rusted roof

guys i love my car
  • he’s 21 years old this year so he’s technically an antique but he just looks rinky-dink
  • he keeps me safe
  • his name is eugene bc that’s what kind of personality he has (both my sister and i drove him as my first car and we separately named him that)
  • he once got shot by a stray bullet but there’s a big rusted crater on the roof to prove it
  • he makes loud noises so all my friends know when i get to their house just by me pulling up net to their house
  • he has the softest seats & i have slept in the backseat a lot 
  • he is the only safe place i have sometimes
  • i like traveling and so does he

This not-so-short-anymore story is dedicated to @charminglyantiquated and her magnificent @elsewhereuniversity comic which has exploded all over my brain.

Read chapter two here!

Nobody ever parks in Lot C after dark.

It’s not because of the Beast. It’s because Lot C is in the very back of campus, way too far from Everything of Importance. You’d have to walk a quarter mile before you reached anywhere that sells coffee, almost a mile to the library. The nearest structure is a low sprawl of administrative buildings, but even they don’t park in Lot C after dark. They come to work early, and leave before sunset.

It was a bitch to get my meal card replaced when I’d lost it. They kept shutting down that stretch of slumped old admin offices before I’d finished with my afternoon Physics Lab. My lab partner would laugh at me.

“You’ll have to eat out of the trash again. Poor Moonie. Soon enough you’ll turn into a raccoon,” she would coo at me, an unattractive smirk wrinkling her nose.

I didn’t like the way she said it. I didn’t like a lot of things she said. Sometimes I felt like she wished bad things to happen to me, just so she could snicker at my misfortune. I think it was her smile that did it. Whenever she smiled, I got the feeling she knew something that I didn’t. She liked it that way.

I didn’t mind it too much. The one thing she didn’t know was Physics.

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anonymous asked:

So I've been thinking about carpool karaoke with Harry lately and I was wondering if you could do a little blurb about it?? Like y/n and Harry on a road trip just singing every song that played and him laughing at how terrible of a singer you are but like still loving you. It should be so cute and fluffy that I wanna vomit ya know?? Love you!!

Susie you should write a blurb about Harry’s girl taking charge in the bedroom!

Joined these two.  This was fun.  Bit of a surprise in here.  Haven’t written that scenario before.  Enjoy.

The trip from Los Angeles to Las Vegas was around four hours.  When Harry suggested a quick road trip and a weekend together in Vegas, you could hardly resist.  It would be the only real time together the two of you had been able to get since his solo CD had been released.

His tour was slated to start in three weeks, this gig in Vegas was strictly a fan thing.  The car was packed with the necessary food haul for a road trip though it was modified because both you and Harry were health freaks.  So instead of the standard junk food there was a cooler full of water, fruit and a nut/berry concoction Harry swore was better than sex.  You’d just have to see about that, you told him with wiggled eyebrows.

And you were off.  The first hour had been easy conversation about all the things the two of you had missed about each other’s lives while Harry had been gone promoting.  Your new job, his offer for his own record company, you made it to five mile runs without stopping, he’d graduated to being able to deadlift close to 350 lbs.  It was discussions like these that you missed the most.  Nothing important was being said yet everything important was being said.  This was the good stuff.  The things about Harry that no one else knew but you.  Mundane details that were insignificant but made up who he was.  All the reasons you loved him.

You thumbed through your Spotify, smiling to yourself when you connected your phone to his truck’s Bluetooth and turned on your roadtrip playlist.

Harry looked over at you,

“What’s this?”

“I made it special.  When you suggested a roadtrip I knew we had to have music.  What roadtrip is complete without music.”

Harry reached over to squeeze your hand,

“Very true, My Love.”

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Teaser for Fic

inspired by some art that the lovely @nate-dont​ drew after i proposed my idea. first time writing daniel, but ti was fun! this is a teaser for a (hopefully) in the works chapter fic. enjoy~


In all honesty, this is not what Daniel had in mind when he set out that morning. He had just wanted to peek in on the kid, maybe scratch down another note about his schedule, and marinate on his plan a little more. He did not- repeat, did not, want to haul the pest kicking and screaming across the entire goddamn city in a beat up stolen junker of a vehicle. But he really had no choice.

See, Daniel is rather self-aware. He knows his past is screwed up and he knows his present is, well, certainly not for everyone. And if he had a choice, not that he did and not that he really ruminated on this thought often, he would never choose his life for someone else. Or himself, really. So if he looks back and sees hey, steps a, b, and c is kind of what brought me to my happy little point in life here, then looks straight ahead to the scene in front of him and goes oh, wow, those are certainly steps a and b right there, well, forgive him for being a little concerned for the kid.

He still needs to get the revenge on the pest, but he would rather not sacrifice someone who has clearly already hit rock bottom. That wouldn’t do at all for his plan!

Another foot plants firmly in his backside as Max kicks the seat again. “Un-fucking-tie me right now¸ you fucking sack of shit.”

The congenial smile on Daniel’s face twitches as they roll to a stop at a red light. Through gritted teeth, he sighs and turns in his seat to give Max a beaming smile, who only glares stubbornly back at him. The kid fidgets in the ropes binding him, scowling. “I really suggest that you settle down now. We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt, would we?”

Albeit, the threat is not conducive to, you know, saving the kid, but Daniel is at his wits end and he just wants the pipsqueak to shut up at this point. And it’s not like he knows Daniel isn’t going to murd-lead him to his permanent ascension- just yet.

Max only scoffs and kicks his seat again. “Dude, I don’t really care about your stupid passive aggressive threats at this point. Life is shit and I’m pretty sure so is the afterlife. There’s no fucking difference except I won’t have to worry about dumb living things like eating anymore.”

Daniel turns back around as someone behind lays heavily on their horn (and he really has to resist leaning out the window and informing the impolite cretin behind him that he’s the next victim). He takes a deep breath and only grins wider as he turns into a run-down subdivision. “I never said it would be you who would be hurt.”

There’s half a beat where the only thing Daniel can hear is the windshield wipers dragging against the cracked glass of the windshield and the thrumming of rain against the rusted roof. Max gives a single snide ha!, the sound snapping against the near-bare inside of the vehicle and ricocheting into Daniel’s very core. His grip on the wheel tightens, briefly remembering being twelve and someone asking who he cared for because he seemed so apathetic and his response was laughter because he didn’t have anyone to care for.

It takes a second before he can respond. “Not even those friends from camp? Or your counselors even?”

Max is silent for a moment. “…where the fuck are we?”

Daniel pulls into the parking lot of an apartment complex, parking and throwing his seat belt off. He throws open the door of the backseat, rolling his eyes as Max scrambles back as far as he can with the seat belt stretched across his chest and the ropes holding his hands at his sides and for a moment, Daniel can see the fear across the child’s face. He looks down at Max before unbuckling the seat belt and tugging him closer by his ankle. Daniel dodges a sharp kick aimed at his face, his face contorting with a sudden surge of rage. Max yelps and winces back as Daniel yanks him even closer, his free hand raising- and freezing in the air.

The rage recedes as quickly as it arrives, replaced with horror at the dawning realization. Daniel slowly lowers his arm, doing his best to mask his expression behind a blank face. He swallows tightly.

“…I am going to untie you,” he murmurs lowly- dangerously. “But you are going to stay right by my side, understand?”

Max glances at Daniel’s face, then at the open parking lot behind the cultist. He nods jerkily. Daniel tugs his trusty knife from his belt and- ignoring Max’s surprised yelp- slices through the ropes. Max yanks himself back, eyes locked onto the weapon. Daniel raises an eyebrow and slowly tucks the knife back into the sheathe hidden under his shirt. Max relaxes only marginally, but does manage a quiet snarl when Daniel hauls him out of the vehicle by the hood of his jacket.

Daniel places a firm hand around the back of Max’s neck, steering him towards a nearby apartment. The child jolts as Daniel kicks the car door closed behind them, seeming to snap him into the reality of the situation. He jerks forward to try and pull himself out of Daniel’s grip, only to audibly gag and Daniel jerk back on his hoodie once more. Max continues to struggle against Daniel, prompting him to sigh and wrap both arms securely around him in a threatening chokehold.

“Why can’t children ever listen to their elders?”

Max squeaks breathlessly and tugs at Daniel’s arm as they stagger together towards a- luckily for Daniel- downstairs apartment. Daniel growls under his breath as Max fights him every step of the way. He kicks harshly at the door instead of knocking- for obvious reasons- muttering under his breath as he tightens his grip around Max and hoists him into the because the kid just won’t stop! Stomping! On! His! Feet!

The door swings open, revealing an apologetic grin. “Sorry, I wasn’t really expecting anyone so I’m not really… prepared…”

Daniel gives the redhead an unimpressed look as he gives Max one more harsh squeeze to get the kid to stop kicking.

Daniel?”

Daniel grinned and shoved a shouting Max forward through the doorway and into a sweater covered chest. “I come bearing a gift, Davey. Take him before I kill him. He’s so annoying.”

unconditional-haz-deactivated20  asked:

,,Oh my god, I was just joking, you didn't have to buy me for that" Thaanks❤️❤️love your writing

Request 08: You Can(t) Always Get What You Want

Warnings: None? Fluff???

My requests are open. xx.


You had a very different interior taste from Harry, that was for sure. Where Harry was all black and white, clean lines, and modern furniture, you were into the quirky aspects of design. You loved anything vintage, loud, and different. Somehow your styles inside your home had managed to go together despite their obvious differences.

That night, you were scrolling through your phone, a sneaky look on your face. Harry was checking e-mails next to you, glancing over at you every so often to see what you were up to. “I know tha’ face,” he commented.

“What face?” you asked, your eyes not moving from the screen.

“The face when yehr up t’ somethin’.”

“I am not-” but you couldn’t finish, because Harry had snatched your phone out of your hand, inspecting the images on the screen.

You bit your lip and leaned over, resting your chin on his shoulder. “It’s cool, huh?” you wondered out loud, hoping he agreed.

“Babe, wha’ are yeh gonna do with tha’?” He looked at you, a sense of doubt washing over his face.

You shrugged. “Maybe fix it up? It’d be cool just to have it… or I could take the top off and make this really cool project I found on Pinterest!”

Harry grinned at your enthusiasm and handed the phone back to you. “Love…” he said with doubt in his voice.

“It was just an idea, H. I wouldn’t really know how to fix it up anyway. Plus, I don’t really have the time.” You tried to hide the disappointment in your voice.

Haw leaned over and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Maybe we’ll talk ‘bout it, yeah?”

You gave him a tight smile and you both returned to your phones.

Two weeks later, when you’d somewhat forgotten about that night when Harry so easily shut down your spontaneous idea, he came waltzing into the house with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What’s up with you?” you questioned, closing your book.

“Come outside,” he said. He held out his hand.

You slowly stood, giving him a wary look. “Why…?”

“Jus’ come outside,” he repeated and led you to the open front door once your hand was firmly grasped in his.

As soon as you stepped through the threshold and your eyes castes up from the ground, you gasped. There in the driveway sat a 1972 Volkeswagen Bus Deluxe. The roof was rusted, the wheels were barely attached, and you could smell the mold on the seats from where you were standing. But it was beautiful to you.

“Oh my God, I was joking, you didn’t have to buy me that,” you lied, trying to contain your smile.

Harry released your hand and knocked his shoulder into yours. “Yeh weren’t jokin’. I could see yeh really wan'ed it. ’S yours. Yeh can do whatever yeh wan’,” Harry explained.

You squealed and threw yourself into his arms, your smile too big to contain. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you gushed.

Backing away from him, you gripped onto his shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” you whispered.

Harry nodded and then cheekily added, “Just not this quietly.”

Spock Imagine- Tis the Season

Originally posted by d0ntdisturbthisgroove

[Author’s note: Hey guys! I am finally able to sit down and write! I am really excited about this one because it’s just pure fluff. It’s all seasony and I feel like I would totally do this if I was on the enterprise tbh. Hope you enjoy! Also gif isn’t mine.]

The seasons, internally engrained into your system, makes you a little stir crazy. Back on Earth, the seasons would be changing. Normally you would be decorating your house, getting out all of your winter clothes, and preparing for the cold season. So naturally, you begin to organize. You pull out your sweaters and shuffle your shoes around. Not fully satisfied, you hope to get the rest of the crew in the mood. 

“Guys! It’s almost christmas time!” you sing, flying onto the bridge. 

“And?” kirk laughs at your excitement.

“Why aren’t we decorating! We could use a change of scenery anyways!” you beg. 

“It is my understanding that Christmas is only a human tradition. It seems illogical to celebrate something that only a portion of the crew would relate.”  Spock adds. 

“But Commander, surely you can see the value in supporting other’s traditions. It’s festive!”

Everyone blows you off, going back to their respective positions. You know deep down that they actually care. Sitting next to Spock, you fidget trying to devise a plan to get everyone into the spirit. He notices your uneasy nature, but didn’t say anything. He knows you wouldn’t give up that easy. His hand lightly lands on your forearm, causing you to send him a light smile. 

So you brought it upon yourself to decorate the ship. If no one was going to get into the spirit by themselves, it is up to you to brighten up the place. It’s christmas after all. That night after everyone went to bed is when you begin your extreme makeover christmas edition. You find a box of old party decorations in the storage closet. Pulling out long stings of red and silver tinsel, you string it up along the walls. They strings sparkle on the wall, reflecting softly into the ceiling. Even in space you need a little sparkle. 

Going back to the storage closet, you rummage around through dusty boxes. How has no one ever organized these? To your surprise, you find a box labeled christmas. Inside were a whole bunch of ornaments and mistletoe. A grin pulls on your lips as you shake the dust off of the little trinkets. Carefully hanging each ornament on the doors, on the chairs, anywhere a person would see it. Looking around in admiration at your work, you can’t help but think of home. Ever since you were a little kid, winter has been your favorite season. Something about the bite of the crisp air, to the warm smell of tea, and let’s not forget the feeling of watching the snow lightly rust the roofs. 

“It does indeed look festive as you put it earlier.” 

“What are you doing awake?” 

Your boyfriend stands in the doorway with two steaming cups of tea in hand. You could swear he briefly laughed at the sight of you struggling to hang the piece of mistletoe on the high doorframe. He gingerly walks up to you, setting the mugs on the counter. Fortunately for you, Spock is a lot taller than you and is able to reach the doorframe. His hand grazes yours softly as he takes the mistletoe and hangs it on the hook above the door. 

Before you can thank him, you find yourself swept away by a stolen kiss. More than often a kiss isn’t just a spur of the moment thing when it comes to Spock. Which is why you look at him innocently,searching for a reason for the surprise. 

“It is my understanding that the humans have a tradition involving the mistletoe plant. Traditionally around the secular holiday christmas, one shares a kiss with their partner when standing underneath said mistletoe, is it not?” he goes on. 

“You would be correct.” he smile as he hands you the steaming cup of tea. 

The familiar scent of mint tea fills your lungs as the two of you walk over to the captain’s chair. The tea feels warm going down, but leaves the cool fresh taste of mint afterward. Spock sits down, and you wedge yourself to share the seat. Your hand gently rests on his thigh, his free hand curling around your waist. Snuggling into his side, you take another sip of your tea letting the warmth settle in your stomach. 

“Peppermint! How did you know it is my favorite.” 

“Perhaps you forgot our first date back at the academy. I do recall we were at a coffee shop and you ordered a peppermint tea.”

“How could I forget? After that we went to the top of the academy building to watch the sunset.” 

“Indeed.” 

He gently sways the chair back and forth as the two of you sit in pure bliss. These are the moments you live for. The stars flying by as the ship zooms through space, you sit in awe of the beautiful sight. It’s like a glorified version of a shooting star. As you blissfully watch the stars pass, Spock has his eyes on his own star. He admires your light features, how your eyes twinkle when you get excited. Perhaps he could get used to this. After all, even through all the galaxies, you are soulmates. 

“There is still a box of lights I want to string up.”

“Perhaps that is a job for later. Just sit here for now.”

“Okay.”

You sink into him a little deeper, allowing yourself to feel comfortable. He relaxes too, his hand lightly resting against your hip. As you both sip on your teas, you can hear his thoughts softly humming in the back of your mind. A blush flushes your cheeks as you listen to his sweet words. 

tenderstatue replied to your post: Took five hours but I am now leasing a new car!…

I loved my lease! It’s basically a long-term rental, but it’s nice not to have to worry about maintenance and stuff.

i’m really happy with it! the free maintenance was a definite selling point, and good lord is it a step up driving a new car from my 20-year-old one, lol! (sadly not an exaggeration at all, it was literally a ‘97… and not well maintained by its previous owner, lol) 

Steve/Darcy master rec list

There is no order to this list whatsoever just some of my favourite fics written by some awesome storytellers. Stories that have made me laugh, cry or grin like a lunatic. I think I’m probably missing a few more recent fics that I have  enjoyed, but I will have to have a search another day. There aren’t any ot3 fics here. I need to write a separate list for that. Anyway on with the recs. 

across the universe by Polexia_Aphrodite

A collection of historical AUs from prompts given on Tumblr or otherwise.

Five Things Darcy Loves About Working for SHIELD by teand 

The Bronx was up, the Battery was down and thank freaking Thor that SHIELD provided housing or Darcy suspected she wouldn’t have been able to afford to live closer than Vermont.

Turn Off Trouble Like You Turn Off A Light by blithers

“Oh, God,” he said, and she knew just enough about Captain America to find this a pretty strongly worded statement on the situation. (Or, Steve and Darcy wake up married in Vegas.) 

Groundwater by legete

Okay, she thinks, in a zen-like state of calm: given a chump assignment, she not only managed to fall in a well, she somehow dragged Captain America—living legend, supersoldier, level 7 SHIELD consultant, and Avenger—down with her.

This means two things:

1) Captain America knows who she is now, and thinks she’s a dumbass, and
2) SHIELD is probably going to make her disappear as punishment (likely by throwing her in another, deeper well and pretending she never existed).

“Don’t mind me,” she says faintly. “I’m just gonna drown myself now.”

swing on a star by Polexia_Aphrodite

In 1943, Steve Rogers arrives in Hollywood.

Falling With Style by Catolyn

The truth is Steve just likes jumping out of airplanes. And other risky hobbies. 

Practice Makes Perfect by chez_amanda

Darcy is new to domming, so Steve offers to be her practice sub.

Moustache Rides, 25 Cents by Imogen_Penn 

The first time it happened, it had honestly been an innocent mistake. 

Friday Night Prompts by twistedingenue

The tumblr prompt box is always open, but on Fridays, it’s a free-for-all. Collected works, mostly featuring Darcy. 

Only The Good Die Young by Catolyn (WIP)

A story about how Darcy Lewis is recruited by SHIELD, becomes an agent, and uncovers the cover-up after Phil ‘dies’ before the battle of New York. 

Things That Friends Do by Aenaria

Steve Rogers and Darcy Lewis are friends. Really, that’s all they are. Friends who have sex occasiona…frequently. But that’s it.

Denial’s not just a river in Egypt, however, and some people – especially busy people who work hard saving the world with a bright shield or coffee and snacks to keep their boss from going over into mad scientist territory – can’t quite see what’s right in front of them. They’ll get it eventually.

Mega-sharks, zombies and Paul Bunyan, oh my! by seren_ccd

This is either an exploration of all the possible bad sci-fi movie tropes or this is actually Darcy’s life now. Darcy/Steve UST ((Fun read, I had such a stupid grin on my face after reading this.))

Everything Is Now, and We Are Here  by Aenaria

Darcy Lewis believes that every moment can be a new beginning, about how some things never really end, and how you can find these things in the most unexpected of places. Of course, even she’s freaked out when she starts seeing the soldier from her dreams larger than life and walking down the streets of Brooklyn.

Cannon Ball by Britt1975

Clint’s wingman (wingwoman?) is harshing his mad pick up skills. Fortunately he has a solution.

Tin Roof Rusted by katertots: (WIP)

Darcy Lewis decides somewhere between Dallas and Austin, as her beat up old Ford truck speeds down a two-lane back country road, that she’s made for road trips…until her truck breaks down and she learns quickly there’s no cell service in BFE.

A Fighter by his Trade by Imogen_Penn: Everybody’s got a past, something they’re running from. It might take a while to figure it out, but the real question is where you’re running to.

Who You Are by enigma_eggroll: (WIP)

 It’s just a laugh from a dark haired girl on the street, but it trips off a set of events that no one could expect or anticipate. Truth is stranger than fiction, but when your whole life is fiction, who’s to say what strange really is?

It’s the Color of Passion by ohmyloki

Tony Stark throws a party. Unbeknownst to the guests, Steve and Darcy enjoy that party thoroughly.

I Climbed The Tree To See The World (When The Gusts Came Around To Blow Me Down, I Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me) by sarcastic_fina

The path to self-discovery, including becoming Coulson’s assistant-slash-liaison-slash-bff, Captain America’s lady love, and rating fourth on the SHIELD BAMF scale, was like the yellow brick road; it was chaos and confusion around every bend.

Button Up Your Overcoat by victoria_p

 Darcy instructs Steve in the finer points of safer sex. The conversation doesn’t go exactly the way she expected.

V is for Victory by daniellemydear: (WIP) 

When a mishap with Loki sends Darcy Lewis back to 1942 and right into the path of a pre-serum Steve Rogers, how much will history change and how much was destiny all along?

The Chassis That Made Lassie Come Home by eLJay Darcy wants to do something nice for Steve.

I Wanna Be Everything Except For Your Mistake by katertots: (WIP)

 Steve nods and steps forward, offering her his hand. “Steve Rogers, ma’am.” In which Darcy and Steve are neighbors. 

Hey There, Stranger (Wanna Fall In Love?)  by sarcastic_fina

 New to New York, Darcy was just trying to adapt and find her place when a stalker sends her right into the seat across from Steve Rogers, a stranger struggling with his own journey in life. In each other, they find both friendship and so much more.

Rule Number Nine by DevilDoll

 ”Darcy was right, Steve admits to himself later that day. He never has a date for anything.” In which Steve and Darcy go on Not Dates and more.

This star-spangled disguise by JaqofSpades

Some days he hated the shield and the costume, hated pretending to be perfectly polite and a shining example of the best and the brightest. Some days he just wanted to be a man. Some days he just wanted.

All things being equal, I’d rather be in Philadelphia by meinterrupted

Darcy didn’t sign on with SHIELD to be a hero. Too bad a group of bank robbers didn’t give her a choice.

you and your high top sneakers and your sailor tattoos by victoria_p (musesfool)

In which Darcy Lewis punches Captain America’s v-card. Yeah, she can’t believe it either.

Break The Ice by fade_like_starlight

After Steve is photographed at a publicity event with a woman who is ‘almost’ wearing a dress, Fury demands that Coulson fix it. Rather than shutting down the entire tabloid magazine industry (which really is outside SHIELD’s parameters), Coulson takes a different approach and decides to find a girlfriend for the Captain.

pay no attention to the girl behind the camera by nessismore

Steve finds that filming a “Day in the Life of Captain America” segment isn’t so terrible after all.

Robot Pants-Off Dance-Off by Lallybroch

Tony’s not surprised Cap is the only one of them who had gotten a dose of the red stuff—he’d been in the middle of everything, as per usual—saving civilians and agents and kicking robot ass for the Free World. He’s a little more surprised to discover that Darcy had been one of those agents. And by the time they’re all stuck in the elevator together—Steve and Darcy pressed together in one corner, everybody else in the other—it doesn’t take long to figure out why the stupid villain they’d been fighting had stopped to fondle one of his bots.

Trickster by inkandash

This is the story of Darcy Lewis.
From where she ends, to where she begins, and beyond.

A+++ Profile, Would Read Again by AgeOfAlejandro

Darcy perused the site during her lunches sometimes and on a Friday, found possibly the funniest profile she’d yet read. The guy, kilroy_was_here, didn’t have a picture, which she usually required, but he was twenty-six, charming, funny, and seemed pretty sweet. She tilted her head at her phone and decided to message him. She’d show kilroy to Jane later, and maybe to Natasha whenever she got back from Istanbul.

Old Spice & Daddy Issues by katertots

Tony’s grin is lightning fast and wicked. “C’mon, Steve. Tonight we’re on Daddy Issue Patrol. We’re gonna wear Old Spice and drink gin martinis and see who reacts.

Figure Drawing by Melifair (WIP)

Learning that Steve never took a figure drawing class before enlisting, Darcy jokingly volunteers to pose nude for him.

Drifting Along by Ladysarah

“You comin’ with me or am I gonna to be a lonely American girl walking the streets of a level orange Mid-East city all by my lonesome?”

Darcy and Steve are getting to know each other slowly, but friends they are not.

3

Overviews of EVRAZ NTMK plant in Nizhniy Tagil - one of the biggest russian steel mills. Together with UVZ (machine building plant which produces railroad carriages and tanks) and some smaller factories, this huge combine covers almost half of the town’s territory.
Currently only two blast furnaces are running at the site and two more are under demolition. Also there are two coking plants, BOF shop, numerous rolling mills, continous casters and mechanical shops.
Pictures taken in October 2014 from the roof of brand new coal injector.

10

Images of Ibadan, Oyo state, Nigeria

Ibadan (Ìbàdàn) or fully (Ìlú) Ẹ̀bá-Ọ̀dàn, meaning (the city at) the edge of the savannah) is the capital city of Oyo state and the third largest metropolitan area in Nigeria. The city was the centre of administration of the old Western Region since the days of British colonial rule. The city is notable for its rusted red roofs and its chief inhabitants are the Yoruba people.

marya-akhrosimova  asked:

if it strikes your fancy, could you write a bellarke fic with the prompt "we're actors and we haven't seen each other since high school, when we hated each other's guts, but we've been cast as the leads in this new off-broadway play and how the heck are we going to pretend to be in love if you're still the pretentious ass you were in high school?"

A|N: I got really invested in this fic and it nearly became a 5k monster until I whittled it down to 1k. So here, have this appropriate, drabble length fic. <3

ACT I

The interview had been going swimmingly until he mentions ‘05.

Clarke takes a deep breath, forces herself to remain pleasant, “Sorry, what was that?”

“It’s an impressive résumé,” He repeats, brow furrowed, “You got the lead in all your high school plays except for ‘05. What happened there?”

There are several things in Clarke’s life that still leaves her with a bitter taste in her mouth, acid and rust against the roof of her tongue. Kale salad, for one. The crumpled application for art school at the bottom of her mother’s trashcan is another. Rounding off the list was one Finn Collins, and of course, ‘05.

“That was the year my school decided to put on Peter Pan,” She starts, with great reluctance, “I didn’t get the lead.” She smiles tightly, resists the urge to grind her teeth.

“Right,” He says, oblivious, “I remember. I was a senior that year.” She gives a soft sound of assent, and he goes back to flipping through her résumé.

Clarke stares at his cloth-covered head, wonders how Nathan Miller- just a whole year older than her- manages to become a casting director while she’s still paying off her groceries with coupons.

“Remind me again,” Miller says, pleasant, “Who was it that got the lead then?”

She stares, has to dig her fingernails into the side of her thigh so her voice remains level, “For Peter Pan?” (Her voice wavers on the last word, finishes on something that sounds suspiciously like a shriek. Clarke reminds herself to breathe.)

“That’s right.” He says, closing her folder with a definite snap, sliding it over to her, “You happen to remember?”

It’s been five years and she still spits his name out like poison, a habit she can’t seem to shake, and she has to force his name out through gritted teeth, her fingernails making indentations on the leather strap of her bag, “Bellamy Blake.” (Fuck that guy, seriously.)

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Cooper's Pepperoni

Inspired by this because it’s just adorable

Kurt is still holding the phone, and he doesn’t believe that it just happened.

It cannot be real.

This isn’t his life.

Well, all things considered, this is exactly his life, why is he surprised.

After talking with his father, he felt emotionally drained, he felt like comfort food.

All he wanted was pizza so he called his favorite pizza place and made his order because he doesn’t even need to look at the menu to know what kind of pizza he wants–medium size, thin crust, double cheese, no origano, ham and mushrooms on one side and pepperoni (the one that gave its name to the place, Kurt believes) and spicy merguez on the other.

What?

Anyway, Kurt placed his order like usual, asking if he could also get a tub of home-made ice cream.

And then his brain must have gone offline.

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Radioactive (Part One)

Description: A Dean x Reader zombie apocalypse story. Enter at your own risk.

Theme Song: Radioactive by Imagine Dragons

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean?” Sam demands, glaring at his brother in the rearview mirror of the Impala as he guides the car to the motel.

Dean groans, letting his head fall back onto the seat. “Shut up and drive, Sammy. My freaking arm hurts like hell.”

“Good,” Sam shoots back, but his foot presses down onto the gas pedal a little harder. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. You almost got yourself killed.”

Dean grins through his pain. “Saved your ass, didn’t I?”

“No, Dean, you didn’t. My ass was fine until you jumped in. The only reason that rugaru even touched you was because you blocked my shot.”

Dean really didn’t remember it going down that way. Sure, Sam had had a shot, but it wasn’t a good shot, and it certainly wasn’t a kill shot. Dean’s knife had been a lot more effective at that range, and, more importantly, kept the monster further from his little brother. 

Everything would’ve been fine if the bastard hadn’t gotten him in the arm. Now he’s holding his shirt against the spot it had ripped out a huge chunk of skin and praying the damn thing didn’t have rabies or something.

Hell of a way to go out if it did.

“It’s not that bad, Sam,” Dean scoffs, and even with his eyes closed he knows that Sam is glaring at him again.

“Dean. It took a bite out of your arm.”

Dean waves him off. “I’ll be fine.”

Sam just shakes his head. “You’re lucky it wasn’t your neck.”

They make it to the motel in just a couple of minutes, and Dean is only a little dizzy from all the blood loss. Sam helps him into the room and sits him down on the bed. After an hour of putting dental floss, bourbon, and gauze to creative use, Dean’s arm is patched up and he’s just fighting to stay awake.

“I’m going to get some food,” Sam says, looking at his brother as he slips on his jacket. “You need anything?”

Dean waves him off. “I’m fine, I’m just tired. Get out of here.”

“Be back soon.”

Once Sam is gone, Dean snatches up the remote and flops back down on the bed, surfing the channels aimlessly as he stifles a yawn. There’s not much on, not even Dr. Sexy, and he ends up resigning himself to a random black and white movie that does little to hold his interest.

“What a sorry sight,” a familiar voice drawls.

Dean shoots up in his bed, turning to glare at the trickster standing in the center of the room. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Gabriel holds up his hands, looking mildly annoyed. “Touchy, touchy. Don’t remember you being so grumpy, Dean-O.”

Dean glowers. “What do you want?”

“To knock some sense into that thick head of yours,” Gabriel replies, looking pointedly at the bandages wrapped around Dean’s torso. “Do you think this is some kind of game? Do you think the fate of the entire freaking universe is something to take lightly?”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you, Winchester! And your annoying suicidal tendencies!” Gabriel jabs a finger at him. “I don’t like you, not even a little bit. In fact, you’re probably my least favorite human in existence. But whether you like it or not, you’re important. If you die? You might as well hand Lucifer the world on a silver platter.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m so freaking sorry,” he spits. “I can’t believe I would be so careless with Michael’s vessel. Point taken, you feathery dick.”

“That. That’s what I’m talking about.” Gabriel throws up his hands. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, Winchester.” But now he offers Dean a sinister smile. “And I think it’s time for me to change that.”

Dean feels his whole body stiffen. He’s seen that look before and it doesn’t mean good things. “What are you planning?”

Gabriel holds up his hand, looking far too pleased with himself. “I’m planning on teaching you a lesson, Dean. And I’m going to enjoy watching you learn.”

Then he snaps his fingers and Dean’s world goes black.

#

Dean wakes up to a red tinted sky and the taste of ash on the breeze. His forehead drips with sweat from the sun overcast and a piece of something is sticking into his back at a funny angle.

Where is he?

He sits up slowly, wincing at the stiffness in his arm as he takes in the sight around him. Cars, little more than hulking frames of rusting metal are scattered across the street. Debris is everywhere. The road is torn up in many places. Windows in buildings are smashed, roofs are demolished. What was probably once a lively city is now just a ghost town; a deserted shadow of what it once was.

What the hell?

Dean gets to his feet and picks his way down the street slowly. His boots crunch through broken glass and rubble. He looks around, surveying the area, taking it all in. The place is eerily quiet, only the breeze breaking the stillness. Nothing moves around him.

He is completely alone.

“Alright, Gabriel!” he shouts, holding his arms away from his sides as he turns in a circle. “I’m here! Tell me what the point is! What am I supposed to be doing?”

There’s a noise, off to his left, and his gaze snaps toward the sound.

Nothing.

He turns his gaze skyward once more. “Come on, you winged piece of crap! What the hell am I doing here? You say there’s supposed to be a lesson to all this? Well, I’m waiting!”

It’s the noise again, breaking glass accompanied by the scrape of a foot against the pavement. This time it’s from off to his right, and his eyes narrow as he peers at the abandoned building, what looks to be the remnants of a hardware store. The windows are busted, but the interior is too dark to make anything out. If he squints, he can almost make out a silhouette.

“Alright,” he says quietly. “I know you’re there. Come on out.”

Silence.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Come on! No point in hiding! We both know you’re there! Why don’t you make it easy on yourself and-”

The scream drowns out whatever he was about to say as the hunched, purple thing comes tearing out of the abandoned store. Dean doesn’t even have time to identify the damned thing.

He backpedals furiously, ducking underneath the swinging arm and sending the creature careening into one of the busted cars. It turns quickly, too damn quick, and charges him again, teeth that are black with rot bared in a snarl.

Dean dodges again, narrowly avoiding its groping fingers. His eyes land on a crowbar on the ground several feet in front of him and he dives for it, hand just barely closing around the end of it.

He flips over onto his back just in time to swing, wincing at the wet thud the prongs make when they bury themselves into the thing’s skull.

But it doesn’t stop coming. 

It’s slower now, that’s for damn sure, but it’s still trying to come after him. 

Dean rolls to his feet, wrenching the weapon free. He swings again, connects with the head again, and it’s still not enough. He pulls the crowbar free and swings again, and again, and again, each blow making a dull, squelching sound.

It takes six more hits before the thing is finally dead.

Dean crouches down to examine it, poking at the body with the end of the crowbar just to be sure and trying not to vomit at the putrid scent of blood and rot and death wafting from the corpse.

“What the hell are you?” he mutters.

The creature looks almost human in a lot of ways. Same basic shape, same basic features. You just have to ignore the eyes that are colored yellow like pus and the sickly purple skin with oozing open sores.

“Whatever you are,” he continues, straightening up. “You’re freaking disgusting. Ever heard of a breath mint?”

It’s the growls from directly behind him that make him turn, and his stomach drops into his shoes when he sees what’s waiting for him.

There are six of them now, all bearing striking resemblance to the body at his feet. They have the same purple skin and the same yellow eyes. The difference lies in the greasy strands of hair that’s falling out and the tattered clothing that hangs off of their thin frames.

If he didn’t know better he’d call them zombies.

Dean tightens his grip on the crowbar, watching them warily. They’ve seen him already, no doubt about that, but they haven’t made any moves yet. They’re just watching. Waiting for something, but what?

As it turns out, the something was five more of their friends coming from behind.

A clawed hand snatches at his bad arm, ripping the sleeve and a good portion of the bandages away from his wound as he spins around to escape. He swings wildly, missing by a mile, but the movement forces the creature to back away from him.

He backs up toward one of the cars, brandishing his weapon and trying not to trip. When one of them makes another pass, he swings to repel them, but he doesn’t risk actually hitting them. He can’t afford to have it get stuck.

There are more growls now, and moans and snarls, and Dean realizes in dismay that there are even more of them, and he doesn’t have anywhere to go.

He scrambles onto the frame of the car, balancing precariously on the rusting roof, knocking back the groping hands and biting faces as best he can. He looks around wildly, trying to come up with an escape plan, and he sees that more and more are pouring out of the surrounding buildings and the busted up cars, and there are way too many of them and there’s not nearly enough time.

A hand locks around his ankle and gives a sharp tug, and Dean falls shouting curse words. One of the zombies falls on top of him and he slams his hand into the things throat, just barely managing to hold back the snapping jaws. There are more surrounding them, crawling toward him, crawling on him, and is this really how he’s going to die? In a scene straight out of the Walking Dead?

But then he hears the sharp crack of a gun going off and a hole suddenly appears in his attacker’s head. The creature goes still, mid bite, and he shoves the corpse off of himself violently.

All around him the pop of bullets sounds. Dean stays low, crouched next to the car for cover, and he watches in surprise and not a little bit of amazement as humans appear all around him. They’re everywhere; leaning out of second story windows, marching out of abandoned buildings, driving up in jeeps and pick up trucks and all of them with guns blazing.

Someone appears next to him, then, a sweet looking girl with dirty blonde hair and kind blue eyes. She holds a finger to her lips, gesturing for him to be quiet, and then she grabs his arm to haul him to his feet. Dean follows her lead, letting her run them both away from the car and to one of the nearby buildings where two men wave them through the open doorway. They fire their assault rifles in short bursts, keeping the worst of the horde away from them, and once they’re inside Dean collapses to the ground, panting.

“Here,” the girl says, tossing him a Glock pistol. “We have to cover the others.”

She moves to one of the open windows, slinging her weapon off of her shoulder into the ready position. Dean joins her on the other side, firing at each purple beast he sees.

“Aim for the heads!” one of the other men shouts. “That’s the only way to kill the damn things!”

Dean does as he’s told, jaw clenched in grim determination, and after three minutes of near constant gun fire the area is suddenly quiet again, back to that same unsettling stillness. 

For a moment there is just silence, like they’re all holding their breath, and then the group around him springs into action.

“Alright!” a female voice shouts. “Search the buildings! I want everything collected. Canned food, water, medicine, clothes, the works. Get a group to pick up the bullet casings, too. We can reuse those. Move it, people!”

Dean peers out the window again, searching for the source of the voice.

There’s a woman in the center of the road. Her h/c hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail and her e/c eyes are narrowed as she shouts out her instructions. She wears all black; cargo pants, a T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. Like all of the people milling around she has a red armband wrapped around her upper arm and a rifle slung across her back. She’s beautiful.

You know, in a kick-your-ass-seven-ways-of-Sunday kind of way.

“She the one in charge?” Dean asks, nodding his head at the girl.

The blonde woman from before nods. “That’s Y/n,” she affirms. “Come on. She’ll want to meet you.”

He follows her out of the building and in the direction of Y/n, flicking on the safety of his pistol as he moves.

Y/n glances over at their approach, scowl deepening at the sight of Dean. She holds up a hand when they reach her, focusing instead on the report one of her men is giving her. 

“No casualties, ma’am,” he says. “But Wilson was wounded.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Bite?”

The man shakes his head. “No. Claw mark. Not too deep, but we should send him back to the compound to get patched up before it can get infected.”

Y/n nods. “Send him on one of the smaller trucks. Take Brandt and Liza, too, for security. And have Clark take over Wilson’s patrol.”

“Yes, ma’am.” After a salute the man departs at a jog.

Y/n turns to face Dean. “Now who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Dean,” he replies. “Thanks for saving my ass back there.”

She glares at him. “You’re lucky. When I saw someone stupid enough to bring half the horde down on his head I almost didn’t stop. How’d you end up in that mess, Dean?”

He shakes his head, almost laughing to himself. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ve heard crazier.” She offers her hand. “The name’s Y/n. I’m leading the human resistance. Or what’s left of it.”

Dean reaches out to take her hand. “Nice to-” He cuts off when she whips out her pistol, aiming it directly at his head. “Woah, what the hell?” He searches her gaze, wondering what he did wrong, but her eyes are wide and locked on his arm.

She cocks back the hammer on her gun. “You’re bitten,” she snarls.

Dean looks at his arm, where the bandages have been torn away and the rugaru’s bite marks are still clearly visible.

Well, shit.

Part Two