#with his sweaters and obligatory coffee mug

[motleybirdbones]

Gave Tolbert the same treatment as Amos before to practice using Shape Language - I really like the far left two, they’re the most “Him” shaped 

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Letting Go: "ALN" Story (Pre-Serum Omega!Steve and Alpha!Bucky Modern Domestic AU)

Eighteen:

Two days before Hanukkah, was the first junior high dance for Finn. With his dark auburn curls recently cut short and styled by his wonderful Uncle Silas, and wearing a new baby blue sweater, he posed for the obligatory pre-dance pictures. All with his big brother good-humoredly teasing him.

"Are you done yet?" Finn complained.

"Almost," Bucky said, still taking more pictures.

When the doorbell rang, Finn sighed out in relief, "Thank god."

"Oh no, you're not getting off that easy," Steve chuckled, racing to answer the door. Opening it, he found the Maximoff twins. Grinning, he greeted, "Don't you two look handsome."

"Thank you," Billy and Tommy told him.

"Well, c'mon in," Steve held the door open wider for them. Their father, Vis, followed and Steve asked, "No Wanda tonight?"

"Had to work night shift," Vis answered with a shrug.

"Everyone get in close," Bucky instructed, taking some shots of the trio.

"Dad," Finn groaned in annoyance.

"Don't, 'dad,' me," Bucky playfully warned.

Playfully, Finn rolled his eyes, but posed for another picture. All the while, Oliver and Ian kept making funny faces at the preteens behind the older alpha. Steve pressed his own lips together to stop himself from laughing.

"Vis, you want a picture of you and the boys?" Bucky asked, looking away from his phone screen.

"No, that's okay," Vis assured, "We took pictures with Wanda before she left for work."

Nodding, Bucky put his phone away. Giving Finn a hug, he wished their second oldest, "Have fun, alright?"

"I'll try," Finn good-naturedly scoffed.

Bucky kissed Finn's forehead and let him head over to the closet to get his winter coat. Steve could feel tears building in his eyes because no matter how many firsts their children had, they were always so cherished. And as Steve realized, it didn't get any easier over the years. For half a second, Steve thought about asking for just a few more pictures.

Hugging the twelve year old, Steve said, "You're gonna knock 'em dead."

"Pops," Finn playfully rolled his eyes while his alabaster white cheeks started to redden.

"Have fun," Ian called from the sofa as the three preteens left the house, leading the other father out too.

Sniffling, Steve caught the few tears that escaped from his eyes before heading for the kitchen, "Who wants hot chocolate?"

"Me," many of the other family members chorused from the living room.

"Here, I'll help," Ian stood from the sofa and reached for the mugs over the coffee maker.

A small smile started tugging at Steve's lips with the familiarity. It was nice having Ian there. It was even nicer to realize that he felt comfortable enough to not only help, but know where everything was. Steve wasn't sure when exactly it had gotten like that, but he was glad it had. It reminded him of how things were with the other kids their children had befriended.

"So, Ian," Steve started, putting the water on. "What are you doing Sunday?"

"Um," Ian worried his lower lip as he thought, "I don't think I have anything. Why d'ya ask?"

"Well," Steve let the water heat. "As you know, Hanukkah is starting this weekend, and I thought that you might like to celebrate with us."

For a moment, Ian just blinked at him. Almost mystified by the older omega. Steve didn't let it bother him though. He just continued filling the mugs with the cocoa powder. When Ian still didn't say anything though, Steve looked over at the teen to make sure that he wasn't in shock.

"Are you sure?" Ian finally asked. "I mean, I don't have any gifts."

"Oh, sweetie, you don't have to bring anything. That's not what the holidays are about," Steve assured. Then, he leaned closer and teased, "Besides, the kids have so much stuff that they wouldn't need a gift for years."

At the corner of Ian's lips, a small smile tugged. Which, of course, only made Steve's own grow. Especially when Ian softly chuckled.

"Still," Ian shrugged. Quietly admitting, "After everything that you and Mr. Barnes have done for me, and just your kindness in general, I'd like to not show up empty handed."

"My husband and I – like our kids – want for not," Steve clarified. But he was touched for the suggestion, regardless. "You don't need to bring anything except yourself."

Ian was back to chewing on his lower lip as he asked, "Can I think about it?"

"Of course," Steve assured, getting the kettle off the hob when it started whistling.

Stirring the cocoa until it was mixed completely, Ian decided, "Okay."

"Okay," Steve nodded, placing the hot beverages on serving trays, "All set."

"No," Ian nervously chuckled as he shook his head. Clarifying, "Okay, I thought about it. I've made my decision. I'll be here Sunday."

"Great," Steve sincerely enthused, wanting to hug the boy because that pesky paternal instinct that flowed deep in his veins urged that perhaps the boy didn't get a lot of those at his home. "You'll have a blast!"

Oliver good-naturedly scoffed at the statement and told his boyfriend, "You'll have a migraine by the time it's over."

"Stop," Bucky playfully swatted at the back of Oliver's head. Assuring the older teen, "It's not that bad."

And since Bucky was on Ian's side, Oliver decided not to push his luck. It was clear on his face that he had some questions, but he wasn't going to ruin the relaxed mood of the room.

Kit didn't have those same reservations.

"Does this mean that Ian's family now?" The nine year old innocently asked.

Steve pressed his lips together to keep himself from blurting out a confirmation. Instead, he shared a look with his mate. If it was up to Steve, he'd wrap Ian up in his arms and properly welcome him into their family.

"Yeah," Bucky decided, taking a drink of his hot chocolate, "It means Ian's family."

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag

[elaz-ivero]

It's an Honour to Eclipse | {New WIP} |

[image description: a storefront during midday with the sunlight bleaching giving the photo an orange tint. the glass door has a 'yes we are open sign' on it but the door and windows are behind iron bars. a rainbow is painted on the front of the building, on an angle white text in bold Garamond font reads, 'It's an Honour to Eclipse' beneath it in smaller font, 'A novella' is typed over the image. /end id]

Genre: LGBT +, Young Adult, Mild Mystery

Setting: Wellington, capital city of New Zealand

P.O.V: Third Person, Omniscient

Synopsis: Neveah after leaving university and moving into her first apartment is reinventing herself, discovering the city she lives in, finding the short-cuts, the cheapest restaurants, shaking her head. But when her estranged ex-boyfriend Oka disappears, no one seems invested in his disappearance, no one seems to be looking for the boy she stopped loving and yet his name keeps appearing, turning up in the margins of her life and Neveah is forced to confront the twisted history and secret life of the boy she intended to leave behind.

CW: Religion, drug use, smoking, police violence

[image description: a skyline at dawn, the bottom of the image is cluttered with the tops of colourful houses, hotels, stores and apartment buildings, the sun brings out warm tones hidden in the paint. Above the tops of the buildings, a great blue sky stretches upward and clouds tinged with the yellow of a rising sun. Over the clouds in the centre of the images words in white bold Garamond font that read, 'WIP Beginnings' /end id.]

Frequently my subconscious approaches me with a set of storylines, a character name and a set of random scenes, It's An Honour To Eclipse was a small series of ideas that naturally grew the more I thought about them. I suppose this story came as the result of me moving into a boarding facility in the middle of the city and having to adapt to the fast-paced individualistic world of the great city. My own fear of the housing crisis and the crime rate of a busy city translated neatly into my main character whose whole life surrounds her trying to perfect some form of self-preservation.

The main drive of this story is her relationship or now lack thereof with Oka, a mysterious unfinished boy who drifts in and out of the story. I still don't know where this novella might leave, maybe Oka's captured by an underground secret society of 'face stealers' or people that replace talented local artists. I honestly have no clue but for now, I'm putting it under the vague category of 'mild mystery'. Often, when writing I don't have a firm understanding of my characters or of the ending that is about to surface I follow the flow of expectations and allow my characters personalities and ambitions to drive the story toward its conclusion. Right now Oka takes over the passages, slips into chapters not intended to be given to him, simply because he is a mystery to me and I want to figure out why this boy disappeared and the clues in his behaviour, in the known parts of him.

[image description: a pale arm is turned toward the camera, the cuff of a chunky knit mustard coloured sweater can be seen at the top right-hand corner of the image. At the centre of the image is a coloured tattoo, a renaissance angel holding a branch of baby's breath and wearing a brown and creme-tone cloth himation. In the bottom left-hand corner of the image white bold Garamond text reads, 'Characters' /end id.]

[image description: two images are collaged together, one portion of the image is a close up of a women face she has dark skin and brown eyes, the other portion of the image is another woman on public transit adjacent to a window showing a brick apartment passing by. Slightly central is text in bold white Garamond font that reads, 'Neveah' /end id.]

Neveah, the main character, Spanish and the first female in her family to graduate from university. She's stuck in a cramped apartment and her style consists of what she finds for free on the sidewalk and the brightest clothing at the second-hand opportunity shops. Committed the relationship sin of getting matching tattoos with a boyfriend she couldn't introduce to her parents, a tattoo of the window of their shared apartments in Neveah's there is a sunset in Oka's it's a night full of stars. Neveah is cautious and constantly conscious of how she can improve her situation and herself and tries to best facilitate her own growth.

More points:

Loves sparkling peach and mango juice

Deals with her problems mainly by listening to audiobooks all night and visiting the aquarium to feed the manta rays and stare at fish for hours, at least their coping mechanisms that aren't too harmful.

Neveah has an obligatory shrine to Jesus with the little framed photo...well painting of the son of God sent to her by her parents.

Dangly earrings and platform sneakers are her ish.

[image description: an overexposed photograph of two people, a girl and a boy in a lounge. The girl is sitting up on the couch, a blanket piled over her, one bare leg is extended in front of her. A boy leans against the couch, shirtless and with curly brown hair he looks off into the distance a pillow balanced in his lap. There is a pot plant on a small coffee table in the upper right-hand corner of the image and the ends of some pale curtains fall in the frame at the top of the image. On the bottom left-hand corner text in white bold Garamond font reads, 'Oka', there is texture on the image as though some tape had been laid over the left edge or a rip has been repaired. /end id.]

Oka is a mess, a boy reliant on Neveah's help to get dressed, make the bed, do the groceries. He's tall with brown hair he dyes grey and when he first meets Neveah he's almost quit smoking but crashes back into his addiction when they start dating and every week picks up a bulk box of discontinued unfiltered cigarettes. His dealer likes Neveah and gives her chocolate as a part of the deal and Oka made his living by picking up odd artistic jobs, being a nude model every Thursday, volunteering at an art club and working as a waiter at a local bar. Absolutely hates his Art history degree and will fight their landlord if the rent rises.

More brief points:

Thinks he's super cool for owning a white zippo.

Unironically owns two cowboy hats.

Is actually a pretty good artist but rarely finishes a piece.

Likes ginger drinks and strawberry milk.

Is temporarily nocturnal.

[image description: a wall of framed photographs and paintings, they are organised together in a way that is both scattered and organized. In the bottom right-hand corner there are two lit candles and on the right of an image, a monstera plant is in the corner of the cream-coloured walls. Someone holds a mug in the bottom right-hand corner. In the centre of the image text in bold white Garamond font reads, 'Planning Excerpts. /end id.]

A set of opening lines;

[image description: Over a dark image of pale pink roses growing against a white concrete wall. White text over the image reads, 'For two months all I could think about was diluting detergent- She took the time to change herself, paint thick lines around her eyes and contour muscles she didn't have. She remembered, however, the intricate way that he took up space-" /end id.]

[image description: A city skyline against a greyish blue sky, the building are in tones of brown, red, orange and yellow. In the upper right-hand corner orange text in Garamond font reads, 'Oka took his time, hours to get dressed, hours to eat, every day was half-lived from midday till three hours before midnight.' /end.id]

I see this story changing and developing the more time I put into it but for now, it is made up of its central characters, the colours I associate with the grand city and the mysterious implications of finding someone yourself.

That's an Honour To Eclipse in its rough beginning stages, I'm looking forward to sharing its progress.

-E

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Passing Through

Part One: Looks Like Snow 

A/N: Well. Here I am attempting to write for Ryan Brenner. This started out as a cute little one shot for @banditthewriter ‘s trope challenge, with the prompt of “spilling coffee on a stranger” and then one thing let to another and a whole plot line the length of my arm unfurled and here we are. So. Without further ado, I invite you along on this mile high musical adventure. 

Word Count: 3,862

Warnings: none. it’s fluff. all fluff and nothin but the fluff so help me fluff. 

You’d been awake already when the first few rays of sunlight filtered through the vertical shades, reaching for you like fingers to tangle in your hair. With a sigh and a stretch you tossed the sheets aside and sat up, pinching the bridge of your nose. You’d pulled a double shift down at Jake’s yesterday, trading with Missy so you’d have off today, and you hadn’t gotten in until after 2am. As tired as you were, you knew you wouldn’t be sleeping, not through the night anyway. Too many memories running on a loop, too many songs playing in your head. It’s how it always was on this day. It’s how you knew it always would be. Absently, you ran the overstretched, frayed collar of the old tie dye tee you wore between your thumb and fingers, the soft, threadbare fabric bringing you comfort like it always did.

She’d been something of a hippie, your mom, and while you were growing up you didn’t understand why she couldn’t just make cupcakes for school bake sales or volunteer as your Girl Scout leader, why a carpool had to include sing-a-longs to songs your friends didn’t know, or why she’d show up to parent teacher meetings in ripped denim and layers of long necklaces, hair down and free and wild. But as you’d gotten older, into your college years, you started to understand her better. You appreciated her free spirit, and her encouragement of your own. Yeah sure, from time to time you’d open the fridge and there’d be nothing but a head of lettuce or some obscure ingredients she’d meant to use in a recipe she’d  gotten from her friend who’d just returned from India. Sometimes you’d come home to find her cross legged out on the back porch with a ukulele or guitar, strumming while rusty brown oak leaves fluttered down to stick in her hair, not realizing how chilly it’d gotten until you were draping a crocheted blanket around her shoulders. You’d sit on the edge of the lawn chair, thumping your thigh along with the last bars of whatever tune she was playing, and if you knew the words you’d join in, her teeth flashing in a wide smile as she sang. She was unconventional, creative and carefree. Sometimes that made things difficult, but she’d taught you far more than she’d held you back in any way, taught you far more important lessons than how to make lasagna or what setting on the dryer wouldn’t shrink your sweaters. She’d taught you how to laugh things off and when to say “fuck it”. You missed her every single day. But today you ached a little more. You raked a hand through your long unruly hair- her hair, on your head- and stood from the bed.

By 8:30am you were dressed and had slogged down a cup of coffee. It was late February, but the winter weather in Colorado was as wild and unpredictable as the landscape or the sky. “Yeah, we have all four seasons- sometimes in one day.” You’d heard some form of that phrase since you’d moved out this way. The weather, 300 days of sunshine,  had been a draw for Kevin, and part of the reason he’d chosen the destination. But he was gone and you were here and even though the sun was warm, the air was brisk, and despite the lack of clouds in the cerulean sky, you knew there was always a strong likelihood of snow. You shoved your feet into ankle high brown leather boots before lacing them up over your jeans, grabbed a chartreuse knit hat and stuffed your curls beneath it, and slung your cross-body bag over your your shoulder.

The day was yours, to spend with your thoughts and your memories, and you weren’t going to stay caged inside these empty walls. You cast your eyes over your living room; carpet slightly faded in the spot where the sofa had lived for the last four years, black wrought iron fireplace tools standing at attention next to a hearth that hadn’t been lit in ages, the hook for your keys the only thing that remained hung. You grabbed them, the little pewter elephant charm slipping between your fingers, cold from the draft that came through the front door. This hasn’t been home for a while, you thought, if it ever was at all. Strangely, the thought didn’t bother you. What bothered you was that you didn’t know where home was anymore. Pushing that thought to the back of your mind to unpack another day, you sniffed and adjusted your hat with one fingerless-gloved hand, and headed out.

You took the trail behind your apartment that ran along the South Platte River, a mile or so to the light-rail station in town. You were only one town over from the Denver city-limits, but Littleton felt as small and secluded as any tiny mountain village, and it was one of the things that you both loved and hated about where you were staying- it was too easy to get stuck here. The trail gave way to the town’s main street and you passed Jake’s Brew Bar where Missy would be opening up for you in a few hours, and inTea, the boutique tea shop, and Penzy’s the bulk spice marketplace. Nothing was open yet, storefronts all darkened and sleepy. You walked toward the rail station, the rising sun behind you throwing light at the mountains, shining in their purple majesty. It was a beautiful morning to honor the beautiful memory of your mother, and you would do so by partaking in one of her favorite hobbies- making free music for strangers and expressing your soul in the process. You boarded the light rail and rode it the 5 or so stops to the Denver Convention Center, passing beneath the giant blue bear statue, and turned toward Blake Street, heading for the 16th Street Mall and that painted piano that awaited you- after stopping in at Caribou for an obligatory second cup of java.

You got in line behind two men, one in a sleek charcoal gray suit with a thick, black wool pea coat, cell phone clutched tightly in high- end gloves,  the other carrying a guitar on his back and wearing dark, broken in denim pants and a light brown canvas coat that looked like it had seen more winters than the man who wore it. You smiled as the more casual of the two ordered his drink- a small, black coffee to go. His voice was warm, like cinnamon, and it played into the melody of his surroundings; the hiss of the espresso machine, porcelain mugs clinking together as a twenty-something with headphones on emptied the dishwasher, the bell above the door as another couple of patrons came chattering in from the bright morning. You heard the man’s charming twang as he thanked the barista with a tip of his hat and the jingling sound of a few coins dropping into the jar on the counter. He stepped over to the side of the shop where there was a station set up for milks, sweeteners and other toppings and add-ins, and you heard him humming to himself as he tore open a sugar packet and shook its contents into his coffee.

The suit was barking his order to the girl behind the counter, making sure that she knew that the last time he came to Caribou Coffeehouse, his order was wrong and that if it happened again he wouldn’t be back and he’d make a formal complaint on the corporate website because how hard can it be to follow an order and make a drink? You rolled your eyes and scoffed to yourself. As a bartender, you knew the type. Six figure salary, needs to wear at least four of those figures at all times so that everyone knows where they stand around them, and equates everyone around them to their job title because that’s how they feel about themselves. The contrast between this boardroom bozo and the kind natured music man stirring sugar into his coffee could not have been more stark. You couldn’t be sure, but you thought you caught a smirk from under the hat and behind the patchy beard of the canvas clad stranger as you showed your distaste for the rudeness the suit was showing the barista.

You were up next, the bozo back on the phone as he waited next to you for his complicated order to be filled. You ordered a simple medium coffee with room for milk, and gave the girl a wink of solidarity as you tucked a couple singles into her tip cup. She smiled appreciatively at you and punched your frequent buyers card three extra times so that your next one would be free. You told her to have a nice day, and turned towards the milk station, removing the lid from your cup. But the suit had just been handed his beverage, and he stepped in front of you cutting you off. You tried to catch yourself but you were already in motion, and you collided with the man, spilling most of your coffee on the back of his coat. You gasped and jumped back, trying to keep more of the dark brown liquid from escaping your cup, but it was too late; the damage had been done, and the man stiffened his shoulders before turning around with a scowl. “Are you kidding me?” He spat the words at you, his face going red with anger.

You immediately grabbed a fist full of napkins from the dispenser and thrust them in the direction of the man’s wildly gesturing hands. “I am so sorry, sir,” you said sincerely. He may be a rude asshole but you honestly didn’t mean to throw your coffee at him.

“You can’t watch where you’re going?” he ignored your apology, ignored your offering of white paper napkins, and continued to sneer down at you.

The barista glanced nervously over from where she was helping the two customers who had come in behind you, clearly observing that the encounter was escalating past her paygrade. You waved her off indicating that you were okay and her relieved sigh could be heard over the drip of the new pot she was brewing. “Sir, really, I am sorry. Trust me, I’m just as upset as you are,” you tried to joke with him like you might with a customer at Jake’s. “I needed that coffee a lot more than your coat did.”

“Do you even know what this coat costs?” he asked coldly, removing the jacket to inspect the spill. “More than you make in a month I’d wager.”

“Look, it’s a nice coat. I spilled coffee on it. I’m really sorry. If you’ll let me I’ll pay for the dry cleaning. Here, let me give you my number and-” you were really trying your hardest not to curse the man out, calling on your mom’s ability to kill with kindness. You’d never mastered it like she had, though, and it was taking everything in you.

He scoffed. “Even that would probably be more than you could afford,” he looked you up and down: yesterday’s jeans, mud caked boots, two cable knit sweaters layered over one another and a handmade, multicolored scarf wrapped three times around your neck that matched neither your hat nor your gloves. He wasn’t interested in an apology or an offer to amend things. He only wanted to remind you of how much higher than you he had climbed. You let out a frustrated huff and were about to try one more time, when another pair of mud caked boots appeared in your line of sight.  

“S’cuse me sir, but the lady said she was sorry,” he took a step closer to the suit, closing the lid on his cup. He brought his thumb to his lips to suck a drop of coffee from it and shrugged. “Accidents happen, y’know?” You watched his hand fall back to his side, noticing the inked lines of small tattoos on the digits between knuckles. You gave him a grateful half smile for stepping in, as the two patrons behind you took the long way around the three of you to get to the milk station.

The suit turned to the other man and directed his venom at him. “Mind your business,” he barked.

The other man’s warm spiced eyes narrowed and darkened just a touch, and your breath caught as you watched his tongue dart out of his mouth and back between his lips before he responded. “Pardon me sir, but I’m makin’ this my business. Now, she apologized, so either let her pay for your cleanin’ or move along so these nice people can get their coffee.” He wasn’t aggressive, not by any means, nor did he seem threatening. He was simply sincere, and that sincerity seemed to unsettle the suit. The bozo grumbled under his breath about how he wished his company would move to the other side of the city, away from the bums of the 16th Street Mall, but, throwing one last disgusted look at you and the sincere stranger in front of you, he left the coffeehouse and brought his negativity with him.

The barista passed you another cup of coffee, on the house, and held out a handwritten ticket for a free small coffee to the hero who rid Caribou of that obnoxious asshole, which he accepted with a shy smile, tucking it into an inner pocket of his coat. “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll be back another mornin’ then,” he nodded and the girl smiled brightly before turning back to the line of patrons, all of which had just witnessed the scene and none of whom were sympathetic to bozo’s coffee covered pea coat. He turned back to the small table that he’d been walking towards before getting involved, and you saw a small black plastic flip phone plugged into the wall behind the table. He picked it up and opened it, checking to see how much the battery had charged.

You finished pouring almond milk into your coffee, stirring it with a thin wooden stick before dropping it into the trash and turning towards where the man stood holding his phone. “Hey,” you said with a small grin. He blinked and gave you his attention as soon as the word left your lips, and you were struck by the silence in his soft eyes, by the way that they shone against his slightly tanned, slightly windburnt skin. Oh, wow. You cleared your throat and let out a little laugh. “Hey, um, thanks. That guy was a jerk,” you rolled your eyes and he nodded, smile climbing up one side of his warm face. “You didn’t have to do that. Most people wouldn’t.”

“Don’t mention it,” he answered. “And I did have to do that…” he shook his head. “People like that, they forget,” he closed the phone in his hand with a snap and reached down to unplug the cord, winding it and tucking both items into another inner pocket of his coat.

“Forget what?” you asked, unable to tear your eyes from him.

He looked back up at you as if amazed that you were still there talking to him. His mouth dropped open just a bit before his came back together in a smile. “Forget that they’re no better’n the rest of us.” He dried the spilled coffee on his hands by brushing them off on his pants. “Well,” he adjusted the straps of his guitar case on his shoulders. “You have a nice day, ma’am.”

You spoke your name without realizing it, suddenly overcome with a want to share it with him. He looked at you, eyes shining again as his top lip twitched upwards. “Ryan,” he said, extending his hand. You took it, immediately feeling the callouses and little cuts on his fingers from the abuse of the strings. “Pleasure to meet you.” He dropped your hand too soon and you squeezed it closed, trying to hold onto the feeling of his well-used fingers wrapped around yours.

“Likewise,” you didn’t usually make small talk with people you just bumped into, but something compelled you to keep opening your mouth. Your eyes fell on the neck of the guitar case sticking up over his shoulder. “So, you got a gig somewhere today?” You raised your coffee laden hand to indicate his instrument.

If his eyes shone before they sparkled now and he cast them downward, grin growing as he lifted them back to your face. “Nah, not in so many words,” he looked toward the window, out at the bright blue sky that was just visible over the tops of trees and buildings, at the way the morning light caught the flecks of silicon and metal in the sidewalk, sparkling with the magic of the mundane as people walked over it without noticing. “Just gonna go out there’n play.”

You shook your head and let out a surprised little breath. “What?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.

“It’s just,” you laughed again at the serendipity of it all and heard your mom’s voice as she gushed about how much she loved that word- the stars don’t just align every day, Junebug, she’d say, using her nickname for you, her summer child, so when they do you better take note. “Just... that’s what I came down here to do today, too.” You took a sip of your coffee, the nutty aroma filling your nostrils as the piping hot liquid slid down your throat, warming you from the inside out.

“Yeah?” he asked, beaming at you. “You play?” his eyes darted around as though looking for a guitar or banjo or something that he’d missed. “What do you play?”

You winked. “Piano.”

His smile widened and his curiosity grew. “Piano? You got one in your pocket or somethin’?” He pointed in the general direction of your pockets and you laughed.

“Nah, left my pocket piano at home today,” you answered, patting down your jeans with your free hand as though looking for something that you had misplaced. He chuckled and it was one of the most joyous sounds you’d ever heard. You knew nothing about this man, but you could tell that everything he said, whatever he felt and the things he expressed, all of it was completely genuine, 100% authentic. He seemed incapable of faking a reaction or an emotion, and it was one of the most refreshing interactions you’d ever had in your life.

“Then, where…” he tilted his head and wrinkled his nose to show his confusion.

“Follow me, if you’re curious,” you headed towards the door and he followed, arm coming from behind you to hold it open for you as you stepped outside. You thanked him and he fell into step beside you. You noticed that he kept his eyes up and that they were always flitting from one thing to the next- he’d hear a bird or the beep of a horn and he’d turn in the direction of the sound, always alert and present and eager to absorb what was happening around him, a true artist. “So, you ever play on 16th Street before?” you asked, making conversation as you walked the 4 or so streets down to the garden block.

“Can’t say that I have. It’s my first time in Denver, just got in this mornin’. Heard it was a good spot for music, though.”

“It is,” you answered with an emphatic nod, and he smiled, happy that the information he’d been given had been confirmed. “So you’re not from around here then if this is your first time in Denver,” you stated.

“Nah, just passin’ through,” he said with a shrug. When he lifted his shoulders the light hit his brown hair where it was sticking out from under his cap at the right angle, showing off some golden tones that you knew came from spending so much time under the sun. “How ‘bout you, you from here?”

You thought back to your empty apartment and how you couldn’t call it home. “No,” you said, slightly distracted. “No, I guess you could say I’m passing through, too.” You were thankful to have reached the garden block, a small fenced area with concrete flower boxes that overflowed with color in the spring and summer, metal cafe tables and chairs with chess boards painted on them, and your favorite thing about 16th Street- a shabby, beaten up old upright piano that was painted with different colors and patterns every time you made it down this way. Today it was a deep red with purple swirls and black lettering that read “Denver Makes Music Happen”. You spread your arms wide as you stepped to the side so Ryan could see the piano. “Ta-da,” you announced.

He ran his hand over the top of it, feeling the layers upon layers of paint before attending to the keys. It needed tuning, like it always did, but you smiled as his fingers danced over the ivory. “So you play piano, too, huh?” you asked with a smirk. He looked over to you and nodded, and again you were dumbstruck by his eyes and the quiet calm that seemed to come from them. “Some people get all the talent,” you joked, sitting down at the piano and cracking your knuckles.

He dipped his head as he shrugged the guitar case from his back, sitting on one of the concrete flower boxes and setting the case down by his feet. “I can play the piano,” he said, unbuckling the snaps, “but this is my first love,” he opened the case and the way his eyes lit up with they fell on the shiny wooden guitar made it clear that there was nothing in the world that he loved more. He picked it up gingerly, setting it on his knee, strumming over the strings as you warmed up on the piano. “You…” he removed his hat to run a hand over his hair anxiously before pulling it back over his head. “You wanna play together for a while? I always like meetin’ musicians wherever I go… I like playin’ with people from all different places.” It was an earnest invitation, and you were eager to accept.

You looked up at the sky- still clear and empty- and then turned West, looking down the 16th Street Mall towards the mountains in the distance. Over the jagged tops of the Rockies hung a heavy shelf of cloud that made the sky look closer than it was and meant snow was undoubtedly going to make an appearance at some point, despite the warm sunshine that made you shed one of your two sweaters as you answered him. “Sure,” you started playing a folk song, one your mom used to force on you and your friends growing up that you’d learned to love. “We can play until the weather turns.” You cocked your head towards the snow cloud shelf. “Looks like snow soon.”

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

@something-tofightfor @my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @benbarnestongue @banditthewriter 

please let me know if you want on or off this train (ha ha) 

[haihaipanda]

Summer blockbuster fic drabble

(this is what I was supposed to be writing for Camp NANO but that is not actually happening yet while I work on another fanfic)

THIS SUMMER THESE TWO DUDES LEARN THE HEART IS THE MOST IMPORTANT MUSCLE (ASIDE FROM THE ABS OF BEING KIND)

DWAYNE “THE ROCK” JOHNSON  is an ex-marine space mechanic who just really loves venti half-caf caramel soy macchiatos with extra whip before starting his day. Enter MARK ”VIN DIESEL” SINCLAIR who is a xenolingusitics professor (who secretly just loves poetry) at the local space station’s university. He’s not super picky about coffee, he just needs it hot and by the gallon. He wears hella nerdy sweater vests and glasses (but no bow ties because he is not a fucking moron). How goddamn cute is that, I ask. SO GODDAMN CUTE, The Rock sighs wistfully (wearing, of course, his skintight space mechanic jumpsuit).

One day they cross paths at the space station’s SOULLESS CORPORATE COFFEE SHOP where Vin Diesel is so busy reading poetry and not paying attention he bumps into The Rock and coffee is spilled and there are gasps throughout the coffee shop because these two dudes look like they prescribe to the Toxic Masculinity way of life but the gasps turn from horror to awe when The Rock apologizes a lot and so does Vin Diesel and then Vin Diesel realizes he’s running late to his seminar and bolts with one last apology and The Rock is left staring after this adorable dorky dude, vaguely happy his space mechanic jumpsuit is liquid-and-heat-proof because that was a fuckton of really hot coffee to be spilled all over him.

Of course the humans and aliens at the MECHANIC SHOP tease him for being distracted by a cute dude instead of getting their goddamn coffee and he jumps to be coffee-errand-boy for a while so he gets a chance to see Nerdy Coffee Dude. Obligatory SCARY-FEMALE-MECHANIC sighs because she's The Rock's bestie and he doesn't have the best track record for falling in love and she's cynical about Nerdy Coffee Dude.

MEANWHILE Vin Diesel hardly gets a second to adjust his cute-as-fuck hipster glasses before his class starts so understandably he pushes the Meet Cute to the back of his mind. Because really, he thinks mournfully, why would a hot-as-fuck dude like that be into a nerdy professor like him? Also his coffee mug is painfully empty and he still has to deal with 100+ undergrads. His life is pretty tragic.

CUE ALL THE ANGST AND PINING WHICH IS SO OBVIOUS TO EVERYONE BUT THEM UNTIL…. one day after coffee-stalking (we’re not judging you, The Rock) for like a week The Rock takes a deep breath and taps Vin Diesel on the shoulder and asks about the book he’s reading. THE MOST ADORABLE BLUSH spread across Vin Diesel’s face as he talks about poetry and really The Rock cannot be blamed for not paying attention because goddamn what a cutie. So The Rock blurts out a ‘wanna go for coffee with me sometime’ and they stare at each other awkwardly because, fuck, they’re already *in* a coffee shop… getting coffee. Then the barista sighs (super irritated because the UST is killing her) and saves them from their awkward moment by having their coffees ready.

So they go on A MONTAGE OF CUTE DATES like space walks and to the space gym and to space theater events and to space university faculty events and hold hands nervously and wear scarves and really are so adorable together like what the fuck.

After like six months we get The Rock talking with buddies about asking Vin Diesel to move in with him and like, seriously weighing pros and cons of taking their relationship TO THE NEXT LEVEL while his buddies just roll their eyes and have a side business of taking bets when these two fuckers will get married (the obligatory scary-female-mechanic is the bookie).

Also there’s a space-alien invasion subplot.