it was hard finding good caps of them in the same frame

damn the delivery boy.

Pairing: Jeon Jeongguk / Reader.

Genre: Expecting Parents AU / Fluff and Non-explicit smut.

Summary: Jeon Jeongguk is a computer science major working as a pizza delivery boy, and you are an uninspired published author who has just started an art degree. When you realise that the delivery boy is your old high school crush, he keeps coming back, but with more to offer than just puff pastry and vegetarian supreme. Though little did he know that he would end up giving you something much more that flips both of your worlds completely upside down in the form of two blue lines and nine months.

Count: 9,656 words.

month one.

Two lines.

The second is a little faint, but it is there, undeniably there, growing stronger by the second as your heart sinks deeper into the pit of your stomach and suddenly you are keeling over the sink, throwing up a combination of panic and regret. You wipe your mouth, sit back on the closed lid of the toilet, shut your eyes and take a deep breath, holding it until your lungs burn and your lashes fly back apart to look at the test still shaking between your fingertips.

There, right before your eyes, two fucking blue lines protruding like two middle fingers, poking up at you and saying – Congratulations sucker, you are pregnant!

Twenty-three years old and pregnant.

You throw up again.

This has got to be the biggest mistake of your life.

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Bus Stop

[V/Jihyun Kim X Reader]

Every day he saw her waiting there at the bench. Sometimes she would be standing. Her sun dress flowing in the wind, as if the lace or fabric had been lighter than air, catching even the smallest breeze. Her hair dancing about her face. His eye sight was poor, but he could see her tangled hair dancing. He could smell the perfume of her shampoo carried in the wind as he approached her. Other times she would be huddled together on the bench as she sat. Her knees clenched closely as she held her heavy coat to her frame in the cold wind.

It was the same as when he first met her. The droplets of rain fell hard, each splash on the pavement demanded your hearing. V could hardly believe someone had been caught so off guard by the storm. Her hands went from wiping her ever-dampening hair to her arms, to her soaked cloth clinging to her frame. He remembered thinking how beautiful and natural she looked. How helpless. How, in that moment, he saw someone in need of his help, even if his sight was less than superb. Her bangs and hair clung to her face and she smiled to him. The smile that he had grown to look forward to for weeks to come.

“Please, share my umbrella?” he asked of her as he held it above her shivering frame.

It was the first thing he ever said to her. The first words ever spoken between them as they stood there at the bus stop. Her careful nod and slight smile pierced through him in that instant. Her gratitude. Had he ever been so thankful for his eyesight before?

In his mind he could remember every detail of her. Her face. Her makeup and the way the strands of hair clung messily to her face from the rain like thin vines on a beautiful sculpture. The sound of the droplets on the umbrella and the feel of wetness as the bottoms of his jeans began to soak water and creep up his shins. It didn’t matter, as long as she was dry and comfortable.

“Thank you,” she spoke in soft syllables through the heavy rain.

Her voice had been like a symphony to the backdrop of the rain pattering. Her smile the beams of sunlight in the clouds of rain. It was a gift to see her before him.

When the bus approached and she nodded in gratitude before entering, he felt a heaviness in his chest. Such grace and beauty lost to him now because he hadn’t the courage, nor the strength, to ask her for any more than she had already bestowed upon him. Only a  warm smile and a slight giggle from her as he sheltered her from the rain.

The next day it was drizzling lightly as he approached the bench. His sight limited to the bus. And…as if a sign from above, he saw her looking back to him with that same sweet smile. It would insight the tightness in his chest once more. She recognized him? Even with his blurry vision he could never mistake her for another.

“Hello, V!” she would smile and exclaim every time.

Always the same cheerful greeting. It always elicited his heart to work overtime in his chest. He wanted to know more about her. Wanted her to know more about him.

“Call me Jihyun, remember,” he laughed and smiled.

“Oh! Of course, I’m so sorry,” she would laugh and cover her face in embarrassment.

He loved that about her. And without another thought his umbrella would be covering her and sheltering her from the spring rain.

“You don’t take the same route as I do, yet you’re always here at the same time,” she says casually, “why do you take the bus? Your clothes….ah! I’m sorry, is that rude?”

The way she gets flustered turns his cheeks red. He didn’t think he was dressed so richly? Maybe only compared to Jumin…

“It’s not rude,” he chuckled, “my eye sight…” he let his voice trail off.

“I know,” she replied.

Delicate fingertips pressed against his cheeks and shocked him more than he had anticipated. The feeling of her warm fingertips on his skin made his heart leap and his body feel warmth in the growing cold.

“Is that why you…ride public transport?” she had asked.

“Mostly, yes,” he found himself admitting.

It is true. He can still see alright, enough to get around daily life. But he can not drive. Public transport is his means of traveling. He doesn’t wish to be like his friend Jumin, spending money on personal drivers and cars. Figures from afar appear as blurs, but not her.

Perhaps it was the way she smelled. Or sounded.

He could hear her rustling and know it was her. Her delicate hands moving through her bag to find her chapstick. Or her sunglasses. Or phone. He could tell her apart from anyone else in the world. it would start off as if she had forgotten the thing completely. Frantic and manic were her hands in the pockets and crevices of her bag. Eventually, the all-too-familiar sigh would escape her when she found what she was looking for. Maybe others could not pick it up, but he could. He heard and watched her pop the cap from her chapstick in the summer and rub it against her full lips. She wasn’t aware of how bad his sight had been. But she was more aware than most.

Most good days, when he met her at the bench, they would talk about themselves. If she was carrying bags, she would explain what she purchased for him. Even if it was trivial, he found himself enthralled in her explanations.

“Shoes for the beach. You know my old ones always gave me trouble,” she laughed and he agreed since he had known as well, “and this new dress. I don’t know how well it will look. Maybe for a lunch with friends…”

She held the dress up to herself and he felt almost bad for imagining her in it. Perhaps on a moonlit night. She would be waiting as he approached from a street corner. She would be smiling, only for him, in that dress. He’d buy her dinner and wine. They would share her favorite dessert and she would tell him all about her day. He would listen intently. He cared. For a moment he had to remind himself of where he was.

“It’s a beautiful dress for you,” he remarked.

“Why, thank you,” she replied and stuffed the items back in her bag with red cheeks.

One day she was showing him what she had purchased, when she noticed how aloof he seemed, though he was trying his hardest not to show it.

“Your eyesight,” she spoke softly, “it’s getting worse…isn’t it…”

Why was he choking back his words? Was it the slight drizzling rain clouding his eyes, or his own tears as he held his umbrella over what he hoped was her frame. If he could do anything in this world, it was to keep her from being cold…and wet. Somehow, she knew. Just by the way he had acted, for he hadn’t said a word about how he was doing.

He felt a soft hand on his own free one. It was hers. Without thinking twice he smiled and let her lead him. He could even hear her smile in her voice.

“Sunglasses…not that I’ll be needing them anytime soon, don’t you agree? I feel like a fool for believing the weatherman,” she laughed and held her forehead against his own as she did so, while still guiding his hand around her bag.

Was she not put off by his ailment? It was one of the first times he could say he hadn’t felt like an outsider. Someone who needed to be asked to be accepted. She had grabbed his hand…

She had grabbed his hand…and from then on, she continued to do so.

Some days, he didn’t need it. Some days, the sun shone bright and still would be out-shined by her radiance. Her smile and aura as he approached the bench would radiate his core. Whether she was heading to work, meeting friends or shopping, she looked beautiful and full of hope to him. She filled him with her warmth even on the coldest of days.

It wasn’t since Rika that he had felt this way about another human being. And even thinking about her inner beauty, could he say he even felt this way about Rika? No. This person who had accepted him as who he was, even with his sight as it happened to be. This person who asked nothing from him other than conversation as they waited for the bus to take them to their destinations.

When he had fallen in love with her, who could say? But he was sure she felt the same way. Her subtle touches to his hands and arm when they met. The way she leaned in close to explain things to him.

“It is cold…but I do appreciate the rain,” she said one day to him after he had placed his jacket over her. “It gives life to the flowers around us, the plants…Life would cease to exist without the rain. I think we should appreciate it. Don’t you agree?” she asked him.

Of course he did. His hands held her shoulders tightly as he explained so. How badly he wanted to ask her to dinner in that moment. Maybe just to a cup of coffee. To ask her everything about herself. Did she garden? What was her favorite film? Did she enjoy music?

He could sense a lot about her just in the time they spent together. She was selfless. She only went shopping when it meant it was needed. If it was for meeting friends, or perhaps something she didn’t have before. He liked that about her. She was observant.

“The bus has been a little late…fourth time this week…I hope the driver isn’t feeling ill,” she had mentioned one day.

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?” she smiled and put her hand on his forearm playfully, “ I really am worried!”

“Only you would be worried about the driver when your ride is late…I just…find it charming,” he admitted to her.

When he was late, or struggling to make it to the bench, he found her at his side, helping carry his things and hold him steady.

One particularly rainy day, her bus arrived on schedule. It was the familiar slosh of the flowing gutters as it pulled close to the curb for her. The all-too-familar squeak of the door hinges as it swung opened for her. But she did not move. She did not enter. Her hand lay wrapped on his forearm, which held his umbrella sturdy to protect her the best he could from the elements.

“I’m not going in today,” she spoke coyly as the door shut and the sound of the bus driving down the road faded once again in the distance.

He couldn’t hold back his smile much longer. Her touch soothed him. Her delicate hands he had grown to fall in love with. And the sweetness in her voice like warm honey coating his soul.

“We can’t waste the day,” he found himself replying, “how about I take you to lunch…and then maybe dinner?”

“Nothing could make me happier, Jihyun,” she pulled her body in close to his as she spoke.

He could feel her steps in sync with his own. This wasn’t the first time he had taken her out. Not even the twentieth time…her feet and hands, her voice, her steps and the pitter patter they made next to his own feet…the way she walked was all too familiar.

Yes…this day was like many others he had come to share with her. And yet…he felt in his pocket, that hardness in the shape of a box. The velvet case with a ring inside.

It may have come to be a familiar day for them. But today, he would ask her to be his wife.

The One Where You’re Drunk

Pairing: Jace Wayland x Reader

Summary: Completely drunk during girl’s night with Isabelle and Clary, you’re dared to sneak into Jace’s room and tell him how you really feel about him.

A/N: it’s been a while but here’s one i’ve been saving!

MASTERLIST (mobile and desktop)
(you can like it and save it for later!)

“Okay, kiss, marry, kill,” you say. Isabelle and Clary nod.

“Jace, Simon, Alec.”

“Ew, Alec is my brother y/n!” Isabelle frowns in disgust.

“And Jace is mine,” Clary says distastefully.

You sigh.

“Okay, Simon, Meliorn and Aldertree.”

“Aldertree? Really?” Clary shoots you a pointed look.

“You guys suck at this game,” you sigh.

“Maybe that because we’re not little teenage girls,” Isabelle laughs, “Well, maybe you still are.”

You flip her off, rolling your eyes as you rest your head in her lap, “I think we need more booze.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” Isabelle says, scrunching up her nose when your burp.

You pout, trying to reach for a half full bottle without moving. She moves It away from you.

“Why don’t you answer since you’re not related to anyone in the Institute? Jace, Simon or Alec?”

You rub your chin thoughtfully – not that there was even anything to think about. It was Jace. It would always be Jace. But that was something that was hard to admit to yourself, let alone to Clary and Isabelle.

“Well, Simon is dating Clary last I checked and Alec is dating Magnus…”

“So Jace?” Isabelle giggles, “I think the two of you would be cute.”

“Same,” Clary beams, “You’d be good for him.”

You blow air through your lips, waving a hand, “Jace treats me like I’m Alec but the girl version.”

“Well, Jace loves Alec,” Isabelle shrugs, “I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

“Because it’s not a sexual thing. He loves Alec but he’s not in love with him,” you say, “Jace may love me but not the way I want him to.”

The way you want him to?” Isabelle asks with raised brows, moving hair away from your face as she looks down at you. You turn away from her and look at Clary.

“The way he loved you,” you say, your speech a little slurred.

You’d been so jealous. Clary had walked in and made Jace fall for her without even trying. And you were happy for him, really. You’d watched him be closed off his whole life and she made him feel again. But a part of you wished it had been you.

After you found out they were siblings, he returned to his usual string of flings and self-destructive behaviour and you, as always, stayed by his side as his best friend.

Clary shifts uncomfortably, “Don’t remind me,” she groans, pinching the bridge of her nose, “It’s still weird.”

“It’s a bit weird,” you giggle.

“Wait,” Clary says, sitting up, “Do you – do you like Jace?”

“N-no,” you stammer, “This is just hypothetical.”

She and Isabelle share a look before Isabelle pulls you up and props you up against the wall, “How drunk are you?” she asks.

You turn the bottle in your hand upside down to show her it’s empty and then laugh.

They both laugh, their faces filled with shared mischief – they knew it wouldn’t take much convincing to get you to do something stupid.

“It’s for her own good. Hers and Jace’s,” Isabelle justifies to Clary. Clary nods firmly.

Isabelle hands you the half full bottle and let’s you finish it.

“Are you gonna throw up?” she asks.

You wait a second before shaking your head. Sure, the room was spinning, but surely you weren’t going to vomit.

“Good,” she says rubbing her hands together, “Let’s play a game of truth or dare.”

“Dare,” you nod hazily.

“Go into Jace’s room and tell him you’re in love with him,” she says.

Truthfully, you guys didn’t get to have much fun around the Institute since Valentine had made his return. It was rare to have a girls night. It was even rarer to mess around like this as a Shadowhunter since you’d been taught to be disciplined. You didn’t get to giggle like little girls and do dares growing up.

Your eyes widen slightly but you try not to look fazed – you wandered if you were making a funny face since you were so drunk. In your right mind, you would’ve said ‘no way’ but it seemed like a promising idea. Something you’d laugh about in the morning.

“Deal,” you nod. They both look surprised.

Isabelle pulls you up from the ground and leads you to through door and out into the hallway. You all pause outside Jace’s door – tyring to stifle your laughter.

“Go,” Clary hisses, nudging you.

You slowly twist the door knob. A line of light illuminates his room before you pull the door shut behind you, only to realize you can’t see.

You hold your hands out in front of you until they come into contact with something that clatters to the floor with a loud smashing sound.

A lamp turns out and you look toward it to find Jace staring at you in confusion. He climbs out of bed, wearing slim fit sweatpants and no shirt. You’d seen him shirtless millions of times – you’d even been pinned under him that way during training – but while you were drunk, it made your cheeks flush and your skin tingle.

“Y/N?” he mumbles, walking over and running his fingers through his hair.

You look down at the floor – broken glass and a photo frame with a picture of the two of you in it.

“I’m so sorry,” you sigh, kneeling down and beginning to pick up the shards. You don’t stop even when one of them cuts into your palm.

“Stop,” he says, pulling you up and walking you across his room into the bathroom, carefully dusting your palms into the sink.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, inhaling sharply. You smelled like a bar.

“Sorry,” you apologize, biting down on your lip.

He shakes his head with a grin, “Sit,” he says, pointing to the toilet, “Let’s get that cleaned up,” he points to the bloody cut in your palm.

You sit on top of the counter next to the sink, letting your legs dangle and watching as he reaches for the top of the cabinet and pulls out a first aid kit.

You knew you could’ve just used your healing rune but Jace had done this for you since you were kids – anytime you got a small cut or graze, he’d pull out a first aid kit and treat it himself. The way your mother did before she passed away. Jace was all you had growing up.

He pulls out an alcohol wipe and then a cotton swab, dabbing at it slowly.

“I take it girls night is what left you this way?” he asks, concentrating on your hand.

“Maybe,” you say, dragging the word out.

He laughs, shaking his head and looking you in the eye, “Did you leave because you missed me?” he asks, unscrewing the cap of the rubbing alcohol. He tilts it carefully, not wanting to get too much on you.

“I left because I wanted to tell you I’m in love with you,” you blurt out. He squeezes the bottle too hard, clamouring away from you when it spills all over your legs. He stares at you with wide eyes, frozen.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, grabbing a towel and wiping your legs down. You place a hand over his, letting it rest on your lap, “It’s okay.”

It felt so good to be close to him. It felt so good to say those words knowing that tomorrow you wouldn’t remember them and that you could just say it was a dare of play it off as being drunk. It felt good to be honest and to admit it – to him and to yourself.

His face was so close to yours.

“It’s okay,” you say again, resting your forehead against his.

“You’re drunk,” he says, drawing a line that you so badly wanted to cross. He pulls away from you, resting his hands on your knees with a slight frown, his eyes studying you. He reaches into the first aid box and pulls out a band aid, placing it across the cut.

“You should get back to your room,” he says firmly.

You slide off the sink, feeling your chest tighten. This had all been a mistake.

You walk back into his room, hesitating at the door. He walks up behind you, “I’ll see you in the morning y/n,” he says softly, “Drink some water before you sleep.”

You didn’t want to go. You didn’t want to leave things this way.

You turn around, resting yours hands against his chest and moving them up to his shoulders. You stand on your tip toes and lean in closer to him, praying he wouldn’t pull away.

He doesn’t.

He rests his hands on your waist and pulls you closer to him, pressing his lips to yours, the sound of your breathing filling the room.

“Y/N,” he mutters, pulling away, “I – I shouldn’t have – you’re drunk… I’m-“

“I love you Jace,” you say. You had no other words. You didn’t know how to explain it to him or how to tell him how you were feeling. You knew it was an overwhelming thing to say. Maybe it was too much, but it was all you had.

He just stares at you in frustration.

You’d done a lot of stupid things while you’d been drunk and none of them had meant anything to you. Was he just one of those things?

Or did you really love him?

He thinks about how you’ll have no memory of this in the morning because of the state you were in.

“I-I’m gonna go get you something to eat so you can sober up and we can… talk about this,” he says. That was probably the best course of action. He didn’t want to blow you off and pretend this never happened.

You nod, watching him leave. It’s only then you get the urge to throw up.

When you wake up, your head is resting on Jace’s toilet seat. You groan in disgust – at least your hair was tied up.

“You wouldn’t let me move you.”

You turn your head slightly to find Jace slumped against the wall. You stand up and a blanket falls to the floor that had been over your shoulders.

“How are you feeling?”

“Probably not as bad as I should,” you say, rubbing your temples. You had hoped you wouldn’t remember last night but it was right there, front and centre, on your mind.

You could tell he was thinking about it too but the way his jaw was tensed.

You look over his shoulder at the broken glass still in the middle of his room.

“I’ll clean that up,” you say. You felt terrible.

You’d thrown up and passed out on the toilet and now you had to have ‘the talk’ completely sober -without any excuse for your actions or what you say.

“Can we talk about last night?” he asks, getting straight to the point.

You nod, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and then crossing your arms over your chest.

“You said you were in love with me and then we kissed,” he says with a pointed look, trying to gage whether you remembered or not. You nod with a guilty look on your face and in return, he looks mildly relieved.

“What was that about?” he asks, “Were you just drunk-“

“No,” you say quickly, “Look, Jace – I mean, yes I was drunk. It was a dare.”

“A dare?” he frowns, disappointed.

“Isabelle dared me to do it because I basically told her I liked you and you didn’t like me back,” you rest your head against the wall, “It was the first time I wasn’t scared to tell you how I felt.”

“Are you scared now?” he asks.

You nod, swallowing hard, “I’m scared, Jace, but I’m still in love with you. And I’m glad last night happened and that I can’t take it back.”

“Are you sober now?” he asks with an exhilarated look.

You nod. With one step, he’d standing inches away from you and pulling you into him. He was kissing you so hard you could barely breathe. You smile against his lips, pulling away for air.

“I love you so much, y/n. I barely slept last night thinking you’d sober up this morning and regret that kiss or worse, forget it. I was scared you’d tell me you have no feelings for me. Because I love you,” he sighs, taking your hands in his, “And I want this for us. I always have.”

“You’re a real keeper,” you laugh.

“Why’s that?” he asks with a smirk.

“Because you’re kissing someone who spent the whole night throwing up,” you laugh, causing him to scrunch his nose up when he realizes.

He shrugs, “I don’t care,” he shakes his head with a wide smile, “I love you y/n.”



You’re trying to find out what Mick looked like when he had hair, and Leonard is willing to help…for a price…


“That’ll be thirty dollars…”

Thirty dollars?!

“That’s what I said, Doll Face.”

“But you didn’t mention anything about that last time!!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Leonard cast you a leery smile as he waved the back of the ever-so-mysterious photograph in your face. “Did I say that this was for free?”

A heated flush burned your cheeks.

While you have had many dealings with the kleptomaniac in the past - most of which resulted in his favor - he’d never charged you this much before.

Probably ‘cause he knows he can get away with it, you thought bitterly.

Leonard was the only one who knew of your crush on his partner and he exploited you as often as he could to keep it secret. Half the time, you hated him for it (for obvious reasons).

But, the other half…

You were happy.

He gave you someone to talk to without criticism and offered insightful opinions and memories that many couldn’t provide.

Although that still doesn’t change the fact that he’s an ass…

Pouting, you crossed your arms and stared at Leonard, hard. Of course, your actions didn’t phase him; but, for old time’s sake, he played along.

Fine,” he drawled, throwing his hands up in pretend surrender, “Because you’re a special customer, I’ll give you a discount…”

You narrowed your eyes.

“What kind of discount?” You asked him.

“A generous one,” Leonard replied in a deceptively charming voice. “I’ll give you the picture for free…if you do me a little favor.”

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J is for Jacking Off

Pairing: Dean

Word Count: 1004

Anon asked: Omg, I just read like all of your ABC Challenge thing and it was so good! May I request jacking off with deanxreader? Thanks so much, I love your writing!

Warnings: masturabtion (male)

A/N: i hope this is okay !! i did solo!dean because i dont want it to be too similar to the mutual masturbation one

ABC’s of Sex Masterlist

Originally posted by subcas

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Author’s Note: Dusted off my writing skills just for you. Happy birthday @kpopfanfictrash. I hope you like it! Love you, darling. 
Pairing: Kim Jongin x OC
Genre: Fluff;Supernatural
Word Count: 2.7K+

There was a veil of silence that enveloped the whole campus. It was that time of year where the college campus had strictly enforced a conduct of quiet hours. The end of the year is probably the most stressful thing a student goes through during their duration at the university.

Students were cramming and attempting to implement everything they had learned throughout the year into this one dreadful week.  You’ve seen your fair share of sleep deprived students chugging disgusting caffeinated energy drinks, pulling their hair out, on the verge of tears. You pitied them.

But what you had learned from the past few semesters is that this was where you made the big bucks. Students would pay anything to relieve  their stress and anxiety during this time. You low-key had quite the reputation around campus. Whether or not it was all true, people may never know. That was your secret to keep.

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Three Bears | Part 5

Request from Anonymous: Hello. I love your Tumblr! May I request a mini-series where you and are taking care of your three children (2 girls, 1 son) in Superman Returns (a korean television series). Could you also add a part where Jay wants another boy to make it equal , may be a lil smut. Thank you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

As always, any type of feedback is welcome :)

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The Missing Piece (Part 1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 1715
Warnings: mentions of death/cancer

Summary: You are a SHIELD Agent working undercover in Belgrade, Serbia when a run in with Bucky Barnes changes your future

A/N: Eventual smut, so 18+ please! This story beings a few months after the events from “Age of Ultron” gif not mine (x) Tags are open! :)

The door creaks open as you impatiently walk into your apartment. “Ughh I swear if Goran grabbed my ass one more time I was going to blow our cover right there!” you huffed.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” a man replied, as he walks over to you.

“He repulses me,” you said, as you hold up your hair waiting for him to unzip the back of your dress. He pauses for a moment and savors the view of the fabric hugging your curves. “You look beautiful.”

You ignore his comment and go into the bathroom to change. “So what did he tell you?” you asked, speaking louder through the door. The man stands in front of it to answer, “I’m seeing Goran again tomorrow and I think in a few days he’s taking me to meet Josif. We’re so close Y/N,” he said unable to contain the smile on his face.

You open the door and throw your hands around him. “Matt that’s great news!” He deepens the hug but you pull away, lowering your gaze. He looks at you regretfully and retreats to the other room.

For the past two months you’ve been in Belgrade undercover as Charlotte, the wife of entrepreneur Aleksander Kovac aka your fellow SHIELD Agent Matthew Walker. Your targets are Josif & Marko Petrovic, two brothers with a petty criminal history until recently. After the Sokovia incident they had gotten involved in arms dealing. SHIELD got Intel that the brothers were going to be making a deal with the terrorist group known as The Ten Rings. They had black market Hammer weapons modified with Chitauri technology, and so SHIELD has to stop them. With the premise of looking for new “business partners” you and Matt have been gaining contacts to get closer to the Petrovic’s. While you’ve been playing the part of a loving couple you’ve felt that Matt may want to turn your professional relationship into something more.

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Let Me In {8}

Sequel to The Sun and The Stars

Previous parts:  | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 |

Word count: 3196

Warnings: Be prepared xx

Originally posted by sincerelysaraahh

According to Natasha, you weren’t allowed to move anymore, much to your dismay; your fighting and straining caused enough damage to your already injured body and even the slightest movement would most likely tear open your unhealed wounds. Natasha, not wanting to leave you alone was came to you every fifteen minutes, she says to check on your health but you have a feeling she wants to talk to you about something.

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anonymous asked:

Headcanons about Dark Percy getting back the Curse of Achilles after the Giant War because he's not just the savior og Olympus anymore, he's the weapon of Olympus. Bonus points for Dark Percabeth!

They send me away to find them a fortune
A chest filled with diamonds and gold
The house was awake
With shadows and monsters
The hallways they echoed and groaned

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ladvystark  asked:

ohhh my god also if you have the time theon x sansa + ❄️ ????

It was snowing in Winterfell when Theon made it back, his sister in tow on the horse next to his. The white flurry around the castle looked just like the ash had when Ramsay had burned it down.

Because of him.

It stood tall now, busy, people walking in and out carrying food for the winter, and Theon rode in in wonder at how he was being welcomed back despite it all. The castle had been home to him, and then a prison. Now it was a reminder.

He looked around, scanning the balconies as he slid off his horse, and then he saw her. Red hair braided back, wolfskin around her shoulders, talking to the maester and Ser Davos. Theon felt his heart constrict at the sight of her here again. But Sansa was safe now.

Because of him.

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I’m going to use this post to talk about the little bio Murdoc wrote for Electronic Beats because I’m just getting around to it now. TBH I was still busy capping every frame we could see his eyebrows in Saturnz Barz. When you adapt to making posts out of old material so much so that you’re able extract over a year of edits out of them, you learn how to really take your time with things. Now with the recent avalanche of material I’m actually finding it hard to keep up. Imagine that! Anyhow:

  • First thing I notice is that he classifies himself as “pop” which is interesting because in previous phases I always got the impression that he wanted to preserve the sounds of his original influences in the music
  • I love that he added in stage directions as if he was thinking that if there was even the SLIGHTEST chance someone could take his bio and turn it into an actual production, he wanted to be prepared. Because anything written by Murdoc is just that good. His unwavering belief in himself is very endearing (or the part of it that isn’t a front is at least- more on that later).
  • “Some people tried to claim I’d sold my soul to the devil in exchange for success.” Some people? Yeah, some people like your own damn self lmao. Are they trying to retcon that? Or is this just more Murdoc being Murdoc?
  • The unintentional Plastic Beach shade is hilarious. Gorillaz was “a UK smash,” Demon Days “literally shafted America right up its Grand Canyon” and we get to Plastic Beach and it’s just “….”
  • “The more whammed I got, the more the songs poured out of me, until I was literally dripping with musical genius.“ Despite the boastfulness of this quote, this is actually pretty sad when you consider the fact that Murdoc uses alcohol (and other illicit substances) as a maladaptive coping mechanism to manage anxiety, insecurity and symptoms of PTSD (note how little he actually says about himself in this bio). And 2D also mentions in his own bio that Murdoc has been actually been drinking more. Then again, he also looked a lot happier and comfortable with the rest of the band in the video so idk.
  • I think we’ll always have to depend on lyrics and actions in music videos rather than his own words to formulate an accurate reading on if and how Murdoc has “changed.” TBH, I was hoping we would get more raw honesty in the same vein as the ending of ROTO (which he took back immediately, but still) from him this phase. For the sake of story-telling it doesn’t benefit his character to remain entirely static. Sure, it’s funny to joke that character development for Murdoc = going from writing a song called “Sex Hoof” to a song called “Sex Murder Party” but the reality is that he has the lived experiences for so much more and I wish they would utilize it more.
  • On that note I’m also slightly disappointed that his dynamic with 2D has essentially reset to what it was before Phase 3.You would think that the rest of the band would have facilitated some sort of intervention by now. Really, I feel bad for 2D fans more because he deserves better than this. It’s absolutely possible to write him as wanting to be in the band without continuing to fortify such an unhealthy dynamic. I might be able to understand if they were going for a social commentary on trauma and mental health but I highly doubt that’s what they’re doing. It also almost nullifies all of the “they all look SO happy now!!” sentiments that fandom (myself included) is circulating (the claim that he’s being “nicer” is what saves it but it remains to be seen if it’s true).
  • He’s “furious” now. I wonder if that means we’re actually going to get activist!Murdoc after all. Do the lyrics “we got the power to be loving each other no matter what happens” sound particularly radical or furious? Not really lmao but I look forward to hearing him follow through on that statement as this phase progresses.
  • I say this every time but I *do* understand that music comes first, lore comes second but imo, the project works best when the two complement each other and sometimes I wish the lore was more consistent. If that makes me sound “not positive enough” the idk what to tell you. These are just my thoughts at the moment. I’m still elated to be experiencing this phase in real time and there are a lot of things I’ve loved sooo yeah.
Enough to Grab Onto

I got sad talking to @inkedferns about his hair last night. So I woke up and spat this out. I also definitely got teary eyed over one line (EMBARRASSING MUCH!?) – guess which one! x. (I was going to wait to post it until more of the world was awake, but I CAN’T!)

“It’s just hair,” Harry tells you with a heavily lined forehead.

“I know,” you say. “It’s just… it suits you, you know?” You reach up and run your fingers through the curls that nearly go to his shoulder blades now. “And I’ve gotten used to it. I like them.”

“All this time,” Harry says with a shake of his head, “I thought I’d have to worry about someone loving me for m’money. I was wrong.” He kisses you pertly and you scowl. “It’ll grow back, won’t it?” he soothes you. “Didn’t you say it was looking a bit tattered anyway?”

Keep reading

A 12-minute read on bike style changes in the last 70 or so years.

Most American bikes thru the ’60s were one-speeds for kids, because teenagers were aching to grow up fast and cars seemed better for dating.

Beginning at the end of WWII, the older generation launched a 20 years or so succession of screwups that sent a message to the younger generation that these folks were not to be trusted or emulated. Things like pesticides, the Korean War, Emmett Till, Viet Nam, holding women back, civil rights stuff, hating rock-n’-roll were just a few of the problems caused by the older generation.

A big one happened on January 28, 1969—an oil spill off the Santa Barbara (California) coast. Union Oil took a shortcut with the drilling rig, and the ocean erupted with oil. To a country of young people who’d been environmentally sensitized by Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring, it was the straw that broke the back, and led directly to the first Earth Day, April 22, 1970.

Earth Day was a protest against environmental destruction, so riding a bike wasn’t retreating to childhood and taking you out of the dating pool; it was a way to protest the older generation’s greed that was destroying the environment. The order to young people was: Don’t use gas on Earth Day. Show you care, don’t be part of the problem, ride a bike, and we did.

Girl sees bike, boy meets girl. Who are they and where are they now?

Some of the bikes were borrowed from younger siblings, some were leftover from when they were young, but bike dealers ramped up for Earth Day, and lots were bought new. Schwinn Varsities sold like mad, because Schwinn dealers were everywhere. High-schoolers took to the 10-speeds because the drop bars and gears made them not kids bikes. But the Varsity was unexotic and heavy, so if you were a one-upper, you held out for a European bike—a Raleigh Super Course, Peugeot UO-8, Gitane something or other, a Mercier, or the exotic (in my neighborhood) Cote d’Azur.

Back then, nobody lusted for a Nishiki, but it’s got a cool badge, riveted on and everything.

All of the early 1970s foreign ten-speeds ones were steel and slender, and had lugged frames and nice-looking decals. If you were into bikes you’d get the manufacturer’s catalogs at the bike shop and read about what the better bikes had that you’re didn’t, and figure out how to spiff up your U-08 so it was closer to a PX-10. (Mark put Campy Gran Sport derailers on his first cheap French bike.)

The first American framebuilder in the renaissance was Albert Eisentraut, who grew up in Chicago and learned from Oscar Wastyn, the first builder of Schwinn Paramounts. Albert was building his own frames in the late ’50s, and taught frame-building classes in the ’70s.

A 1973 or so Ritchey road bike.

Tom Ritchey made his first bike frame at 15 ½, in … 1972? Something like that. Tom was never normal, he’s always been Mozart, and he’s not the standard.

Anyway, Eisentraut’s classes led to a boom in custom building that, by the late ‘70s, grew into dozens of American custom frame builders, who collectively  revved up interest in bikes and riding and bike geekery in general.

By then the European brands, the French in Particular, were losing to the  Japanese. The  10- and then 12-speeds were well established, too, from cheap to expensive, all of them with familiar proportions and details, just executed with different degrees of perfection constrained by price.

Even the poorer executions were still signs of sincere attempts at art, and tho they didn’t get a lot of respect at the time, it’s an unexpected treat to see, locked up with a white plastic bag as a seat cover, a cheap ’70s bike with chome-tipped fork blades, seat stays, and chainstays, and a flat fork crown with a thin stamped steel cap on it with an artistic shoreline. These days, cheap bikes still copy expensive ones, but most of today’s expensive bike are de-detailed and are, I’d say, bad role models. Like 7-year old with leather and chains.

The first genuine mountain bike Tom Ritchey made…1977 or so. The frame joints are gorgeous, the tubes aren’t all fat, but the frame is not underbuilt. Looks nice to me..which is why our bikes use the same proportions still. It’s not because we can’t go fatter.

When the first actual mountain bikes were made in the late ’70s, they veered off from strict road style, but were just as beautiful (maybe more) than any European road bike . The upright bars and fat tires gave them away as mountain bikes, but frames and forks were still beautifully detailed. The first Stumpjumper was lugged and had a fork crown, just like most good road bikes. Then price competition forced out the lugs for tig-welds, and crowned forks for the crownless “unicrown” style, but from 25 feet they all looked about the same, with those traditional proportions.

By 1988 more than 75 percent of the bikes sold in America were mountain bikes, and moto-crossers and motocross magazine publishers saw the trend and got involved. To motocrossers, the early mountain bikes must have looked unevolved, effete, and ready for a crayons-to-perfume makeover. The whole look changed—the joint details, proportions, graphics, and these new mountain bikes didn’t look European anymore. It’s not a shame that they didn’t look European. Why should they? The shame is that they looked so crude, that somebody in the loop figured what the hell, it’s just a bike.

In late ’89, Rock Shox developed the suspension fork, and after suspension bikes won big in the 1990 mountain bike world championships, every body wanted them and almost all manufacturers jumped on it.

Stumpjumper from about 1991, I think. A good place to stop.

At first the shocks were only on $1,000+ bikes, but within five years they came down to $450 bikes. It was hard to sell a mountain bike without them, and nobody knows that better than me (or Bridgestone sales reps at the time). Now it’s 2017 and it’s hard to find a new model bigbrand a city bike or whatever, that doesn’t have shocks. Fat tire bikes without them are barely even recognized as mountain bikes.

Suspension forks lead to full suspension frames, which lead to events that required body armor and helmets with full face protection, and at this point the desired look was gnarly, raw, and big. Ugly was pretty, pretty was obsolete. By the early 2000s, mountain bikes looked like motorcycles without the motors, and the clothing and helmets followed the same route. It’s hard to talk about these changes without coming off like a grump, but I’m just trying to address the evolution of these visual and techy changes. It’s kind of interesting, isn’t it?

Do bicycles need disc brakes? If heavier and faster motorcycles could use rim brakes, they would—because rim brakes are more powerful. But motorcycles weigh so much and go so fast that they’d burn up rim brakes. Rim brakes are ideal for most bike riding, but that gets lost in the inferiority complex.

The earth isn’t your %$#@ bike-gym!

There are some riding situations that favor disc brakes. Steep, rim-heating descents, grit, slim, and muck (it’s not a matter of braking performance in muck, it’s that muck packs rim brakes. Don’t ride in muck.) A lot of people feel better about their chances of survival when they’re over-gunned, over-sheltered, over-clothed, over-fed, and over-vehicled, no matter what kind of vehicle it is. The Ford F150 is the best-selling motor vehicle in America. I’m sure it’s a great truck, but still…

The trend to single chainrings and clutchy rear derailers is another way that bikes are going more like motorcycles. I’m all for simplification—if you can get by with one ring, that’s the way to go, for sure. And rear derailers with clutches that maintain chain tension to keep the chain engaged on the chainring and reduce chainslap on the chainstay. —those aren’t evil insidious infiltrations from the dark side, but they are from the dark side. Ha!

How dare you, dude!

Isn’t mountain biking great?

Motors are the final frontier, and they’re coming, too. People were monkeying with motors on bikes in the early 1890s. Electric motors didn’t hold a charge well and were too bulky. Steam was hard to start and too dangerous to put between your legs. The internal combustion engine, patented in 1885, was the winning design, and by 1903 we had Indians, Harleys, and Triumphs (and cars, too). Once motors were available, adults quit riding bikes.

Do it on an indoor track with fake trees!

One living & smart bike industry guy who works for a huge bicycle maker predicts that electric motor bikes will make up 30 percent of the bicycle market by 2022. He calls them just eBikes.

eBikes are conveniently called ebikes to de-emphasize the motor, even though the motor is why they exist, and they appeal across the board: To baby boomers who don’t want to grunt anymore; to millenials who like their hipness and tech and who also don’t want to grunt; to former drivers who for one reason or another have lost the right to drive, or who just can’t afford a car; and to Green people who want to be one less car. The scary thing is motors + fat bikes + trail access.

Positioning eMotorbikes as just another kind of bicycle avoids licensing, registration, more costs, a long wait at the DMV… and allows them on bike lanes and multi-use paths and trails in your local open space that still allow bicycles. Does it not matter that there’s a motor?

eMotorbikes can be a blessing for some people, can replace cars on the road, but I bet they’re replacing more bikes than cars. When they do, GREAT! But the question is: at what point does a bicycle stop being a bicycle? How loosely do you define bicycle? An airplane isn’t the world’s best glider. Reel mowers and power mowers are both lawn mowers. Draw your own line, but to me, a motor on a bicycle makes it a motorcycle.

This is my bike. It can go anywhere, but stays close to earth.

Rivendell Bicycle Works is a bicycley bicycle company, which means we make the kind powered by muscles and gravity. We aren’t going to sell “bicycles” with motors. Maybe it’ll be to our doom, but we just like the simple, refined, nearly perfect pedal bike. It’s the best thing ever developed or that ever will be, even though sometimes it makes you tired and sweaty and even though it’s not always a joy. If an eMotorbike takes the place of a car, it’s doing less damage. When it takes the place of a bicycle, it does more. A bicycle, even when ridden by a world-class farter (eater of mung beans, sprouts, and cabbage) pollutes much less. In 2017 with another monster hurricane heading towards Florida, pedal-bicycles are something to celebrate, aren’t they?

wiseinnerwhispers  asked:

Okay, so you know your series with Bucky/Steve where Bucky is recovering and you write the fics set during different holidays? I'm really curious how Bucky would deal with Steve getting food poisoning... Like maybe a bit further on in his recovery? I'd love to see a fic for this if you're willing and up for it!!

This is quite long, so brace yourself… And it’s fairly plotless too. :)

We are in Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure.


Steve leans back into the couch, hands behind his head, and watches the Minnesota Vikings make a touchdown.

“Yes!”  Clint practically jumps out of his seat, pumping his fist in the air.  His son Cooper, who’s sitting on the couch between Clint and Steve, glances at his father and follows suit.

“Why are they your team, again?” Bucky asks, peering around Steve and Cooper to address Clint.

“I don’t know.  Thor likes them, so I figured I’d adopt them as my team too.”

“For not being that into them, you’re really into them,” Steve observes with a hint of friendly judgmental incoherence.

“Yeah, well, what can I say.  Sunday is football day.  And just to throw it back at ya, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two dudes less into a game,” Clint throws back.

“It would be different if the Giants were playing,” Bucky provides with a bit of a yawn.

Steve reaches over to pat Bucky’s knee.  “Tired already?” He asks quietly.  Bucky’s been doing better lately, but that doesn’t mean the nightmares are completely gone.  The jumbled sleepy groaning had turned to shouting around 4, and they’ve both been awake since then.

“I don’t know.  I’m ok,” Bucky replies.

“This game’s almost over, if you’re ready to split,” Steve suggests.

Bucky shrugs.  “I’m ok,” he repeats.

Laura swoops in from the kitchen, picking up bowls of snacks from the coffee table and carting them away.

“You could at least wait until a commercial break,” Clint playfully snipes at his wife as she momentarily stands between him and the TV.

“Yeah, yeah, suck it up,” she teases back, rolling her eyes and dancing in place as she loads a bowl of potato chip crumbs under her arm.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Steve offers.  He jumps up and grabs the bowl of onion dip and a plate of baby carrots and celery.

“I got it,” Laura tries to say.

“No, really, you’ve been waiting on us all day,” Steve says.

“Now you’re really blocking the view,” Clint complains.  He sticks out his foot to trip Steve as he carries the dishes into the kitchen, but Steve easily sidesteps the obstacle.

“I’ll get dinner served in a few minutes, here,” Laura says, gesturing to the potatoes in the oven and crock pot of chili on the counter.

“Thanks for the offer,” Steve replies, “But we should be getting home.  You’ve fed us enough already, and we’ve got a long drive home.  Gotta be up for work tomorrow.  You know the drill.”

“Yeah, sure do.  He doing ok?”  She glances at Bucky, still watching the TV in the living room.

“Oh, yeah, he’s doing great,” Steve explains.  “You’ve seen how far he’s come getting back to his old self.” Steve paws in the bowl of chips for a couple sizeable crumbs, swipes them in the onion dip, and throws them into his mouth.  “We just had kind of a long night, if you know what I mean.  The nightmares still bug him sometimes.”

“I bet they still bug you, too,” Laura says with a sympathetic eyebrow raise.

Steve half-shrugs and dips another chip.

“You know, that’s been sitting out for over 6 hours.  I’m not sure you want to eat it now.”  Laura snags the bowl of dip from under Steve’s hand and dumps it into the sink.

Steve swallows the chip anyway.  “I’ll be fine.”  He tries to help stack up a few more dishes.  “I think I amgonna drag Bucky home now.  Thanks for everything.  All the hospitality.”

“Sure.  You know you’re welcome anytime.”  Laura dries her hands on the seat of her jeans and hurries to find their coats.

Steve meanders up to the back of the couch and starts massaging Bucky’s shoulders from behind.  “Ready to run?” He asks.  “I gotta be up early tomorrow.”  He doesn’t really, but it’s an easy out.

“Yeah, sure.”  Bucky stands up and claps Clint and Cooper on the shoulder before donning his jacket and following Steve out to the car.

They’re on the highway before either of them speak.

“How’s it going?”  Steve’s used to Bucky’s long silences; he just sometimes feels the need to check in to ensure they’re contented stretches of quiet instead of depressed ones.

“Fine.  Good.  I’m good,” Bucky says.  “I’m just, I just wonder… I think I like the Giants, since they’re a New York team, but I don’t really remember seeing a lot of football before the war…”

Steve shifts slightly in his seat and replies, “Yeah, I don’t think we paid a lot of attention to football…  If you decide you don’t like the Giants, you can always go for the Jets…”  Steve stifles a belch behind his hand.

“You drink too much coke or something?”

“I’m fine,” Steve automatically replies.  He’s sure he is.  He can’t remember the last time he was sick with anything, not even a sniffle.  The slight grumble in his stomach has to be from an afternoon of munching junk food and ignoring the need for physical activity.  Though even as he commits to the thought, the unsettledness takes a dip toward pain.

Dusk is falling.  Steve can see the edges of orange sunset peeking in the corners of his rear view mirror as they sail from the beautiful stuck-in-time Virginia countryside back toward the concrete bustle of the DC suburbs.  He wishes they were travelling west so the beautiful sight could be in front, like a paradise to travel toward.

“Maybe we should move to the country,” Steve dreamily suggests.  “Get a farm house like Clint.”

“Could,” Bucky says in a doubtful tone.  “But I think we’re city kids.  We could go back to Brooklyn…”

They dissolve into a stretch of silence again.  The sun continues to plummet, and the harvest gold glow glints off the car mirrors in a harsher manner, making Steve squint against the assault on his eyeballs.  It’s beginning to make his head hurt, which isn’t coupling well with the tumult in his stomach.  Wave motion is creating white-capped froth against the sides of his abdomen, and it feels as though it’s splashing up into his chest.  Steve tries to stealthily let out another burp, and he tastes the sourness of acid reflux.

Then Bucky’s saying something, and Steve’s completely missed it.


“Are you ok?”  It’s definitely not what Bucky said the first time.

“Sure.  Yeah,” Steve replies.

“I think, maybe, you’re not,” Bucky says, his eyes trained on Steve’s face.  “Your stomach hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Buck, really, I’m ok,” Steve says.  But internally, he admits to himself that he’s definitely uncomfortable. The first flecks of nausea are starting to materialize under his tongue.

“No, you’re not feeling good,” Bucky insists.  “It’s been a long time, but I used to take care of you.  I remember how you’d look when you felt sick.”

“That attractive, huh?” Steve asks, attempting to chuckle and swallow at the same time.

“If you feel bad, pull over,” Bucky says.

“It’s not that bad.”  Steve realizes what he’s let slip as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“But you do feel kinda bad.”

“Eh.  Kinda.”  It’s not worth disagreeing, now that there’s something like an invisible boa constrictor simultaneously squeezing his stomach and esophagus.

“You want me to drive?” Bucky suggests.

“You can’t,” Steve says, swallowing a mouthful of bitter saliva.

“I can drive,” Bucky says, somewhat defensively.

“Yeah, but you don’t have a license,” Steve reminds him.  “I’m gonna be fine.  Let’s just…get home.”

The sensation stretching from his stomach to the back of his throat has reached the point of definite illness.  It’s been such a long time since he’s felt sick like this; it brings back flashes of being a weaker version of himself, laid up in bed before the war.  But with Bucky still by his side.

He pushes on for five rough minutes.  When the flips of his stomach bring sleepy heaviness to his jaw and vertigo to his forehead, Steve knows he’s screwed.  Sickness is imminent.  A disgustingly wet belch works its way up his throat, and it’s all Steve can do to swallow down what’s quickly becoming the urge to gag.

“You should pull over.”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a second…” Steve mutters in a choked whisper.  He takes the next exit without knowing exactly where it leads.  He gulps against a surge of bile and speeds through a yellow light to quickly merge from the off ramp to the main road.  There’s a gas station about a hundred yards down, and Steve pulls into the parking lot.  He sloppily stops the car across two parking spaces and throws the door open just in time to heave onto the dirty cracked asphalt.

“Hey, alright,” Bucky murmurs from behind him.  There’s a click as Bucky releases his seatbelt, then a shuffle as he clambers to his knees to balance his stump arm against Steve’s seat.

Steve feels the warm pressure of Bucky’s hand on the back of his neck.  It has the essence of comfort, but also the sensation of pushing him forward into the choking sling of his seatbelt as his stomach continues to evacuate.

He retches hard again, and a torrent of undigested food and soft drinks erupts, splashing over Steve’s knee and the edge of the door frame.  The seatbelt has him bound too far into the vehicle, and he fumbles his trembling fingers over the mechanism to unbuckle himself.

“I’m coming around to your side, ok?”  Bucky pats Steve’s shoulder and scrambles up.  He produces a dizzying ricochet when he slams the passenger side door.

In barely a second, he’s around the front end of the car and hovering face to face with Steve.  He quickly leaps backward a step as Steve lets out another flood of vomit onto the toes of Bucky’s boots.

“God.  Sorry,” Steve croaks, dabbing his mouth with the back of his hand.  “You’re tired; we should be home…”

“It’s ok, you’re just all messed up,” Bucky says, squatting by Steve’s left shoulder.

Steve nods absently in agreement as he tries and fails to suppress another gag that ends up delivering a thin stream of liquid.

“You want to go inside?”  Bucky jerks his head in the direction of the gas station’s convenience store.  “Try to get in a bathroom?”

“Nah, I’m…I don’t want to move.”  Steve’s hands shake visibly as he rests his face in his palms.

“But you’re, I mean, everything else is doing ok?”

“I’m not shitting myself, if that’s what you’re asking,” Steve embarrassment coming out in an edge in his voice.

“Hey, whatever’s going on, no problem.  I’m just here to help.”  Bucky says.  He uses a Kleenex from his pocket to swipe a few chunks of sick from Steve’s knee, then keeps his hand comfortingly on his thigh.

“Yeah…”  He retches agonizingly, then spits onto the ground as his body continues to force out air and fluid in painful belches.  “Jesus fucking Christ…”

Bucky’s inexplicable lover’s radar seems to inform him that the filthier the curses, the more excruciating Steve’s condition.  His hand finds Steve’s, and he squeezes as tightly as he can.  “Do you think you’ll be ok for a minute?  I’ll grab you some water.  Maybe some antacids.  Or some ginger ale?  I don’t know what’sgonna help the most…”

“I’m ok,” Steve gasps through a cough.  He means in general, though he also knows he’s blatantly mistaken.

“Ok.  Breathe, alright?  I’ll be right back.”  Bucky forces the Kleenex into Steve’s hand and lovingly strokes the back of his knuckles with his thumb.

Bucky’s gone for all of five minutes, but Steve can’t stop his body from contracting forward again.  Twice he heaves, and twice white-tinged stomach acid falls into what’s becoming an ocean of puke running across the concrete and under the car.

In his peripheral vision, Steve sees Bucky’s strapping one-armed form exiting the store’s glass doors.  He has a plastic shopping bag in the crook of his elbow and his phone pressed between his cheek and his shoulder.

“Yeah…” Steve hears Bucky muttering as he approaches the car.  “Ok, I’ll let you know if anything changes.  Ok.  Thanks.  Bye.”  He slaps the shopping bag around his hips as he fumbles the phone back into his pocket, then he bends over Steve’s back again.

“Alright, how’s it going,” Bucky asks.

“Oh, god,” Steve groans, fighting a hiccup.  “Just…so nauseous.”  He takes a stabilizing breath.  “Who were you talking to?”

“Just Laura,” Bucky says.  “I wanted to let her know, in case someone else was getting sick.”

Steve gives a thick swallow.  “’S nice of you…”

“And I, well, you know I’m kind of rusty on this,” Bucky admits quietly.  “I mean, you’ve been doing so much for me, but it’s been a long time since I’ve done this.  I want to make sure I’m, you know, doing it right.”

“I don’t think there’s a lot you can do,” Steve murmurs, bringing a fist to his mouth.  “What did Laura say?”

“To push fluids.  Get you home.  Go to the ER or call Sam to start an IV if it gets too bad.”  Bucky sets the shopping bag on top of the car and starts rummaging in it.  “And to remind you to not eat something if she tells you not to eat it.”

Steve glances up and sees Bucky’s smile.

“Yeah.  Point taken,” Steve says.

Bucky squats down to face him again, squeezing a bottle of water between his knees as he screws off the cap.  “How long’s it been since you brought anything up?”

“I don’t know.  A few minutes,” Steve gauges.  “But feels like I could go again any second.”

“Here.”  Bucky offers the water bottle.

Steve eyes him doubtfully and gives a small shake of his head.

“Better to puke up water than just acid.”

Steve has the slightly nostalgic feeling that he’d told Bucky the same thing not many months ago.  The full scope of the role-reversed scenario suddenly hits him, and Steve’s struck with the desire to be cooperative, though his body still seems to have other ideas.  He accepts the water bottle from Bucky and loosely grips it in his sweaty, shaky hand.

“Yeah.  Ok,” he sighs.  “Just…not really appealing.”

“Take a couple sips and I’ll drive you home,” Bucky encourages.

“You still can’t drive.”  Steve brings the bottle to his lips, the condensation beading on its surface making it slick in his hand and against his mouth.  The water is refreshing, but swallowing gives him the distinct impression he’s forcing his system to work in the opposite direction of its current preference.

“I can drive.  It’s a medical emergency, and I won’t get pulled over,” Bucky insists.

The water immediately hits Steve’s stomach, and the bubbling reaction it seems to set off is less than pleasant feeling.  He burps under his breath.


“Maybe,” Steve says.  “It’s not setting that great.”

“Well, you seem ok for now.  You think maybe you’re ready to get going?”  Bucky rescues the plastic bag from the top of the car and stoops to offer Steve his stump shoulder as support.  With difficulty, Steve accepts the handhold and pulls himself to standing, remaining slightly bent at the waist with one arm protectively draped around his middle.

They sidle around the large splash of vomit on the ground and somehow maneuver to the passenger side.  Steve can barely concentrate on moving his feet as he trembles around the front of the car.  He sinks into the plush seat as soon as Bucky guides him to bend his knees.  He swallows hard as the water he swallowed threatens to come back up.

“Here,” Bucky says, reading Steve’s panicked expression.  He reaches over Steve to place a container of Tums in the cup holder, then hands over the empty plastic bag.

Steve imagines the car’s tires streaking through the lake of sick as Bucky reverses out of Steve’s awful parking job.  He doesn’t look to confirm his prediction.  With his palm pressed firmly into the steering wheel’s 12 o’clock position, Bucky steers them easily back onto the highway.

It’s only 25 minutes or so before they reach the exit for Falls Church, but Steve still can’t handle the smooth motion of the car on the road.  He leans his head into the window for as long as he can, but ends up hanging over his own lap as saliva trails from his lower lip into the crinkly plastic bag.

“You’re good,” Bucky says, shooting Steve a sympathetic glance.  Steve nods and belches out a mouthful of acidic water.  Hardly anything more comes up, but he stays hunched, not trusting himself to move.  At the first stoplight they get to, Bucky takes his hand off the wheel to stroke his fingers down Steve’s back.

Once they’re safely parked in the garage, Bucky unlocks the front door and Steve immediately slips past him to set up camp in the downstairs bathroom.  He kneels in front of the toilet and buries his face in the bowl, folding his arms over his aching head.

“What do you need?” Bucky asks from the doorway.

“Nothing, I don’t know,” Steve says around the threat of a gag.  “If you just want to come sit…”

“Yeah.  Of course.  With ya till the end of the line, remember?”

Nostalgia (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Originally posted by allthisherostuff

Prompt: I’m a sucker for the sad romance of the 1940s. Bucky was on top of the world back then and now he’s broken, lonely, trying. He cracked a few smiles in CACW. I would love it if you could do a fic about Bucky using a coping mechanism of going to see a photography collection about the 40s and meeting reader, who he catches smiling at a photo that he was trying hard not to smile at. He decides to practice his charm, see if he still has it? Xo

A/N: This was too cute to handle. Nostalgic Bucky and a cute girl. These are the asks that make my life. After ‘Tenderly’ yesterday and now this..? I’m dying over here. I hope you enjoy, mysterious anon who left this prompt :) 

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anonymous asked:

Hello! i love your blog, it's so amazing :D Can I please request the RFA + Saeran + V reactions if they're out with MC and MC is scouted to be an idol?? Thank youu~


  • he’s overwhelmingly happy but also lowkey nervous
  • he is dating a soon-to-be idol. 
  • he is dating a soon-to-be idol and his current biggest achievement is his LOLOL rank
  • still, after the initial surprise passes, he decides that he’ll just try harder to get better grades and cheer for MC
  • talks so much about MC and how his lover got scouted to become an idol 
  • always wants to know about the whole thing, and likes to sit next to MC to listen to their plans
  • he’s just. so happy to see MC shine?? like MC deserves all the spotlights and he is so overjoyed to see MC getting recognition
  • sure, when he realizes that other people will be cheering for MC, calling MC cute and other… less pretty things, he has to clutch his pillow and bite down his tongue to avoid thinking about it more
  • but when MC is home, where he is the only one for them, he doesn’t mind those thoughts


  • internal conflict Time
  • she’s told herself so many times idols shouldn’t date publicly  
  • but now she’s dating MC, who is. an idol
  • honestly, she just fears she’ll ruin MC’s career
  • she can just see them, headlines calling MC desperate for dating a simple and boring woman like herself-
  • MC has to put a stop to her train of thought
    • “What if I cause a scandal for you?”
  • MC talks with Jaehee about it, assuring her nothing bad will happen
    • If anything, the media will love you more than me! Honestly, you’re so cute I wouldn’t be surprised if you got scouted too!”
  • MC sounds so sure when telling Jaehee nothing will happen
  • it honestly really helps her
  • and now she’s free to fangirl
  • can she pre-order MC merch now or when can she start stocking up-


  • oh!!!
  • OH!!
  • This!! This is great!!
  • He hugs MC and lifts them off the floor when MC tells him
    • “Babe! This is amazing! I’m so proud!”
  • He honestly can’t wait to see MC shining on-stage
  • he loves being in the stage, and imagining MC feeling that kind of joy while beaming a smile, with the spotlight on them
  • yes this is perfect
  • he signs and dances too-
  • would it be too farfetched to imagine maybe he and MC could perform together once?
  • also they’re everyone’s OTP because they are famous and an adorable couple
  • he is always giving MC tips he’s picked up with the years for when they have stage fright or something like that


  • he’s never been big into the idol industry, in all honesty
  • but he can clearly see this is a big deal for MC
  • and this is a big deal to him too
  • he’ll try to get C&R to sponsor MC
  • he really dislikes the idea of people drooling over MC and calling them nicknames, though
  • he’s seen how Jaehee acts towards Zen. will there be people with MC photos in their houses? will people frame photos of MC? … he just won’t think about that. forget about that completely, ignore that, and focus only on MC
  • also, when the media tries to imply MC got scouted only because of Jumin’s influence, he’s quick as thunder to shut those rumors down
  • or maybe shut the whole news outlet down, if he’s really feeling angry at them


  • oooooooh boy
  • on one hand he’s amazingly happy
    • by that I mean probably typing in all caps with “YEAH!!” in the chatroom and in general being super happy for MC
  • And on the other hand he has Existential Crisis
    • like… he knows that when he passes there will probably be little to no trace he existed. even if he stopped everything shady he is doing and decided to live a normal life
    • he is just invisible. literally nothing left when he is gone
    • and MC is now going to probably be immortalized on people’s minds??
  • he doesn’t really know what to do with those thoughts. he never says them out-loud and tries his best to just meme them out of his system
  • still, MC notices, and quickly talks with him
  • by the end, Seven really feels better
    • who cares if the world doesn’t remember him when he’s gone?? like ok cool whatever he has MC right now when he’s alive. existential crisis? more like existential bye-sis
  • makes a triper bot for MC too 
  • also spreads MC’s name the same way he did with Zen’s, effectively drawing attention to MC’s debut


  • so many people will be looking at MC
  • loving MC
  • he really needs to think for a while
  • he trusts MC with his life, but he can’t help but think MC is too good for him
  • MC deserves a life of glitz and glamour and he just feels like he clearly doesn’t fit in that kind of life
  • he’s scared MC will find out they enjoy being onstage more than being with him
  • what if they leave.
  • what if they leave
  • honestly, MC had thought beforehand Saeran might feel like that; and before his thoughts could spiral out of control, made it clear that they’d much rather lose their status as an idol than dream of leaving saeran
  • since he has trouble with crowds, MC gets him seats that are considered premium and away from all the crowd, but still have amazing view, so he can watch their debut
  • he sees MC being so happy he can’t help but smile through the whole thing


  • he’s really happy
  • like really
  • supportive af
  • this man loves MC to death, anything MC accomplishes is The Best Thing Ever to him
  • keeps going on about how MC is amazing, how they worked hard and all that jazz
  • he’s just really proud and happy for MC
  • also, he really wants to photograph MC in their debut, so MC talks with the people organizing everything
  • people are honestly baffled- it’s rising star MC’s debut, and the widely-known photograph V is taking the photos???? the V?? with MC??
  • The debut is really nice and goes amazing
  • but damn V’s photos made it look greater
  • it was as if he had captured the glow of MC’s happiness and the cheering of the crowd in a photo somehow??? how???
  • overall he is Supportive and Proud and really really happy to see MC achieving so much bless him

I’ve been thinking for a while if the Civil War movie is something I actually want to revisit in my head, mostly because there are so few things on this earth that can make both my head and heart hurt so much simultaneously, but as this is a Steve/Tony blog (more to the point, it’s an MCU-focused Steve/Tony fic rec blog), I would feel somewhat like a cop-out for not addressing the elephant in the room.

So here are my main thoughts about the movie. Let’s address that elephant!

To summarize, at best, I am ambivalent about the movie. In review terms, I’m mixed (to an arguable negative) about it. I liked a lot of the things most other people liked: Spidey finally feeling a lot like Spidey, T'Challa’s general T'Challa-ness, Bucky being adorable and buying plums, the Sam/Bucky dynamic, the fight scenes, TONY’S EMOTIONS holy shit (sidenote: don’t believe all the hate Tumblr spews, most people who aren’t on this website and/or are casual fans are actually incredibly sympathetic to Tony; this is knowledge that has kept me sane in the past month or so), and of course the irrevocable purity that is James Rhodes.

My problem, rather than being with characters (though I have a lot of those too), is mainly with regard to the movie’s narrative and (mis)treatment of Tony Stark’s character - which has resulted in fans believing in false dichotomies, from the most obvious of either only being completely on “Team Iron Man” or “Team Cap,” to insane reaches like ”you’re on Tony’s side, so what, you want Bucky dead?!! HOW DARE YOU” (Fandom, what? You realize part of Tony’s original deal was that Bucky gets to be free, correct? And that the first thing he did when he realized he was wrong was to fly alone and illegally and with a broken arm to Siberia just to make amends? Anyway.)

(Same, Steve. Same.)

My main problem with the movie is that the narrative’s continual punishment of Tony’s decisions and continual rewarding of Steve’s robs both (but mostly Steve) of character development.

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