i think i look decent today!

What Happens In Vegas: Part 8

A Bucky x Reader / AU drabble series

Master List

A/N: To celebrate reaching 4k followers today, I decided to put out part 8! Sadly, I’m so busy that I never have time to do decent celebrations. But i want you all to know how amazing you are, and how much I appreciate and love you. You guys are so amazing, and I do this for you. Thank you to my amazing friend @bovaria for looking over this for me. She is one of the biggest reasons why I am even somewhat established in this fandom, and I love her so much. Let me know what you think. I love hearing from all of you ♥

Word Count: 1,287

Warnings:
- language.
- slight violence.

Tags: (at the end)

*gif is not mine.

“Steve!” you shrieked, as Bucky’s back made contact with the floor with a dull thud; the back of his head bouncing off the carpet, a thick trickle of blood running down his lip from his nose. “What the fuck?!”

Steve’s fist was still cocked back, waiting to distribute another blow. There was a splatter of Bucky’s blood across his knuckles, his chest rising and falling, his face and neck turning angry red. You immediately felt like you were going to be sick, your stomach churning inside like a stormy sea.

Keep reading

I love how Supernatural is that never ending cycle of ‘hey look, it’s getting better again, the plot is getting interesting again, characterization on point, wow we had some really decent episodes in a row recently oh boy’ until *POOF* there is always that one (1) Buckleming episode like:

i think my favorite thing about today’s video is how it showcases phil’s particular brand of creativity. sure his drawings look like half-decent children’s doodles that got caught in a blender, but the approaches he takes just fascinate me. he never draws things the way i (or dan, or most of the people who have played the game) expect, and he isn’t even trying to be different. he’s just being phil. whether or not he comes across as weird is no concern of his.

and the thing is, phil is weird. it’s the reason people tend to have a hard time relating to him, but it’s also the reason people who give him a chance adore him. his mind is triangle sandwiches and inside-out umbrellas in brilliant colors, twisting and turning in a maze only he knows how to navigate, and we are so incredibly lucky that he’s chosen to take us by the hand and lead us through it.

please dont let this website make you think its okay to barely sleep at all, its often joked about on here but in reality it can seriously affect your health, i know its not always possible but please try and get a decent amount of sleep whenever you can, and remember to look after yourselves okay thank you~

4

And now it’s time for a late night cosplay progress post, because I got caught up working on this and lost track of time. I spent almost seven hours today in ninety degree heat moving all my possesions into a different storage place. While this sucked in terms of being tired and sore and overheated, it DID mean that I was able to extract all my costumes, as well as my sewing tools and wig maintanence tools, from storage. Therefore, I was at last able to style the wig and beard for Ymris!

It took SO much work making this extremely cheap and crappy wig and beard set look decent. I shudder to think about how much fabric softener, baby powder, and hairspray is in this wig right now. However, I am pretty pleased with how it looks. Since Ymris is supposed to be a great beauty, I figured she needed a more elaborate braiding style than I am using for Baris. I also wanted to add SOME elements that indicated her place in Dori, Nori, and Ori’s ancestory. Not sure how well I accomplished that last, but hey, I think it’s pretty good for a cosplay I didn’t even decide to do until three weeks before the con.

Now, because I am wearing this with a super jangly belly dance costume, I may sew bells into the wig and beard, assuming the giant supply of bells I ordered shows up in time. But either way, it is now in a wearable state.

Today I fucked up... by picking up a stick at work

So I work at the condos where I live it’s a decent paying job $10 an hour and I get to work outside so anyway to run the lawnmower I have to pick up the huge sticks that fall during storms anyway I’m carrying a bundle of sticks I pick up one more stick that’s full of holes at first I’m thinking termites. Then I’m thinking wait a minute termites are usually right beneath the the bark then I look down at my hand now completely obscured by ants and I ran around screaming and flailing my arms til the ants were gone..

Check out more TIFUs: Internet`s best fuck ups are here.

090616 [3/100 days of productivity]

Today I felt productive because I finished designing my birthday card party invitation and fell in love with Photoshop. I just made this moon quote by W. Clement Stone and I think it looks pretty decent for a beginner like me.
Sickness and Fear Part 1

Part 1 (of 10)

 “Taylor all I want you to do is eat a decent amount, I’m not asking for much,” Adam whispered. I looked at him straight in the eye testing him, who was he to tell me to eat? Did he think I was a child? I’ve tried to eat but I feel so sick, it was 9 p.m. now and I wasn’t about to try to eat again, I’d thrown up three times today alone.

 I tried to spin my barstool around to walk away but he grabbed the armrests and held the chair right where it was.

 “Taylor you’re being ridiculous,” he whispered again.

 “I’m being ridiculous?” His whispering and calm demeanor pushed me over the edge. “You are forcing me to sit here and eat food that I physically can not eat because you feel like I should,” I screamed. “I’m leaving!”

 I pushed his shoulders back as hard as I could. I don’t think he moved because of my strength, he moved because he was in shock I just attempted to shove him. As I ran into my room I tripped over Adam’s Reebok Classics almost falling to the ground. Why couldn’t he at least keep his twenty pairs of shoes out of the middle of my hall? I finally reached my bathroom, locked the door and sat in the furthest corner between the toilet and the wall. For some reason I felt safest in this space where I could barley fit.

 “Taylor open the door,” Adam stated calmly. Tears were streaming down my face. God, I hated myself, why am I crying? I’ve tried to eat but my throat burns, my stomach hurts and my head is throbbing. Why can’t he understand, let it go and stop trying to control me? I shuddered at the feeling of being controlled; nothing makes me feel more helpless.

 All of a sudden I heard the sound of drawers opening and knew it would just be a few short moments before he grabbed the key.

 The door swung opened. “Come here,” he murmured, almost sounding heartbroken. I knew he hated seeing me cry, which made me cry more; I felt like such a disappointment. It was a combination of coughing, sobbing, sniffling and gasping. All of a sudden I felt the panic attack swing into full mode.

 I couldn’t breathe and as I looked down I could see my chest protruding out as I tried to catch my breath. Before I knew it Adam wedged himself to me, grabbed me under the armpits like an adult does with a small child and lifted me up. I was only standing for a split second before he scooped me up under my knees and took me to the rocking chair in the corner of my room.

 “Taylor deep breaths,” he gently demanded. He kissed me on the forehead as he sat us down in the chair and began a slow rock as I tried to nestle deeper in his chest. “Feel my heart right here,” he took my hand and held it at his heart. “Try and match my rhythm.”  

 “I… I… I can’t… breathe,” I managed to let out.  I was trying to control my shaking and breathing but it was so much harder due to this disgusting illness.

 This wasn’t the first time Adam had seen me have a panic attack; a year into dating he’d mastered how to coach me through it. The first time I was afraid I’d scared him away but when I woke to him rocking me in this chair that next morning, I knew he’d be sticking around.

 “Don’t talk, just focus on steady breathes,” he said confidently forcing me back into reality. “I’ve got you.”

 For what seemed like eternity he held me in silence with just the sound of my unsteady breathing, the creak of the chair leaning back and forth and the tender pat he continually placed on the side of my hip. It took time but as always, my breaths steadied out and I felt my heart getting back to a steady beat. As my breaths steadied out my tears began to increasingly flow in the stillness. He must of looked down because seconds later he was wiping them away while mumbling something I couldn’t process at the time.

 “I’m just trying to help you,” he stated as he pushed my bangs out of my face looking distraught. “I know,” he started over hesitantly. “I know sometimes you don’t accept help because you’re scared and you want the reassurance you are capable of doing everything on your own. Taylor, you are more than capable of taking care of yourself but I want to help you, I worry about you because I love you.”

 I began to try and push myself up to sit upright in his lap, processing everything he said. I knew he was right, even in the most magical relationship that I could have pulled out of any storybook; I still had fears, triggers caused from nightmares of the past. I placed one arm around his neck and the other on his chest trying to think of what to say to fix this. I began to wad a clump of his shirt up in my hand as my brain turned.

 “I’m sorry if I ever make you feel small or belittled,” he began whispering again. “I want to protect you and sometimes that doesn’t come out in a decent way and I know it bothers you. I really am sorry.”

 “Don’t,” I cut in. “Please do not apologize. I am sorry that I’m… a hassle and difficult and unstable.” He tried to cut in but I mouthed, “wait.” “I know you care so much and you’re trying to help and I know that I can be more testing sometimes and I’m working on it.”

 My stomach growled loudly as I finished my sentence and he let out a small sigh of worry.

 “I’m scared to eat, I don’t feel good and I don’t want to throw up again,” I choked out.

 “Hey there, ssshhh it’s ok,” he shook me a little trying to sooth me. “At least drink a glass of water, you have to be dehydrated.”

 I nodded and began to climb out of his lap to reach the glass of water still on the bookshelf from earlier that day. It was then I realized I was still in my workout clothes from earlier in the day. “I think I’ll shower, maybe that will help my head a little.”

 “I think that’s a good idea,” he said in satisfaction.

 I forced down the water and began to walk back to the bathroom when I realized I was dizzy. “Adam!” I screeched in fear as I was losing my eyesight.

 When I woke in the bed with a cold towel on my forehead I could hear Adam whispering on the phone in the bathroom.  “No she really hasn’t kept anything down in a two days,” he murmured. “Ok thank you so much,” he finished.

 I knew Adam was on the phone with Dr. Barton. My head started boiling for reasons other than sickness and I forced myself to try and calm back down, remembering what we just talked about. After a few moments of deep and steady breaths I tried to call out his name, “Adam!”

 “You awoke,” I could tell by the way he said it he was worried about telling me what I already knew. He sat on the side of my bed and handed me a glass of water with crushed ice, just like I prefer then softly touched my hand. “Taylor, Dr. Barton’s dropping by, he thinks you’re dehydrated so he’s going to get an IV in you so you can get some fluids.”

 He almost looked disappointed telling me this. Here he was trying to help me, doing everything he knew possible and it was almost as if he expected me to fight back.

 “He should be here at any minute. I know you have a fear of needles but I’m going to hold you through it and it’s really going to help you feel better. Ok?” he finished.

 I began to slowly nod my head knowing he was right and because I’d quickly lost any energy to fight. “I’m sorry,” I mouthed. Adam crawled onto the bed and pulled me into a hug to his body and we laid in silence for the second time tonight.

 Adam’s phone buzzed and he went to meet Dr. Barton at the door.

 “Hey Taylor,” Dr. Barton beamed as usual. After some small talk Dr. Barton continued with the reason he was here. “I hear you are not doing to well. If it’s ok with you I’d like to do a quick exam then put an IV in if necessary.”

 “Sounds like a plan,” I said as I tried to sit all way up and look more alert.

 He used the stethoscope and had me do a couple breathing exercises as usual. He then had me lay down and began to feel my stomach. He raised my shirt up a little without warning making me flinch while causing me to feel slightly uncomfortable at his cold touch. I met eye contact with Adam for reassurance as Dr. Barton continued putting pressure on my stomach.  He nodded and smiled at me giving me the most comforting words without moving his lips.

 I then spoke with the doctor about my symptoms and at the end Dr. Barton concluded I was nearly dehydrated and should get the IV for percussion. My heart sunk a little because the sight or simply thought of needles did make me physically ill. I knew it sounded childish but I couldn’t change it. Dr. Barton had been my doctor for a few years and was completely aware of this.

 Adam must have seen my anxiety rising because he scooted closer to the bed and held my hand for security.

 “Ok Taylor, just turn your head and this little guy will be in before you know it, he said. “Try to focus on something on that wall.”

 I turned my head and tried to hide the scream that was trying to escape out of my head. It was just a small flinch but I felt enough for me to try to squirm away from it. There was something I really didn’t like about a needle being attached to me.

 I turned my head back just in time to see Dr. Barton gesturing to Adam as to say “control her,” and just like that a fire lit back up inside of me.

 To be continued…