im sick of literally every trend teenage girls partake in being mocked like first its girls who take pics of their starbucks and wear ugg boots then its girls who like indie music and wear vintage clothing then girls who like pop punk and wear vans and a flannel around their waist and now people are mocking girls who wear mom jeans and mustard kanken backpacks and have moleskin journals like can we just let teenage girls LIVE and let them do shit they want to do like seriously
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Sparks and curses flew. Tony blew on a singed fingertip while Barnes zoned out staring at the wall. When it was over, Tony gave the arm a pat. Barnes slumped, pale, sweaty and breathing hard. After the grueling painful afternoon, instead of retreating to his room to recover, Bucky stayed.
Unmoving, he remained in the workshop chair while the music played on and Tony turned to other things. Tables of half completed projects sat littered with tools and metal scraps. Sweeping debris from a table, Tony stretched out a wiring harness. In a running commentary, Tony informed Bucky it was from a 67 stingray. Bucky, still and quiet watched.
The next day, Bucky returned to his rolling chair in the sidelines. Around lunch time, Steve appeared with takeout for everyone.
It became a regular thing. Bucky would sit in the workshop and watch Tony build. Steve would bring lunch. One day, as Tony wolfed down a burger and Steve sipped his shake, Bucky lingered over the Stingray. He ran his right hand over the hood, stroking the flawless glossy finish. Out of the blue he says “Why don’t they fly?”
Tony barked out a laugh, almost choking on his burger as Steve paused, straw near his lip. “He’s right, Tony. Why don’t they fly?”
“Both of you. Out of my workshop.” Tony stood and ushered them from the room, stealing Steve’s shake in the process.
Later, Tony found Steve alone in the main common room watching a movie. Barnes was suspiciously missing. Slipping off, he called up tower schematics and found Barnes creeping between the vehicles of Tony’s fleet. At an immaculate mustang, he dropped and slid under it. Stretching his arm up, Barnes reached into the axle to feel around.
Using the booming loudspeaker, Tony barked “Get your hand out of there!”
Bucky jumped. Tony winced. That would leave a bruise. It would have given him a concussion if he wasn’t a super soldier.
Passing back through the common room, Tony reached into the fridge for a fruit smoothie. Steve and Bucky sat facing each other on the couch. Tony tried to ignore the angry looks Steve kept passing his way. Holding a wad of gauze, Steve’s steady hands continued bandaging a gash on Bucky’s temple.
Retreating back to his workshop, Tony was up to his elbows inside a jetpack when he noticed Steve leaning on the door frame. Steve’s arms were crossed. He had his unsmiling, serious face on.
“Okay, Tony. Is this a game?”
“I don’t know what you want Rogers, but I have things to do.”
When Tony looked up again, Steve was gone.
Tony thought they would have moved on to other things. But, that did not happen. Any time Bucky slipped into the workshop he mentioned flying cars at least once.
Two weeks later, Tony had a gooey alien wrapped around his ankle. His thrusters were maxed out, trying to keep from being sucked into the oozing purple lump. Hawkeye rained arrows from above. Shafts sunk deep into the purple blob. An arrow plinked off of Tony’s armor. That was the third one. Clint was doing that on purpose.
Steve’s shield whipped through the air and Tony broke free. A few more blasts, and the aliens melted into purple puddles, seeping into the grass. Steve paused as Maria Hill pulled up in a red convertible, top down. Tony watched Steve’s eyes narrow at the car. His wheels were turning. Tony stepped closer to get a good look at Steve’s face. Hill yelled out, “Hop in, we have more aliens in Jersey.” Steve jumped into the back. Before Hawkeye could get seated, the thing lifted off. Hawkeye tumbled into Steve’s lap as the car streaked into the sky. Tony was ticked. Weeks deep into this, and Clint blocked Tony’s view. After untangling from Clint, Steve practically fell out leaning towards Tony. He pointed and yelled “Tony! You lied!”
Tony followed right behind the flying car as they zipped past the top of the tower. He got a good look at Barnes reaction. Pounding on the tower window, Barnes yelled “I knew it!” and gave him the finger.
STORY TIME:
I work in a decent sized, local, indie bookstore. It’s a great job 99% of the time and a lot of our customers are pretty neat people. Any who, middle of the day this little old lady comes up. She’s lovably kooky. She effuses how much she loves the store and how she wishes she could spend more time in it but her husband is waiting in the car (OH! I BETTER BUY HIM SOME CHOCOLATE!), she piles a bunch of art supplies on the counter and then stops and tells me how my bangs are beautiful and remind her of the ocean (“Wooooosh” she says, making a wave gesture with her hand)
Ok. I think to myself. Awesomely happy, weird little old ladies are my favorite kind of customer. They’re thrilled about everything and they’re comfortably bananas. I can have a good time with this one. So we chat and it’s nice.
Then this kid, who’s been up my counter a few times to gather his school textbooks, comes up in line behind her (we’re connected to a major university in the city so we have a lot of harried students pass through). She turns around to him and, out of nowhere, demands that he put his textbooks on the counter. He’s confused but she explains that she’s going to buy his textbooks.
He goes sheetrock white. He refuses and adamantly insists that she can’t do that. It’s like, $400 worth of textbooks. She, this tiny old woman, bodily takes them out of her hands, throws them on the counter and turns to me with a intense stare and tells me to put them on her bill. The kid at this point is practically in tears. He’s confused and shocked and grateful. Then she turns to him and says “you need chocolate.” She starts grabbing handfuls of chocolates and putting them in her pile.
He keeps asking her “why are you doing this?” She responds “Do you like Harry Potter?“ and throws a copy of the new Cursed Child on the pile too.
Finally she’s done and I ring her up for a crazy amount of money. She pays and asks me to please give the kid a few bags for his stuff. While I’m bagging up her merchandise the kid hugs her. We’re both telling her how amazing she is and what an awesome thing she’s done. She turns to both of us and says probably one of the most profound, unscripted things I’ve ever had someone say:
“It’s important to be kind. You can’t know all the times that you’ve hurt people in tiny, significant ways. It’s easy to be cruel without meaning to be. There’s nothing you can do about that. But you can choose to be kind. Be kind.”
The kid thanks her again and leaves. I tell her again how awesome she is. She’s staring out the door after him and says to me: “My son is a homeless meth addict. I don’t know what I did. I see that boy and I see the man my son could have been if someone had chosen to be kind to him at just the right time.”
I’ve bagged up all her stuff and at this point am super awkward and feel like I should say something but I don’t know what. Then she turns to me and says: I wish I could have bangs like that but my darn hair is just too curly.“ And leaves.
And that is the story of the best customer I’ve ever had. Be kind to somebody today.
I didn’t reblog earlier.
So I am now.
Be kind. It’s worth the effort.
Y’know what would be a cool idea? Taking the commonly-accepted fantasy races and swapping around their domains and associations. Just to shake things up a bit.
Elves as subterranean builders and miners, spindly and pale from the lack of sunlight and with a highly developed sense of hearing, even to the point of echolocation, to get around in places with zero light. Talented craftsmen with small, precise fingers, masters of prosthetic technology because it’s all too easy for a delicate limb to get snagged in machinery or crushed in a cave-in.
Dwarves that are mountain and alpine-forest dwelling herdsmen, sturdy against the extreme climate. They pride themselves on the understanding that they know what’s important and are some of the best cavalry around- even able to tame and forge agreements with the big cats that wander the area. With solid legs and powerful shoulders from running up slopes or rappelling down them after stray lambs. Lowland dwarves that are seafarers, as surefooted on the rigging of a tossing ship as their mountain cousins are on the slopes.
Goblins and orcs that are city-builders and empire-makers, architects that build walled citadels and metropolises, the diplomats that pull the other races together and reap the profits in the form of the most trade agreements. Building roads to link settlements together and guarding them with rigorously trained and well-outfitted soldiers. Wealthy orc merchants who flaunt status with painstakingly etched tusks, inlaid with gold or precious minerals.
So you wanna study, but somehow the mood just isn’t right. Maybe try these? Pick your favorite, or do one each day of the week!
Don’t worry about doing any of these exactly, these are just moods! Mix and match parts of them, make your own, whatever. I’d recommend choosing one or two moods that work really well for you and then doing them consistently, just to really get in the habit.
Good luck!
Love this!
The Dregs driving
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inacatastrophicmind