barefoot bar


The Russian Tomb Raider fan community have been hard at work on their own localisation of the first three Tomb Raider games and alongside those developments, a talented programmer Arsunt has been digging through Tomb Raider II and optimising it for modern PCs. Anyone who has played TRII on PC in recent years can tell you that the game has a number of shortcomings as display resolutions increase and 16:9 became the standard. So far Arsunt has managed to implement full 16:9 support, corrected the display of sprites (no more straining your eyes at tiny pick-up displays, ammo counters or health bars) and my personal favourite; customisation for draw distances for land and water. That’s the dense black fog the first three games used to save memory when displaying larger areas. Some people love the fog and feel it adds to the atmosphere but I have to say there’s something about seeing these environments all at once for the first time that makes them feel brand new again after twenty years.

Arsunt is also working on solving a number of bugs that plague the PC version as well as porting over PS exclusive features such as semi-transparency for water and gunfire, gradient health and air bars and barefoot SFX. He’s already succeeded in porting the PSX’s waving inventory to PC. If that wasn’t enough, there’s also support for HD FMVs, HD image packs, external texture packs and language packs. With TR3 to come!

PC players, if Nicobass’s incredible demo had you wanting to swan dive back in to Tomb Raider II, it might be worth holding off just a little longer for the release of Arsunt’s optimisation. It looks like it could be the definitive version.

The Woman in White

Originally posted by savingpeoplegiffingthings

Shoutout to my new Dean!Girls, @daydreamingintheimpala and @kbrand0 … Enjoy this little Dean/Halloween diddy!

Also, this is supposed to have a Sam companion piece, but I haven’t been able to get it done. Maybe tomorrow!

Title: The Woman in White

Word Count: 1898

Warnings: Implied smutty times (because I couldn’t quite bring myself to write a smut scene just yet)

Summary: Reader is ready to take the next step in her relationship with Dean, but he’s hesitant. Taking matters into her own hands, she dresses as one of Dean’s fantasies for Halloween in an attempt to persuade him.

“Pretty please?” you pleaded with Dean, batting your eyelashes and putting on your best puppy dog eyes. “For me?”
Dean Winchester was not one to give in, and he certainly was not one to give in to the idea of going out on Halloween to some bar party. People dressed up as stupid illusions of the monsters he fought on a daily basis, getting drunk and making light of the work he did – well, that was not his cup of tea.
Of course, that was before the two of you started dating.
You certainly hadn’t ever been keen on the idea of Halloween, either. Dressing up was fun, but you were not usually the type of girl to dress up in lingerie, add ears, and call it a costume. Your experience with the supernatural was extremely minimal compared to Dean’s and limited more to book knowledge than firsthand experience (something you were thankful for) but you still didn’t find much of a point in the holiday, besides handing candy out to little kids to see their happy faces.
Again. That was before you started dating Dean.
Your paths had crossed a few years back after Dean’s surrogate father, Bobby, died. You knew Bobby, not as well as the boys, but still pretty well. They had found your number after Bobby passed away; it was scribbled on some papers in a safe deposit box Bobby kept important things in. Since then, you had been their main source of lore information. Eventually, you moved into the bunker with them. The lore there … It was Heaven for a researcher such as yourself.
It had only been a few months since you both admitted to and acted on the feelings that had developed between the two of you, but the relationship was going great. It was the kind of relationship you’d always hoped to have, where you were more like best friends who made out a lot and didn’t want to be with anyone else. Life with a Winchester holding your heart was certainly a roller coaster, but it wasn’t one you wanted to get off of.
“It could be fun,” you continued in your attempt to persuade him. “We said we were going to do more normal couple things. This is a normal couple thing.”
“What about Sam?” Dean countered.
You rolled your eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he was part of this relationship, too.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Dean groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I know, I’m sorry.” You let out a deep breath. “If I can convince Sam to go, will you go?”
“Yeah, but I’m warning you, Y/N. It’s still emotional for Sam sometimes.”
You rolled your eyes again and let the subject drop for the time being. You weren’t too worried about convincing Sam. Sam remembered Jess every Halloween, it was true, and he was just about as fond of the holiday as Dean, but you were pretty sure you could convince him to go at least for a little bit.
Thinking to yourself later that night as Dean drifted off to sleep next to you, fully clothed, you felt a little silly for making such a big deal out of it. In truth, this whole Halloween party thing was an excuse to dress up in a sexy costume and finally get Dean to see that it was okay to take the physical relationship to the next step.
“All of my relationships or encounters or whatever, they’ve been based on sex,” he had explained to you at the beginning. “I don’t want it to be that way with you. Let’s do this the so-called right way. Let’s stay up late talking and go on dates and … whatever other weird, lame things couples do.”
You laughed and felt your heart surge. At the time, it was exactly what you needed to know from the elder Winchester: that you meant more to him than all the other girls. You were well aware of Dean’s reputation, but you were determined not to let it affect your relationship. And, when he told you that, well, you felt pretty damn good about it.
After some heated make-out sessions that Dean had stopped in the interest of not pushing that intimate line, you were done. You wanted to be with Dean, for the long haul, whatever life would allow. You were fairly certain he wanted the same, and that concern of a sexual foundation to your relationship had all but evaporated. The only way you were going to get rid of that last bit of concern was to give it a shot and see what happened.
So, after a more recent late night conversation, you got Dean to confess a fantasy to you – something he would never imagine anyone would do for him. You were expecting some pretty kinky stuff, but when he finally said it, it was a surprising desire. Not one you couldn’t play along with, however.
Halloween seemed like the perfect time to let it all play out, but you really wanted to see if you could make him squirm. Your plan was to get ready with a friend in town who was going to the party, and meet Dean at the bar so he could be surprised by that first glimpse of your attempt to execute his fantasy.
Convincing Sam didn’t take much one you confessed that it was an attempt to get Dean to do a normal couple thing. The younger Winchester brother was understanding about things like that, so he agreed to go for at least a while – and to drive with Dean over there, which he didn’t ask about but gave you a mischievous smile like he knew something was up.
When Halloween finally arrived, you made way for your friend’s place, spent the two hours before the party making sure that you were shampooed, conditioned, shaved, and dressed to perfection. When you asked your friend’s opinion, explaining only that this was a fantasy for Dean, she grinned and high-fived you.
“Dean Winchester, eat your heart out,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
You laughed and waited for her to finish applying the make-up for her costume, then the two of you made way over to the bar.
On my way, you texted Dean.
Hope so, he replied. The things I do for you.
You chuckled to yourself. It was true; the man had put a lot of effort into keeping you happy. You owed him for this one, but if things played out how you hoped, he’d get his payback.
Your friend went for the bar first, making way to meet up with some other friends at a reserved table. She wished you luck just before disappearing from view. You smoothed out your dress, checked your hair and make-up in the car window before taking a deep breath and heading for the door yourself. Taking a deep breath, you stepped into the bar. A few heads turned, but your eyes searched for your boyfriend.
You had to take a few more steps into the bar to find him, but when your eyes connected, it took less than a second for Dean’s mind to register what your costume was – and you guessed he knew exactly why you had chosen that costume.
The white sundress you had picked out flowed down to your knees. The two buttons of the low neckline were undone and hanging open, revealing just enough cleavage to pull a man’s eyes from your face to your chest, and make him want to know what else was hiding under that dress. You had applied your make up very carefully; a shade lighter than normal, and with a light smokey eye. You fixed your hair in lax, easy waves, and used dark body paint to give the appearance of dirt smudged here and there on your body. The sandals on your feet didn’t necessarily go with the costume, but you figured walking barefoot on the bar floor wasn’t the most hygienic choice.
Dean finally got it together enough when you approached the table to stand up straight. He kissed you lightly, then stood back still not saying anything.
“So,” you said. “What do you think?”
He gulped, nearly audibly. “Woman in White, huh?”
You nodded with a mischievous smile. “You said it was one of your fantasies, so …”
“Okay, more than I needed to know,” Sam chuckled. “I’ll go get us some drinks.”
Dean pulled you a little closer, away from a couple of guys passing by, their eyes glued to that hint of cleavage.
“I know what I said, but I didn’t mean you had to do that. Are you a shade lighter? You know this isn’t a necrophilia thing, right?”
“I know.” You chuckled at his rambling “The lighter shade is just make-up, Dean. I’m entirely alive. I just thought I’d give myself the look you were after, then maybe we could finally … you know.”
“So we can go home now?” he asked.
“Not a chance,” you laughed.
The two of you did indeed stay at the bar with Sam and a girl he had found while you were there. Once back at the bunker, you bid the two of them goodnight, then you went for Dean’s room together.
He still seemed hesitant about taking the physical part of your relationship to the next step, and you thought maybe you had taken things too far. He had been light-hearted and cheerful at the bar, but now the pressure was on.
Slipping into the bathroom, you washed the make-up off your face, arms, and legs, but left the dress on. When you exited the small bathroom, Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing you.
“I haven’t waited because I don’t want you. I hope you know that. This is probably the most self-control I’ve ever demonstrated. Ever. In my entire life. I want you so bad, Y/N, but I don’t want you to think that you have to dress up like this for me to want you.”
Feeling a bit of courage surge through you, you took the few steps to close the gap between the two of you; you stepped between his legs and put one hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean looked up at you, and you could see the lust – and the love – in his eyes.
“I know I didn’t have to dress up like this for you to want me. I just want you to understand that I want you. Not the sex – well, okay, yes, I want the sex, but the point is that I want it with you. It’ll mean something and it isn’t going to be our whole relationship because we’re more than that. You’re my best friend, Dean.”
He stood then, taking your face in his hands and kissing you softly. “You’re my best friend, too.”
The next kiss was more earnest, and the one after that filled with need. You felt Dean’s arm wrap around your middle, pulling you close before he turned the two of you around and pushed you gently down to the bed. He pulled back, running a hand up and down your bare thigh, his eyes roaming over your body; his mouth grinned.
“It’s a really great costume,” he confirmed before leaning down to once again capture your lips with his.

I’ve had some trouble with coming up with fic ideas lately so I’m giving this whole ‘fic of a fic’ thing a try to keep those brain muscles moving - I’m always impressed with how well everyone else does it here, and it makes me happy to see.  These are two pieces inspired by tekka-wekka‘s Surfer Genesis AU and up-sideand-down‘s Nerd Chic/Cloud With Glasses series. 

Keep reading

Crocs! Lafayette x oblivious reader

Crocs? Who hurt you so much in this life? 

(Hi!! This is my first fic so I’m sorry it my very good! English is also not my first language (probably why I love Lafayette so much lmao ) but I’m trying my best! Please do send requests because I would like to practice more thank you!!! )

 Prompts; Crocs? Who hurt you so much in this life?” 

 "Are you hitting on her for me?“ 

TW; sexual jokes

 A bit of oblivious!reader

 It had been raining and you were walking home you hadn’t seen it rain this much in quite a long a time , you usually enjoyed the rain but you weren’t well dressed right now. The weather was all right this morning and you just had a few classes so you just wore jeans a t shirt and some sneakers, you regretted this now as you were freezing.

 As soon as you got inside your dorm room you threw off your wet shoes and changed into warmer clothes , then as soon as you got under a blanket for warmth your phones text alarm went off, it was from your group chat with your friends Alexander , Hercules , John and Gilbert though you usually called him Lafayette. The guys were talking about meeting at a bar near by you groaned you really didn’t want to go outside right now. It’s late , you’re wet and cold. You then noticed the message in the group

 TURTLELOVER; Hey (Y/N) you coming too? 

You replied "Nah I’m thinking of staying inside tonight ”

 HERCULESM ;aw come on (Y/N) it will be fun 

 HERCULESM; ps; Laurens change your username, turtlelover sounds way worse then you think it does 

 TURTLELOVER; pssh you’re just making it sound worse .

 A.Ham; All right are we going to meet up or ? 

 Lafayette; oui! 

 The guys pestered you a bit more until you agreed to join. You didn’t really feel like changing again as the clothes you are wearing are comfortable , you did decide to put on a sweater. You were about to put on your shoes until you noticed how wet they were you attempted to put them on anyway and cringed as your dry socks touched the wet shoes. You removed them , there was no chance you could wear them but these were your only pair of shoes you currently had. You couldn’t exactly afford new ones while living in the dorm. and you couldn’t exactly walk there barefoot. Then you remember the crocs your mother gave you before you left for school, she told you they were nice and comfortable you did appreciate the thought but these shoes are awful you would honestly rather walk barefoot down to the bar than wear crocs But you didn’t really want to catch a cold. Maybe the guys won’t notice if you wear them you sighed as you put them on ,you grabbed your umbrella and walked down to the bar. 

 It didn’t take long for your socks to get wet again as crocs weren’t the best for rainy weather. Thankfully your clothes are dry. 

you walked inside the bar and quickly noticed your friend group You approached the guys “(Y/N)” they shouted at the same time, you smiled at them “hey guys!” You were about to sit down next to them but Mulligan stopped you “Hold on (Y/N)…” He said your name in such a serious tone it made you a bit anxious “Are those …crocs? Are you actually wearing crocs? How could you betray me like this?" 

 You looked down a bit embarrassed you know your friend was joking .. Well sort of but you still felt a bit of shame for wearing them. It didn’t take long for the rest of the guys to look down and join in on the teasing

 "What did you have to go through to make you think wearing crocs was actually okay?” Hamilton joked “ I thought you were better than this. I mean I know your fashion choice isn’t always the best. But crocs? How could you do this to us?” Laurens said with a laugh

 "Crocs? Who hurt you so much in this life? “ Lafayette said really dramatically "Okay that’s enough, I know I’m wearing crocs, I know it’s awful enough jokes” you said as you finally got to sit down “(Y/N) I see you have an umbrella with you but how come your hair is so wet while your clothes are still dry?” Hamilton asked you “I was stuck in the rain before, my hair and clothes got wet and so I had to change when I got inside. My shoes are wet so I had to wear crocs” you shot a glare at the guys while saying that last part before continuing “Anyway now I’m still wet" 

 Laurens let out a small chuckle "I blame Lafayette” he smirked as he said that Lafayette on the other hand elbowed him in the side Lafayette had a thing for you and it was no secret, he had been trying to flirt with you but it never seemed like you notice, he was starting to lose hope that you had any interest in him whatsoever “Lafayette? What’s his fault?” You asked John confused John let out a laugh “I can’t believe I have to explain this. It’s lafayettes fault that you’re wet-” Lafayette covered Johns mouth as he finished speaking. The man couldn’t control his blush. Why did his friend always have to embarrass him. “No it’s because of the rain” you claimed. Now all the men couldn’t help but laugh, except for Lafayette who was still blushing, johns laughter was muffled from Lafayette still covering his mouth. It took you a few seconds before you got it “OH!..oh” now it was your turn to blush as the men kept laughing. 

 It didn’t take long for you to start shaking soon “Are you cold (Y/N)?” Hamilton asked “Yeah my hair is a bit wet and it’s not exactly warm in here” you replied “Well~” John began “Lafayette here can keep you warm!” You couldn’t think of a response right away “How? He doesn’t have a coat to lend m-”    "(Y/N) will take your offer to keep her warm, Lafayette" John nearly shouted with a smirk. He basically shoved you closer to Lafayette , You sat awkwardly next to each other and John sighed “You have to put your arm around her to keep her warm!” Hamilton and Mulligan chuckled seeing Laurens trying to instruct you two. Lafayette put his arm right hand around you and pulled you closer, you could feel his body heat and blushed “Lafayette is lucky to get to have such a beautiful girl so close to him , right Lafayette?” Lafayette raised an eyebrow looking at him “are you hitting on her for me?” Laurens raised his hands up to his chest “me? No , you were doing such a great job at it yourself!” Lafayette groaned and held on to you , he was thankful Laurens was trying to set you up he just wished he would do it in a more subtle way. You were so comfortable leaning agains Lafayette while he had his arm around you , you might just fall asleep. 

It was getting late so it was time for everyone to head home. Hamilton left first, then mulligan And you were ready to head home “I’m thinking of going home and heading to bed.” You really wanted to stay here with Lafayette longer, he was so warm. “Oh! (Y/N) Lafayette will walk you home!” Laurens said excited. “Ah yes. I can do zat if you want?” He asked You smiled and nodded You said goodbye to Laurens as you started heading home Even though it was a short walk you still managed to get wet, the umbrella wasn’t big enough for the both of you , Lafayette insisted on you having the umbrella and you insisted you would try to share it even if it got both of you wet. And it did.

 He walked you to the door and you invited him inside he declined at first but you insisted on giving him a cup of tea to warm up before he left so he finally agreed. “ Now get those awful crocks off” Lafayette said as soon as you got inside and laughed. “Gladly" 

 After you made the tea you too sat quietly by the table in your small dorm, he couldn’t stop looking at you , every detail on your face , the way your hair stuck on your face when it was so wet , your beautiful eyes. It didn’t take long for you to notice he was looking at you and you looked up at him and smiled. You had to admit he was attractive His hair and the way it was pulled back in a big messy bun , his smile , his accent oh how you loved his French accent You both realized you were staring at each other and the two of you blushed and looked down at your tea "You know (Y/N) ” he decided it was now or never “I have to tell u siz…” You looked up at him waiting for him to continue “.. You are ..very beautiful, and funny , and charming and I love the way the room lights up when you enter , I love your smile , your voice, your laugh. I’ve been trying to get your attention but it seems like you are not interested. But ze truth is I love you” You looked at him in awe not sure what to say You found him attractive and a great friend but you never expected this Lafayette frowned when you didn’t reply He stood up “Maybe ..maybe I should go.” He said as he was about to walk away from the table, you grabbed his arm “No! I’m sorry I just didn’t know what to say” you stood up holding on to his arm and looked up at him “I never expected to hear this from you but I do love you too, I really do! And… I’m still cold and it would be nice if you could keep me warm?” His frown turned into a smirk as he hugged you , lifted you up , spun you around and kissed you The kiss didn’t last long because he pulled away “oh was that okay?” You smiled and nodded before kissing him. It didn’t take long for you two to remove your wet clothes and keep each other warm through out the night with cuddles. This might have been the best night ever 

 (This got a bit longer than planned! I know it’s not very good. This is the first time I write in like 5 years :0!!! I’m trying to improve and what better way to improve my writing by..writing !! Please send me requests so I can practice getting better! Also its 10 am and I didnt get any sleep and have to go to work so this was also I rushed!! the next one will be better I promise!! )

It's Raining (Avengers)

It’s Sunday, and it’s raining.

The downpour is so thick that the windows of Stark Tower have completely glazed over, giving the skyline a rippling, alive feel.  For one day, one rare day only, the inhabitants of the Tower are collectively off the clock, and it shows; except for the Avengers insignia and one floor, it’s completely dark, every laboratory and office floor entirely powered off.  Every floor but the sixty-fourth.

Tony’s in the kitchen with a dishtowel over one shoulder, which is surprisingly common; after witnessing one of his panic attacks Cara suggested a multitude of coping activities, and he took to cooking like a chlorine electron to a sodium ion.  Pepper’s barefoot at the bar, a glass of wine in one hand and a lazy smirk on her lips.  Every so often Tony pauses in the process of dicing tomatoes or sautéing onions and leans over the counter to press his lips to her ear, whispering something ostensibly romantic but more probably filthy.  Pepper giggles like a schoolgirl with each dirty remark, occasionally murmuring something back in such a sultry tone it actually gives him pause more than once. The onions burn. Tony curses. Pepper laughs.

Over in the den Bruce rolls his eyes.  He’s playing Chutes and Ladders with Shanti, and he cannot for the life of him figure out how a little kid who still insists she’s not clear on the rules keeps winning with such ease.  One of her teeth is loose and she can’t stop messing with it, wriggling it absently as she skips her pieces across the board.  She’s grown at least two inches since she arrived at Stark Tower, and that isn’t the only change; she smiles more freely now, the nervous energy dissipated, and after months of Cara’s meals and Tony’s attempts the hollowness is gone from her cheeks.  She has to be cheating, there’s no way dumb luck can account for five victories in a row, but there isn’t a trace of anger or even the Other Guy; in truth, Bruce could do this all day, just watch his daughter wrinkle her nose as she rolls the dice and smack him playfully as he pretends to swipe one of her pieces.  He gives it back and wonders if he’ll ever stop doing what she says every time she calls him “Baba”.

There’s a great crunch and a thunderous curse, making Shanti jump.  Bruce hushes her and turns to glare daggers at Thor, who neither notices nor cares.  He’s impatiently discarding yet another iPhone with a finger-shaped hole punched through it, muttering under his breath about black sorcery and that thrice-damned yellow bird.  There’s a stack of fresh iPhones on his left and a pile of cracked, crushed and occasionally broken in half iPhones scattered on his right; even as he tosses the latest wreckage aside he snatches up a new one, punching in a password and opening an app with surprising ease for one born in the Dark Ages.  The Avengers, as a whole, blame Clint for his current mania, although he vehemently denies it; Thor gets so mopey when Jane’s gone, it was only fair of him to try to take his mind off things.  Nobody could have counted on him becoming utterly addicted, or growing downright violent every time he failed. Tony originally supplied him with the “far superior” StarkPhone, but after the first few fits of temper he declared his technology far too advanced to be subjected to this barbarity and instead provided him with a steady flow of iPhones to defeat his foe.  He plays with his whole body, hunching forward with a scowl, pulling back at a close call, mumbling furiously about the pipes sabotaging him and if the bird was truly so flappy it could stay in the air without constant assistance. Four hundred and thirty-three indeed.  If he doesn’t break at least six hundred he’ll never be able to show his face around Sif again.

The bird crashes. He roars and hurls the phone.

Clint chuckles derisively.  He’s stretched on the couch by the TV, but even though he picked the movie he’s not paying attention.  The second Natasha pushed him onto his back and sprawled out on top of him, he knew movie time was over, and he was right; she was in one of her rare playful moods, and when that happens she makes sure nothing else gets accomplished.  He doesn’t mind in the slightest; this is his favorite Natasha, the Natasha in yoga pants and a tank top with a messy bun, and the second she shoves a bottle of bubbles at him he knows he’s lost the whole afternoon.  So now they’re lying on top of each other, not saying a word, Clint blowing bubbles into the air and Natasha shooting them down with a neon squirt gun.  It was one of his favorite de-stressing activities after a mission when he first joined S.H.I.E.L.D., and it’s a thousand times better with a partner.  She’s barely even looking and her aim is spot-on, managing to take down three bubbles and splash him in the face in one shot.  She usually uses two, for efficiency’s sake, but after fifteen minutes she dropped the second in favor of twining her left hand through his, absently moving her fingers so their rings clink together.  He’s not sure she even realizes that she has a penchant for fidgeting and clinking and making her ring as obvious as possible, but he appreciates it more than she’ll ever know.  Someday they’ll tell the others what they mean, the arrow on her finger and the black band with a red hourglass on his, but they’ll probably go ballistic that they weren’t invited and the day is so perfectly lazy.  So far only Pepper has noticed; she keeps giving them gleeful looks when she knows no one else is looking, and even now cranes her neck over the arm of her chair to watch them smugly.  Natasha sticks out her tongue and squirts her.

Steve shushes them from the big sofa, hunching forward to prop his elbows on his knees.  He wasn’t sold on the idea of a movie day; he’s never sold on anything that requires staying still for long periods of time.  But the trilogy was on his Future List, after all, and Clint insisted the only way to watch was to power through all three, so he’d collapsed on the couch with a giant bowl of popcorn and gestured for Bucky to join him.  He did, but much more slowly; he’s having one of his rare better days, and memories are swimming foggily behind his eyes.  The clearest is of a couch a lot like this one, jammed into a shoebox apartment in Brooklyn, a radio in the place of a TV.  Steve, smaller and hollow-cheeked but definitely Steve, was hunched over in one corner, a sketchpad in his lap and a stump of charcoal in his fist, his brow furrowed with concentration.  Bucky, strong-and-sure Bucky, not scared-and-broken Bucky, was sprawled out across the remainder, his shoulders propped obnoxiously against Steve’s arm, smugly ignoring Steve’s attempts to throw him off.  They’d done that a lot, he remembers; in fact, his insistence at using Steve as a human sofa is the reason he still draws with his arm crooked tight against his side.

He doesn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but the idea of such casual contact is impossibly tempting.  He still gets chills ridiculously easily – he mentally refers to his prosthetic as his “cold arm” – and thanks to his boosted metabolism Steve radiates heat like a furnace.  Bucky spent the entire first movie trying to gather up the courage to stretch out, and all he’s managed is bringing his feet up and turning sideways.  But Steve isn’t even paying attention and he’s actually big enough to support his full weight this time, so he takes a deep breath, crosses his cold fingers, and presses his back to Steve’s side.

Steve’s eyes flicker away from the TV at the jostling and then back, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.  “Jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky replies, heartened, and they keep watching.  It’s not a bad movie, really, good special effects, hardly a classic but –

No, I am your father.

“WHAT?” Bucky hurls a pillow at the TV; Steve actually stands up, causing Bucky to thunk back onto the couch.  “WHAT?

“How did you not see that coming?” Clint calls as Natasha aims a few squirts in their direction (she’s a menace with that thing).  “More to the point, how have you successfully avoided the most well-known spoiler in cinematic history?”

“I’m sorry if they don’t build movie theaters at the bottom of the Baltic, what the hell?

“Shh! Shh, they’re still talking!” Bucky hisses, swatting at Steve’s leg until he shuts up.  He collapses back down on the sofa, watching with a whole new intensity, one hand casually falling to Bucky’s shoulder to pull him back in place.  He settles without thinking, too incensed that he didn’t see that coming, and they spend the next half hour in complete silence, not even looking away as they feel around for the popcorn, shushing everyone loudly if they dare speak or (Tony) poke fun at the stodgy old geezers who can’t hear the TV.  And the whole time Steve’s hand is on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky’s back is against his side.  And God, it feels good.

Unnoticed by anyone, the elevator doors whoosh open and Phil Coulson steps off.  He’s got a stack of files three inches thick in his hands, a harried look about his brow.  He takes two steps and stops dead, his eyes wandering around the room.  He takes in Tony feeding Pepper off his spoon, Shanti jumping on Bruce as she wins for the seventh time, Thor chucking another iPhone over his shoulder.  He takes in Clint giving Natasha the bubbles and arming himself with the squirt gun, Natasha reaching up her free hand to run her fingers through his hair, Steve passing Bucky popcorn without taking his arm off his shoulder.

And Phil turns right back around.

Leaving so soon, sir?

“Sorry, JARVIS. Urgent business … somewhere else.”

Day 295

People of the internet, I am inebriated. Slightly.

Went out to the Barefoot Bar, found a few of the dive-masters from Splash and had a few drinks. I bumped into an American Marine from Mississippi, he was playing guitar the other night at Yori’s (which as closed, so we’ll try tomorrow night to inquire about the Ontario plaque). We chatted a bit, he mentioned his tour in Iraq and the fact that he was a sniper there.

We had a shot of Bitter, I tried to ask what it was, then I saw it came from a jar with a sloppy label across the side that said ‘Bitter’. Apparently, it was a mix of alcohol and some medicinal jungle ingredients.

After the shot I asked, “How many kills do you have?”

There was an awkward pause, and I hadn’t clued in yet.

“I went right for the money question, didn’t I?”

There was a another pause, and he said, “The next thing you’re going to want to know is if my girlfriend takes it up the —”

I froze. For a second there I didn’t realize what I’d done. But he was totally cool with it.

“Thirteen. Some guys really don’t like being asked that, but you’ve got to own it, you know? That’s what I came over there to do.”

We chatted a bit more, then I headed down to The Pickled Parrot and had a Big T, which is gin, lime juice and orange juice. The place was empty, I ended up just shooting the breeze with the owner and bartender.

Now I have to call it a night. Up tomorrow, going to bike my butt over to Splash Dive Center and weasel my way out of snorkeling and into a scuba dive again for whale sharks. Fingers crossed, no sightings yet.

Today I paid a visit to Barefoot Bar and The Pickled Parrot.

anonymous asked:

“im a bartender and you just came in here without shoes sat down and ordered a chocolate volcano and idk what the fuck that is and im scared to ask” au I saw this on a list and the word chocolate made me think of laura. CAN YOU OR SOMEBODY WRIE THIS


You have seen a lot of stuff as a bartender. You’ve seen fist fights, bar magic of all kinds, and, once, someone thought it was a good idea to spit fire–which backfired and ended with the guy having to go to the hospital. He still shows up sometimes. You and your co workers have taken to calling him ‘smoky joe’. 

But, for some reason, nothing makes you turn your head faster than the brunette walking through the doors, plunking down at the bar stool barefoot, and stating: “Chocolate volcano, please.” 

Okay, first of all: you don’t know what a chocolate volcano is. 

Second of all: you don’t know what it is about this girl–maybe it’s the fact that she looks so innocent, and depressed. You feel like she would never be in a bar if something bad hadn’t just happened. Especially barefoot. 

Third: you’ve seen way too many people do something they regretted because they wanted to drown their sorrows in alcohol. And this sad little puppy dog cinnamon roll did not look like she could handle the consequences. 

You improvise. Chocolate volcano. So…chocolate. You find some milk and chocolate syrup. So, basically, chocolate milk. But that won’t fly, so you grab some ice cream from the kitchen and scoop some vanilla into the glass. 

Garnish: toasted coconut. 

Whipped cream: a truly alarming amount. 

Finish it off: it’s a big glass. You drop a hershey bar in there because why not. 

You plunk the glass in front of the girl. “Here you go, cutie. One chocolate volcano.” 

At this point she’s sitting, face down on the bar top. She lifts her head, grabs the glass, and sips. Her face immediately perks up. 

“Oh my God, this is amazing. This is the best thing I’ve ever had to drink.” 

“Thanks, buttercup.” You lean in on the counter. 

“I don’t even drink, normally, I don’t like the taste,” she continues to babble, munching on the hershey bar, “But I can’t even taste the alcohol! What’s in it?” 

“Uh…vodka. Straight up vodka.” 

She wrinkles her nose. “Wow, so this is actually pretty strong, right?” 

“Oh, yeah. Surprised you’re not already a little buzzed.” 

“I might be. Well, I just got dumped, so,” Laura downs the rest of the glass, “I could use some vodka right about now. Can I have another?” 

Ah, so there was the reason she was so upset. “Coming right up, cutie.” 

She has about ten more over the course of the night. 

“I AM SO DRUNK RIGHT NOW.” Laura says, slamming down another finished glass. 

Okay, so the placebo effect is pretty strong with this one. 

“…I am cutting you off,” you answer. 

“Oh, come on. One more.” She tries to climb over the bar top; you push her back. 

“For Christ’s sake, it didn’t even have alcohol!” 

“…Wait, what?” 

“It’s just chocolate milk with vanilla ice cream and toasted coconut!” 

“Are you serious?” She sits back down on the bar stool. “Why didn’t you give me the alcohol?” 

“Well, for one thing, I don’t even know what the fuck a chocolate volcano is.” 

“It is a very common cocktail to order at bars!” 

“Yeah, if you’re at a high class bar, this is called the Anglerfish, what did you expect from it?” 

“And you didn’t put vodka in the drink because…?” 

“…You are cute, and I didn’t want you to do something you would regret in the morning.” 

“I can’t believe I spent fifty dollars on chocolate mi–wait.” She stares at you. “Did you just say I’m cute?” 

“Did you say nine drinks ago that you just broke up with your girlfriend?” 

“Well, yeah, that’s why this kind of ego boost is pretty welcome right now.”

“Then, yeah, you are cute. As in mildly pleasing to the eye. And was calling you ‘cutie’ not enough of an indicator that I thought this?” 

“I was pretty buzzed on sugar, to be honest.” 

You laugh. 

“Hey, you’re only being nice for a tip, aren’t you?” 

“I’m being nice because you amuse me, mystery girl.” 


“Laura it is, then.” 

Laura’s eyelids grow heavy. “Oh my God, the sugar crash is kicking in. Thank God I don’t have a hangover on top of it.” She pulls some money out of her pocket. “Thank you for looking out for me.” 

“Anytime. One question in return?” 


“Why no shoes?” 

“…I kind of left in a hurry. And I threw them at her before I left.” 

That makes you laugh more. 

“And then I walked here, so I think I should call a cab. Can I ask you something?” 

“Such as?” 

She slips the receipt to you. “Please write down the recipe for that chocolate volcano.” 

You get an idea. You grab it, and go to the back to find a pen. When you get back you see that Laura has fallen asleep. Sugar crash, indeed. 

“Oh, God…” 

You call a cab. When it shows up you tap her gently on the shoulder. 


“Your cab, cutie. I checked your licence for the address.” 

“Oh. Thanks…” 

She gets up and walks out in a sleepy daze. 

“Wait!” You chase after her. She’s wearing a shirt with a breast pocket. You tuck the receipt there. “Here.” 

“Thanks.” She stumbles in the seat of the cab. When she unfolds the note, you wish you could see the look on her face. 

Recipe for a chocolate volcano: 

Call me at the number below and I’ll tell you. ;) Bartending is complicated and this needs to be done in person, afterall. 

My name’s Carmilla, by the way.