i wish i had this job

anonymous asked:

You posted the screen caps of it a few days ago, and I know you talk a lot about how roz's career story was hardly there. I think the seabees episode where roz is so determined to win that she tries to bribe the judges and is willing to climb over fletcher's mother's body to get it could be seen not just as roz being very competitive, but also that she's devoted to her career and she wants the award as recognition of the 10 hard years of work she's done.

Oh, totally. I wish it had been developed a little better, but I like the recurring thread of Roz being really good at her job, having worked hard to get there, but also wanting more. Because she isn’t really as ego-driven as Frasier can be, yet she was even more passionate about winning than Frasier, and crushed when they lost. It makes sense because she’s actually been in that industry for ten years, while it’s Frasier’s first year in radio. 

“make the princess speak and you will have the crown of kings.”

my knees hurt, as usual, from scrubbing. technically i’m too high of Maid Station to help out with these things, but i like seeing what happens when you clean. the development of things. how a lot of effort can make something. i like learning and trying and working hard to get towards something.

and i’ve seen them, from the back of pillars, from behind cracked doors, from beside her (on the best days) the way they talk to her. oh beautiful won’t you just look at me. oh darling. if you speak i’ll be your prince. if you speak i’ll be your king. 

the princess, i know, finds the lines of suitors boring. it’s in the way her hands are always moving. she hides yawns, leaves early, we make her apologies. once, a man comes and tries to startle her into screaming. she rolls her eyes and looks directly at me. i have to hide my smile behind my sleeve. he is taken away while still screaming.

by accident, i find her once, crying. when we imagine princesses, they always cry daintily. hers is hoarse, angry, and something in it breaks me. in my station i should apologize and bow and leave. instead i am frozen, watching her shoulders heaving.

she looks up and spots me, her cheeks ruddy. i know i should go but instead i make a big show. i act as one of her princes. i make grand gestures and speak in deep voices. i frantically offer her handkerchiefs and trip over my own two feet. a smile crawls up over her, slowly. i dab my sweat away and offer her the used rag. i feign a fluster, turn a terrible cartwheel, make shadow puppets. the sound of her laugh, raw and rusty, sends shivers through me.

for a while, i do not see her after this. but then i am called to her chambers. she is crying again. i offer silly gifts, pebbles and dusting rags and a candlestick from her own kitchen, pretend to steal it, use it as a hat, rock it as a babe. she laughs more easily this time, gladly, and when she laughs i am taken by more important maids, thereby officially Excused.

it goes like this for months. the winter comes. i rarely see her. i spend my week thinking about ways to please her. i knick interesting cookies, show her shiny buttons, learn to cartwheel in a full skirt, and then promptly how to make it look foolish again. i learn how to juggle hot bread and dance as a man would, i learn how to balance on a ball and how to fall down without hurting myself, how to fake a fight with my own body, which colors she likes and which don’t please her.

i show up on a cold eve with a knotted line of scarves hidden down my sleeve, worried and breathless, wondering why she’s been crying. the door opens and she is sitting there, happy. at first i’m confused, but she waves me in. next to her is her small dessert, in two containers. i’m not sure how to respond, so i fake a fall to hear her laugh, and then sit at her feet. she gives me ice cream - so rare a treat. i know what went into making it - the hours of shaking. it’s smooth and tasty. i don’t feign my reaction, but she laughs anyway, kindly. 

it goes like this. i see her more frequently. she likes giving me new things, watching me discover i hate kiwi and love oranges and would die if it made her laugh breathlessly. i’ve made her keel over with cackling and she’s put a fire in me. sometimes we just sit there, quietly, enjoying each other’s company. 

it’s in her hands, always moving. little things i thought were just her, fidgeting. here’s how she says she’s thirsty, this is what her hands do when she needs a second to think, here’s how she shows she’s happy. this is how i learn to speak back to her. around her i spend much of my time smiling. i feel every visit is a gift. a new part to unravel. i find out she doesn’t respond to spoken things, that she needs to be looking in order to know you were speaking. sometimes she has me talk and she holds her hands to the base of my throat, her eyes wide and wondering. sometimes she just looks at me and i forget that i’m her jester in chief. i get caught up in her eyes, in how expressive they are when she’s happy, in how when she’s sad i feel like i’m drowning.

i never see the king or queen, but i know when she’s had a visit with them, because she never comes back happy. two winters i have known her, two winters and now we dine frequently. i am often called to stand beside her, to whisper translations of her desires into the ears of someone more important than i, someone who gets to be the voice of royalty. i can’t decide if i’m her friend or her plaything, but i don’t know i care much of the distinction. every moment i’m near her is a moment free of friction. i take stock of suitors and curtsy to them in daylight only to mock them in the candle’s eye later.

she asks me one night to stay. it has been a bad day. it’s completely not okay. i cannot say no but i cannot, by my station, stay. but she begs with her eyes and her hands and i know i’ll take the punishment. 

we lie beside each other. i make sure to turn to her when i speak. in the dark she can’t see me, so i move my hands in the way i’m learning. she asks if i am ever lonely. i cannot tell her that i am always lonely without her beside me, so instead i say i think all people are very lonely and just are pretending. she laughs a little at that and says she thinks her parents are the two most lonely people that ever met. her mother was like her; broke a fairy curse and talked, just once, although nobody knows what she said. well, excepting her father, who was the only one around, and who won her hand in marriage.

from her mother she learned the art of hands, of speaking without words - from her father she learned that who she was included a curse. that she just wanted someone who would make her open like a rose - someone who could fix her. how she stared out into the royal garden and wished on flowers to be what her kingdom needs.

she fell asleep pressed against me. i couldn’t breathe. i was still awake in the morning. 

the punishment never came. we spent nights like this. the handmaidens had grown to know me. whenever their princess was stubborn, i worked magic and made her lovely.

it was a terrible thing. i did too good a job, i think. the princess glowed too much or shone too brightly - or at least, i saw it that way, so who knows what the truth is. every day it felt like we were being rushed with princes. 

her father’s temper at hosting failed. it was the day before her twenty-first birthday and first time i’d ever seen him. he stormed in at the end of the session. “just speak!” he said, “it’s not that hard! do for others what your mother did!” 

“tomorrow is your last day of this,” he warned her, “either you pick a prince or i pick for you. i’m done with it.”

he stormed off. she was left shellshocked and trembling. that night she didn’t ask me to come, but i waited outside, just in case she changed her mind. i understood why she needed space. either she’d speak and be married tomorrow or she’d be married shortly. i heard her crying and it took everything in my power not to rush in and hold her, cradle her gently. but i cannot come into a room of a royal person without being invited. i stayed there, tears in my own eyes, thinking of treason.

the next day was a huge festival. what had been a birthday celebration was turned into a day about princes. i watched her shake her head. i tried to cheer her up. i tried everything. i frequently came inches from causing public humiliation, toed the line of mocking and failing to acknowledge my station. she wouldn’t smile. not once. not even for anything.

the day was long. the bonfire wore down. i watched her crumple into herself. i was out of ideas. i knelt at her feet. her eyes barely looked at me. just wait, i said to her with my hands, i’ll be right back. i took off running.

the price of stealing is losing my hands. these things that i spoke to her with. these things that mattered so much to me, that helped with my comedy and cleaning. 

i didn’t think of them. i bloodied my fingers when i ripped the royal roses from their stems. and then i ran, as fast as i could, back to her feet. i picked them to show you, i said, as she gasped, looking at my treason, they’re beautiful and nobody told them to open to reveal their secrets to the bees. they are unbroken. as you are. as you always will be. 

she fell off her throne and for a second i was beyond speaking, worried something had happened, or she’d fainted, or i’d said the wrong thing. but then she was on her knees, her arms around me, and i heard it. i heard the soft croak of her speaking. just one word, and it sent shivers down me. my name, in her voice, awkward and unwieldy, but full of love and passion, burning fire through me.

i felt a hand on my shoulder. i was pulled away from her. they already had me in handcuffs while i struggled to get back to her, to tell her i loved her, to beg her to run off with me or maybe just hold me around her, maybe just have her for a moment, because i couldn’t live without her for a moment longer.

they put me in the cells. i rotted in there, for a while or for no time at all, i’m not sure. the thorns scarred my palms. i watched the scabs build up and flake off. every time someone came down, i flinched, wondering if i would be the next to be taken and chopped into bits.

but one day the light was different. not the smoky torch of the jailer, instead a bright light in a lantern. at first when i saw her, my breath caught in my throat, mistaking her for my princess.

but she was my queen. at first we stood in silence. and slowly, i moved my hands to speak. is she married? is what came out, even though i should be more worried about me myself and me.

she is not. she bit her father on the arm when he tried to make her. then she fought him. and then ran away. it took us a bit to find her, i’m afraid. she threatened her own life and the life of everyone in this place. the queen was smiling. i was told there was a young woman who could make the princess speak, whom she would die to save, who brought roses to her feet. someone in a cell, rotting. are you her?

the memory of her voice rang through me. i’m she.

yes, her hands said, for even now, aren’t you speaking to the silent Queen?

she opened the door. come, she said, let’s get you cleaned up for the ceremony.

the crown of kings. when she wraps her arms around my neck and laughs next to me, i am royalty. when she smiles or makes a joke or asks to see my cartwheel again, i’m lost in her. i kiss her whenever i can, which is often. we have roses in a vase at the base of our bed, and for all of the kingdom, i’d give my hands if it would keep her laughing.

the next time she spoke was just once, at our wedding, where she said the two words i do to bind us for eternity. she had learned from me, from holding her hands over my voicebox, the way i learned from her how to use hands to speak. sometimes at night she says my name, just because she likes what it does to me.

i’m more blessed than a king. every day i spend with her is a day i spend happily. 

Duo - Peter Parker

request -  okay so y/n is part of the avengers (she’s peter’s age) & peter does something that practically kills him. y/n freaks out & goes to hold him while the rest of the avengers just watch her in pity. they take peter & tell y/n to go cool down. and then when peter wakes up, he is sternly told by tony to go see y/n before she goes crazy. sorry this is long & specific ❤️ love your writing btw!! one of my favorite blogs

a/n - i had went back and forth with a lot of ideas on this fic, and i really hope it doesn’t seem rushed and i hope it turned out okay and not a flop like me :( but don’t forget to request a peter parker/spider-man fic if you want and follow!

Another building came down to the ground as another crowd ran from the scene, only being able to hear their own screams as the enemy came to terrorize New York. It was only another work of Hydra, trying to come and ruin the lifestyle that so many people have made here. It was fight, after fight, after fight, after fight, and I didn’t know if I could take it anymore.

Peter and I, both natives of Queens, and also the youngest on the team. When Peter and I had first arrived to Headquarters, Captain didn’t hesitate to warn us that most enemies target the younger party the most, and that the rest of the team would prioritize the safety of Peter and I before their own.

Today’s situation seemed to be a bit more difficult than the others, from when I looked up and saw Tony struggling to keep another part of a building from falling to when I saw Natasha almost beaten by one of Hydra’s minions. Something about today was just a bit, off.

“(Y/N)!” I heard Rogers call. I turned around to see his shield coming my way, gripping it tightly and slamming it into the bodies of Hydra’s concoctions. They were out within a second, having me throw the shield back to Rogers. He then ran off with Clint, leaving myself and Wanda to deal with the others.

“Where’s Parker?” Natasha spoke into the intercom. My heart dropped as I looked up and tried to find the boy, hoping to see a spot of red and blue anywhere. I turned around as my last hope, calming down when I saw him swinging from one building to the other, coming closer to the scene.

“Southside on 54th, coming right this way.” I said.

Keep reading

Someone to Watch Over Me

Title:  Someone to Watch Over Me (A Bodyguard AU)

Series Masterlist (coming soon)

Author:  Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Six months ago, everything changed. Widowed and alone, Dean Winchester is determined to pick himself up and move on, so he goes back to his job as a bodyguard for Singer Protective Services. His first assignment? An actress receiving death threats, an actress with an uncanny resemblance to his wife.

You don’t want protection, don’t need it. Especially from someone as cold and impersonal as Dean Winchester. You’re not afraid of a bunch of stupid death threats, you just want to be left alone to live your life.

Two people, two very different lives. Who will be the first to let the armor slip?

Characters:  Dean Winchester, Female reader, Bobby Singer, Tiny, Sam Winchester (mentioned), Georgia (OFC), Melissa (OFC-mentioned)

Word Count:  2936

Warnings: language, mentions stalking, death threats, mentions of blood

Author’s Notes: This was written for two challenges: @impala-dreamer One Prompt for All (had to be Dean x Reader, no more than 3,000 words, and the prompt: “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.”) and @luci-in-trenchcoats AU & Things Challenge (I chose Bodyguard AU). I’m not gonna lie, a lot inspiration for this came from the Whitney Houston/Kevin Costner movie The Bodyguard.

***My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Keep reading

Watch The Speech That Should End The Confederate Monuments Debate For Good
New Orleans Mayor Mitch Landrieu's address makes it even harder to defend statues honoring the "cult of the Lost Cause."

It is a lot of work trying to stay on top of the pace of the news cycle: horrific attacks, like explosion that murdered 22 people and injured 59 in Manchester; the “Great Unraveling” of Trump’s scandal-ridden administration; the dismantling of progressive and beneficial programs, policies, and institutions while malicious and regressive legislation is being passed; and on and on… All of it important, all of it pressing. But if you can make the time, I recommend watching, listening to, or reading the powerful speech by New Orleans Mayor Mitch Landrieu in the link above.

And to compare and contrast, check out Mississippi state representative Karl Oliver’s now-deleted response to the removal of these Confederate monuments here, calling for the—emphasis his, in all caps—“LYNCHING” of the Black city council members who voted to back the removal. That is a very specific word in a very specific context, meant to spread terror and violence with the goal of submission in the name of racial supremacy. The kicker is that, as a friend of mine stated, “We’ve officially reached the point where you can literally say anything and face no repercussions at election time. This guy is probably in zero danger of losing his job.”

There are many false narratives and historical fantasies that the majority of us Americans live under, arguably more than we open our eyes to—or educate kids on—the ugly truths of how and why we got to this place in history. As I’ve written on this blog before, I wish I had received more education on this huge and crucial swath of American history as I attended public school in the South, but most of it was glossed over… Kudos to the New Orleans City Council, Mayor Landrieu, and everyone else who worked to unveil this truth and stamp out oppression. Sadly, it will continue to thrive despite these efforts, but efforts like these must continue, including holding people like Karl Oliver accountable.


From the commentary of Leverage 4x18, The Last Dam Job.

Dean Devlin, John Rogers and Wil Wheaton:

Dean: Now, a little tidbit for fans out there. The artwork you’re seeing on the wall, actually the tiles from the very original Stargate, the movie. Which I still have.

John: AHHH! That’s awesome!

Dean: Right there. It was actually, the show had wrapped. And I was getting in my car, to drive to the airport. And I noticed that someone had dismantled the Stargate and thrown it in a big giant dumpster. And I went, “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” And I dove into the dumpster, pulled out all these tiles, boxed them up, and took them home.

John: I’ll tell ya’, that The Stargate, I wish you had it, ‘cause there’s a lost shot – one we could not do – when we bring the team back together at the beginning of season two. We have a little moment of when everyone said what they did during the break and Eliot’s was gonna be, “What did you do?” And we were gonna flash to the Stargate, with him in the gear, going, “Alright! But this is the LAST TIME.” And then flash back and him going. “No.” But the Stargate was BROKEN! It was thrown away!

Wil: I have this picture of you, Dean, looking in that dumpster at the Stargate pieces, going, “THEY BELONG IN A MUSEUM. ON A SHOW I HAVEN’T CREATED YET.”

Dean: Exaxtly!

Media Naranja II

Originally posted by warmth-and-wishes

Read the first part here!: http://ofnifflersandkings.tumblr.com/post/163032782062/media-naranja"

media naranja (n.) one’s better half; a partner, a spouse, or a soulmate; lit. “half of an orange”

Okay, so maybe showing up to the fountain everyday after your first encounter was a little overkill. But it’s not like Connor had asked for your phone number or any other form of getting into contact with you, so this was his best bet of seeing you again.

Plus his dumbass had let it slip over dinner that he made a friend because ‘Yes Zoe, I actually do have friends.’ suddenly became the buzz of the evening, and of course his sister asked a thousand and a half questions about his friend. The only soild answer he could give her was your name.

Of course, his parents were simply over the moon with the fact that he made a friend, asking when you could come over for dinner or if they could meet you.

“It’s been almost a week since you mentioned ’(Y/n)’, are you sure she’s even real?” Zoe asked him one evening.

Connor glared at her and their mother was quick to step in.

“Zoe, what did I tell you about starting with your brother?”

Zoe feigned a surprised expression as she shrugged. “What? It’s a valid question.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Connor said as he frowned at her. “But we’re meeting tomorrow.”

Cynthia immediately perked up. “Well that’s wonderful! Why don’t you invite her over for dinner?”

Connor was about to object, but the stupid look his sister was giving him was enough to change his mind. “Sure,” He forced out. “I’m sure she’d love to.”

Cynthia smiled. “Oh this is going to be so much fun!”

This was an absolute shit show.

Connor sprinted to the fountain place, praying to whoever was floating around in the sky that you’d show up today. If he ever needed the universe to be on his side for once, now was the time.

But the universe never seemed to be in favor of Connor Murphy. Because whenever he stepped off the walking path, he was met with the usual empty space he would see before you came along.

Connor groaned loudly and had to refrain himself from throwing whatever was in his bag at the stupid birds that were littered around the pool of the fountain.

I mean what the hell.

You said you came here during the week, and Connor hadn’t seen you since your first meeting.

Maybe you were just messing with him when you said you wanted to see him. Maybe as soon as he left you took off running to find somewhere else to read your books.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone he had the potential of getting close to suddenly never spoke to him again.

Connor kicked a loose stone across the way, hands ruffling up his hair in frustration.

Then again he did yell at you before he even knew your name, so maybe it was warranted.

While he was running through this internal monologue, he didn’t notice you sneak up behind him, planning to scare him.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and whispered “Boo!” into his ear, cackling up a storm whenever he jumped into the air.

“What the hell?” Connor shouted, his hand covering his ear whenever he whirled around to face you. His face getting all red whenever he saw you laughing.

“Your face was priceless!” You cheered.

Connor even found himself laughing a little. “Well don’t you just feel proud of yourself?”

“Little bit.” You replied with a cheeky grin as you winked at him.

Connor scoffed. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve come here like everyday and you were nowhere to be found.”

“Well we went out of town to vist my sister in-” You halted your explanation when a smile formed on your face.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Stop it. It’s creeping me out.”

“Did you just admit to coming here everyday for the past week just to see me?” You said, taking a step towards him while your hands went behind your back.

Connor’s face went through several emotions before he pushed you away. “Shut up,” He said as he folded his arms. “My mom wants you to come by for dinner, so is that cool, or whatever?”

“Your mom wants to have me over?”

“That’s what I said isn’t it?” He said sharply, before backtracking. “Uh yes, she does. I may or may not have told them about meeting you.”

“Does this have something to do with your sister, cause you two didn’t to seem to be on the best of terms-”

“Look do you want to come or not?” Connor cut you off, anything relating to his sister was something he didn’t want to talk about.

You laughed and gave him a nod. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

“Great!” He announced, grabbing onto your hand and leading you away from the fountain, just wanting to get the evening over with.

“Are you just always gonna yank on my arm whenever you feel like?” You asked once he finally released you at the front of his house.

“What?” He asked, looking over to you before understanding what you meant. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that.”

Connor went to open his door but his head stopped a few inches away before he turned to fully face you. “Look, my family’s like really disfunctional. My mom’s probably gonna be all over you, asking you like a thousand questions, my dad will probably introduce himself and make a few comments over dinner but that’s usually it. And my sister,” he broke himself off to brush back his hair. “Let’s just say my sister hates my ass and would rather have her teeth pulled out one by one than be in the same room as me.”

You blinked at him. “I think I can manage.”

He locked eyes with you for a second before pushing the door open. “Time to swim with the sharks.” He said, closing the door once you entered.

Like clockwork, his mother came rushing down the stairs with a huge smile on her face.

“Hello! You must be (Y/n), Connor’s friend,” She said, practically beaming as you shook hands. “I’m Cynthia, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“It’s very nice to meet you, too.” You said, returning her smile.

She looked back at Connor. “Well? Aren’t you going to take your guests’ coat?” She asked before looking back at you. “Dinner will be out in a little while.”

Connor waited until she left the enterence way before sighing as he took your coat. “Told you.”

“Oh no,” You said, folding your arms and turning to him. “She seems friendly.”

Connor gave you a half smile as he put your stuff away. “So, this is my humble aboad,” He said, holding out his hands as he made a grand gesture of showing the hallway. “Make yourself at home”

You were about to reply when someone else came bounding down the stairs.

“Oh dear god.” Connor mumbled as he tried to push you away from his sister.

“Oh my god,” Zoe said as she stopped on the bottom step, looking at you both in disbelief. “I can’t believe it, your friends with (Y/n)(L/n).”

“Sorry, do I know you?” You asked, peeking from behind Connor’s shoulder.

She smiled at you. “Probably not, you sometimes conduct for the jazz band when our instructors are with the junior high.”

Your eyes soon lit up with realization before you pushed past Connor. “No wait, your one of the guitar players,” You said waiting for her nod of confirmation. “Brilliant! You’re actually really good, I-”

“Okay, we’re going to my room!” Connor announced, taking your hand and hauling you up the stairs and leaving his sister behind.

Connor kept you tucked in his room, keeping you away from the rest of his family until his mother called you both down for dinner.

Much to his amazement though, you got along well with his family. His mother doted on your every word, asking you all the questions that came to her mind, even his dad kept interest for most of the evening, wanting to get to know the first friend his son had over since he could remember. Connor kept his gaze either focused on his plate or gave you small side glances.

Except when he might have let himself stare a little too long, because when he looked over to his mom she had this weird smile on her face and her eyes were all lit up.

His neck got all warm and he made a point of staring down at his food the rest of the evening.

“Thank you for having me over, but I think it’d be best if I took my leave now.” You said, smiling to everyone as you stood up from the table. “Unless you’d like me to help with the washing up?”

“Oh no!” Cynthia said as she stood up as well. “Thank you for offering but I can take care of it.” She said, givng a side look at her son, mentally letting him know to see his guest out.

“I’ll be at the door.” Connor said curtly, jerking his chair back and walking to the hallway.

“Come over whenever you’d like, we’ll be glad to have you.” Cynthia told you as she gave you a small shoulder pat and one final smile before going into the kitchen with your plate.

You said goodbye to the rest of the Murphy’s before meeting Connor at the door, your coat already in his hands.

You went to reach for it but Connor pulled it back. “Nah, I got it,” He said, motioning for you to turn around so he could help you put it on.

“Thank you,” You told him once you were secure in your coat. “For that and the evening, your family’s pretty great.”

Connor scoffed. “Try living with them,” He said with a bitter laugh before clearing his throat and looking at you. “But yeah, I actually had fun watching you interact with them so, thanks for coming over.”

You smiled at him before nodding. “Well, I’ll see you at the fountain?”

Connor blinked and nodded back. “Y-Yeah, sure. See ya.”

You opened the door, being greeted with a light rain hitting the pavement before you put your hood up and Connor watched you walk down the porch and turn to the street before he called out to you.

“Hold up!”

You raised and eyebrow but waited regardless, Connor pulled his coat from the closet and an umbrella from the basket before calling to his mom that he’d be back soon.

He shoved his hands into his coat sleeves as he jogged over to where you were waiting. “Lemme walk you home.”

You offered him a smile. “You don’t have to.”

“No, no, I want to.” He said, smiling back at you before he held out his hand to you and wiggled his fingers. “I promise not to yank on you this time.”

You laughed, and slowly latched onto his hand. “Well if you insist.”

Connor made a show of opening the umbrella and situating it to cover the both of you from the drizzle as you began your walk into the night.

A/n: Part 3?

A PSA to young folk:

If someone you’re interested in says something like, “You shouldn’t be with me, because I’m damaged and I only hurt everyone, and I’ll never get better,” BELIEVE THEM.  Because they are saying that for one of two reasons:

1- They think it’s cool and romantic to be dark and damaged.  They are incorrect.  Fetishizing mental illness is not ok.

2- They truly believe this about themselves, and are unwilling to do anything to work on their issues, right now, and will take their hurt out on you.  Things may change in a few years, when they are ready to face it, but it is NOT YOUR JOB TO FIX THEM.  YOU ARE NOT THIER SAVIOR.

However, if someone you’re interested in says something like, “Yeah, I have issues, but I’m working on them.  It’s hard, and I don’t always win, but I’m working on it.“  That’s a good sign.  It means they’re self-aware enough to be in a healthy relationship.  But please remember, even then, that IT IS NOT YOUR JOB TO FIX THEM. 

Bottom line: when someone tells you who they are, believe them.

Pro revenge from a revenge pro.

(long story. TL;DR at the end)

If you think about it cynically, one of the functions of the police is to provide a sort of society-wide revenge service. Unfortunately for this sub, it’s usually kind of boring. When cops do take exceptional revenge, it’s usually unfortunate and icky, like a dirty beating in the no-camera areas of the copshop, or giving someone the silent-patrolman treatment during transport. Fortunately, most cop revenge isn’t dramatic - it’s procedural. You misbehave, we do the paperwork, and eventually some consequences happen, or not.

Sometimes, however, you get a chance to take a bit of vengeance that is (i hope) the very definition of professional.

For a time, I was a small-town Canadian cop, working in $hicksville, $province. Several years before I came to work in the town, there was an event which entered town legend (and made national news - the funny little throwaway story they go to just before the end of the broadcast). Some kids committed an act of spectacular and iconic vandalism, and cost the town quite a bit of money. They were all caught, tried and sentenced to probation terms with restitution. I would love to provide details, but anything more would be immediately identifying.

Keep reading

spitfirechick  asked:

Hi! Are you taking prompts right now? If not, super sorry to bother you! But if you are, do you think you could write some fluffy nurseydex? I've been having a bad day and could use a pick me up. Thanks either way!

Hi! Could you maybe write a nurseydex comfort?? I’m a bit down rn, people keep bashing my hockey team just because we won

“I almost cried in front of three different advisors today,” Dex huffs, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“Oh - um,” Nursey chokes out. He’s a little caught off guard - he certainly wasn’t expecting that response when he asked Dex how his day went.

“I didn’t actually cry,” Dex shrugs, as if that makes it better, “Thought about it, though.”

Nursey doesn’t know if he’s supposed to press for more information or let Dex be. They’ve been dating for a month, he’s still trying to feel their relationship out. He waits a beat, and when Dex doesn’t elaborate at all he can’t help himself from asking, “Why?”

Keep reading

Stay Safe (Damian x Reader)

Request: Please do a Damian x reader where the reader (who is dating Jason) is very close with Damian, like in an older sister/motherly way

A/N: I hope you like it anon! Don’t forget– Q and A and requests are open! Have a great day/night loves!


“You’re sure that you have your phone?” Damian asked you. The 11 year old sitting on the couch was probably 10 times more paranoid about you going on a date than you were. “And your house key? What about money in case you need to call a cab?”

“I’m good, Dami.” You slipped on your shoes and gave yourself a once over in the mirror on the wall. “Jason and I have been dating for 4 months now, remember?”

“Text me or call me if you need anything– and by anything, I mean anything. I can hide a body–”

“Damian, I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that.” You gave him a stern look before giving him a hug. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Be safe on patrols, okay?”

“I’m not the one you need to worry about.” He grumbled, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. “Todd better keep it in his pants.” He said lowly enough that he thought that you couldn’t hear him, but you laughed and he went red.

“Don’t worry about Jason.” You stepped back and booped him on the nose, smiling when he scrunched up his nose in distaste. “I’m perfectly capable of handling myself kiddo.”

“Have fun.” He begrudged before the door closed behind you.


“How’s short stack?” Jason asked you as you laid on his chest. “Still a demon?”

“Damian is good. And definitely not a demon. He was very concerned about me dating you though.” You laughed. You had met Jason through Damian– or, rather through Bruce. You were a confidant to Bruce Wayne (yes, you knew his identity) at an early age when you interned under him at Wayne Industries. He let you in on all of his secrets and ended up giving you an executive job there when you were old enough to apply.

Damian was your ‘little brother’ of sorts. Bruce had called you in to watch him on several occasions when he was out on business trips. Since then, he had grown very attached to you. And when you and Jason started dating, he’d become even more protective of you.

“Of course. He cares about you.” Jason said, trailing a finger down your back. Your date had eventually led back to his apartment; well, it was more like it had led back to one of the walls of his apartment, then the couch, and lastly his bed. It was a great date.

“He’s just always worried about me.” You sighed. “I wish he wouldn’t worry so much. He’s going to have an ulcer at 16 at the rate he’s going.”

“He doesn’t need to worry about you.” Jason smiled down at you. “That’s my job, remember?”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes. “Fine– you can worry about me, but it’s pointless, because I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can.” He kissed you softly, and you relaxed at his touch.


You were walking back to your apartment when someone crept up behind you. You didn’t have time to react before there was a gun pressed to your back, and a voice in your ear.

“Give me your wallet.” A man growled in your ear. You handed your wallet over wordlessly. “And your pho–”

He collapsed in the middle of his sentence. You whirled around, bewildered, when you saw Damian standing there. “Y/F/N? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You looked down at the guy on the ground. “Can’t say the same for him.” Damian retrieved your wallet and handed it to you.

“From now on, you should have someone walking with you when it’s dark out.” He sighed. “I thought Jason was giving you a ride back after dinner?”

“I was just walking back from his apartment.” You said. Damian looked up at you questioningly. “It’s only a couple of blocks. I would have had the situation under control, but unfortunately there was a gun barrel pressed to my back.”

“Yeah, well, we’re going to have to fix that.” He started walking you back to your apartment. “What were you doing at Jason’s?”

“Hanging out. Talking.” You said, not necessarily lying per se. He was 11, he didn’t need to know that the two of you were having se–

“What did you talk about?”

“Taxes. Life. College. Grown up stuff.” You said. He nodded in agreement, and you smiled internally. When you got back to your apartment, Damian waited until you were inside and the door was locked before beginning to climb out the window. However, he turned around at the last minute.

“Stay safe, Y/F/N.”

You walked up to him and kissed his forehead endearingly. “Bye, Dami. See you.” With that, he left your apartment. You chuckled as you closed the window behind him, making sure it was unlocked in case he needed in. You loved him– in a fraternal sense.

Damian Wayne: your overprotective, adorable, brave ‘little brother’.

『 masterpost 1/15 for 1.5k appreciation! 』

my goal for this summer is to become much more focused on posting frequent original content–whether it be masterposts, photos or quotes. but as this seems to be a rather common goal among studyblrs, i thought it would be fun to share a list of 25 original content ideas for your studyblr (that you can steal!).

1. stationery masterpost (list of all of your favorite and most used stationery!)

2. “what to do with your studyblr during summer” post (name some things and content to post on your studyblr to stay active on tumblr over the summer)

3. tutorial (ex: how i take notes, how i design printables, how i stay productive etc.)

4. self-care masterpost (list some ways that you use to calm down, relax and take care of yourself when you’re stressed or feeling down)

5. study playlist (name some of your favorite study tunes *cough* kpop *cough* and perhaps even link to a spotify playlist with the songs added to it!)

6. “how to start a studyblr” (share some of your best tips for newbie studyblrs!)

7. story (share a story that might be motivating, inspiring or helpful for others to hear–it can be anything from how you moved on from a bad grade, a time when you worked hard for something you wanted, or anything else that could be inspiring!)

8. challenge (start up your own challenge! it can be anything pertaining to studyblr! ex: the 30 days of bujo challenge, the summer productivity challenge etc.)

9. studyspo pics (this one is pretty obvious, but it never hurts to post pics of your notes, stationery and whatnot over the summer, even if you’re not actually taking any intensive, rigorous courses over the summer)

10. book recs (since people tend to do a lot of reading over the summer, give your fellow studyblrs a list of your favorite books that you think they should try out!)

11. movie/TV show recs (same with the book recs, but with movies or TV shows instead)

12. quotes (whether you make up some quotes yourself, or take some from the internet, posting inspiration like this on tumblr can be extremely motivating to people who might see it!)

13. “studyblr on a budget” (there seems to be a myth that in order to be a successful studyblr, you need to have fancy, expensive stationery. and that is 100% not true! share some of your tips for budget studyblrs!)

14. “what i wish i had known about/before _____” (ex: what i wish i knew before my first year of uni, what i wish i knew about pre-calc, what i wish i knew before my first job interview etc.)

15. how to prepare for b2s (what are some of your tips for preparing to go back to school? any specific things/steps people should do/follow before heading back?)

16. “how to self-teach _____” (ex: how to teach yourself french, the best resources for learning chinese on your own etc.)

17. “how to be more productive” (share what methods you use to stay more productive! ex: how i use the pomodoro technique to be more productive, how to be more productive when you’re tired etc.)

18. sleep masterpost (it seems like as students, we’re all doomed to be eternally tired! share some tips for getting enough sleep, sleeping well, waking up quickly, and staying awake throughout the day!)

19. apps masterpost (what apps do you regularly use as a student? google drive? evernote? goodnotes? photomath? list all of them in a masterpost!)

20. printables (try your hand at making some printables! to-do lists, monthly/weekly calendars, and test-prep sheets are all great printables to make!)

21. icons (people love free icons! i have a tutorial on how to make your own flat icons right over here.

22. “how to fight boredom over the summer” (share a list of some ways to stay un-bored over the summer!)

23. blog awards (offer a blog awards on your studyblr, and award some of your fave studyblrs!)

24. blog reviews (have people send you asks, and then review their studyblrs and give them kind and honest feedback!)

25. giveaway (if you have the funds and the resources to hold a giveaway, it might be a fun way to connect with more people in the studyblr community! if you can’t afford stationery or something, then try offering a digital prize–like a free icon or logo pack or something!)

welp, that was it! i hope you found this helpful!

xoxo, ainsley

The Perfect Blind Date - Dylan O’Brien

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Dylan O’Brien/Reader

Word Count: 10,822

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Oral (both receiving), Multiple Orgasm, Public Kissing, Unprotected Sex, Morning Sex, Shirtless Dylan at the beach, Dylan on a motorcycle, slight shade coming from me towards my ex

Notes: So, @ninja-stiles an I were talking on day and we were sharing these motorcycle pictures of Dylan and Chris and we’re like “OMG WE SHOULD WRITE ABOUT THIS!” So, I wrote the Dylan side while she did the Chris side. The two fics are linked in plot but different in character and execution. So make sure to give hers a read as well! Also, this is slightly AU. Dylan is not famous here. Let him be a normal guy for a day y’all.

(As a note, her internet was being shitty today so I will post a link here as soon as she gets hers up! But still read hers once it is up because it is so good)

It’s hard to want to date when so many bad things have happened to you. One wrong turn in a relationship, and everything comes crashing down. Once that happens, why would you want to get back out there? You worry that the same thing will happen again, or that you won’t find the great guy you wish will sweep you off your feet the way you always imagine it.

Well, welcome to my life, honey.

Keep reading

Advice I gave my kid today (that I wish someone had told me)

When I gave this advice to my kid

“You know how people say follow your passion? Or Follow your dream? So that when you grow up your passion is your job?” 

Kiddo got excited saying yes they’d heard that advice a lot.

“Well sometimes that’s not possible or even desirable.”

Kiddo got very still at that.

I used writing as an example explaining that I loved to write, but when I tried to write with the aim of being a published author it made me hate writing and eventually unable to write at all. It was only when I started writing again just for fun that it became something I did a lot and it genuinely became something I loved again.

I pointed out plenty of people do become published authors but it wasn’t right for me.

I said passions can become careers but they can also stay hobbies and that was okay. 

Kiddo thought for an example of something they love to do that they wouldn’t want as a career and yelled “YOUTUBERS!” and I’m like “Yes?” and Kiddo said “Some of them make their job playing minecraft and I love minecraft but I’d never want that to be my job. I want it to be a hobby only”

And I was “Exactly”

I also said you can go to university, get a degree, and end up in a completely unrelated job like my husband who’s degree in physics isn’t really relevant to his job co-coordinating a very large department of people. He enjoys his job but it’s not his “passion”

I pointed out a lot of people seem to feel people should have their whole lives planned out at 16 and that this was completely stupid. 

I said “What you do for fun or because you’re passionate can become your career but then you always run the risk of what you do for fun becoming ‘work’ and losing the passion that brought you to it in the first place. Also at times you need a job to pay the bills but your hobby can still bring you joy.”

Considering Kiddo is like me, incredibly stubborn with a perfectionist streak, I know how the pressure that “Follow your dream” can inflict. It can make you feel that unless you are a high achiever in a “career” that you’re “passionate” about you are failing and garbage.

Hopefully this advice will help counter act that notion for Kiddo.


not your trophy - boyfriend!tom

“I hate my freaking job,” (Y/N) groaned as she barreled through the door of her apartment, slamming her bag onto the kitchen counter.

Tom pushed up from where he was sat at the table, giving her a quick kiss before asking, “Rough day?”

“The men I work with always think they’re so much smarter than me because I’m young and because I have a goddamn vagina,” she ranted, forcefully pulling off her blazer and kicking her heels across the room. “Like, why is that so intimidating to you that you have to interrupt me all the time and act like I don’t matter? I submitted a huge proposal yesterday and today I found out we won the job, and I barely heard a word of congratulations. Last week Mike won us a job half as big and got a fucking cake.”

“Congratulations on the proposal–”

“And the other thing is it’s SO boring! Who knew you could be this stressed and this bored with your work at the same time?”

“Yeah, that sounds–”

“I fucking hate–”

“I hear you.” (Y/N) stopped abruptly, surprised by the force in Tom’s voice. “I’ve heard you over and over again for the past several weeks about it, babe.”

“Okaaay, jeez, sorry. Thought it was okay to tell you about the things I’m dealing with, but if it annoys you…”

Tom exasperatedly sighed at the clear irritation in your tone. “It’s not that I don’t want you to tell me these things it’s just….you’re not doing anything about it! If it’s this terrible, do something about it, for crying out loud.”

“Oh, okay, and what do you suggest I do, exactly?”

“Get a new one.”

“Tom, this job gives me six weeks of vacation every year. SIX! That’s three times what anyone gets two years out of school. It’s the only reason I took it! If I get a new job, it’s two, if I’m lucky. So one for Christmas, where we’re either with my family or yours, and one for what? Visiting you somewhere while you’re working the whole time?”

“Then just quit! It would make both our lives easier!”

“What do you mean, ‘just quit’? I worked my ass off for my degree! I’m not just gonna sit around all day while you’re off living your superstar life!”

“How do you think I feel when I’m home and you still have to work all day?”

“I think you feel like you wish you had some trophy wife to come back to when–”

“That’s NOT what I’m saying.”

“Tom, working for myself means a lot to me. And when we have kids I’m for sure going to have to quit my job because you’ll still be traveling so much, so for now, no. I’m not gonna just throw my work away and mooch off you.”

“It’s not mooching if I’m giving it to you! And it’s not like you pay for much now anyway - I mean, you pay half the rent on this apartment just because you’re stubborn, but it’s not like it’s a huge contribution to our lifestyle.”

(Y/N)’s jaw dropped. “Wow. Thanks, Tom, thanks a lot.”

Backtracking, Tom started, “I just mean–”

“Yeah, whatever.” (Y/N) picked up her shoes from where she’d kicked them off. “I’ll be in the bath, not contributing.”


“I don’t want to talk to you right now.”


An hour later, Tom cracked the bathroom door open. He watched (Y/N) lift her head from her book held just above the bathwater. Her hair was tied in a messy knot on the top of her head, and her feet were extended out on the edge of the top. The candles on the windowsill and the Norah Jones playing from her phone would’ve been romantic, had they not just had such a fight.

“Can I come in? I have a peace offering.” At (Y/N)’s quirked eyebrow, he opened the door a bit more and stepped in with a whole box of pizza. “I realized you never ate.”

(Y/N) pulled her feet back in the tub and set her book on the windowsill. Tom set the pizza on the floor, pulled out a slice, handed it to (Y/N), and sat on the edge of the tub with his own slice in hand. They ate without talking.

When they were finished, they sat for a minute, (Y/N) staring into the soapy water, Tom still perched on the tub’s edge facing away from her. He felt her gaze and turned to his side, meeting her eyes. She looked tired, and on queue laid her head on her arms just next to where he was sitting, still looking up at him.

“Thanks for the pizza,” she murmured.

Tom exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m an ass.”

The corner of (Y/N)’s mouth twitched up. “You’re not an ass. It was an asshole thing to say, though.”

“It was. I know what you do is important to you. You are the smartest, most determined woman I know and I love how passionate you are about the things that matter to you.” Tom slid off the edge of the tub, sitting on the outside so that his face was level with hers. “I just miss being with you,” he said, resting his chin just a few inches from hers, “all the time.”

“I know that,” she said, reaching out to drag her fingers lightly around the outer curve of his ear before tugging on the soft curls at the base of his neck. “I was kind of being an asshole too. I shouldn’t spend our time together complaining incessantly. And I definitely don’t want to fight with you.”

Tom drew circles on (Y/N)’s extended arm with his fingers. “I just don’t want you to see you be miserable. Especially when it’s within my means to make it better for you.”

(Y/N) sighed. “Maybe I’ll freelance. Or take a sabbatical?” Tom chuckled. “But you’re right. I need to figure something out.”

“You can do anything.” Tom kissed the inside of her wrist, her hand still in his hair. “I believe in you.”

(Y/N) smiled, scooted forward, and pressed her lips to his. “I love you.”

Suddenly reenergized, Tom stood up, pulling his shirt over his head. He pulled down his pants and boxers, and (Y/N) laughed as he sunk into the tub across from her.

“So…,” smirked Tom after a minute, thinking about something she had said during their fight. “You’ve been thinking about having children with me, have you?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and splashed him, the sound of him fondly laughing echoing in the bathroom.


loooooved writing this shoutout to the anon who requested some regretful post-fight tom! 


“Carnations” (Part 4)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (College AU)

Summary: A carnation fundraiser, an iota of possibility, and a longtime secret crush on your hot best friend - what could go wrong?

all thanks to the stupendous @buckyywiththegoodhair for beta-reading! you’re an opalescent pineapple-unicorn who deserves all the kettle corn in the world!

Last year, you and Bucky thought it’d be fun to make holiday wreaths while under the influence. Bucky stole a bottle of expensive vodka from his parents’ liquor cabinet, and both of you got embarrassingly drunk over a weird game of Truth and arguments about who got to use the hot glue gun first.

You gave him your drunken creation, which he gamely took and hung on his apartment door. Sam hated it –“The hell is – oh God, is that Barbie head glued on the side?”– but Bucky refused to throw it away.

A sense of amusement usually washed over you whenever you took in the fabric unattractively bunched up or the Barbie head randomly glued on the side. But today, the ugly wreath made your heart lodge itself in your throat. The Barbie head was scrutinizing you, its blue eyes judging you in a hawkish way.

You spin on your heel. “Sharon, I’ve changed my mind, I can’t do –” You smack your palm against your forehead as you remember that Sharon had already driven away.

The car ride to Bucky’s off-campus apartment had been an interesting one. Your blood coursed with adrenaline as you reassured yourself you’d be okay no matter what; you’d already gone through an emotional hurricane - what was one more time? Now you wanted to build a time machine and tell your past self to shut up and maintain anonymity.

“Nope,” you mutter under your breath, forcing yourself to face the ugly wreath again. “Channel your inner Romeo. Confess your love, but communicate thoroughly so you don’t die in the end.”

Keep reading