victory bar

anonymous asked:

Wintershock fic request please! “I am a personal space invader. “

Prompt Status: Accepting 

anonymousasked:Wintershock fic request please! “I am a personal space invader. “

“Come on, please?”’


“Help me Bionic Kenobi, you are my only hope.”


Letting out a groan of frustration she falls back onto the training mats starring at the ceiling, beside her Barnes never breaks his rhythm, shoulders never touch the ground as he completes the smooth movements from upward facing dog into a plank position. He’s not even sweating and Darcy is pretty sure he’s done about a gazillion hours at this point. 

“Barnes.” she’s not proud of the whining quality of her voice but fuck she’s desperate, “Just think of it as a mission—a good will mission for your old pal Darcy.” the lights are starting to make her vision go blurry at the edges so she rolls to her side. Keeping her eyes on his face (with Herculean effort, damn those arms) on full display since his dark locks were pulled back into a sloppy ponytail Darcy watches the seamless switch between downward dog to the start of a handstand. 

“It’s not gonna happen Lewis.”

“I will plead, beg and bake as needed. Name your price.”


Somehow he manages to push himself into a standing position from the handstand in a move too fast for her to follow and she had to scramble back onto her feet to follow him. Between his longer strides and head start Darcy doesn’t manage to catch up before he is walking into the men’s locker room, shooting a smug smile over his shoulder. 

Son of a bitch.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

Sitting cross legged in front of his locker she glances up from her phone, glasses sliding down her pert nose before she brings a hand up to fix it. A look of shock colors his features, mouth slightly parted and blue eyes widening in disbelief. His towel was hanging low, water droplets sliding down to pool at the sharp cut of his hipbone. Unlike Thor or Steve (who somehow always managed to end up shirtless) Barnes had a light sprinkling of chest hair that faded around his abs and gathered again to hint at things she had no hope of knowing about below the towel.

“Have you never head of privacy, Lewis?”

Releasing the bottom lip she hadn’t realized her teeth had been worrying Darcy lifts a shoulder in what she hoped was a careless shrug (honestly it could have seemed like the beginning of a seizure because she is not fully in control of her mental capacities with a hot shirtless hottie—see, she can’t even…well even).

“I am a personal space invader.”

“Clearly” he growls out, those too blue eyes narrowing at her, “Mind clearing out so I can change?”

“Gonna say yes?”


“Then by all means, Sarge.”

She’s banking on his delicate 1940’s sensibilities (the same ones that always have him standing when a lady walks in the dinning area, opening doors for Hill despite her glares and never letting Darcy carry a bag if she is in a 50 mile radius of him) to keep that towel firmly wrapped around his waist. She should have known better then to issue a challenge to Barnes though, he had a competitive streak a mile long. 

Bionic fingers untuck the corner of the towel that is holding up the fabric, with a tilt of his head he raises a questioning brow as if to give her one last chance to back off. Lifting her chin she just extends her legs in front on her on the bench and knocks her heels together, a small smile on her lips. 

He wouldn’t.

He does.

It’s not quite full frontal nudity, he is in profile—facing the locker designated as his and digging through it for something. Darcy has a glorious view of his ass, muscles clench when he bends forward slightly to grab something from a lower shelf. Long legs are slipping into a pair of boxers (which answers that question) and soon the black fabric is stretched over that perfectly round ass. 

He tenses when her fingers drag up the length of his back, she’s standing on what would be considered a respectful distance away from him if he hadn’t been mostly naked. Hair was still damp from his shower and it causes little drops to travel down to her wrists as she pets the heavy mass (God she’s out of shape, her calves are already protesting being on her tip toes). 

The strands slip through her fingers as he turns to face her so she settles on ghosting them over the rough scruff of his jawline. Darcy runs the pad of her thumb over his plump bottom lip, his tongue peeks out to tease her or moisten his lips (with Barnes it could be either, he has a hell of an oral fixation).

“Please, Bucky?”

His pupils are blow wide, cool metal fingers are skimming over her left arm and it sends a shudder down her spine that he is sure to notice (she doesn’t make an effort to hide it).

“That’s not fair.”

“I know, now say yes.”

With a groan he drops his head to rest on her shoulder, her fingers still carting through his wet hair, and his shoulders slump forward in defeat. She is surrounded by him, the scent of soap clings to his skin, after a moment he drops a kiss on her neck and pulls back. 

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Yes!” she goes as far as to fist pump because she just broke the resolve of a world renowned super assassin. “I will RSVP for two beef?”

He nods and turns back to his locker continuing to get dressed.

“You wont regret it, Barnes.”

Glancing over his shoulder he asks, “I’m already regretting it, and I see it’s Barnes again, huh?” he tugs down his shirt, a generic Stark Industries t-shirt.

“Look, T-1000, it’s not my fault you’re an easy mark.”

Closing the locker door he leans onto it, arms crossed and water still dripping from his hair is wetting the collar of his shirt. Darcy tries not to be distracted by the fact that the sleeves of his shirt have been ripped off, leaving all those muscles out to oogle.

“Plus, I got two words for you.” she holds up a victory sign, “Open. Bar. My sister is marrying rich.”

“Can’t get drunk.”

“True, damn. That’s just sad.” tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear she looks up at him from under her lashes, “You have a suit?”

“I can get one.”


“Anything else you wanna extort from me Lewis?”

“No, though I feel like since I’ve seen you naked I at least owe you dinner.” fixing her glasses is a nervous habit and she finds her fingers fiddling with the frames, “Say, Friday at eight?”

“You asking me to step out with you, Lewis?”

“Only if that’s fossil for ‘going on a date’.”

“It is.”

“Yes, I’m asking you to step out with me.”

“Okay, but since you did the asking I expect flowers and wooing.”

“You are gonna be a pain in my ass, aren’t you Bucky?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

anonymous asked:

I just heard a story through the news about vets training their own service dogs as a form of therapy, a imagine Steve adopting his own service dog named after someone he misses

Sam had said it off-hand in the way that he’d probably picked up from his Mama.  

“They have this great program down in Louisiana now where vets are training their own service dogs.  I think New York is starting a program soon.”  He tilted the end of his pint glass nonchalantly towards the woman in the corner who had a golden retriever curled up by her feet in a dark blue vest.  “Oh, shit! Another touchdown for the Giants!” Sam did a little victory dance on his bar stool.

Just like that.  Conversation from observation and then he drops it like it’s nothing.

Steve knew exactly what Sam was doing but it still worked; he kept thinking about that woman and her dog and a month later, when New York opened their own Veterans Service Dog Training Program, Steve snagged himself a spot.

And a Scottish terrier that he named Dugan.  (He’d originally started calling the dog Monty, but after he found the puppy snuffling around by Tony’s tumbler of scotch, he renamed him Dugan and scolded Tony about puppy-proofing).

They attended training classes four days a week and practiced constantly.  Dugan was a faster learner (with opinions) and would grunt and grumble at Steve from a spot just beside Steve.  

Today they were practicing sitting and staying.  

“How did you manage to pick a dog as obstinate and opinionated as you?”  Tony’s watching Dugan stamp his feet: wanting to be good but too young to stay still for too long.

Steve shrugged, calling Dugan over to him.  He reached down to scratch behind Dugan’s ears in reward – he’d managed a ten-foot distance, this time.  “Just lucky, I guess.”

Imagine This

It’s the year 3027, and on a bench in Central Park sat a small, dark haired man in a trench coat. He was looking at a small photograph of two middle-aged men, one with a tall muscular body and long brown hair falling to his shoulders. The other man in the photo had spiky dirty-blonde hair and a smile which could make the entire world swoon over him. Cas ran his thumb over the picture, relieving the memories of their time together. Them fighting Lucifer, celebrating their many victories at the bar; it was centuries ago. “Oh, dean” he said. “Sam” he said. “I’ll never forget you. Ever.” He said, then disappearing to his home. Heaven.

Battle Extravaganza

Battle Theme: For Your Entertainment (Fonzerelli Mix) - Adam Lambert

Battle Intro: “Oh you’d like to dance with me? Let us see if you can keep up~” || “You and I have unfinished business to settle, darling.”

Victory: “Your footwork could do with some improvement.” || “Too bad so sad, next round of drinks is on you!”

Defeat: “Well, that was fuckin’ rude…”

Taunt: “Come now, your mother had better moves last night!”

Reacting to Taunt: “Please, if I wanted someone being mouthy I’d go find your sister.”

Tie: “Alright, we’ll call it a draw and go have a round at the bar.”

Perfect Victory: “Darling, you can’t touch perfection like this~”

Final Finisher: “This is one shot yer not comin’ back from.”

- - TAG QUOTES - -

Assist: “Eh, pretty sure ladies like some scars, adds to the character yer personality is lackin’.”

Your character down during Assist: “I uh…I’m just…gonna lay here fer a minute. Th’ floor is nice.”

Tag Team Special: “Time for the chaser to this shot!”

Tagging: @bekeilske @elezenaccountant @ferai-caolann @captain-rez

Request: Far From Perfect

Request: I had this imagine idea where Sam has a bad ass hunter girlfriend and Dean thinks they’re cute together even though he would never admit it. I know it’s a pretty lame idea but it just popped in my head.

Word Count: 570

I hope you like it! Thanks!<33

“I’m just saying that I could totally kick your ass.” You shrug, taking a long sip of beer. The man in front of you laughs, shaking his head.

“Pretty little thing like you? I doubt it.”

“How much you willing to bet?” You challenge him, looking into his eyes. There’s a moment when he looks like he’s about to back down, but he blinks twice and a smug, confident smile etches itself into his features.


“Make it a hundred.”

“Two hundred.” He responds to your instant counter with enthusiasm, the dollar signs lighting up his eyes.

“Three.” You hit back and he nods, placing his wallet on the table and presenting you with a hand. You shake it readily, fearlessly mirroring his iron grip.

The whisper spreads through the bar like wildfire – that girl’s gonna arm wrestle the biggest guy here! People don’t hesitate to place bets – mostly on him, but one or two on you. You catch Sam’s eye from behind the guy and smile easily.


“Are you ready?” He asks, placing his elbow on the table. You nod serenely, clasping your hand with his and locking your grip.

He’s strong – pretty strong. You’re almost struggling against him. However, you let him slam your hand into the bar as a cry of victory erupts from the bar. As he celebrates, going to collect his winnings, you place a hand over the pile of cash and look up at him mischievously.

“One more round. Double the odds. What do you say?”

The man chuckles, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

“You’re too much, sweetheart. But, if you really want…”


“Good lord, Y/N.” Sam laughs, slinging a carefree arm around your shoulders as the two of you walk down the street, your pockets full and your brains buzzed. Dean walks a little bit ahead, not at all interested in your lovey-dovey bullshit – you don’t blame him.

“He got arrogant!” You insist, burying your head in his shoulder as you walk along.

“No. You’re just incredibly badass!” Sam grins, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “That’ll keep us going for at least a week.”

You laugh, throwing your head back triumphantly, “God, I love you.” You giggle, laughing as Sam brings his lips to yours happily.

“I love you, too.”

Dean makes a gagging noise from up front, but you ignore him. You know fine well he doesn’t mean it.

It’s not that he’s jealous – no, you’re definitely more of a sister to him than you ever were to Sam – but rather he likes that the both of you are happy together. You’ve seen him smiling when you’re singing along to cheesy-ass love songs in the car and you didn’t fail to notice the look on his face when you and Sam had been separated on that hunt the other week and had gone crashing into each other as soon as the job was done.

He’d never, ever, ever, not in a thousand years or a million years, admit it, but he loves your relationship. He thinks that you and Sam are totally and utterly adorable – sometimes a little gross, but mostly adorable. He loves that you’re happy and he loves that you’re in love. Seeing his little brother happy is always something he wanted – but now he has you to care for, too.

Your little family is far from perfect, but it’s just right for you.

Chocolate chip cookie dough victory bar 🍪🏆🍫 - This bar is very similar to the quest bar, in terms of taste, texture, ingredients (but this has more) and nutritional profile (only difference is that they have more sugar since they don’t use stevia)! I guess if you eat these bars, you go on a quest to achieve victory? - But this one has more fiber (20 g 80% daily value 😳 talk about pooping 💩),softer, and more wrinkly. I like how they are both fun to mold into different shapes, chewy and nice to melt in my mouth. - It tasted like the chocolate chip cookie dough quest bar, and the chocolate chips resemble the “chunks.” The chocolate chips resided the top 50% of this bar, vs scattered all over in the quest bar. - This one tastes like creamy cookie dough and had a tiny hint of coffee in the aftertaste. The dough-like texture makes it seem like real cookie dough, but protein style and more chewy. The chocolate chips also make it too sweet. The sweetness is also artificial. I ate this with a fork along with fruit, so my taste buds were alternating between natural and artificial sweetness. I wouldn’t eat this again.


Throwback 2003 J. Cole Victory Freestyle 17 years old. Look at that T-Shirt tho! haha bout 6XL he was taking it way back! I like to post stuff people ain’t gonna post but please don’t thank me thank the person who uploaded the video.


Today I rode my motorcycle for about six hours. In that time I covered fewer than 20 miles. I’m exhausted.

I took a class at the technical college called Civilian Police Motorcycle Training. It’s a watered down version of the training motorcycle cops get. Mostly it’s a lot of low speed handling exercises.

The instructors were great guys, both cops. They did a Q and A session before class started. Someone asked about crashes. They said no one has ever crashed in this class. Whew! A moment later he told us how to wrap our bikes.

Wrap what?

“You guys aren’t going to crash but some of your are going to drop your bikes today.”


My motorcycle isn’t even a year old. I don’t want to drop it. The Harley Davidson and Victory owners had crash bars. My Yamaha FJR has no crash bars. It has lots of unprotected plastic.

We used a lot of Gorilla Tape and sections of cut up fire hose (the orange stuff on my red motorcycle) to wrap contact points on the bikes. Most of us removed saddle bags and what other equipment we could.

In the very first exercise the rider behind me dumped a Honda Gold Wing. It’s not a particularly loud sound but it’s a sound you won’t forget. I heard it three more times throughout the day. Amazingly there was no damage to any of the bikes that dropped.

Thank goodness I completed all the exercises and never once dropped my Yamaha. The worst thing I have to deal with is removing the residue from all the Gorilla Tape.

The class was good. I know when I ride I need to look where I’m going and not down at the road. This class really brought that out. You can’t ride through a maze of cones if you watch the cones. Fun day!

scrawniest-calamity  asked:

teacher / producer seeeequelllll

Part I, my friends, is right hurr. 

“You can go home now.” 

Beca’s agent spun around on his heels, hearing her from across the hallway. His mouth had formed an “O” and he squinted his eyes. Beca pushed off the lockers, running her fingers along the lines of her jeans. “You,” she said slower, not moving towards him, “Can go home now. I have a ride.” 

“You sure?” he said, though the effort he put into checking was laughable. He was practically one foot out the door as it is. 

“Positive,” she waved her hand mindlessly, “Go off and…enjoy your night. Having sex. With yourself.” 

“Well.” Beca heard the voice from behind her, actively letting herself jump at the sound. “I thought we talked about that language.” 

Her agent took the interruption to race off before Beca changed her mind, and when Beca turned around, she saw Chloe leaning on the edge of her classroom door with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised. 

In the moments that she’d disappeared into the classroom for her phone, it seemed that Beca’s system turned off completely. Because being reacquainted with the sight of Ms. Beale lit her up anew, setting every sense back to high alert, and Beca had to fight to hold herself up, feeling as though she’d been blown back by a harsh gust of wind. 

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