#yes the phone holder folds to fit in your pocket. yes of course it tips over due to its folding design necessitating it be long and narrow!

[pinbones]

Honestly half the time the "watch something more complicated than cartoons" crowd don't even understand cartoons. When kids' shows are a bit much for you, you don't really get to be sniffy about what people prefer to watch while they eat takeout

Steven Universe did not show an empire being defeated with the power of friendship & empathy and its fascist leaders being accepted as family. It ended with an unstable biological(?) power structure being battled violently & its core constructs conclusively disproven, all its leaders removed from power and replaced, and them spending the rest of their days in basically servitude fixing what they did while being shunned by Steven. And SU Future wasn't about depression being offensively cured with hugs, it was about a teenager under massive responsibility and trauma feeling like he was losing his support network and becoming magically and mentally unstable, and ended with acceptance and him finally stepping away from his roles & heritage to find himself.

Half of the people still mad at Steven Universe can't even place its core themes and blatant messages. You didn't watch the show, you were too busy reblogging dipshit fascism accusations against its Jewish creator and drawing the lesbians in watercolours

[fangirlfiction]

Born to Ride

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (eventually)

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: part 1 of the Born To series. A mystery man shows up on your doorstep, and your job, and your doorstep again, to make you an offer you have a hard time refusing. things go well, but only for a little while.

Warnings: some mentions of violence, some fighting. maybe some language. this chapter is pretty mild. this series as a whole is angsty though!

A/N: hello hi hey! so, I wrote a lil 4 part mini series! and this is the first part! the next part will go up on the Friday of each week (for the time zone people, this is my Friday, so whatever time this is going up for you is when the next parts will go up!) also, if you want to be on the taglist for this series or any of my writings, just send me an ask and I can tag you ♥ thank you for being so patient with my sporadic writings, things have been kind of tough the last few months, but I’m trying. okay, I love you all! 

series masterlist

You sigh as you pull up to your trailer.

As you put the car in park and put your name tag in your cup holder, you think about the long bath you plan on taking, and the equally long nap that will inevitably follow. You exit your car and step through the front door, rolling your eyes when you are instantly greeted by your boyfriend yelling at the TV down the hall. You kick off your shoes and move to the cabinet where you keep the box of tips from your job at the diner. 

You dig through the cabinet in frustration. “Danny, where is the money box?”

His voice rings out from down the hall, “I don’t know. Somewhere.”

Narrowing your eyes at his tone, you slam the cabinet door closed and stalk towards the only bedroom in the small trailer. Your boyfriend is sprawled out on the bed, eyes focused on the T.V. as he smashes buttons on the controller in his hand. “Danny, what do you mean ‘somewhere’?”

He sighs and pauses his game, turning to you. “The guys were here, and we got hungry watching the game. What was I supposed to do?”

“Where. Is. It?”

He uses his head to gesture to the corner of the room, and your eyes land on the small box you use to hide the extra cash. Lid open, and lying on its side. Empty.

You walk over and grab the box, and hold it up. “What the hell did you buy? There was at least $300 in here!”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, okay. But it was my turn to host and we needed the money.”

“That was weeks worth of tips! Do you know how many shitty days at the diner I had to put in to make that?”

“It was just laying around in the box. You never spend it anyways.” He turns back to his game and picks up the controller. “I don’t know why you don’t race anymore. The money you were making there would have paid for anything we could have ever wanted.”

You resist the urge to scream as he resumes his game, and you turn and leave the room, box in hand. You step into the small bathroom and close the door, leaning against it and letting out a long breath. As you feel your blood pressure return to normal, you reach into the pocket of your uniform and pull out the wad of ones from your overnight shift and place them in the box. You hear your boyfriend yell in frustration at his game and you check that the door is securely locked before you kneel down and open the lower cabinets. You quietly push the cleaners and soaps to the side before finding the loose spot in the paneling. You wedge your nail into the tiny gap and pop the panel off, revealing a small hole, only slightly larger than the box sitting next to you. 

With one more glance at the locked door, you reach inside and pull out the cinched bag, and tug it open to reveal a gun, and a relic from your past that you wished you could forget. The buckle wasn’t big, just the right size to fit on any standard utility belt. It was the only uniform you had from your old life, a requirement for any standard suit, for ease in identifying the others that were like you. Your fingers trace the hourglass shape, the red outline glinting at you in the light of the bathroom. 

A distant knock draws you from your thoughts, followed closely by your boyfriend’s voice. “Babe, can you get that? I’m busy!”

You roll your eyes and return the gun and buckle to the bag, before returning the bag, and now the money box, to the hole. As you reattach the paneling and hide the location, you yell out, “Coming!”

You close the cabinet doors softly, flush the toilet just in case, and leave the bathroom, making a beeline for your front door. When you approach the door, you are surprised to see a man in a suit with a pair of dark sunglasses, and not your boyfriend’s loser friends as you were expecting. Your brows draw together as you open the door just enough to step outside, and turn to face the man. “May I help you?”

The man clears his throat and answers with your last name, and you give a small nod. “Yes?”

“I have a job for you.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyeing the man. “I’m sorry?”

“There’s a dirtbike race on Saturday. We need you to win it.” 

You shake your head, “You must have me mistaken for someone else, I don’t race.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a news article, one with your smiling picture largely printed on it. You give him a regretful look. “Anymore. I don’t race anymore.”

He glances behind you at your trailer, before meeting your eyes again. “We’ll pay you.”

You pause, but recover immediately. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

You turn and slip back inside, locking the door as soon as you’re inside. Your boyfriend walks into the room, curious. “Who was that?”

“No one. Just some solicitor.”

He shrugs and grabs a beer from the fridge before leaving you to your thoughts. 

-

The man shows up three more times before you finally hear him out. Once at your trailer, and twice at the diner. You finally agree to talk to him three days after his initial visit. You convinced yourself it had nothing to do with the pile of overdue bills on the table at home. 

You plop down in the booth across from him, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Alright, let’s hear the pitch.”

“There’s a race this Saturday, in Boston.” He slides a flyer to you, but you only glance at it briefly before meeting his eyes again. “We need you to win it.”

“Who is we?”

“An interested party.”

You raise a brow. “Why do you need me to win?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Why me?”

He shrugs. “Because we heard you were the best.”

You shake your head. “I haven’t ridden in years. I don’t even have a bike anymore.”

“We will provide all the equipment, and pay the entry fees. All that we require is that you race, and win.”

“And if I don’t?” He looks at you, confused. “Win, I mean.”

He gives you a grim smile. “Let’s just say it would be in your best interest to come out on top.”

You take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “And if I win, I get the prize money?”

“Of course. The $2,000 reward will be yours. Along with an $8,000 thank you from the interested party.”

You let out a low whistle. “$10k? You’re offering me $10,000 to show up and win a race?”

“Yes.”

You eye him suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. We need a job done and you are the most capable to do it.” He eyes the diner, a faint look of disgust passing over his features. “And $10,000 can change your life.”

You sit silently for a minute, weighing the options. You were almost certain that something illegal was involved, but you had been on the wrong side of the law before. And $10k would be enough to get you away from the life you were living, at least. It could easily get you away from Danny. Without another thought, you look up at the man. “Yes.”

He simply nods, and slides a phone to you. “All communications will go through this phone. After your final payment, destroy the phone and any other records you may have.” He then passes you a duffel bag. “Inside this bag you will find a plane ticket, along with the keys to a storage unit in Boston, which is where you will find any and all gear you may need. If there are any other problems, contact us.”

You take the phone and the bag, and you nod. The man stands, and gives you one last look. “We’ll be in touch.”

As he walks away, you check the plane ticket, and you’re shocked to find that it’s slated to leave in a few hours. Without wasting another second, you leave the diner for what you hoped was the last time and headed to your trailer. You were relieved to find that Danny was out with his friends, making it easier to pack and leave without any issues. The mystery man had included a second ticket for Danny, but you rip it to shreds and toss it, before leaving a note taped to the fridge.

Visiting my sister in Kansas. 

See you soon. 

xo

-

The flight came and went without a hitch. Well, there was one hitch. 

Danny.

As you step off the flight and check your phone, you are shocked to find dozens of texts, missed calls, and voicemails. You look at the phone in annoyance, realizing it is your last lifeline to the most recent chapter of your life, and to Danny. And that realization makes it that much easier to drop your phone and smash it under your heel, before discarding it in a nearby trash can. You gather your bags and head to the storage facility, pleased to find a dirtbike just like the one you rode a few years back. There’s gear too, all decked out in a familiar shade of red and black, with a photo taped to the side of the helmet. You look down at it, realizing where they drew the gear inspiration from. The picture is from your last big win, a grin stretched across your face and a trophy tightly gripped in your hand. Your other hand is intertwined with none other than Danny, your bike mechanic at the time. You quit one week after this picture was taken, while you were getting bandaged up in a hospital room. You shudder at the memory, as the worst of it comes back in flashes. Two men, dressed in all black. The sound of gunshots. The feeling of fire as it tore through your body. You absentmindedly rub your shoulder.

You shake your head and fold up the picture, before tucking it in your pocket. With one final check of the gear and nothing left to do, you head back to the hotel and do the only thing you can do. 

Wait.

-

Race day comes slowly. You spent the few days leading up the race doing some light practice and feeling ready. But now, as you stand at the start line straddling your bike, you start to panic. You haven’t raced in years. Hell, you haven’t even ridden in years. And looking at the others around you, you were starting to become acutely aware of that fact. Before you can spiral any further, a familiar voice yells your name from behind you. You turn and groan as Danny runs up to you, pushing a bike. Your bike, from years ago.

“Danny, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing! I thought you were done with racing until the end of time.”

You roll your eyes, “I was. But then… Wait, how did you find me?”

“Margie heard you talking to some guy at the diner, said you agreed to go to some race in Boston. And then I found the ripped up ticket in the trash, and I knew this is where you’d be.”

He steps closer to you, looking ready to kiss you, but you step back. “I thought maybe you were too nervous to tell me about the race. In case you lost and didn’t get the prize money.”

You suppress an eye roll, and nod. “Uh, yeah. That was it.”

“Anyways, I brought your old bike. It was still on display at the garage and they let me tune it up and bring it to you.”

You feel a small surge of affection as he gestures for you to take the bike so he can take the new one. “Thanks, Danny.”

“Where’d you get this one from, anyways?”

“Uh, they loaned it to me.”

“Huh.” He leans down to inspect the bike. “Looks like it cost a pretty penny.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” The loudspeakers crackle to life around you, urging racers to move to the line so the race can begin. You glance at Danny. “Guess that’s my cue.”

“Good luck, and win us at that money!”

You turn and push your bike back to the line, hopping on and firing it up, smiling at the familiar feel. As the announcer reads the rules, you pull your helmet over your head and nudge the visor down, before wrapping your hands around the grips and getting ready. Seconds later, you hear the horn ring out, signaling the start. Everyone jumps into action almost simultaneously, sending dirt and mud flying. 

You manage to beat the bulk of the pack, pulling ahead and starting in 10th. As you fly around the track and the laps add up, you move closer and closer to the top. At the start of the last lap, you find yourself in second, right behind an all blue bike. You inch closer and closer to him, trying to find an opening to take first, and smirking when you see the turn in the lap up ahead. Knowing this is your best shot, you ease to his left, preparing to pass him on the inside. As the turn approaches and you start to overtake him, a sudden movement to your right causes you to look over at him. The driver is turned to face you, a gun in his hand and aimed right at you. You resist the urge to scream and hit the brakes instead, putting distance between you and the still moving driver. He seems to temporarily forget, and then remember, the bend in the road and he tries to swerve to avoid it, but the jerky movement sends him flying into the trees instead. You recover from your temporary shock and take off again, quickly passing the fallen driver and flying through the course. When you pass the finish line and see the wave of the checkered flag, you feel no joy, no pride. Only shock. You drive straight through the track, past the reporters, past the celebrating crowd, and past Danny, who is yelling your name. 

You finally come to a stop outside of your tent, and you grab your things and take off again. Just as you enter the parking lot, the mystery man in the suit stops right in your path. You swerve to avoid him, narrowly missing, before jumping off your bike and turning to face him. “Congratulations. We knew you could do it.”

“What the hell was that?!”

“What?”

“The blue driver pulled a freaking gun on me!”

He frowns, “When? I didn’t see anything.”

“Right before he crashed! He could have killed me.”

“I never saw a gun.”

“But he-” You cut yourself off. “I have to go.”

“What about your-” He stops mid sentence, and you realize that the sound of footsteps behind you have steadily grown louder. You turn and find Danny, and for the first time in years, you’re actually happy to see him. “Danny, let’s go.”

“But what about-”

“No, let’s. Go.”

He shrugs, “Okay.” before taking the bike from you and leading you to his truck and trailer, and you glance back at the mystery man as you put space between you. “I’ll just load this up with the other one.”

You whip your head back in his direction, “Other one, what other one?”

“The bike you had before I brought you yours. I talked to the registration group and no one knows who it belongs to, so I’m taking it with us.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“C’mon, we can sell it! It’s practically brand new.”

You turn and look back at the mystery man, shuddering when you see that he’s gone. You turn back to Danny. “Okay, whatever, can you load quickly so we can just go?”

“Yeah, yeah, calm down. I’ll be done in a second.”

You walk off and move to the passenger door and climb in, before immediately locking the doors. As promised, Danny is in the car and driving away in a matter of minutes. You are down the road and navigating your way to the freeway before you know it, and as you watch the buildings fly by, you finally let yourself feel some relief. That is, until you hear the explosion.

-

part two here!