Running-out-in-traffic

Mistakes

Bucky x Reader

Summary: The risk I took was calculated but man, am I bad at math.

Warnings: angst…like to the max, character death, risking your life, all that fun stuff

Word Count: 1.3k (this is deadass the shortest thing i’ve ever written and it’s still over 1k lmao why am i like this)

Author’s Note: hi hello! guess who’s back and as angsty as ever! this is something that again was floating in my inspo tag and i can’t find the post rn but it is there so when it’s not midnight i’ll go digging through and tag it. ya’ll probably recognize the quote because it’s been through tumblr i don’t even know how many times? but i literally banged this out in like two hours so ??? idk???? anyways, feedback is always welcome (please do i love hearing what all of you have to say) and can i just say thank you so much for all of your lovely responses to Will You Stay? like, they were so beautiful they made my entire life like????? i love all of you so fucking much ???? i can’t even describe it????? anyways enough of my endless question marks, hope you enjoy!!!!


Originally posted by sxy-seabass


The first time, isn’t the last time.

The first time you risk your life it’s for a puppy. Small, golden, scrappy little thing. It’s caught in the middle of the road, yelping every time a car whips by. It’s flat on the ground, trying to make itself small as possible but at the same time sticking out against the pitch black tar. You sigh and drop your coffee into the trash before you run out in the middle of traffic and scoop the dog up before crossing to the other side.

“You’re an idiot,” he grumbles as he stares at the trembling mass of fur. You pout and say you’re sorry before you offer him the reason you nearly got flattened by an eighteen wheeler. He pretends to be angry until about five minutes later when the puppy is licking at his face.

He isn’t angry anymore, especially two weeks later when the puppy has become a permanent fixture in your home.


The second time, isn’t the last time.

The second time you risk your life is on vacation in the Bahamas. A little girl gets caught in the rip tide. Her arms flail as she cries for help but is drowned by the waves. Everyone watches but no one acts. You glance at the life guards who glance at the waves apprehensively before you roll your eyes and dive in. It takes you a while but luckily you’re a strong swimmer and within minutes she’s in your arms and safely on shore.

“You’re crazy,” he mutters as he rubs your back while you cough up salt water but his eyes shine with an emotion more powerful than you have ever seen. It only seems to grow when the little girl runs up to you and hugs you, thanking you for saving her life.


The third time, isn’t the last time.

The third time you risk your life is on a mission in Johannesburg. HYDRA had hit a biotech company and managed to steal information to a bomb that could level a small country. They climb into a helicopter and are about to get away and against Steve’s orders you jump and hang onto the runner of the helicopter. You hang on for dear life until you touch down. Your arms ache but you fight until you can’t feel anything anymore. But you have the files.

It takes them two days to find you. When they do they find you collapsed in an alleyway, dehydrated and living off of scraps from the nearby flea market.

“You’re so stupid,” he shakes his head. He’s angry but he holds your head up as you drink and brushes your hair until you fall asleep on his chest.


The fourth time, isn’t the last time.

The fourth time you risk your life is in the middle of a blizzard. It’s two in the morning and the wind is howling but when your phone rings you answer within seconds. The line is silent except for the sound of heavy breathing. He doesn’t say anything but you already know as you tie on boots and don your heaviest coat.

It takes you an hour to get to him. But you do. You’re pretty sure your car isn’t even parked properly and you’re not sure if you’re on the road or on the sidewalk but it doesn’t matter. By the time you get to him he’s already half way gone. You sit with him until he comes back to you. You sit with him until his eyes are clear and his breathing is normal. You sit with him until he’s yours again.

“You’re a moron,” he growls once his eyes look outside at the storm raging. You wonder if it was worth it but you smile anyway because you don’t care.


The fifth time, isn’t the last time.

The fifth time you risk your life it’s after two months of being locked in a basement. You have bruises on top of bruises, you bleed from different places every day and you can’t remember the last time you’ve had a proper meal. They pull you out every day and tie you to a chair. They spit in your face, they hit, they bite, they scratch, they punch, they shock, they twist, they break. You beg, you scream, you cry. But you don’t give them what they want. They want him but you can’t give them that. He’s everything to you and meaningless to them.

One day you’re bleeding so bad everything is tainted red and you can’t feel part of your face and can’t hear out of one ear. When you feel hands on you, you immediately start to tense and fight but relax when you hear his voice.

“It’s just me, it’s just me идиот,” he soothes you softly as his metal hand trembles while breaking your bonds. You fall into him and can’t find it in you to cry or make a sound. And you wonder if maybe this time, maybe this time it was worth it.


The first time, is your last time.

You risk your life for him and you don’t even think. You see him in danger, you see everyone in danger. But when you see him, when you hear the metal whir breaking through the clamor around you, you don’t think. You hear nothing else. You look at the five midnight black barrels of the machine guns facing him, glinting harshly and you just go. You think you can make it. If you just take that extra step, lose that extra second, you can make it. You two can make it out, together.

But you were always bad at math.

For the second you push him down you know you miscalculated. You don’t hear the shots but you feel them, ripping and tearing through flesh and bone. You feel the blood seep into the concrete floor. But you don’t hear the strangled sob from behind you and you don’t hear the hoarse shot. You don’t hear the bodies drop around you; you don’t hear the knife splitting through Kevlar and skin.

Yet you feel his hands on your face, your chest, your stomach. You feel him fumbling for a solution. He’s whispering fast in Russian, his skin flushed a shade of pink you’ve never seen before. It’s beautiful, really.

“You…you, you stupid, crazy, idiotic, moron,” he shouts with tears in his eyes. His bottom lip trembles and you reach to soothe it. Blood smears against the soft bristles that surround his mouth but neither of you really notice. “How could you do this? How…why, why would you ever you–”

“You’re alive,” your voice is hoarse and choked and filling with something you’re not sure of. It doesn’t even sound like you but he looks at you as if you were the only thing he heard. You think he says something else but the look on his face means he understands exactly what you’re saying.

He’s breathing heavy now. You can feel it in gentle puffs against your face. He’s shaking his head as he stares at you. He keeps shaking his head until his hair forms a dark curtain around his shimmering eyes. “No,” he whispers. “Not without you, not…please–”

You shake your head in response. “You’re alive,” you whisper as darkness begins to creep into your vision. “You’re alive.”

The weight of what you’re saying seems to settle onto his skin and into his bones because he’s looking at you with disbelief and wonder and fear and an ancient sadness that you feel deep in your chest. He presses his lips to your face and a wetness leaks onto your skin and seems to slide right off. “Not without you. я люблю тебя. Not without you.”

You clutch his hand and feel the black begin to spot his face, turning him gray. “You’re alive,” you say finally before your head drops into his metal palm.

Your first time, is your last time.

But God is it worth it.


Translations:

идиот

idiot

я люблю тебя

I love you

skateboards and snapbacks

Annabeth didn’t plan on leaving her essay to the last minute. She didn’t plan on running out in front of traffic and being saved like a damsel in distress. She didn’t plan on noticing how good her saviour looked without a shirt on. And she definitely didn’t plan on falling in love with him. But Percy Jackson has a funny way of making her forget her plans.

OR

“This wasn’t fate, there wasn’t any divine intervention - there was just Annabeth and Percy and a chance encounter. That was all.”


Percabeth AU with Skater!Percy because they’ve taken over my life

inspired by: (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)


part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

part seven / headcanons

art

general skater!percy tag
(feat. amazing, mind-blowingly awesome stuff like graphics, other snapback fics, skater headcanons from various sources and asks about my fic)

Pokemon GO || Jeon Jungkook

Word Count: 1.5k

Genre: Fluff (I guess)

Y/F/N - your friends name


“Move out of the way.” You scoffed as you turned on the spot to look at the boy who had just spoken to you so rudely. He continued to walk by as if nothing had happened and you couldn’t stand the air of confidence he radiated.

You watched his back walk away from yourself and you couldn’t help the anger that boiled up in your chest as you stared at him. He had to be one of the most arrogant people you had ever met. He thought he was better than everyone else and because of that he acted like rules didn’t apply to him.

“Don’t let him get to you.” Your friend, y/f/n, said. You let out a sigh, letting the anger disappear as quickly as it came. He wasn’t worth getting worked up over.

“I know, he just bugs me.” You replied. Y/f/n casually slung an arm around your shoulder, pulling you in the opposite direction the boy had gone.

“Jungkook bugs everyone. Don’t worry about it.” You laughed slightly at her words and shook your head lightly.

The best thing you could do right now was focus on making your way out of the school. The final bell had run and you couldn’t stand being here any longer.

As you and y/f/n left the school building, you pulled out your phone and opened the app you had been longing to play all day.

Pokemon Go had just recently come out and you had been ecstatic. Pokemon was probably your most played game as a kid and you were a huge fan of the series. When they had released news about the new app you couldn’t deny that you were excited.

Keep reading

Bridge (Victor Zsasz x Reader)

Tags: @queencobblefreezestuff @aya-fay @multi-villain-imagines  @awordwhichmeans  @drakervon @teh-himes  

Fourth in a short series of stories, previous parts > The Book , Pepper, and Torn Photo

Setting : a bridge in Gotham

Contains: no real warnings, I think this might count as fluff


          She came back to town, but not back to the diner. Victor was irritated about it but didn’t know what to do about it. He did know that he couldn’t just treat her like a target, show up at her place and scare the shit out of her. Victor had had job not too far from her place maybe he’d go past and watch for her.

Keep reading

Lovely

Originally posted by stilinski-jpeg

Warning: This is really crappy and I hate it. But there’s salty Meredith that I know you all love so here’s this really late unedited chapter.

Part 1Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Word Count: 4,600+

It was another day in the Raeken house. You and Theo had taken a bath together and you stood by your promise to protect him; which was really an excuse to be the big spoon in every situation but there was no sex. You simply just showed how much you adored each other with slightly less carnal methods.

Keep reading

100million  asked:

hi my darling. you & your books mean the world to me. as an aspiring writer, i was wondering if you ever had doubt about your story and characters before publishing?

Dear vedoxsociety,

Doubt is the human habitat. Don’t trust anyone who doesn’t have any.

That said, I think it changes character as you become more sure of who you are and what you’re capable of and when you’ve gotten some experience under your belt. Nowadays I doubt if I’ve written a character well; that’s survivable. But back in the day, I used to doubt if I was writing myself well. That’s the only doubt that I think can stop you fully in your tracks.

Here is a tale of my life when I was fourteen or so. I was a pretty grim creature at fourteen — I was at the same time the best version and worst version of Maggie Stiefvater as she exists now. All dials were turned up to max (this may still be true, except I broke the knobs off a few of the negative and destructive ones and worked out how to handle the one labeled obsessive compulsive disorder). All of the Hummel siblings were neck-deep in playing Celtic traditional music, and my father signed us up for a week long program called Gaelic Roots at Boston College — a week of the denizens of Irish music teaching small workshops to other musicians. We drove up there from Virginia, and I was dazzled by this jittery, caffeinated city with its toes dug into history. I was dazzled, too, by the musicians I’d grown up listening to sitting right across the room from me, teaching bodhran and guitar and balladry. I was dazzled, too, by the existence of other humans, and I spent an enormous amount of time lurking in stairwells with my hands over the back of my head and my forehead pressed against my knees and my heart racing. 

During breaks I would sneak into the room with the big grand piano in it and play in order to keep myself from running out into traffic shouting who am I what is happening is it always going to be like this do I make it.

Like I said, I was a pretty grim creature.

I remember that I was in a songwriting class with one of my idols, Robbie O’Connell. We all sat around him with our guitars — a handful of adults and blank-eyed psychopathic me — and played samples of things we had composed. When it came to my turn, I confessed that I didn’t really know how to play the guitar, but I’d signed up for his workshop anyway just to hear him teach about music composition. He asked if I wrote. Yes, but on the piano. Well, he said, then play me a song on the piano. Face burning, I walked to the big old piano and played one, and there was silence, and then he said, “I have nothing to teach you. One day you’re going to be famous.”

It was the worst thing I had ever heard.

I’d come there for a Yoda and now I was being told that I was still on my own, fumbling my way forward through this airless life. Doubt! All I did was doubt. Was I supposed to be a writer? A composer? An artist? Was I any good? Could I make a living? I was going to be famous — oh yeah, Yoda, how was that? I was looking for a mentor. Someone to tell me how to make it as an artist and as a human! A little practical advice here! Tell me what to do next! Tell me how it ends! Only I didn’t say that. I just shrugged like the socially awkward blanket I was and sat back down with my guitar that I knew three chords on.

Later in the week, Robbie O’Connell found me as I was walking between buildings at lunch break. I still don’t know what motivated him to track me down, but it was one of those minutes that ends up changing your life forever. Because I finally worked up the courage to ask him: “What do I do next?” and he thought about it and said, “I guess you should go home and start a band.”

I did. And it changed my life. Years later Ballynoola and I had gigged up and down the east coast and I’d written some novels and I had half a clue of who I was as a human. Was I famous for my music? No, but I knew now that if I tried hard enough to put myself out there, it would get heard. I didn’t know when I’d get published, but I knew enough about myself now to know that I wouldn’t stop until I did. I knew enough about myself to know that I was just going to put the pedal to the floor and finger gun the scenery as it blew by.  

So what is the moral of this story? That doubt of the sort that paralyzed me is mostly behind me. Doubting your purpose, your path, yourself — that’s the kind that stops you forever and puts you in a desk job that you resent. Doubting if you’ve pulled off the right choice within a chapter? I’ll figure it out. I’ve figured it out before; I’ll figure it out again. Doubting if you’ll get published? If I don’t get this book sold, I’ll write a better one, and I’ll sell that one. I’ve figured it out before; I’ll figure it out again.

Actually, maybe that’s why self-doubt of my life choices no longer stops me, too. I’ve figured it out before; I’ll figure it out again. 

I reckon that makes the answer to your question yes.

urs,

Stiefvater

More AU ideas that the internet doesn’t need (Part 3)
  1. My best friend is dating a member of your band AU
  2. Cosplayed as characters from the same game/movie/etc at a con AU
  3. I saved your pet from running out into traffic AU
  4. We walk home the same way every day at exactly the same time but we’ve never spoken to each other AU
  5. Made out at a concert once but never knew each other’s names AU
  6. Both attending a destination wedding AU
  7. Holy shit I thought I was the only one with this weird-ass hobby AU
  8. Lost my tour group in a foreign city AU
  9. Both got roped into working a renaissance fair for the summer AU
  10. Extended stay at a bed & breakfast AU
  11. Ended up in the same hospital room as your sibling AU
  12. I found your journal on a park bench and now I’m trying to figure out how to return it to you AU
  13. Asked a random stranger for love advice AU
  14. The Christmas tree you were hauling up the side of the building to your top floor apartment fell and broke my window AU
  15. I really want to draw you like one of my French girls AU
  16. My car got stuck in a blizzard and yours was the only house with a light on AU
  17. Both used to date the same person AU
  18. Accidentally fell asleep on your couch during a party AU
  19. Your mail keeps going to the wrong address AU
  20. Dorms close for winter break and you don’t have anywhere to go for the holidays AU
8

When I’m low, these gifs always seem to do the trick.

The trick being keeping me from running out into oncoming traffic.

If Jared could be this darling the day-after Hollywood Bowl…you can be darling thru anything too.

jaredleto // vyrtcom
VyRTViolet // 9/16/14

anonymous asked:

I can't for the life of me figure out how to meditate. How does one stop thinking for more than a second? Even in that second I'm thinking that I'm trying not to think.

Think of it like this.

Your brain is like a 2 year old child that wants to play in traffic. Every time the 2 year old runs towards the traffic, you pull it back to safety without hesitation. You don’t get frustrated and say “Fine! Play in the traffic!” and let it do what it wants to do. 

If the 2 year old runs out towards traffic 20 times, you pull him back 21.

Your brain is just like that. It is going to wander off and every time it does, pull it back.

The more you do this without becoming frustrated, the longer it will be in between times of running off.

When I first started meditating I used guided meditations found on youtube. They were no more than ½ an hour long and using ear buds to listen to it helped to keep me focused and my mind wandered less.

My favorite is anything by Kelly Howell, especially The Universal Mind meditation. 

Then when I could do that fairly easy, I started listening to nature sounds or meditation music without words.

Now I meditate and have a button or a stone in my hand. Rubbing the stone or button with my fingers gives my 2 year old brain something minute to focus on and the rest of me can meditate and connect with source.

Don’t give up - it’s something that we’ve all been through and if you stick with it, the benefit you get out of meditating will far surpass the irritation of learning how.

Michelle

4

Andrew: It’s interesting watching the maturity that Beckett has in this. In other episodes she would have run out into traffic after this guy with blinders on and ended up running off a roof like she did in ‘Always’. But there’s a maturity to her in this, much more tactical, much more emotionally detached. She wants to take this guy down, but she wants to do it in a smart way. It’s part of her arc of growth.

David: She’s not really willing to throw her life away anymore. So it’s a simple and clear way to express that.

Rob: Look at the guy, the hand, decision time. Not gonna run off a roof anymore.

Andrew Marlowe, David Aman, Rob Bowman episode commentary

But I also want Hook finally realizing that he IS a weakness for the Dark Swan and then just putting himself in dangerous situation after dangerous situation to try and get through to her. Constantly making her save him. Over and over. SWAN IMMA JUMP OFF THIS ROOF. SWAN IMMA RUN OUT IN ON-COMING TRAFFIC. SWAN IMMA GO PISS OFF THOSE DRAGON LADIES. SWAN IMMA EAT LUNCH THEN SWIM IMMEDIATELY AFTERWARDS NOT EVEN WAIT 30 MINUTES. 

And Emma saves him every time. And each time she is PISSED, but she keeps coming. And every time he does it, her love for him bubbles up so strong and fierce, that for that moment it drowns out the dark voices in her head. For that moment it’s only him. But then the moment passes and they are back where they were. And she pushes him farther away, because she refuses to yield, she refuses to relinquish control.

And then maybe one time, one time he’s not the one to put himself in danger. He IS in danger. And tired of his game, she stops herself from going to him. Until it’s too late, and he is broken. And suddenly she is there, and everything inside of her breaks, the Dark One breaks. And she’s cradling him, and it’s just like Skin Deep, her icy exterior melts away and she’s just Emma Swan, crying in the street clutching her pirate. And when he finally comes to and sees her, see his Swan, and he cannot believe his eyes. He reaches up to cup her cheek, and she gives herself just a moment to absorb the sensation of his touch, to lay her own hand over his and touch back. 

But the ice starts to return as her mind settles, and the darkness wraps around her once again and she steps back. He struggles to his feet, but does not reach for her again, but instead lets her go. A million pleas sit heavy on his tongue, unspoken as they stare at one another. Her eyes flash one last time, flash that Emma Swan green, and then she is gone. 

And he just stands there, trying to figure out what the hell just happened, but only one thought swirls to the forefront of his mind. That Emma was there. His Emma. He was able to get through to her.

And then he smiles. 

Sometimes, whilst driving down the road and forgetting to wear shoes, I spot a lost dog running in and out of traffic with two little kids frantically chasing it and trying to stop him. All times, I stop to help said dog and said kids and walk the dog an unknown number of blocks to bring that dog home. I will always stop. I will always help. I’m like Dawg the Bounty Hunter, minus the mullet, and the bounty, and the hunting, and it’s dogs not criminals, and my name is Tyler.

AM: It’s interesting watching the maturity that Beckett has in this. In other episodes she would have run out into traffic after this guy with blinders on and ended up running off a roof like she did in ‘Always’. But there’s a maturity to her in this, much more tactical, much more emotionally detached. She wants to take this guy down, but she wants to do it in a smart way. It’s part of her arc of growth.

DA: She’s not really willing to throw her life away anymore. So it’s a simple and clear way to express that.

RB: Look at the guy, the hand, decision time. Not gonna run off a roof anymore.

—  Andrew Marlowe, David Amann, and Rob Bowman, In The Belly of the Beast Commentary