#datbariperson

Heck yes, I am just gonna get in the car and drive around aimlessly

you probably shouldnt try to catch pokemon while driving - but like, yeah, drive until a pokemon spawns and click on it, then park somewhere to throw pokeballs uselessly at it until something works, rinse and repeat. or drive to various parking lots, walk around the lot to see what you find, etc

Who Tagged Me: @datbariperson​ ​ 

If it requires waking up in the middle of the cycle you’ll feel really moody for most of the day. At least with 4 hours you still have energy and cheer.

yeah thats why i use SleepyTime - and usually im ok with it because waking up midcycle is actually the worst?? im usually in the middle of an interesting dream that within seconds i can no longer remember and its like my phone alarm is literally pulling my consciousness out of a thick sludge and then i have to try to not hate everything all morning isnt it just awful

Steve checked hiswatch and sighed. He didn’t have to be at work for another couple of hours, buthis car was in the shop and the nearest bus stop was obnoxiously far and ittook him a while to get there via public transportation. He’d been doing thisridiculous commute for nearly a week, and he was already counting down the daysuntil he got his car back.

He took a left downhis street and noticed the beautiful brunette walking a hundred yards in frontof him. Every morning, Steve saw that beautiful head of hair, and wished thathe had the courage to say something. Apparently, that morning was his luckyday.

“Hey!” he cried,picking up the pace. “Wait up!”

The women turned andher perfectly painted lips curved into a dazzling smile.

“I thought you’dnever ask,” she said in a lilting British accent. Steve feels his face flushand stumbles to a halt next to her.

“I, uh…hi,” Stevemumbles. “I’m Steve.” He put his hand out and her meticulously manicured handtook his in a firm handshake.

“Peggy Carter.Pleasure to meet you.”

“I’ve been, uh,wanting to say hi for a while now,” Steve managed to say, rubbing the back ofhis neck uncomfortably.

“I’m glad you did.Where do you work?”

“At the school? Downby Seventeenth street?”

“Quite far by bus,isn’t it?”

“My car is in theshop,” Steve replied bashfully.

“So what will happenwhen your car’s back?”

“I’ll start drivingagain. It cuts my commute in more than half.”

“Well, I’ll be sadto see you go,” Peggy said. “You definitely make my commute more enjoyable.”

“Maybe Icould…uh…give you a ride…?”

Peggy smiled thatamazing smile and took Steve’s hand in hers.

There was never much chance to dress up during the war but the twenty-first century is apparently the world of opportunity, so Steve lets Natasha introduce him to online shopping a few months after the Chitauri invasion. They haven’t been working together long and Steve doesn’t trust spies, but Natasha is friendly enough. And very disapproving of Steve’s wardrobe. He’s fine with that. He disapproves of the cost of everything. The sale section is still expensive, if you ask him, but it’s where he buys everything anyway. Being frugal never hurt.

He’s not entirely pleased to find Natasha on his living room floor the day his clothes arrive. He’s also not exactly surprised to find she’s already opened the packages and now there are articles of clothing all over the place.

“These are kind of garish,” Natasha says, in lieu of a greeting. She holds up a rainbow of identical shirts. “I didn’t picture you as a neon sort of man. Did you dress like this before the war?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says honestly. He has to admit the lime green shirt was maybe not his best investment but he picks up a rosy pink one, admiring the feel of it between his fingers. “I was colourblind.”

“That was in the file. I forgot,” Natasha says absently, lifting a pair of blue leopard print socks out of the piles of clothes strewn around her. “Nice socks.”

Steve pulls up the leg of his pants so she can see the purple and green striped ones he’s already wearing.

Natasha snorts. “Well it’s a start. Now you just need to stop wearing khakis and embrace lower waistbands.”

Steve looks at his khakis, belted across his stomach. “What’s wrong with my waistband?”

“So much,” she sighs. “Did you know there are coloured jeans now? Denim isn’t just blue.”