#first we were bussing it open now we talking about loyalty

[sharonxdevi]

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MARK YOU CAUSED THIS VERSION OF JISUNG TO HAPPEN BECAUSE WHAT THE FUCK. I HATE IT. I HATE IT ALL THE SMIRK, THE EYES, THE FINGERS AND THE UNNECESSARY LIP BITE JISUNG 😤😤😤😤😤 I WAS HAVING A GREAT NIGHT SCROLLING AND THEN I SEE THIS

[pedropascallovebot]

Let's Kill Tonight

summary: You're a bit out of practice, but being entrusted with the retrieval and return of Helmut Zemo shouldn't be too hard, right? Even if he is your old sorta-boss and you still are nursing unfortunate loyalty towards the team. You can manage. And him being... slightly more attractive than how you last left him won't be a problem.

Right?

warnings and a/n: i have.... no clue what this is if not a complete rewrite of mcu canon purely for self-indulgence. reader has a kinda shady past and in result will talk graphically about violence in later chapters and there's lots of gun action in this one. very fun, very cool! alright. i hope y'all enjoy teehee

—

The weather where you're at doesn’t usually vary much from a sunny sky, but alas, you’re absolutely drenched by the time you step inside the diner. You hadn’t expected the rain. Your usual five minute walk to work turned into a hike through muddy sidewalks and water droplets that kept hitting your eyes, and by the time you tied your apron around your waist the day felt over before it even started. Your boss gives you a closed-lip smile and glances at your empty section of tables, and you just know you’re going to be late on rent again.

For what it’s worth, Lüleburgaz isn’t the worst place to slip under the radar. It’s not underpopulated by any means, but it makes it perfect to blend in with the crowd as best you can. Honestly, you're just trying to make it a day without a proper therapist. Your roommates are great listeners, don't get it twisted- but all they really know about you is you're Sokovian and they don't really need to hear about the stuff that happened before your country was crushed by some guys in tights and iron suits. They don't ask you much, and you're grateful.  After an unfortunate five-year gap in employment (which isn’t your fault- it’s kinda hard to find jobs when you’re reduced to dust unexpectedly) you were lucky to find somewhere that was willing to hire you without a legally issued identification card and that was also willing to pay in cash under the table. You broke out the books and attempted to learn the language as best as you can, and while you're struggling a bit, you can at least understand the menu and what a customer is ordering. It was far from ideal- ideal would be completely erasing any trace of memory regarding you and your… history, so to speak, from anybody who has the potential to be a threat to you. Ideal could also be an island somewhere, maybe Praslin or Nassau, where you could swim in clear waters and drink copious amounts of fancy fruity drinks instead of whatever liquor your roomies had hiding under the counter. But until that happens, being on the sorta-run for some questionable past career choices seems to stick.

Said questionable career choices led you to be introduced to a network of interesting people, some less horrible than others, but all of them carried the same unmistakable signal of danger displayed in flashing lights above their heads. When you hear the bell to the restaurant door jingle, signaling the arrival of someone new, that weird gut feeling activates and your eyes flicker up to see a pair of high heels and sunglasses, even though the sun hasn’t been out all day. Everyone else eating their food don’t even spare a glance to the door. This should comfort you, it should tell you that you're fine and that there's nothing to worry about, but it absolutely doesn’t and suddenly you’re inconspicuously making your way to the back, muttering something to your boss about taking your break early. Ripping off your apron, you throw it to the side and let it land on the ground next to you, and you lean your head against the brick wall behind you. Your fingers are twitching as the pressing issue of impending doom continues to rise in your gut. You barely register the creaking sound of the back gate opening.

“Do you want a cigarette?” Suddenly, you’re in fighting stance as an unfamiliar voice speaks less than a foot away from your ear. You don’t recognize this new face, but she looks expensive and entirely too out of place for a diner that receives in its eggs already prepared and frozen.

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” she continues, and fishes a lighter and pack out of her coat pocket. “Good choice. These things will kill you- and so will this godawful food you serve here. What a relief that after today you won’t step foot in this place ever again, huh?”

Your mouth opens to say something, but you decide against it. Instead, you slightly lower your fists, keeping your eyes trained on her seemingly unbothered expression. She takes a long drag of her cigarette before giving you any more information. The silence is deafening, and you mentally take note of the clear path you have through the open fence and towards the street if you chose to run. Something tells you this lady didn’t arrive here on foot though, and she probably had an expensive vehicle waiting out front waiting to catch up to you if you chose to make a break for it.

“You’re jumpy- probably a little bit out of practice from the whole ex-assassin thing, right? I can work with that. I have to applaud you: as far as hide and seek spots go, this wasn’t horrible. We’ll have to improve your people skills, but-“

“Who are you?”

You grow increasingly frustrated as it starts to sprinkle again, leaving you cold and wet as your company opens an umbrella she had previously stored away in her coat.

“I don’t like being interrupted, so let’s not make it a habit, hm? My name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, and you’ve become annoyingly important to my cause. Come on, we’re leaving.”

She begins to walk towards the gate, but you stay put, beginning to toy with the idea of unsheathing the knife stored in your boot.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, lady.”

This makes her turn around and sigh in frustration.

“The way I see it, you have two choices. Go back and finish bussing tables so you can make an extra couple dollars, or come with me so we can talk real business. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only one between the two of us that poses a threat. I’m not the one with weapons hidden in my clothes, am I?”

Your eyes narrow, but you don’t argue. Instead, you hesitantly join her in her path towards a gaudy car (you knew it) that looks way too out of place to be in this parking lot. For a split second you consider going back and giving your manager somewhat of a notice of your absence, but Valentina’s walking so fast that you don’t really have time to continue considering.

“By the way, I distinctively said my name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine- I don’t like to repeat myself, don’t make me do it again.”

-

You barely have time to sit down before Valentina is barking directions at her driver and scolding you for getting rain water in her backseat. You remain silent, and a little bit uncomfortable as Val finishes her cigarette completely before bothering to inform you of whatever the hell she’s got going on.

“Tell me what you know about super soldiers,” she finally gives, crossing her legs and glances at you expectantly.

You search her face for any kind of indication that she’s kidding, but she seems serious. It kinda feels like your soul is being stared into and you want to look away but you can’t. What does she not know about super soldiers that she can learn from you and not from literally anywhere else? Admittedly, all you know is what clips of newspapers would give you. Something about rogue experimentation, something-something Winter Soldier, and then, most recently, the Flag-Smashers and the rumors flying around that they've got some serum floating around. All of this seemed to be public knowledge though. Nothing a woman who’s willing to corner people in the backlots of their jobs couldn’t find out from a simple Google search.

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?”

“I can’t say I know much.”

For what feels like the millionth time in the span of twenty minutes, she sighs, bringing out her cell phone and starts punching some buttons.

“And what about this man? Does he ring a bell?”

You do your absolute best to not look as tense as you feel when out of the corner of your eye you see a familiar face in a tiny, grainy picture. She shoves the device in your hands, and right there center of the screen is-

“Zemo, right? That was a trick question. Hard to forget the face of your old boss, I’d assume.”

Suddenly, you’re upright in your seat, the earlier feeling of danger settling right back into place. Valentina, of course, just lets out a laugh, while you’re planning on swan-diving out the damn window.

“The Colonel isn’t my boss,” you protest, and a burning sensation makes its way to your throat.

“Isn’t he though?” Valentina is now fully turned towards you, her hand reaching to grab the phone back. More buttons are pressed, and she’s reading your name from an official looking online database. “It says here you’re wanted in a lot of countries, huh? I wonder why that is- oh, look at this, would you? Seems like your name and EKO Scorpion are mentioned in the same sentence at least three times just on this page.”

Your eyes narrow, and you waste no more time in grabbing your gun from your coat pocket, and Valentina seems to have the same idea, the phone  in her hands is now replaced with a much newer and nicer pistol than you’re carrying. It’s silent in the car for a few seconds, and the driver in the front dares not move a muscle. Val is the first to break, and she lowers her weapon with a shit-eating grin you’re growing tired of seeing.

“Let’s start over. You’re associated with an elite death squad assigned to defend the interests of a country that’s no more than a pile of rubble and dead memorial flowers on the ground. You never had an official invitation, but they paid you good enough money for you to get your hands dirty for them. Too bad that without a leader, your little syndicate fell apart, didn’t it? Unfortunate, what happened to him really. And how inconvenient it must have been for you- I’m sure the law doesn’t usually side with individuals associated with terrorists. Luckily for you, you had a five-year break from being on the run.”

The urge to fall back into old form and pull the trigger at the slightest sign of trouble starts to rear its ugly head, but you take a deep breath and try to align your focus to your current situation. This doesn’t have to be deadly. She knows your history, she knows your name. She could just be blackmailing you. Easy fix, offer her better information on individuals that are far, far away from you. You’re sure you can think of something juicy enough to entertain her and fray her interest in you. This doesn’t have to end in a gunshot. She has access to all of the shit you’ve done. You don’t know what she knows. She could be from the American government. Kill her, and lessen the risk of being thrown in a prison cell to rot.You’re desperate, and you’re scared, and it’s making you vulnerable. You take another deep breath in, and lower your gun.

“What do you want?” Valentina falls back into her seat, clearly very amused by the entire situation now that guns weren’t drawn.

“The Flag-Smashers are becoming increasingly difficult as they’re forming alliances with seemingly every gang of mercenaries for hire. The serum belongs in the hands of someone who knows what to do with it, don’t you think?”

This lady is clearly out of her mind, but you’re too far in now and you don’t feel like questioning her on her morals or the ethics of this situation.

“I don’t want any business with Morganthau, and I don’t care about super soldiers. If that’s all you need me for, you might as well find someone else.”

“Who said anything about you dealing with Flag-Smashers? No, for you,” she starts, grabbing the phone once more and resuming that annoying clicking as she searches through various links, “I have a slightly less… hazardous task. No killing involved, sadly. I’m sure your lovely skillset will keep until it’s needed, but you will be finding Zemo for me, where I can pay him far too much money so he’ll kill the Flag-Smashers for me.”

It’s your turn to laugh, now. “In case you haven’t heard, Helmut Zemo is rotting away in prison for the rest of his life. How is he going to be of any help to you?”

Valentina doesn’t bother giving you a verbal response, just shoves that damn phone in your face again. You glare at her before your eyes skim over the article. Breakout. Zemo. The Falcon. Prison. You curse internally, and she lets her arm fall back to her side. You realize you haven’t been paying too much attention to where the driver was taking you both until you feel the vehicle holt to a stop, and you look up to realize you’re in a parking garage, and the faint sounds of airplanes fly overhead.

“As of now, you and I are a two-man team, but this won’t be the case for long. Zemo is with Sam Wilson and James Barnes in a safehouse in Riga. You and I aren’t the only ones looking for him, however, which makes your job a little tricky, but I don’t have much faith in the guy assigned in returning him to Berlin.”

“Who is he?”

“I assume the name John Walker doesn’t need an explanation?”

You shake your head.

“Walker can be of use to us, and we’re gonna need him- just not yet. What I need from you at the current moment is to make sure you get to these coordinates,” the driver is suddenly handing you a slip of paper with numbers scribbled on it, and you take it, “before Walker gets Zemo.”

You inhale, and Valentina gives you a look.

“I assume you have a question?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to get Walker on your side sooner? Maybe if you could say the right thing, persuade him to bring Zemo to us-"

Valentina cuts you off with a scoff. “What? That if we tell Captain America to hand over an international prisoner so we can extract information and hire him to kill for us he’ll do it? Walker wants one thing right now: he wants that serum. Coincidentally, your friend Zemo wants that serum gone. IF we get to him first, which you will, he’ll be more than happy to oblige. Walker is at a tipping point, but he’s not useful to us. Yet. We just have to wait until he's vulnerable.”

She takes your silence as an okay to continue. “Get to Latvia, find Zemo. Use that pretty face of yours to charm him into coming with you, maybe share some war stories around the campfire. I don’t give a damn how you get it done. Walker’s already halfway there by now.”

You are really starting to question how Valentina is getting her information, but before you can say anything else, she’s motioning for her driver to slide another piece of paper in your hand. Your eyes go wide at the numbers listed after a dollar sign.

“I assume this would be enough to cover your services?”

You look up at her, nodding your head slightly.

“Half now, half when you bring him to me,” she finishes, and the driver is unlocking your side of the car. “It looks like we’re in business then.”

[thedaveandkimmershow]

Well, it turns out once you start noticing things… you keep noticing things. And yeah. This time around, between yesterday and today, there are still a few worthy of mention.

First off, special thanks to the bartenders at Atomic Tonic. They don't even wanna be bartenders yet they have it nailed at an insane level of hospitality, personality, and service. They know the business they're in like you wouldn't believe. They know how to build relationship with customers that translates directly to loyalty.

They really are operating at a level well beyond the job they do.

So… what do they wanna be?

A surgeon. And a pathologist.

No joke. These kids are aiming high. And they've got the bandwidth to do it, too.

On a similar note, the entire crew at The Hideaway Bar & Grill. Not a prestige gig, not super high profile. Just a tiny grill tucked away by the side of a swimming pool with master-level customer service, insanely fast turnaround on orders, and the best.

Tasting.

Burgers.

Ever.

It's one of those experiences where you usually get to have maybe one or two of those things but never three. Yet here it was. All three.

Good grief, we passed our praises along to the cook afterward.

Another thing we noticed was that once you make lounging a way of life it's easy to pass on all the tempting activities it seems we should be doing.

Haha. NOPE. We're in recharging mode… not draining our batteries mode.

It's also nice to see families and friends just enjoying themselves. Having good times together even in the most basic of activities.

I don't know what to tell you. Over the last years, with the narrow view on the world available through the web, it's easy to develop and sustain a pretty dim view of "other people". And maybe seeing such a cross section of humanity all having fun at night at the pool… was just.

Nice. 🙂

Kudos to that dad, by the way, who took his tiny daughter off his wife's hands because this little girl was making these high pitched vocalizations. She wasn't in distress. Not in pain or seeming frustration. Just… making these super high pitch sounds.

So he takes her in his arms and heads purposefully in another direction, bouncing her like a pony as he walks until they reach a huge screen displaying sports graphics that he starts pointing at.

And guess what?

His daughter wasn't high pitching anymore.

Well done, sir. Well done.

'Nother thing we noticed is that faced with a packed crowd in a cafeteria… we're both NOPE. Turned around. Headed out the building. Which is how we ended up by the pool with the best.

Burger.

Ever.

Also during our bouts of lounging in our room, we got a super clear look at the Black Widow movie. We actually saw it celebrating Father's Day… but it was such a bright sunny day we really couldn't get it dark in our living room no matter how many sheets and blankets we hung in front of the windows. We were projecting the movie onto our wall, see, so the resulting image was less than ideal.

So finally being able to see it… underscored how funny and intense and tragic the movie is. How amazing. What great all-around filmmaking.

Noticed this morning that even though the girls are grown and well traveled, we still sweat the details, their travel details, anyway.

The reality, of course, is that they've been there, done this, and can always call with questions or do what adults all over the world do when they run into a travel question: Google it.

A different thing we noticed today (although we already knew it's an ability firmly in our wheelhouse) is that we bussed and walk to Universal's City Walk intent on having breakfast at Antojitos Authentic Mexican Food which I thought opened at 8AM with the rest of City Walk.

Unfortunately… no. No it doesn't. The restaurant actually doesn't open 'til four in the afternoon so we just turned the experience into a photo op and went looking elsewhere for breakfast.

It didn't make long 'cause Hard Rock's bar was on Kimmer's mind ever since we tried to stop in there Thursday night when it was packed.

This time, though, around noon, yeah. No problem. Two seats. Right at the bar where we splurged on barbecue wings. Something else we noticed before even on the first night is that a bar down here's literally just the physical bar and the seats perched in front of it. There's no bar area. Just the stools at the bar.

And the tables just a few feet away along the wall?

Those belong to the restaurant.

Always always always.

We talked nut allergies with Lee from the hard Rock. Then because just then it was metal playing from the overhead speakers we talked a touch of metal and he talked about doing mosh pits in his twenties whereas now whenever he and his wife buy tickets to a concert the first thing they look for are seats.

Yeah.

Time definitely changes you.

And then it's Absanthe and "Dreams" playing overhead and on the video with melodic vocals interspersed with very aggressive vocals and then we're talking music with Sean who's still in his twenties and invincible. Then Paramour hits the air and now we're all talking Paramour and how our daughter took early inspiration from that band in her early days of musicianship and songwriting.

Leaving Universal, we're the first and only ones on the bus with the driver, a man born and raised in Florida whilst we were being born and raised in the opposite corner of the country. A genuinely cheerful man, it was fun to compare notes with him as he made sure to make each and everyone boarding his bus feel welcome.

So like I said, once you start noticing things the more you keep noticing things. Or, maybe a better way to put it is that it becomes super easy to give these brief moments with other human beings...

The credit they deserve.

🙂

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Tony was in a bad relationship with someone and had to skip town to keep himself safe. Tony goes into hiding. He comes along a small town and a little diner/bar that is hiring. Using a false name he takes a job. The place is run by Bucky and co. (Steve, Natasha, etc.) Bucky starts to fall for the mysterious person that doesn't share much about his past. Tony thinks things are starting to look up, until his ex comes looking for him. Overprotective Bucky comes to the rescue.

[A/N:I swear to god, we were just going to write a longish-but-manageable15k for this prompt, and then… we wrote an entire 75k+ novel in less than a week, it ate our brains so hard. Anovel for which we have multiple sequels in the works, noless.

PerIT&B’s new long-work posting rules, the first chapter is going uphere, with the prompt it answers, and the remaining chapters will beposted only at AO3. We’ll post reminders here every couple of weeksand when it’s complete, but if you’d rather just subscribe there,here is the link.]

Safeand (the) Sound, Chapter One

Theentire world shuddered to a stop.

Tonylifted a hand to the side of his face and it was already tender, hotto the touch, the sound of the impact still echoing.

“Tony,”Ty said roughly, his eyes wide in shock. “You… You know I didn’tmean to do that, I never would have done that if I wasn’t sostressed out over this presentation, baby, you knowthat.”

Dadhad always had excuses, too. Ty waited for Tony to say something, butthere weren’t words.

“Comeon,” Ty cajoled, “it was just an accident, right? I’m notreally mad at you, okay?” He crossed the room and reached, thenpulled back when Tony flinched away. “Don’t be like that, I’llmake this up to you, all right? I’ll–” His phone started beepingurgently.

Tycursed and dragged it out of his pocket to glance at the screen andsilence the alarm. “I have to get back,” he said. “Thispresentation, it’s important.”It was important to Ty, anyway. His promotion – his future in thefirm – hinged on it.

Tonykept watching Ty, only half-listening, more aware of the way his facewas stinging as blood rushed into the damaged tissue on his cheekboneand the side of his eye.

Tyhad sworn. He had sworn,when he’d asked Tony to move in with him, that Tony’s days asHoward’s victim were done. That no one would ever hit Tony again.And Ty… Ty had a temper, but he took it out on things–dishes and knicknacks and books and Tony’s laptop, once – but he’dnever hurt Tony. Not until now.

(mobile readers, beware the readmore!)

“Iknow I’ve been working too much lately,” Ty said, “but it’sjust… it’s so important to me that I can be able to takecareofyou, Tony. I need to be able to make you happy.” He put on his mostwinsome smile and sad eyes. “You… know that, right?”

“Iknow,” Tony said, because arguing with Ty was pointless. Even thatbit of talking made his face hurt more. “You should go. You don’twant to be late.”

“Yeah,I just… You’re gonna be okay, right baby?” Ty scooped up hissuit jacket from where he’d dropped it when he’d come in to havelunch. “This is going to change our lives, Tony, you’ll see. I’llcome back right after, as soon as I’m done, and then I’ll make itup to you, okay? Anything you want, I promise.”

Tonynodded, and Ty flashed a brilliant grin. He swooped in and ignoredTony’s flinch to plant a gentle kiss on his uninjured cheek, andthen dashed out the door.

WhatI want,Tony thought, his thoughts running slow like syrup but crystal clear,isto never be hit again.

Itwas several long minutes before he could even move, and then it wasonly to slump down onto the edge of the bed, shivering and gaspingfor breath.

Hewasn’t sure how long he sat like that, waiting for his heart tostop fluttering in his chest like a frightened bird, fighting for airlike he was sucking it through a straw, his skin running alternatelyhot and cold.

God,he’d been so stupid.He’d thought Ty was the best thing that had ever happened to him,given him a foothold and the courage he’d needed to get out fromunder his father’s thumb. Why hadn’t he seen that he’d justbeen trading one bad situation for another? And now that Ty had hithim once – it would certainly happen again, if Tony forgave it, letit go. It would happenagain. And again. And again.

No.He couldn’t go through that again. He wouldn’t.Neveragain.He’d spent years coddling Ty’s jealousy, letting Ty pull himfurther and further from his few friends, letting Ty take more andmore control of his life.

Andnow, what could he do? The apartment was in Ty’s name. The car wasin Ty’s name. The bankaccountwasin Ty’s name. Tony had to leave, but all he had was the cash in hiswallet and whatever he could carry, and he hadn’t spoken to anyonewho wasn’t a friend of Ty’s in… two years? Three?

Fuck.

Tonyscrubbed his hands over his face, hissing as he scraped over theswelling bruise, and gave himself just five more minutes to give into the pain and the fear and the grief. Five minutes, and that wasall, because he had to be gone before Ty came back.

Fiveminutes passed, and Tony forced himself to stand up and go to thecloset. He considered the expensive travel luggage, but no – itwould be too hard to lug around, and too conspicuous. He dug past itand found his old backpack, from when he’d been a student. (Ty hadpromised that he could go back to school some day. But those had beenempty promises, hadn’t they?)

Hepushed that aside; he didn’t have time to list all of Ty’s wrongsagainst him. Tony had to pack. Underwear and t-shirts. One extra pairof jeans. Socks. A hoodie. A minimal tool kit: multitool, some coiledwire, duct tape. He didn’t want to keep any of the things Ty hadgiven him, and the things that might be worth pawning were engraved.Recognizable. He didn’t have time for it, anyway. He considered hisbooks, but books were heavy.

Tonyglanced at the clock. Fuck, he’d wasted too much time to the shock.He had maybe an hour left before Ty came back, and he needed to belong gone before then. He tossed his phone onto the bed – hisaccount was attached to Ty’s, of course – then fished his walletout of his pocket and rifled through it. The credit card followed thephone as being too easy to track. Driver’s licenses had RFID chipsin them now, too, didn’t they? His Metrocard was trackable, but itwould get him as far as Grand Central, at least. He wouldn’t needhis Kung Pao Takeout loyalty card, or half-a-dozen old receipts,or… Christ, there was a lot of junk in his wallet. Hurriedly, hedumped it all out and counted the cash; he had about fifty dollars.Shit.

Onelast time check – Shit, he’d have to runtocatch the next train – and he was out the door. He left it standingopen; if he was lucky, some opportunistic robber would come in andhelp themselves to Ty’s things and confuse the trail.

GrandCentral Station was a madhouse this close to rush hour. Tony clutchedhis backpack tightly and twisted through the crowds, making sure todrop his Metrocard. Someone would find it and use it, and if Ty hadit tracked, it would go… somewhere that Tony wasn’t.

Itwas about a mile from Grand Central to Penn Station. The clock tickedin Tony’s ears like a bomb counting down, and he jogged the wholeway.

Tonysquinted at the bus destination board. No big cities, that was tooobvious. No one-cow towns, either; there was no way to blend in. Whathe needed was a nice, middling-sized city, with a bus leaving in thenext fifteen minutes. And a ticket that, preferably, wouldn’t useup allhiscash.

VirginiaBeach stood out. Beaches were nice, Tony thought, though he couldn’tremember the last time he’d had anything like a vacation. Beacheswere full of tourists, where Tony’s accent wouldn’t beremarkable, where people lost their IDs and credit cards all the timeand so lots of places accepted cash that wouldn’t, otherwise. Theywere coming up on summer, so he might be able to find work doing oddjobs. And a transient population meant that it would be easier to notonly blend in with the crowds, but to move around.

Theticket was only $35. And the bus was a red-eye due to arrive arounddawn the next morning, which meant Tony had a place to sleep for thenight, even if it was a seat on a bus.

Right.Virginia Beach it was.

“Iam going to kill Bobbi,” Bucky said, shoving Clint’s shit into aduffle bag. This was the third time in two years that Bobbi Morse hadshown up, flirted a little with Clint, and suddenly Bucky was shortboth a renter and an employee. If Clint wasn’t such a loveableasshole, Bucky wouldn’t have given him his job back the first time.That, and no one else really wanted the damn job in the first place.Washing dishes by hand, sweeping the floor, and bussing tables wasnot exactly fun, and in the tourist town, it was hard work, too.

Therestaurant was failing, slowly but surely, Bucky knew that, so thewages he could offer weren’t great, either. The only good thingabout the job was that it came with meals and a discount on rent forthe little apartment over the garage that Bucky used to try to earn alittle extra on the side. Bucky had paid Clint under the table andtaken the rent out of it directly, which was a nice arrangement forthem both.

Atleast, it was nice right up until Bobbi had showed up flush with cash– she was a professional card cheat – and dragged Clint off foranother of their whirlwind adventures. The two of them would be gonefor months.And tourist season was just starting. If Bucky had to bus tables aswell as manage the restaurant and cook on Steve’s off-shifts, hewas going to die of sleep deprivation. “Killher,”he stressed. She couldn’t have waited until September to stealClint again?

“Youalways say that, and yet, you never do,” Nat said, pulling her hairback in a ponytail and grabbing the broom. “I’ll takebus-and-sweep today. Maybe Steve can do dishes in between cooking?”

“Idon’t do dishes,” Steve yelled from the back. That man had earslike an elephant, he could hear a whisper a mile away, especiallywhen it was about doing extra work. “I’ll bus, but I don’t likecooking when my fingers are all raisin-y.”

Natashabrandished the broom threateningly. “You know that sex you wantedto have, like ever again? Do the damn dishes, Steve.”

“CallSam,” Steve suggested. “I heard his transmission is going out. Hemight need the extra work for a few days?”

“Youcall Sam,” Bucky said. There weren’t customers yet; technicallythey opened at eleven on weekdays – brunch on Saturday and Sundaystarted at nine – but they usually didn’t start having sitdownsuntil half-past. “I’ll put a sign up and call down to the paper.”Who knew, maybe someone in this town had a teenager who needed somework. That wasn’t likely – there wasn’t any publictransportation that stopped close to the restaurant, and teens whohad cars also had access to better-paying jobs. But who knew? Someday, one day, Bucky’s luck would change. Maybe.

Buckywent to the supply closet and cussed for a while. Part of Clint’sjob was also keeping that room neat, but of course he didn’t do it.Mostly he did dishes and stole food and table scraps for his dog –oh, Christ, that was another thing to check. Had he left Lucky, orhad he and Bobbi remembered to take the dog with them? – and flirtedwith the customers. Clint wasn’t a bad guy, he was just…directionless.

Onthe other hand, Clint was on his way to Nevada with the love of hislife and he’d probably come back in four months with a lot ofamazing stories, which was more than Bucky had ever done. Docksidehad been his parents’ place – a beach restaurant that servedgreasy burgers, fries, crabcakes, and whatever catch of the day Buckycould buy off the boats before the bigger places crowded him out –and Bucky had never been more than two hundred miles from home in hiswhole life. So, maybe Clint had a better life philosophy than Buckydid. It was just inconvenient for the rest of them.

Finally,Bucky found the signs: HelpWantedandRoomfor Rent.He brushed them off; Clint had obviously been eating in the closet,since there were crumbs everywhere. Bucky made a mental note to getmore insecticide. The last thing he needed at the beginning oftourist season was an infestation of palmetto bugs. Palmetto bugswere enormous, flyingcousinsto roaches, fully an inch and a half long, and they freaked thetourists right out. Not that Bucky would blame them at all; he’dbeen known to shriek when one of them scuttered out from undersomething, too. And then there’d be problems with Maria Hill, thelocal Health Inspector.

Buckyhung the signs in the window, then took the broom from Nat. The porchshould be swept, too, even though that was a hopeless task. The beachsand always ended up everywhere. But it gave him a few minutes to beoutdoors, breathing in the brackish scent of the sea, combined with amild odor of seaweed and dead fish. It was home. He couldn’t giveup now.

Turnedout Sam had managed to win two hundred dollars on a scratcher, andwhile he was willing to help Bucky while the Dockside wasshorthanded, he didn’t need a second job. Bucky would send Nat outto the S-turn later in the afternoon. The local teens hung out therenear the little inlet, and they might know someone who needed thework.

~ @everyworldneedslove & @tisfan

[notsoguiltykpop]

Disposable part 5

Being friends with benefits with Min Yoongi can be complicated (at best) by itself. But when you accidentally tell your family (and his boss) that the two of you are dating, things get messy.

Angst, fluff, slight smut at times.

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 6

You tried to think of some way to talk Namjoon into un-inviting Yoongi, but every excuse you could think of would make it sound like you didn’t want him to be there. At this point, you were so buried in your lie that you didn’t even want to think about ruining it now. If Namjoon caught on, it wouldn’t just mean his disappointment in you, it would reflect badly on Yoongi as well. And while you wished you didn’t care what happened to Yoongi, you didn’t want to get him fired for lying to Namjoon on your behalf. 

While Namjoon wasn’t exactly a vengeful person, he valued honestly and loyalty. He might not fire Yoongi for breaking your heart, but it would be a different story if he thought Yoongi had lied to Namjoon’s face. The two combined could mean the end of Yoongi’s career, which you didn’t want (no matter how much of an ass he was).

Yoongi was furious. You were glad you were still sitting in a semi-crowded restaurant, because otherwise you were sure he would be yelling by now.

“What if you… I don’t know, tell him your parents are sick?”

Yoongi gave you a reproachful stare. “I haven’t talked to my parents in years, and Namjoon knows it.”

Oh. You tried to think of some other reason for him not to be there. “A close friend was hit by a car?” You offered, and Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“Do you even know your brother?” Yoongi scoffed. “First thing he would say is ‘What’s their name? I’ll send them a get-well-soon card’.”

You groaned as you put your head in your hands, sinking further into your chair. Yoongi was right, that was exactly what Namjoon would say.

“Do you have any better ideas?” You asked through your hands.

“We could tell him the truth.” The way Yoongi said it didn’t sound serious, but you sat up and faced him with a glare anyway.

“You mention one ounce of the truth and I’ll tell him the whole thing.”

That made Yoongi shut up for a moment, and you frowned at the table cloth (you didn’t want to look at him anymore, he looked too angry).

“I think you’re just going to have to come along.” You said after some thought. “We’ll act like the perfect couple, happily and madly in love, and then we’ll keep up the charades for a month after we get back. After that, I’ll publicly break your heart and that’ll be the end of it.”

“Publicly?” Yoongi growled. “And why are you the one who dumps me?”

“Because you want to keep working for Namjoon.” You said simply. “If I break up with you, you’re safe from Namjoon’s wrath. And it should be at least semi-public, so that there’s no doubt who dumped who.” It was the best plan you could come up with, and you didn’t think it was so bad.

“I actually hate you.” Yoongi said, and even though there was very little real hatred in his voice, it still stung.

“Yeah, well.” You tried not to seem as affected by his words as you were. “If you want to keep your job, I suggest your keep your hatred to yourself.”

You didn’t talk to Yoongi much after that, only texting him the details about the lake house. You booked his plain ticked along with yours, figuring that it would look better if you arrived together. When you informed him of this, he replied with “we’re not sitting together, right?” You decided to wait until later to inform him that actually, there were only two seats left on the plain, and they were right next to each other. You figured Yoongi would live.

Yoongi felt like he was going to die. There were two ways this was going to go.

1.      He would spend the two weeks with you and everything would go smoothly. The problem with this was he would be lying to his boss, not to mention spending every moment of every day with someone whom he really didn’t even want to look at currently. And after that, who knows what else you would ask him to do? It all started with a simple lunch date, and now he was supposed to spend two weeks with your family? When would it end? After the two of you were married? No. This option was not okay.

2.      Namjoon would find out that everything was a lie, you would through Yoongi under the buss, and he would lose his job.

Nether option was ideal.

Yoongi groaned as he pressed his face against the glass of the window, trying to sit as far away from you as possible. You had given him the window seat as a sort of peace-offering for sitting together, but he still wasn’t happy with the situation.

He could see in the reflection of the glass that you were fidgeting in your seat, and it was driving him a little bit insane.

“Will you sit still?” He said through clenched teeth.

“No.” You replied curtly. “Now give me your phone.”

Yoongi turned to you slowly. “Give you my what?”

“Your phone, Min Yoongi.” You said, holding out your hand expectantly. He wanted to argue, but if he was going to be stuck next to you for the next three hours, he wasn’t going to pick a fight. Grumbling, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“We’re in an airplane, you can’t use it—unless your intention is for us to die.”

“I’m not going to make a phone call.” You said with an exasperated sigh. “We’re supposed to be in love, right? You need a picture of me as your lock screen.” You opened the camera app and posed, snapping a few before choosing your favorite.

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to see your face every time I open my goddamn phone?” What was much more concerning was that he really didn’t mind the idea.

“Did it ever occur to you that you don’t have a choice?” You asked, pulling out your own phone and holding it up. “Look cute.”

Yoongi made a face at you, and to his horror you took a picture of it. “Perfect.” You said happily.

“Hang on.” He said, trying to reach for it. “I wasn’t ready, you can’t keep that one—“

“Yes I can. And it’s just what I need. Couples have all kinds of derpy pictures of each other, right?”

“No.” Yoongi said, although he agreed with what you had said. “This is probably why you’re single.”

A/N Wow it’s been a strange couple of days! I locked my keys in my car, took a pole dancing class, and got my keys back. And then today a friend of mine locked her keys in her car (with the engine still running) and these three strangers who happened to be there also happened to know how to break into cars?? It was very strange, but also kind of amazing. Haha, anyway... Sorry I’ve been kind of absent, I’ve had some papers and other writing assignments to do, and haven’t been feeling super creative as a result. I think I should have some time this weekend to finish up the next chapter of “Of Books and Dirty Cash” as well as several requests that I have almost finished but not quiet (as i said, I haven’t been feeling super creative, and I don’t like to force writing bc it turns out bad) Thank you for reading, and let me know what you think! <3 <3