well, most of the avengers have at some time or another. steve, tony, thor, and clint are all surprisingly good hairstylists. i used to be able to do basic braids for my sisters, but the asskicking robot hand makes it pretty hard. hair tends to get stuck in the plates.
also–and my memory is pretty spotty, so this could be wrong–i think a hydra tech gave me french braids once??? i dont know why.
Summary: (Bucky POV) Nat tricks you into leading a road trip with Bucky, Sam and Steve. Her plot is partly to get the boys to travel for fun for once but mostly to get you and Bucky together. You and Bucky, who seemingly despise each other.
Warnings: swearing, super mild smoot (it’s not really even smut)
Word Count: 4501
Author’s Note: This part is way too damn long. I really just like the ending. But I also couldn’t figure out what I wanted to cut so you’re getting all of it.
As we climb back to the car, Y/N has slipped off of Sam’s shoulders and shoved past him, nearly running up the trail, farther away from Sam. And from me. When we make it to the top of the trail and the edge of the parking lot, Steve looks to me with a shocked and unsure shrug, lifting his hands up in question. She barely speaks to anyone, only muttering a disgruntled, “Trunk, please” to Steve.
Once we’ve changed into dry clothes, Y/N tosses her now useless phone haphazardly into the trunk and grabs for her dated Atlas before slipping into the car without a word. She doesn’t move closer to me, she doesn’t look up from her Atlas. Goddamn it. She’s so upset. “Go left,” she instructs with a heavy sigh as she flips through the pages until she finds the map for South Dakota. She traces over an already marked road until it reaches the end of the page, before moving quickly over to Wyoming.
Summary: Everyone’s two favorite things: baking and (oral) sex with Dean
A/N: written for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing ‘s Favorite Things Challenge! (sorry I was so agonizingly close to the deadline) also, it’s my first time writing smut for Dean, so be kind to me… also i’m not here for the “Dean’s favorite pie” discourse, so don’t hit me up with messages about what his actual favorite is. I don’t give a shit.
Warnings: Oral sex (f receiving), baking with dean (yes that’s a warning), minor angst, mostly smut tbh
The smell of baking pie sits heavy
on the air, growing stronger with each pie you pull from the oven. You slide the hot tin onto the table, and
stare at the collection of pies and cookies you’ve baked over the last four
hours. So far you had two apple and one
pecan pie, a dozen chocolate chip cookies and a dozen of your own personal
enough, was all you could think. The
stress of your argument with Dean was still weighing on your shoulders. Cherry
was Dean’s favorite, was the next thought.
You eyed the bowl of fresh cherries you’d pitted and washed when you’d
first started baking. When you’d rolled
out of the bed this morning, you’d been disoriented until you realized you were
in your old bedroom, without Dean. Then
you’d remembered the argument from the previous night. Which was why you’d started baking at six this
morning when you usually found yourself sleeping in Dean’s warm arms until
lardo builds her own panels because it’s easier. ok, not at all. but it’s cheaper. she likes the managers down in the kotter shops; they’re helpful, organized, and let students work and learn and problem solve at their own pace, hands-on.
sometimes she feels weird being one of the only painting students who builds her own panels, but it’s not like being hockey manager pays much. she’s got rent and groceries and god help her, oil paint to buy. her parents help, but samwell’s already expensive with scholarships and she’s heard her dad talk about loans and mortgage in hushed tones on the couch at night during winter break and she clicks out of buying a new pencil case. (ugh, but it’s ..adorable and the size…and on amazon prime)
she won’t call herself poor–lower end of comfortable, sure. sometimes she hears rans and holster call themselves poor college students and she kinda laughs because? they’re. not? really. they occasionally tutor for econ and intro bio and pay for her takeout sometimes, though she insists not. she checks her bank account and digs around her room for a her check book, god, rent is due soon.
she fries an egg (bought in bulk when she was back at home) with spam (bulk tins) and spoons out a bowl of rice (fifty pound bag in the haus basement), takes out her bottle of soy sauce (tiny. her mom says that if anything, have good soy sauce). she doesn’t correct them; they’re her friends, but she doesn’t say anything, because…what’s her place to say.
(her dad pays for gas. lardo doesn’t drive that much, but her dad pays for gas. it’s unspoken. whenever she comes home, her dad will take her car and when she’s back in samwell, the tank is full. her car’s old. she’s gonna say it now, it’s beat up. like, god, there are students at Samwell that are younger than her car. but it runs and as she heads west for samwell, her dad reminds her to take the car back for him to look at sometime and not not fill the tank over there. she nods).
so larissa puts on a pair of goggles and uses the radial arm saw to slice through pieces of wood and waits patiently for her panels and stretchers to dry. it gives her a buzz, a rush to bring down the saw. she thinks about using plexiglass as a surface to paint on and panels that take up entire walls. she can’t tell if she likes painting on paper or canvas or metal or plastic or masonite or fabric best, it depends on the day. today, it’s freshly sanded masonite. she brushes off a fine layer of dust; the surface has just enough grit but she gives it another pass and rolls up her sleeves, stained with wood glue.
I was at the Walmart in my po-dunk Tennessee town, and I just happened to stumble across this:
And I was like, hey, cool, cause ya know, Sherlock. Then I flip it over and
this beautiful bastard. So, yeah I spent US $13.99 and bought it (I would have spent $20 tbh) But I didn’t crack it open until I got home and
March 8. Hmmm, I thought. Let me get my tin foil hat out.
20/20= 40? maybe I’m reaching…But then
Um 27? These numbers seem unnecessary to these sentences or am I
seeing things things that aren’t there… [pictured above: ACD posing for “spirit photography” in 1922]
Then an article about ACD and his unlikely friendship with Houdini. They met when Doyle read his book, then went and saw him perform in New York where he made an ELEPHANT disappear, and ESCAPED FROM CHAINS UNDERWATER.
*cough cough* Mark and Darren Brown *cough cough*
So anyway, I may just have a blue car and then am seeing blue cars everywhere, or this magazine (which the earliest date I can see where it hit the stands was feb 8, 2017). New key? BONUS:
meta meta meta meta meta canon that ACD was King of All Meta. This magazine has condensed so much SH fun facts (a whole big piece about about ACD killing off SH) and it makes me happy to have more info I can obsess about.
I had to go to school, but I had missed the bus and my parents’ car was out of gas, so I took an empty Altoids tin out of my pocket and crouched down with one foot on top of it and it started sliding down the road. I rode it all the way to school.
(Not) Killing Your Darlings: Parallels Between ACD Canon and S4
I’ve slowly been working my way through a reread of the canon stories, and although I am used to finding phrases and plotlines among the stories that have been adapted within Sherlock, what surprised me towards the end of the canon is that the writers of Sherlock appear to be adapting the way the stories are written, as well. We’ve talked a lot about the idea that Mofftiss have Reichenbached the show in Series 4, but I’m beginning to think they have Case-booked it (and His Last Bowed it, a little, too). This will probably sound grim at first, but I remain an optimist when it comes to Sherlock, so bear with me. These are Princess Bride “pit of despair” times; I figure if we have to be here, we may as well look around.
As a quick reminder, Doyle published the short stories as:
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (1892) The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes (1894) The Return of Sherlock Holmes (1905) His Last Bow (1917) The Case-book of Sherlock Holmes (1927)
I’m going to start at the end of His Last Bow and the later stories, because they best parallel Series 4, then look back very briefly.
Breaking the fourth wall
His Last Bow breaks the pattern of the Sherlock Holmes story collections in a few ways. It begins with a brief preface written by John H. Watson; he addresses the reader directly to explain that he and Holmes are still living, though ageing:
”The friends of Mr Sherlock Holmes will be glad to learn that he is still alive and well, though somewhat crippled by occasional attacks of rheumatism… Several previous experiences which have lain long in my portfolio, have been added to ‘His Last Bow’ so as to complete the volume.” (His Last Bow, preface)
Summary: It had been a while since you had been with your boyfriend, so you had decided to pay him a visit at his work.
Author’s note: A spur of inspiration hit me in the middle of the night! i hope you enjoy!
“Jinyoung,” you whined into the phone, rubbing your eyes as you sat alone on your couch in what was supposed to be your ‘shared apartment’, “I miss you. When are you coming home?”
It had felt like days since you had seen your boyfriend. He was working a lot for his next comeback; composing songs, practicing dances, coming up with outfits to wear on stage, all while having to find time to MC live events on television. Your boyfriend has barely been out of his studio for more than five or so hours a day, which he usually spends sleeping or eating if he isn’t hosting one of the many shows he co-hosts. You never complained directly to him about how you felt, but you missed him more than you could describe into words, and all you wanted was to be close to him. But as of recently, it seemed that even that simple deed was impossible.
“How long have you been standing there?” “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” “I made a mistake.”
You stood on the edge of the wall, laughing as you held on to the ends of your scarf. The wind was incredibly fast and it was obvious you were going to lose the scarf, or your footing real soon.
“Baby, you’re going to fall!” Jung kook is hovering at the base of the wall, arms extended and ready to catch you just in case and you grin impishly.
“That’s what you’re here for , my Hercules!” You wink and he smiles fondly, eyes crinkling and face relaxing palpably. Jung Kook wears his heart on his sleeve and it tugs on your heartstrings : the knowledge that he would never hurt you in anyway.
“I’m here but I don’t want anything to hurt you, baby!! ” He said and you nod before squatting down and leaping into his arms with a shriek.
He laughs and catches you straight out of the air, your body barely hitting the ground as he swings you around in his strong arms.
When he finally lets you down, You loop both arms around his neck, staring up at his handsome face. The amount of affection you feel for him hits you like a physical ache.
“I love you more than I love myself, Jung Kook. “
He swallows nervously.
“I love you too, y/n.”
It’s a little past four and you sneak out of the classrom slowly, fingers curled around the tin box full of homemade sugar cookies. You made those specifically for Jung Kook and though you knew that you’re due to meet Jung Kook at the bus stop outside his dance studio in a little over an hour, you think now is a good time to surprise him. He’s usually running low on energy after dance practise and surely some cookies ought to recharge him right back up!
You can’t help but smile as you walk down the street. You’ve been together for nearly a year now and deep down , you know he’s the one. Jung kook looks a bit scary but he’s such a softie on the inside : so poilte , so sweet and so incredibly affectionate.
He’s never made you feel unwanted or left out, sharing parts of himself that you know are intensely private. And you love him for it.
Now that you’ve almost finished college , you can’t help but wonder if you guys should talk about moving in together. You’ve been saving up a bit and Jung Kook ihas a steady job with the dance studio so, you should be able to afford a place of your own right? And you’ve already landed an internship with one of the top magazines in Seoul.
It would all work out.
As you move to the entrance of the studiop, you notice jung Kook’s car in the lot and run over instinctively, running your hand over the hood. A blush creeps into your face as you remember the time he’d pinned you against the glossy metallic surface and kissed the life out of you.
That was when you went camping . It had rained like hell and you’d ended up camping inside the car , fogging up the windows as you spent the night in the back seat, wrapped around each other. He had kissed you like you were the most precious thing in the world, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he tangled his tongue with yours, hips pinning you to the seat and the strength of his arms keeping you from falling off.
That’s when you learned that sex in back seats of cars is not really as romantic as it’s made out to be, what with the edges of the seats digging into your sides.
But it had still been …. breathtaking.
Because it had been him.
Whistling at the fond memories, you slowly make your way to the studio. Studio number Eight is slightly ajar and you can hear Jung Kook’s distinct grunt inside and you move , ready to call out for him when the femal voice comes out, startling you and freezing you in place.
“When are you going to break up with her?”
You stand outside the door, hand still raised to knock, smile still frozen in place.
You stare dumbly at the plywood door in front of you, certain that you’d misheard.
“Aeri… I can’t just break up with her… I just…I can’t hurt her like that!”
“Well you should have thought of that before you slept with me!”
You blink stupidly and your fingers go lax, the cookie tin slipping out and landing on the floor with a deafening crash. you stare at the cookies, some of them cracked and powdered and crushed.
Much like your heart at the moment.
You kneel down to gather the broken cookies and there’s a rustle of movement behind the door and then suddenly , Jung kook is standing there, looking like he has been shot.
You stare back at him, feeling so small and foolish.
“i made cookies. The ones you like…. with the blue sugar.” You whisper.
The door is flung open again and a girl rushes out , pausing just enough for you to get a glimpse and… oh.
She looks really pretty : ice blond hair and a dancer’s body, long legs encased in blood red heels. She barely gives you a glance before rushing away and you stare after her vaguely.
Jung Kook swears and grabs your arms, gathering you up into his arms.
“Baby…. how long have you been standing there?!” His voice cracks over the syllables and You clench your fists and push against his shoulder….
The tears are stinging but you swallow down the pain.
“Long enough to say that we’re done. “ You stutter out and it’s an instinctive reaction more than a thought out one. You know that after a few hours, this is going to sink in and you’re going to want to kill yourself but for now , you just want to get away from him.
“No!! Y/n… wait!1 i made a mistake!! You weren’t supposed to hear that!! i was going to break it of.. i love you… please..y/n give me one more chance…” jung Kook’s eyes are brimming with tears, the implication of what he’s done finally sinking in. It hits him then, just how much he loves you. How much he doesn’t want to see you hurting.
The pain in your face makes his heart shatter and he knows he’ll spend the rest of his life making it up to you…
He pulls you close and buries his face into the curve of your neck.
“i’m sorry…i’m so sorry baby…i’l make it up to you….I love you so much…I’ll die if you leave me….please don’t leave me, y/n “
Your voice caught on a sob but you let yourself hug him weakly.
All you can think was :
Jeon Jung Kook ,
I guess, when you said you didn’t want anything to hurt me , you weren’t including yourself.
Author’s Note : * angsty drabble * :’(
If you have a request from one these prompts be sure to send me an ask……