it’s just practice for death. getting ready for The Big Sleep. let’s see how do i wanna go out? on my back?? nah not for me. on my front babey! 

didi: hi sam sam: SHUT UP didi, quieter: okay…… sam: i love you  didi: no bj: so you’re a grownup now. that’s means you have to do grown up things, like, pay for dinner and stuff? me: uh huh bj: it’s all downhill from here 

bj: pon pon the van poco. right? me: mhmm bj: probably. i mean. i’m no doctor, but

random woman @ bar: we are the matrix. We. Are. The Matrix. 

bj, to the tune of frosty the snowman: clunkity clunk clunk clunkity clunk clunk look at all this stuff. clunkity clunk clunk clunkity clunk clunk making casey’s job tough! pretty good right?? i just made it up 

bj: *walks into kitchen* YES! that’s all i have to say. that’s it. BOBS killing it. DIDIS killing it. casey MURDERED it. you’re welcome. *walks out of kitchen* bj: today is the second day in a row my dog has eaten my lunch. yesterday and then today. it’s my own fault really bob: well you know what they say about men who like floppy french fries. *doesn’t elaborate*

sam: there’s a toy baby in my section. like just a toy baby taking up a seat in my section. what do i do like do i move the bitch? do i leave her there??

bob, talking to himself: if you get sick tomorrow, just remember. it’s your own fault for eating food off the floor. 

bob, to katherine: no, you don’t have to mop the carpet

bj: cheeeesy. 

laura: if i get through tonight without a heart attack it’ll be incredible. if i do have a heart attack tho just let me go

caldo: *unintelligible yelling* SELLING my BODY for SEX *more unintelligible yelling*

bob: my fathers brother sent all his kids to australia. i guess he figured at least one of them would make it

caldo: i don’t trust people who go out to eat tuna fish

bob: can you make some more guacamole soon we’re running low laura: pulls five (5) avocados from her pockets 

bob: he looks like jesus. well. he looks like what white people think jesus looked like

sam: yeah. Please. eat some more mother Fucking crackers. 

bj: i feel like i gave birth to the eggplant stacks tonight. and honestly? if my child looked like that? i’d be proud. proud to have an eggplant child

bj: alright everybody let’s get the fuf out of here!! i said fuf not f- it’s safe. f u f starts and ends with soft letters no one gets hurt. any word that starts with a soft letter and ends with a hard letter is bad news… i feel like every time i come in here i annoy you guys. casey’s one dumbass comment away from killing me. “hey so what are your thoughts on grass?” “that’s it” *mimics shooting a gun*

ilia: -and the dogs gonna get diabetes- katherine, indignantly: i cleaned it really well!

mickey: i’ll tell you one thing. crack is good. 

sam: some lady just rolled up to the bar, no bra, nipples beamin through the shirt- LETS GET IT!!!!

caldo: *speed walks into kitchen and shotguns a beer over the trash* ok i’m back. i should not have smoked this morning

dom: little kid just picked up a knife and went “oh cool i can stab someone” me, katherine, and sam in unison: good dom: yeah the dad took it away 

sam: my friend was like “why is your go to dance move just to snap” and i was like “i don’t know, i’m white” *shrugs*

bj: someone just asked me if i’m having fun. am i having fun? i don’t know if i’m having fun. there are certainly other things i’d rather be doing right now, but i don’t know if i can definitively say that i’m Not having fun. 

bj: some jobs require Only a ladle bj, thirty seconds later, after walking away and coming back: sometimes, also a funnel

bj, @ laura who’s eating cornbread: you cornbread eating chef!!!  laura: bj: laura: bj: i’m just saying facts in a weird way. you know like you’re in trouble. 

sam: *war cry* *spits out gum* *walks away*

bj: what kind of smoothie? Soup Smoothie!!

katherine: so this woman ordered some hot water so i gave it to her and her husband says you know what that’s for right and i’m like ….to drink? and he says nope! and doesn’t explain so i’m just like ………..okay! and walk away bc i don’t even want to know 

bj: there’s no shame in it! A Grown Man Can Bathe In Yogurt!!!

bj, leaning down very close to to-go box: i love you

bob: anyone want a drink? brian: whatever’s your strongest bob: milk it is

guy at bar: sUE HIM?!?!??? oh i’d sue him yeah

sam: who orders something extra cold?? like, you need to Die now thanks. 

sam: do you dare me to drink this buffalo sauce me: yes laura, walking by: snort it

sam: one more day. just one more day laura: of what sam: waking up

bob: *is trying to explain easter to jewish laura* laura: wait so he died… then he came back to life?? then he died Again??? bob: he died. then he came back just to tell people he was alive. then he said SEE YA and ascended to heaven

sam: i HATE margaritas. i don’t know why i just made myself one. 

bob: wow. i have this overpowering urge to just go home. 

bj, putting back a slotted spoon: this is a bad choice for dressing. a bad choice. 

me: *catches a plate about to fall* bj: woah! smooth moves!! spider-man? maybe. 

danny: so you know how at my other job everyone calls me daddy?

sam: *dumps out two full wine glasses* i fucked up. tell no one. 

me: remember when we used to be able to leave early? bob: no. i think we imagined it. 

danny: i didn’t realize we served DICK here -a few min later- danny: sorry i just got out of work and i’m all fired up

sam: my moms drunk and she won’t go home

bob: hey wasn’t that slang for mari- bj: cocaine. 

bj: *kicks kitchen door open* YEE-HAW!!!!

danny: sorry casey  me: what for  danny: for having to deal with me me: yeah *shrugs* danny: they should pay you more me: yeah

didi: i kill you ilia: do it now didi: no ilia: do it i wanna die

danny, about a burger: we’ve got ourselves a squirter!!

sam: is that a chicken patty  sydney: it’s my dog

sam, on my last night with her: lets get casey TRASHED tonight

sam: are you gonna go dancing in new york didi: yes laura: whore it up

[darkballsofsight]

Get Back On The Horse That Bucked You

Darkleer 02/19/2019

You had a good day to get comfy in your new residence which, frankly, was a day too much. You'll never truly be comfortable.

Honestly, you can't wait to start your new duty. Something to keep you busy. Something productive, hopefully. But for that you'll need to know what these duties are. You aren't in any position to rush these things along though, so all you can do is wait for Redglare to let you know when it's time.

Redglare 02/19/2019

You still had not settled into your new home, maybe it was indecision preventing you from choosing where you'd like to settle. So it took you a hot minute to haul over to the new precinct. You sent out a text to Darkleer regarding when the would g before you set out, and managed to time your arrival nicely to give himself enough room mental prep. He was probably anxious, and you were more than happy to help with the introductions and keep him company.

You make your way to his chosen residence and lightly knock on the door with your unoccupied hand.

Darkleer 02/19/2019

The message reaches you and indeed, it gives you enough time to prepare - and to amp up your anxiety. Just a moment ago you've been absolutely confident to get this done and over with so you can get to the next step. Now... oh boy. If you had only stayed on earth.

It's too late for that, Redglare's knock makes you realize. You sigh and get up to open the door. "Redglare." That. Wasn't a greeting. Try again. "..Hello."

Redglare 02/20/2019

You smile upon seeing him and clear his doorway, making way for him to exit his new home.

"Hey, Darkleer. How're the new digs?" You ask with a wink, hoping he's found his new arrangement suitable. You weren't sure if his requested accommodations were approved yet and if this was temporary, but you meant for the question to be all encompassing.

Darkleer 02/20/2019

"The..... digs.... are acceptable." Her smile is less anxiety-inducing every time you see her. Might be that you're slowly getting used to being among people again. Or the other stress factors are just  bigger than an old friend's perpetually unsettling smile.

You step outside and close the door behind you, more than ready to leave.

"What about yours?" She had mentioned she didn't get around moving in during your tour, right? Seems about time.

Redglare 02/20/2019

"That's good to here, I was worried you'd go on again about how we shouldn't fuss over you." You elbow him playfully with your free arm and start leading him down the hall. He seemed a lot less tense, and this was a good sign. You hoped he would remain that way and a portion of his stress would melt away after the meeting. Work does a mind good for all the distractions it provides, and this was something you knew well. A small, embarrassed noise escapes you when you turn back to face him.

"Ah. I'm still not quite settled. Call it indecision, call it lack of time." It was absolutely lack of both. You weren't particularly good at grounding yourself.

Darkleer 02/21/2019

Hn. "You shouldn't.." You probably would continue but arguing with her about this is kind of pointless.

You follow her and for once you're glad about the idle chatter because it distracts you from what is about to come.

".. when did you say you started this work? Hrn, Redglare. I know 'free time' was not much of a thing on Alternia, but it is here, is it not? You should make time for it."

Redglare 02/22/2019

"It's not fussing, it's taking care of our own." You say as his words trail off, turning back and giving him a wink. Though he was on his way to meet with his other superiors, he was still officially considered a member of the force. His question prompted yet another embarrassed noise from you, but you laugh it off and dismissively wave your hand.

"Sometime in October, but I've had no time for that. It's been case after case, I've really had my work cut out for me. I'll be just fine."

Darkleer 02/22/2019

"October." You say no more than that but you're thinking your thoughts. Mostly how this.. mess of a woman can dare to take offense with your prefered lifestyle.

Her comment stifles your complaints though. Our own.. Hn, that is. Disgustingly touching.

You continue on, more quiet now except when you're prompted the respond to her idle chatter, until you reach the lieutenant's office. Finally. You can't wait to meet some reliable superiors. Hopefully. Maybe.

Redglare 02/22/2019

The two of you make it to Pembrooke's office, luckily you knew your way to it having visited him a few days prior to catch up. The back and forth chatting was nice for the duration of the walk, and you hoped that some of his nerves had calmed. You had praised your fellow superiors, going so far as to comment on Pembrooke's leadership prior to your receiving the position and during business trips you had to take. Such as retrieving him. But it was for him to decide how he felt.

"Lemme give his door a knock, and don't worry. It's gonna go well, I promise."

Darkleer 02/22/2019

Some of your nerves have calmed, but the majority are still in perpetual alert mode and that probably won't change anytime soon. Good thing that Redhglare is optimistic enough for the two of you. Sure, it may not be a total catastrophe, but you're far too unfamiliar with the culture of this planet. A mis-step or ten are expected to happen.

Regardless, you nod and wait to be led inside.

PI 02/23/2019

You heard the footsteps before the knock, and were already curious. Redglare's cane and heels were easily recognized but the footfalls with her were peculiar. Reminded you a bit of the Zahhaks really...that sort of heavy footfall but strangely delicate.  Skitterish almost like horses trying to tread gently.  Then again perhaps this is Horuss...you haven't gotten quite used to his particular mannerisms.

The knock is heard and you give a pleasant but tired "Come in" as response.  For a rare time, you aren't in desperate need to rush tidy your office.

WQ 02/24/2019

You look up from your place at Pembrooke's side, where you had respectfully been hovering over his shoulder, papers in hand. You're fresh from a meeting with the council, as evidenced by your formal upswept appearance and the absolutely drained expression in your eyes on your otherwise cheerful face.

As the door opens, you brighten considerably, and offer a nod of your head towards the Chief and the holy heckin hunkachunkin' mountain of a troll following behind her. "Hello!"

Redglare 02/25/2019

"Hello, your majesty, Pembrooke." You greet the two casually with a nod of your head. They looked worn as all Hell, and hoped this wasn't spectacularly bad timing with everything else going on. Still, having Darkleer on the force would be some good news to cheer up to, even if he did appear slightly intimidating at first.

"I'd like to introduce you to... well... I'm not to sure what title he'd like to have you all know him by, so I'll leave that up to him." You give him an encouraging smile.

Darkleer 02/25/2019

The hunkachunkin mountain of a troll is a little apprehensive now that the meeting is about to happen, but "come in" is a simple enough command to follow. After Redglare enters, you follow.

You're constantly worried about being intimidating when you don't mean to, so you try to make yourself as small as your figure allows without getting ridiculous, though your strained face probably doesn't help your case.

"Greetings, uh. I am... The Expatriate. Darkleer."

You don't really care to add your bloodline's name for so many reasons, though the relation should be obvious enough to sharp eyes.

PI 02/26/2019

You look up, and you look up more.  Part of you wonders if there is some conspiracy to topple your once proud standing as the tallest officer in the precinct.  That or some strange obsession indigos have to the law. Boys in blue as they say.  Huh...are there actually lady indigos?  This was going to bother you for hours until you have a chance to look up that answer discreetely.

Instead though, you give a tired but friendly smile with a nod as you rise to your feet, extending your hand over your desk to shake his.  "Ah. Hello Mister Darkleer.  It is nice to meet you.  Leuitenant Pembrooke Ingleton at your service."

Turning to Redglare, you give her a curious glance, as if trying to gauge if this was the secret project she had left planet for.

WQ 03/05/2019

A Zahhak, or  Zahhak-blood-adjacent through and through already, you figure, though titles are much more your speed, a trait you are glad to share with your more traditionalist Alternian friends.  You clasp your hands together before you and offer a slight bow in greeting to the reserved giant before extending your hand to him as well, eyes raising to meet his.

"I am called the White Queen of Prospit.  It is good to have you working with us, Darkleer.  I do hope your travels found you well."

Darkleer 03/06/2019

Ah. Handshakes require a reaction. That realization takes you a good two seconds too long. Humans and their way too many friendly physical interactions. You shake the Lieutenant's hand with a polite nod, your grip notably careful and soft, despite the hard surface, then direct your attention towards... the Queen. Hearing that makes you freeze for a moment.

She seemed so much different from anyone and anything you met before. Overwhelmingly friendly and... overwhelming, for the most part.

"They have been.. acceptable." You shake her hand as well.

So these are going to be your superiors? Well, you're willing to give them a try. And now...? you glance at Redglare for advice. Let the others speak.

PI 03/08/2019

"Good to hear.  If there is anything we can do to assist in getting you settled, please let us know."  you say with a nod.  Granted you're using the we in the sense of there are forms to fill out to request things but from what you gather from his handshake and your experience with the other indigos...you expect he's going to be the type to gravitate towards that option naturally.

"Ah.." this is the part where you realize you...don't know anything about him other than he's with Redglare.   "So ah...since I haven't quite gotten the papers with the transfer details, care to tell us a bit about yourself?"

Darkleer 03/12/2019

"I am already settling, but thank you, I will keep that in mind." You don't really have the need desire to ask for anything. Frankly, forms to fill in would make it much easier for when you may actually require something.

Speaking of which, oh boy, did you arrive too early? Messed up all their set procedures. Hn, how unpleasant. "I apologize for the inconvenience." Ah, talking about yourself. Your least favorite thing. It's not that you want to hide anything from your future employers, you're all for full transparency, but that requires facing and admitting some ugly truths.

"I am the Expatriate Darkleer, once the.. Executioner for the Alternian Empire. A position I've put down a century ago. I was mainly tasked with tracking and bringing down what was considered difficult enemies of the state. And I have done so for too long without questioning any of the practice. Regrettably so. It was also then that I met Redglare."

Just the cold hard facts. There's a lot of unspoken detail and opinions that you're willing to elaborate on should they ask. You have nothing to hide, you're just not entirely sure how much talking is appropriate for a situation.

"I have expertise with ranged combat, close combat, Alternian technology and, to some extend, Earthen technology." Social skills, not so much. You quickly glance at Redglare for feedback. Was that enough or is there anything to add?

(puts this here

Redglare 03/12/2019

You were quick to respond to his subtle ques with reassuring nods. He was doing just fine considering the circumstances. If he had any unease about meeting monarchy, he was doing rather well to hide it. All that appeared externally was a man who possessed a first impressions shyness he had to work through. Though... You knew quite well it might never be properly resolved. When his attention was toward his other superiors, you gave a sly wink to Pembrooke and the queen. Retrieving him was your secret mission, and you were beyond thrilled to have him.

As you listened to their conversation, offering little so that they may focus on one another, you notice Darkleer glance back to you once more. You resist the urge to offer one of your gentle pats, and simply smile instead. And offer a bit of insight.

"He's just what we need on the force. His experience alone outclasses my own, and I trust him fully. I'm sure you are both aware that Alternian politics are ... Well..." You trail off for a bit. The two of you know there is no need to defend your actions, the past is done. But sometimes it bore repeating just how different your planet was. "Different. But it still shaped us and gave us the skills to utilize for justice. He has put that past far behind him, and uses his knowledge for good."

He was doing great on his own, but you decided he might want a break from doing the talking for a hot minute.

WQ 03/14/2019

You catch that wink and you smile, just a bit, in acknowledgement.  To say that the Alternian political climate was "different" was to liken the Dersian winter to being "a bit nippy, you'd think.

Which is to say, that's quite the understatement.

You are, however,  polite enough not to say so, and instead elect to say, "I know Derse and our governing style may come as quite the culture shock, but I have no doubt your expertise will fit in right at home here in the department, Expatriate Darkleer.  As you're no doubt aware, we have a considerable Alternian population here on the force; I'm sure, if nothing else, your fellow expats will help ease you into the environment and get you nice and comfortable."

PI 03/15/2019

There is a nod in agreement.  "Many Alternians have moved to Derse as a means of starting a new life with new opportunities that may have been denied them back on Alternia.  It is for many, a place of new beginnings."

Mmm...that threat of awkward silence is beginning to bubble as you realize you have run out of things to talk about.

"If you have any questions you'd like to ask of us before you get started, please by all means do so.  Though I'll also understand if you have a lot to do getting started and would rather focus on getting settled in before you get to work."

Darkleer 03/20/2019

As expected, Redglare has a few things to add and does a much better job at selling yourself than you ever could.

You've already noticed there is quite a number of trolls on the force, but... Oh. Oh no. They're expecting you to socialize with these trolls, right? Hn... Even if you were more open to interact with anyone on a casual basis, the lineup that is present is a bit.. disconcerting. You have a fuchsia heir, one (two?) bronze bloods and... indigos, but not just any. Your very own descendants that made it clear they care little for having you around.

"I am.. as settled as expected and ready to be put on duty whenever you deem it appropriate."

[kittenwritesstuff]

Touch it off

Fandom: Marvel Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Genres: tiny bit of angst, fluff, humor Words: 2.260 Summary: A sudden turn on a mission forces Bucky and reader to seek a place to hide. During the wait Bucky has a surprising request - requested by Anonymous

You have been on countless missions, easy and difficult ones, short and long, dangerous and exhausting.  You were paired up with all of the team, yet nothing could ever prepare you for what you have been faced with now.

A god-only-knows how much time, locked in what looked like storage, with your very good friend. Sure, you wouldn’t be panicking if it was somebody else, but Bucky… Bucky makes your blood boil every time you’re near him.

And no, not in a bad way. He doesn’t annoy you and heavens know you are not scared of him because of what HYDRA made him do. You have met him when he was recovering, trying to regain his memories. You, Sam and Steve had traveled to Romania to save Bucky and you weren’t thinking about anything else than to get everybody somewhere safe.

But then, as the conflict was, more or less, solved and you were staying at Wakanda, you and Bucky have become more than just teammates. You had been supporting Steve where Bucky was in cryo, and then when he was awoken, you had helped him readjust.

Quickly, Bucky and you become friends. Hours spent on talking strengthen the bond between the two of you gradually, and much to your happiness, there were times when Bucky favored your company over Steve’s.

Still, you made sure than two old friends were around each other frequently enough, more often than not ending up as the third participant of movie nights, pranking Sam or simply reading books while cuddling.

Yet, somewhere along the way, when your mind was at ease, when there was nothing threatening, you noticed that Bucky has become significantly more important. You couldn’t imagine not seeing him, even once a day. You had waited for him to knock on your door where a nightmare woke him up in the middle of the night. When something happened, Bucky was the first person you wanted to tell.

It happened quietly, as if you were always meant to fall in love with him, you just needed time to grow to it, just as Bucky. It was easy to be around him and forget about all your worries when he started to joke or sing a song from his past. It wasn’t hard to lose yourself in his stories about old times, or when enthusiasm lit up his ocean-like eyes when he kept rambling about a new thing he discovered.

Of course, you read about soulmates in many books. However, it never occurred to you that the term might be real, might be reflected in your own life. It seemed impossible to feel something that strong, something that fulfilling and earth-shattering to other person.

It all changed when you got to know Bucky. When you realized that you truly thought that his and yours soul were the same.

Or, because to you Bucky’s mind and soul were as rich and beautiful as a galaxy, you and him were made from the same star.

You didn’t utter a word to anyone. Although you were sure that Nat knew (she always knows, nothing can be a secret for too long around her), nobody was to know about what you truly felt for Bucky.

Simply because you did not think he would feel the same way about you. What else could you be to him but a supportive, kind friend?

“Y/N? You okay?” Bucky whispers close to your ear, bringing you back to the present moment. Your situation is problematic, to say the least.

The two of you were supposed to sneak in to a probable HYDRA facility and retrieve the Red Notebook, which somehow got into their hands again. Bucky’s brain was fixed, but better safe than sorry, right?

Well, sure, it was going perfectly until you stumbled upon a room, filled with dozens of armed HYDRA soldiers, looking as if they were waiting for a certain someone to come in. You assumed it was most likely Bucky they were waiting for.

So, you and Bucky did one thing you could at the moment. You ran to a nearest empty place which happened to be a storage. You have sent a message to T’challa, asking for help and now you are stuck in a small space with your crush, who is pressed in a weird position against your back. His arms are propped on a wall in front of you, just above your head, his feet on the floor between your slightly parted legs. And for some reason he’s been trying not to touch the opposite wall, but you didn’t have time to sneak a peak of what’s there.

You rest your forehead on a cold wall, heaving out a sigh.

“I’m fine, Buck. You?”

“You don’t seem fine,” he remarks seriously but you can hear concern in his voice.

“I’m very much fine, really. I just don’t like this place.”

“Yeah, me neither. How long Kitty King said it would take him?”

You roll your eyes, happy that Bucky can’t see you. No matter how long he and T’challa spent with one another, they couldn’t stop picking on each other. The bickering seemed to their way of communication and various sarcastic nicknames soon subbed for their real names.

“An hour, more or less. I’m counting on less.”

“Same here, doll. I don’t think I can bear much.”

“What, you’re not happy to be in my company?” you tease, glancing at his over your shoulder. You can hardly see more than his jaw and his lips, which are curled up in a smirk.

“Nope, that’s a huge perk of being stuck here. It’s just that- you won’t panic, will you Y/N?”

A cold shiver runs down your spine but you brace yourself and shake your head.

“Good, ‘cause there’s a loaded grenade launcher behind my back.”

“A what?!” you shriek, suddenly very fond of the wall as you press yourself further into it, folding your arms on your chest. You place your palms flat onto the wall, your head resting on them.

Bucky shifts a bit closer to you, gaining a small, yet oh so important distance from the weapon.

“Why the hell is it loaded?”

“Dunno, Y/N.”

“Who keeps a loaded grenade launcher in a tiny storage?”

“Maybe they wanted to have it close at hand?”

“Bucky!”your voice rises an octave and Bucky shushes you.

“Just breathe, doll. T’challa is going to rescue us and we’re going to get out alive from here.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, promise.”

“Alright,” you smile softly as Bucky leans in and kisses the top of your head. Of course, dread doesn’t leave you mind, it skyrockets as you realize that Bucky would be the first one to het the blow.

Damn him and his gentlemanly manners.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“If we get out of here, I’ll make you a pile of pancakes.”

“When we get out of here, Y/N.”

“Okay, when we’re out of here, I’ll make you pancakes.”

“Sounds great. With maple syrup and marshmallows?”

“Sure, whatever you want. By the way, how can you stomach so much sweetness it’s beyond me.”

He shrugs a little, a small movement that sends tickles over body.

“It’s yummy and I love it.”

“Super-soldiers,” you mumble with mocked disbelief, but there’s fondness in your voice and it makes Bucky chuckle soundlessly, his chest vibrating against your back.

You can’t stop a shiver from coursing through your body.

“You’re cold?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Buck?”

“This may be our last moment alive - ”

“You’re such an optimist, James.”

“Let me finish, doll. As I was saying, this may be our last moment alive, which is way I want to ask you something.”

His voice sounds oddly bashful and you want to turn around and look at him, but you know you can’t. The launcher could fire, depriving Bucky of a chance to say what he has in mind.

Bucky takes a deep breath and only now you realize how nervous he is. The jesting and lighthearted tone was only a façade, most likely meant for you to stop panicking. But the truth was – Bucky was beyond anxious, stuck in a small space with you, the girl who made him believe in love again, who made him want to share his every waking moment with her, who he wanted to see the first thing in the morning and the last at night.

Sure, for a very long time he only thought of you as a great friend and frankly, never even considered a possibility that you might want something more, yet now, when he was face to face with the possibility of missing his chance, Bucky decided that there he couldn’t wait anymore.

“Can I kiss you?”

Time freezes, for both of you. Bucky’s afraid that with that question he’s ruined your friendship and you frown, unable to believe your own ears.

Has your mind tricked you?

“W-what?” you cleverly ask, shifting a little to be able to gaze at him.

Bucky’s tongue glides over his bottom lip as his eyes drop at your parted mouth.

“I know I never gave you a sign, doll, but damn, now I know I should. I was a blind idiot, so forgive me for wasting so much time.”

“O-okay,” you mutter and Bucky nods.

“So, I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Sure,” you smile and tilt your head to the side when Bucky leans in. Your lips meet and even though the position is not very comfortable, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

The kiss is tender and chaste only at the beginning. It quickly turns into an intense, hungry one, both of you desperate to taste one another and you moan breathlessly when Bucky’s tongue rubs against yours in the second you part your lips.

His flesh hand lands on your hip, the metal one remains propped onto the wall as you reach to hold onto it while your other hand tangles into his hair, pulling him closer.

You only break the kiss for a short moment when the two of you need a breath, but as soon as your lungs are refilled with air, your lips are locked again, not having enough of each other.

The two of you are way too lost in one another to hear the sound of shooting, quickened footsteps and shouting in Russian. Surely, with your senses invaded and focused only on Bucky, you are too overwhelmed to fathom that the facility is very quiet.

Much to your surprise, the door to the storage is swung open and you pull away from Bucky with a yelp, covering your mouth with the hand you had in Bucky’s hair.

“They’re fine. Found them making out in a storage at the back,” Sam reports into his com, amusement evident in his voice and you wish that the Earth opened up and swallowed you.

Of course, nothing of that sorts happens and you have to walk past snickering Sam as, with Bucky’s help, you squeeze yourself out of the small room. Before you close the door, you look in the opposite corner and your eyes grow wide, your blood boiling with not lust but anger.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” you growl, spinning around and marching towards the man.

“Y-yes, babydoll?” you got to admit, he tries to keep his cool, despite looking more than frightened.

“Are your eyes fine? I mean, do you maybe need glasses?” you sync your steps with his, being now at his side as you stare at him with feign worry.

“No, why are you asking, my beautiful angel?”

“Don’t sugar me, the launcher wasn’t loaded.”

“You told her it was loaded?!” Sam gives in to the laughter, cackling loudly as he pats Bucky’s back while passing him. Bucky gulps and tries to sport an innocent look.

“Y/N, please-“

“Stop with puppy eyes, you’re in so much trouble once we’re back in Wakanda.”

“But pancakes?” he whines and you throw your arms in the air.

“No pancakes for you. No cuddles and no Eskimo kisses either.”

“Y/N, doll, please!”

“No, Bucky,” you say sternly and climb into a quinjet, Bucky following  suit. Before you can take a seat next to Sam, who’s the pilot, Bucky drops onto his knees in front of you and wraps his arms tightly around your hips. You roll your eyes at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You better be.”

“I’m a fool.”

“There’s no denying it.”

“I’m only a fool for you,” he murmurs and pouts adorably and you can feel yourself melting at the sight.

“You guys are so fucking sappy,” Sam mumbles, though he doesn’t sound disgusted. There’s an odd fondness in his voice. “Y/N, he meant well, he’s just incapable of showing his emotions without life-threatening danger looming over his head. He created favorable circumstances.”

“Is that true?” you quirk up a brow and Bucky nods his head fervently.

“Are you comfortable in this position?” you ask, spinning your finger over your lower half and Bucky.

“Yes, why?” he knits his brows a little although the sparkles in his eyes tell you that he knows what you meant.

“You’re gonna be in it a lot tonight,” you announce and laugh when Sam lets out a heavy sight, mumbling something about not being paid enough to deal with this shit.

You giggle when you feel Bucky’s head pressing against your stomach and you comb your fingers through his hair.

Even if the danger wasn’t real, what Bucky said was, and you think you can forgive the little antic.

After all, you gained a whole lot more.  

[austinpanda]

Dad Letter 070719

7 July, 2019

Dear Dad--

It’s been a mildly shitty few days, but I remain cautiously optimistic! It started on Friday, which, in theory, is the time when our moods start to lighten in anticipation of being off work. But instead, Friday when I picked Zach up from work, I accidentally set my brain on “fuck everything” mood, and I was just grumpy as hell for a few hours. I wonder if this is why adults in this country in the past come home from work and then have a drink. You come home from work, you feel like finding the nearest orphan with a crutch under his arm and just punching him in the face, until your hand hurts, and you think, “I’m off work now! How can I get past this feeling of wanting to stab everything, so I can just enjoy being home with my family? I know, BOOZE!” So they mix a drink, and by the time it’s done, they’re past the homicidal feelings and starting to feel like, “I’m ready for my wife to fix my steak now.” I’ll bet it also helped to have cigarettes. Part of what sucks about living in the future is knowing how bad for you all that booze and murder and cigarettes can be.

So that was Friday. And I was already vexed because I didn’t get to see any fireworks on the Fourth. We didn’t buy any, which would have been illegal for us to shoot off in the apartment complex anyway, and we don’t go to the city fireworks display because there’s simply too much traffic. Then Saturday (yesterday) happened. We did virtually nothing, except for one very good thing.

We finally, finally, finally got paid by State Farm for Zach’s car! I checked, and the claim only took 167 days. (That’s way too damn many days for a two-vehicle accident.) And they didn’t discover or create any new ways to fuck us; they paid us exactly what they said they would a few months ago when they determined it was a total loss. Saturday our one big important chore was to go to the bank and deposit that check.

Neither of us has ever deposited a check that big. (It was a bit over 5k.) And because we’re naturally shy, sensitive types, we envisioned all sorts of nastiness from the bank. We imagined they wouldn’t want to deposit it because we’d done something wrong, or because they figure since the check was made out to both of us, that we’re a couple of married fags, and try to refuse us service under some pretext. Or worse, they could tell us, “NO!” for some legitimate reason that we hadn’t thought of, an answer that we'd then be stuck with. Only people like me and Zach can imagine this many ways for a bank NOT to accept a big check from us that came from someone as trustworthy as State Farm. Anyway, we saw this as a big occasion (the depositing of the big check) that kinda had to go right, so it made us nervous, knowing it might go wrong for reasons we failed to anticipate.

So we get there, the check is made out to him and me both, so we both endorse it, and go through the drive-in lane. And sure enough, the fucking asshole flunky at the bank said he can’t deposit the check, since it’s made out to both of us, and we don’t have any shared account into which it can be deposited. We never set up a shared account, we just have separate accounts at the same bank. Our plan was simply to deposit it all to Zach, and he’d get online later and transfer half to me, not that it would matter much who actually held onto it, since it’s our moving money.

Zach and I were both initially devastated, but the flunky (a 20-something ponytail guy who would have benefited greatly from owning a comb) said he’d check, and went away before we could respond. When he came back, he asked if Rick Weidmann was present, and I indicated I was. He still didn’t think he could do it, but he wanted to ask a superior first. Seems like it might have been an actual problem, not having a shared account, since the check said Zach’s name AND my name, not his name OR my name. But in the end, after realizing that Zach and I were both present, we both had accounts with this bank, we both had identification that we provided, and we were both okay with them putting a two-day hold on the check, they deposited the stupid check. They apologized for the inconvenience, said there’s special shit they have to do when it’s this much money, and said they’d make a couple hundred available immediately in case we needed it. (We did not, but...thanks anyway.) It’s STATE FARM, you dumb goober. How likely is State Farm to bounce a check on you guys?

So the money is deposited, sorta. It won’t be actual money until tomorrow or Tuesday. This is an acceptable outcome. Then this morning happened.

To back up slightly. I took one of those “bad idea naps” yesterday afternoon. We ate dinner sooner than we should have (around 3:00 p.m.), and by 4:00 I was full of food and sleepy, so I laid down for what turned out to be three hours. When Zach woke me up, it was about 7:00 p.m., and he was about an hour from going to bed himself. This meant I walked around, fuzzy-headed like a zombie for the next three hours, and eventually went back to bed at around 10:00. Then I woke up every 30 minutes last night for reasons I could never figure out, though I assume taking a three-hour nap before bedtime had something to do with it.

So I woke up this morning, after never really sleeping very well last night, and Zach is off to the grocery store to get groceries. After that, Sunday morning breakfast tacos. But when Zach returned with the groceries, he advised me that the driver’s door handle had come off my car. I looked, and sure enough, empty space where the door handle should be. It's like the handle was just an idea. This means I won’t be able to open the driver’s door to get in the car; I’m going to have to go in through the passenger’s side, pop open the driver’s door, then get out, walk around, and get in the car. I can do that, but shit, who wants to? At least Zach didn’t feel bad about being the one present when the door handle went tits up. He reached for the handle, and it came off in his hand like it was only being held in place with a wisp of cloud.

And because of that, I nixed the breakfast taco idea, because, “I don’t want tacos! I’m having a door handle emergency!” even though it wasn’t that much of an emergency. Zach, the thoughtful and industrious man he is, quickly found out that they sell door handles for 2008 Hyundai Sonatas on Amazon.com, and they’re only ten bucks. So! He has ordered a replacement handle, and I may be able to install the shit myself by watching YouTube videos about it. That’s how I usually replace things like tail light bulbs, or cabin air filters. Watch a YouTube video, and then do the shit myself. I don’t know if this will work, but I may have this Door Handle-Gate all wrapped up by Tuesday, and for only ten bucks, assuming I’m able to install it myself.

Not much else going on, except all the usual craziness. Work, sleep, the occasional movie, and repeat. Oh, I finished reading Ordinary Heroes! I thought it was excellent! I thought it was very good and very thoughtful. And I haven’t seen any movies I’d recommend lately, except that Chernobyl mini-series that I keep re-watching and going on about. Did you know that, when Chernobyl blew up, they were performing a safety test? It was a pretty fucked up situation, in all respects. Note to self: If a nearby reactor blows up, step 1 is to get in the car and start driving away from it with all speed. Then, after a few miles, dump that car, get another one that isn’t covered with radioactive contamination, and continue with step 1.

I hope you’re doing well, and adjusting to your new surroundings. The period when you’ve just moved someplace new, and everything is foreign, can really suck! But it won’t be long before you become a regular at some of the local establishments, and things begin to feel like home again. Sending positive thoughts your way.

Love to you both!

[dominodebt]

ding dong duch is back (with original work sorry)

HI okay sorry I know I’ve been very inactive but like, first it was finals and then it was a car accident and now it’s legal stuff (nothing major just part of the car accident thing Duch ain’t going to jail) so I’m just trying to stay on top of everything.

I’ve still been writing but I’ve been on more of an original kick lately than fan stuff (although Blackwatch AU is going up friday so like look forward to that I guess) and I’m trying to put together a portfolio of original work since I already have a portfolio of like, news pieces and journalistic things I’ve done.

Long story short here’s a short little character study (which is ironically about cars and legal trouble) that I wrote to put in such a portfolio and was edited by the lovely @woestar and @ullsumbra. I figured I’d slap it up here just to assure everyone that I’m still here and I still write stuff.

I’ll be back with fan stuff soon don’t fret! Thanks for your patience kids <3

Ophelia sees the ticket—an obnoxious flash of pink against the pitch of her vehicle—and feels her carefully worked down anger spike again.

           Fuckin’ peachy.

           She strides forward, heels clicking against the concrete as she approaches her—illegally—parked car, chewing on a manicured nail, stewing.

           This whole night had been a fucking waste, to be honest. Not even Rose, who was in no way an optimist but rather an exceptionally brutal opportunist, admitted that there was nothing useful in Ophelia’s findings.

           And when Rose—who would probably be called a vulture if this whole city didn’t already have her pegged as a viper—says something’s useless, it’s not even good enough to wipe your ass with.

           So Ophelia had, in effect, wasted her time, her money, her composure, and a damn good outfit on a useless party that had yielded none of the promised results. And someone had ticketed her Lotus.

           Her goddamn Lotus.

           She’s pissed, she’s hungry, and she’s not nearly as drunk as she’d like to be.

           She’s also—the heiress notes with interest as she reaches the side of her car—being watched.

           She knows what it’s like to feel eyes on her, to the point where it’s easier to tell when no one’s looking at her than the opposite. Paparazzi, business partners, criminals, cops, complete strangers—Ophelia draws everyone’s eye for one reason or another. This one wants her fortune, that one wants her dress. Some assess her as a threat, some just see a striking young woman.

          The thing, Ophelia’s learned, is when you wear this many masks, you have to be able to don the right one at the right time.

          She lets her gaze drift to the polished passenger window of her prized Lotus, taking in the officer who’s lurking behind, watching her closely.

          So the question is: what part does she have to play for this cop to leave her the hell alone?

          “Evening, Officer,” she greets him, turning around before he can announce himself. She lets some extra sweetness melt into her words, honeying them as best she can when all she can think about is food, alcohol, and the ticket on the hood of her Lotus shoved up this guy’s ass.

          The officer freezes mid-step, dark eyes narrowing as he considers her abrupt greeting, before his expression clears and he finishes his movement, standing a healthy distance away, but now bathed in the streetlight they stand beside.

          “You saw my reflection in the window,” he notes, and Ophelia has to fight to keep her charming smile.

          Oh, a clever cop. Her favorite.

          “Actually, I have eyes in the back of my head,” is her smooth response, as she leans back against the body of her prized car, lifting her leg back to hook the stiletto heel on the rim of her front tire and make the edge of her cocktail dress ride up just enough to pique some interest.

          He lifts an eyebrow, eyes never straying from her face. Ophelia’s smile strains again.

          “I stuck around because I wanted to see who owned the car,” he explains. “Although now that I see who it is, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” A pause. “Your plates are bad.”

          Ophelia drops the sweet smile, this time letting a sly smirk play across her lips, changing tactics.

          “Trust me, my plates aren’t nearly the baddest thing about me.”

          It’s a line so soaked in forced sensuality and false mystique that Ophelia nearly gags on it. She could not be more obvious. It should garner some reaction, at least. She’d welcome a rejection at this point—anything to clue her into what persona she should try next.

          Because it’s not as though she can’t pay the ticket. It’s not even that she doesn’t want to pay the ticket. It’s the simple fact that this cop put his hands on her Lotus, and he’s gonna answer for it one way or another.

          But as his gaze remains impassive under her alluring stare, Ophelia starts to wonder if she should just cut her losses, flip him off, and call it a night.

          “I don’t doubt that,” he replies evenly, and Ophelia’s hands twitch with the desire to crack her fist against that calm fucking face of his. She’s a wealthy heiress, dressed to the nines, openly flirting with him.

          She gets it—she’s not everyone’s taste, whatever. But his stoicism in the face of her performance is starting to grate her.

          Even if said performance is sloppy and kinda half-assed. She’s hungry, okay?

          She shifts gears again, smoothly extricating the heel of her shoe from where she’d hooked it over the rim of her tire and takes a few steps to skirt around the front of her Lotus, letting her fingertips glide over the polished pitch paint.

          “So, you said you wanted to see who owned the car.” Ophelia arches an eyebrow at him, off-handedly feeling like one of those models that showcase cars on game shows. The thought makes her cocksure smirk flicker, but she holds it together. God she wants to be unconscious—blackout or asleep, she kinda doesn’t care at this point. “Like what you see?”

            To her smug satisfaction, his eyes finally leave her face—only to settle on the body of the Lotus.

           Oh, fuck her.

            “It’s nice,” he agrees, crossing his arms as his dark eyes scan the car. “I thought they discontinued the Series 1 in in the 90’s.”

            His casual classification of such an old, stupidly expensive vehicle—no really, Rose had almost murdered her when it had finally come out how much of her fortune she’d spent on the damn thing—gives Ophelia pause, and there’s an audible falter in her smooth stride as she makes her way around to the driver’s side, still watching him closely.

            She half considers dropping the sultry act now just to see how far she can get talking shop with him, but decides against it. She’s too far in to make such a drastic change, and she honestly doesn’t give a shit what he thinks about her car.

          She’s tired, irritated, and wants to make this cop eat this fucking ticket.

          Quirking an eyebrow when he lifts his gaze back up to hers, she notes he’s watching her just as closely. Though she admits it’s probably because he’s waiting for her to make some kind of move as opposed to any sexual intrigue.

            Her eyes sweep over his uniform. The dark navy stands out against his rather fair skin, and she can see a shock of black hair beneath the cap he wears, the bill of it casting a shadow that hides his eyes. His belt contains nothing surprising—Officer Asshole here is not the first or the last cop she’ll see, definitely in her lifetime, probably not even tonight. She searches for something to catch on, but all she ends up looking at is the tarnished SCPD badge pinned slightly crookedly to his chest, and the nameplate fixed beside it.

           J. Zharkov

           “They did discontinue it,” she murmurs, smoothly picking up their conversational thread as she puts the Lotus between them, gazing at him over the roof. “But some things are too good to let go of, you know?”

          She plays her last card—a certain half-smile she couples with lowered lashes and an alluring tilt to her head. She’s honestly found more success in coercing people with the charming look than with flashing her gun.

          Although…Ophelia tips her stare down to the window of her car, knowing damn well such a gun is currently resting in the glove box. She could always try that—

          “You parked illegally.” The cop’s voice is low and terse—not a glimmer of interest in his dark eyes when Ophelia snaps her gaze back to his. “That ticket’s for two hundred bucks.”

          Ophelia’s fingers tense like harpy talons where she’d been skating them aimlessly across the smooth finish of her Lotus as her frisky façade melts away and her expression darkens with anger. Bullshit.

          “Fucking Christ man!” Ophelia steps back, no longer draping herself over the car, hands on her hips. “There are like, forty illegally parked cars here!” she waves a dark hand down the street, at the mass of cars all parked exactly like hers. Everyone parks illegally on Scape Street. And granted, her car is easily the most ostentatious, but still.

          “Did you give any of them tickets?” She swings her gaze around to the car parked behind her—some Ford model or another, ugly as sin—and her jaw tightens at the distinct lack of a ticket on its windshield.

            His lips twitch and she feels her ire rise. Oh, so that got him to smile, huh? Jackass.

            “I’ll get around to it,” he offers, shrugging casually in a way that tells Ophelia he will not, in fact, get around to it and she is the only one in a ten-mile radius getting fucked right now. And it isn’t even the good kind of fucked. Jesus.

            “You’re an ass,” she tell him shortly. She has two hundred dollars on her person right now easy—but it’s the principle of the thing.

           He quirks an eyebrow—the most emotion he’s displayed all night.

           “Just trying to do my job, ma’am.” He tips his hat then, and Ophelia wants to punch him square in the throat. “To serve and protect.”

           Ophelia chokes down a scoff. She’s not giving him the satisfaction, no fucking way.

           “Well, you’re doing a swell job there, rookie,” she drawls back, snapping him a sarcastic salute before leaning across the car to snatch the ticket off her windshield. She locks eyes with him as she does so, pulling on her least-liked mask. The one her parents used to wear.

           “Don’t ever touch my car again, okay? I don’t care how many laws it’s breaking. You see this—” she raps a knuckle against the polished pitch-black hood of her Lotus. “—you keep fuckin’ walking. Got it?”

           He gazes back at her impassively. “Not sure you really get to make that call, miss,” he answers. His voice doesn’t betray a shred of anxiety. Ophelia’s gaze hardens.

           “Yeah? Must be new in town.” She pulls back, making a show of crushing the ticket in her fist while making direct eye contact with him.

           She’s still gonna get it settled—mostly because Rose will absolutely eat her alive if she gives local authorities any reason to poke around in their affairs—but for the moment allows herself to smile at the sound of crumpling paper.

           “Do some research,” she suggests then. Her Lotus chirps as she unlocks it, pulling the door open and lifting an eyebrow at him as she climbs in. “Talk to some of your cop buddies. Poll the department. Ask them if they think it’s a good idea to pick a fight with a girl driving a car like this.”

           Her Lotus is legendary in Saint Cloud—it’s part of her pride, her image. Bad things usually follow its engine’s roar. Everyone knows it—the police department especially.

           She tosses the crumpled remains of her ticket into the cupholder and is about to slam the door and rev the engine for all she’s fucking worth when she sees him draw closer to the passenger side window, and her lips pull back in an honest to god snarl when he braces his forearm against the top of it, looking down at her through the tinted glass.

           Eyes narrowed, she rolls it down, giving him a flat glare.

           “Make it quick, rookie, or you aren’t getting that arm back,” she warns him.

           He looks right at her, and Ophelia lifts her chin.

           “I’ve lived in this city my whole life, Ms. Lévesque,” he tells her; voice that same timbre as before—as steady and solid as a heartbeat. “I don’t really scare all that easy.”

           Ophelia scoffs, rolling her eyes. Dramatic one-liners. Great.

           And a local. Even better. She glances at him sideways, trying to place his age, wondering if he’d been around back when her parents ran things.

           She eventually decides—with the flippancy of a flipped coin—she doesn’t give a shit, and turns back to the road, turning the key and letting the engine roar to life.

           “But you do scare,” she tells him off-handedly, not really caring if he’s listening or not. She throws the car into reverse, glances in her rear-view mirror, resists the urge to slam into the unticketed Ford parked behind her. “Easy or not. Everyone does.”

You can tell me what you think or you can totally ignore? Either way have a good one kids

[shawnjacksonsbs]

Have more purpose than that. Make it infinite. Let's change the world one fucking person at a time if that’s what it takes.    6-7-20 "FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER, I JUST WANTED TO DO WHAT WAS RIGHT." - Steve Rogers This is where I'm at now, with as much of my life as I can control, and even still more of it that I can't. It's an ever urging and pulling feeling of responsibility stinging my heart. But man it hurts so good to do what feels right. So here's my weekly take on things. If you aren't arguing to convince the opposition of your side, then you are only arguing to be arguing. Am I right or am I wrong? If that's not the case, but you're not trying to educate them either, then why not remove yourself from the heat of the agitated discussed topic. I can only really think of one example, and that is if you were stepping into a situation to stand up for someone or to help someone who is being bullied. Then obviously get it done, and realign when it's over. Other than that, what else is there to gain aside from just wanting to argue and be disturbing, (for lack of a better description)? I'm all for sticking up for the underdog and standing up to bullies, but are our racially charged family members completely hopeless, or completely evil? I imagine some are, but most are probably not, especially some of the younger ones. Some of those very specific behaviors can be so disgusting, but if that's the case and you don't want to educate, then can you ax them out of your life? Or ignore them altogether. Why stay trapped in a never-ending loop. We can help others to help others as well. Look, I'm just as guilty as anyone when it comes to standing up for people, for kindnesses, and standing up to those who would treat others as less than. But . . . evil and ignorance don't always have to be holding hands, albeit does happens a lot. I have to constantly ask myself why, what for, how, and to what end usually in each situation. I'm not perfect at it, but at least I try. I can get just as worked up as those I'm talking to, especially if it's a topic that touches my heart on a deeper level, as most obvious(?) injustice issues tend to do. I'm grateful to be on mission though, and considering it's a learning curve for me anyway, I can try this way or that today, learn more, and better ways for a different approach tomorrow. Hell, I've taken a stance on so many issues in the last 7 years alone that my mind has been changed on or altered towards it isn't even funny. Its called growth. Its called being an adult. Changed minds solve more conflicts than closed minds ever will. Some a little more slightly, like my views on Black Lives Matter, and some drastically like with my views on white privilege, just to name a couple. Each step in that growth that I take may change as I progress forward in positivity, but it's still just that; more positive steps than last time step. Which doesn't mean my view was negative before. It was just a little lesser of that positive than it is now but still positive. Growth. Every day a little more. With an open mind, which was very hard for me to get to, I was shown how to open my heart. With my heart open, I learned why I should open them up more. Its always about others, from family and friends to struggling strangers. It's my most important part of the life explanation. Sometimes I feel confused as to why more people don't feel the same way, but then I am reminded of all those who do, and that I was once someone who didn't. Now though, I know it to be better. I know it to be right. Not everyone does, but not everyone has to. Light will always be greater, even if the darkness never dies completely, but if people like me started getting discouraged that we may never win the war and started "pulling out", or "giving up", (probably not "giving in" so much, as that would probably be hard to do once you've made it here) then holding back the darkness would become extremely tiring for those who were left holding the line. I'd hope that would never happen, but if it did then I'd hold the line alone for as long as humanly possible. Anyone who knows me now probably knows this to be true. Just keeping the hope alive, the push for kindness cultivating, and the gratitude growing is the easiest fighting style I've ever grown accustomed to and it's the right thing to do. Always with the next right thing, making good choices etc, is just plain easier. My big go-to is that lying used to be exhausting. Now I don't have to remember bullshit lies or backups for future reference. The truth is just easier, even if it is sometimes a little uncomfortable. And, once again, it's the right thing to do. I'll say it like this. Do what you want and I will continue to as well. But ask yourself, why wouldn't you want the same things, with similar outcomes? Kindnesses may start out as little tasks, but if you're anything like me then they'll end up being a lifestyle soon enough. A new direction real quick, I have probably been in handcuffs over 150 times in my life, probably arrested closer to 100 of those times, charged maybe 50 of them, with felonies being an even lower number, and of those felonies less were incarceratable. I was also the family junkie that no one thought would pull out. And I mean no one. Most loved me but didn't believe I'd ever find solid ground again out of that life, at least not without overdosing, dying in the street, or ending up back in prison. I suppose this is just to kind of brag on myself a little, but not like you think. Not for the quantity or length of time I stayed lost, which would have had me give up on me as well, but because of how far I've come since then and in a pretty short amount of time. Not that others weren't worse, or better off or any other such irrelevant shit, because 20 years of using, and being a lowlife is a stretch for anyone. Enough of one to think it would remain the same. Yet . . .I found my way out. Found my way back, and then some. It's not enough to just not do those things anymore. I had to learn or re-learn life, love, continuity of purpose, consistency, integrity, empathy, compassion, and a whole lot more came with it. If I can, anyone can. And you don't have to force some preconceived ideas on how to into your being. If you are sincere and start actually opening your mind to reason, then your heart will follow. It all starts with hope. With hope, we start to believe in greater things, and that things will get better. That's all you need at first. Don't let what you think might come next dissuade you from starting here at all though. When you're ready to move forward the next thing you'll need will reveal itself. It may be god or religion, it may 12 step or support groups, might even just be family. For me, it was recognizing myself again allowing me to establish it with what I believed in my heart, regardless of what anyone else thought or believed. I readjusted my own moral compass. It stays truer north now than at any time previously, in my whole life, except for maybe the innocence of my childhood. "Hope is an optimistic state of mind that is based on an expectation of positive outcomes with respect to events and circumstances in one's life or the world at large." It means to "expect with confidence" and "to cherish a desire with anticipation". If hope ever truly died, there would be no more point, for any of this. Hope is huge. No matter which avenue you decide later to walk down, they all start at the corner of Hope and Honesty. All of them. The responsibility I feel towards others is more than I could ever completely define in here, maybe anywhere. Nor would I ever expect everyone to understand it. I'd more would but  . . . It's mostly that I want to give love, because so many need it, and most, and I mean most, aren't undeserving. I still wish I knew better ways to fulfill parts a little closer to home and family, but I'm dealing. On my personal side, I spent my first week in the new apartment. It's going to take some getting used to again, the whole being by myself again. I said it before, the feelings of independence hits fairly differently at first, but it'll balance out soon enough. It was a full week and I still have plenty to do, and unpack. Plus a little bit of stuff to buy for the place as well. (I'm not big on big expensive technology either. I'm used to be someone who could probably live the rest of my life with a 32-inch black n white t.v. with a fuzzy picture, but I am starting to lean a little more every day towards a 65 inch curved television like the one I saw the other day in the store. Have you seen these? Torn between - living with limited material possessions and "I don't ever blow money on myself") Anyways, keep your eyes open. lol If I find one in the next week or so for under $500 bucks, I'm taking that as a sign from the universe. No, seriously.   Life is good though, as it usually is for me. Its an amazingly beautiful opportunity for opportunity every single day. Keep in mind, that sharing the love and the laughter could mean more to those around than it sometimes does for you. It's no reason to stop, maybe more reason as to why to keep it up. Find the hope and hold onto it, then walk the walk, and you'll find yourself in a better place before ya know it. Pushing kindnesses across the board and living in gratitude every day is the new cool. Until next week; "Love is like infinity: You can't have more or less infinity, and you can't compare two things to see if they're 'equally infinite. ' Infinity just is, and that's the way I think love is, too." - Fred Rogers

[arcticdementor]

It must be hard for Joseph Stiglitz to remain an optimist in the face of the grim future he fears may be coming. The Nobel laureate and former chief economist at the World Bank has thought carefully about how artificial intelligence will affect our lives. On the back of the technology, we could build ourselves a richer society and perhaps enjoy a shorter working week, he says. But there are countless pitfalls to avoid on the way. The ones Stiglitz has in mind are hardly trivial. He worries about hamfisted moves that lead to routine exploitation in our daily lives, that leave society more divided than ever and threaten the fundamentals of democracy.

“Artificial intelligence and robotisation have the potential to increase the productivity of the economy and, in principle, that could make everybody better off,” he says. “But only if they are well managed.”

…

Stiglitz won the Nobel prize for economics in 2001 for his analyses of imperfect information in markets. A year later, he published Globalisation and Its Discontents, a book that laid bare his disillusion with the International Monetary Fund – the World Bank’s sister organisation – and, by extension, the US Treasury. Trade negotiations, he argued, were driven by multinationals at the expense of workers and ordinary citizens. “What I want to emphasise is that it is time to focus on the public-policy issues surrounding AI, because the concerns are a continuation of the concerns that globalisation and innovation have brought us. We were slow to grasp what they were doing and we shouldn’t make that mistake again.”

Beyond the impact of AI on work, Stiglitz sees more insidious forces at play. Armed with AI, tech firms can extract meaning from the data we hand over when we search, buy and message our friends. It is used ostensibly to deliver a more personalised service. That is one perspective. Another is that our data is used against us.

…

It is the potential for datasets to be combined that most worries Stiglitz. For example, retailers can now track customers via their smartphones as they move around stores and can gather data on what catches their eye and which displays they walk straight past.

“In your interactions with Google, Facebook, Twitter and others, they gather an awful lot of data about you. If that data is combined with other data, then companies have a great deal of information about you as an individual – more information than you have on yourself,” he says.

…

Stiglitz poses a question that he suspects tech firms have faced internally. “Which is the easier way to make a buck: figuring out a better way to exploit somebody, or making a better product? With the new AI, it looks like the answer is finding a better way to exploit somebody.”

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So far, Stiglitz argues, neither governments nor tech firms have done enough to prevent such abuses. “What we have now is totally inadequate,” he says. “There is nothing to circumscribe that kind of bad behaviour and we have enough evidence that there are people who are willing to do it, who have no moral compunction.”

In the US in particular, there has been a willingness to leave tech firms to thrash out decent rules of behaviour and adhere to them, Stiglitz believes. One of the many reasons is that the complexity of the technology can make it intimidating. “It overwhelms a lot of people and their response is: ‘We can’t do it, the government can’t do it, we have to leave it to the tech giants.’”

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Taxes are not enough. To Stiglitz, this is about labour bargaining power, intellectual property rights, redefining and enforcing competition laws, corporate governance laws and the way the financial system operates. “It’s a much broader agenda than just redistribution,” he says.

He is not a fan of universal basic income, a proposal under which everyone receives a no-strings handout to cover the costs of living. Advocates argue that, as tech firms gather ever more wealth, UBI could help to redistribute the proceeds and ensure that everyone benefits. But, to Stiglitz, UBI is a cop-out. He does not believe it is what most people want.