and everyone else apparently

anonymous asked:

I know Steve gets in a lot of dumb fights now, but what was the stupidest fight he got into pre-serum?

we grew up mostly during the prohibition, when alcohol was illegal. i mean, it was still pretty easy to get your hands on some, because people like alcohol, but most of it tasted awful, because it was home-brewed to be as strong as possible.
anyway, stevie and i got a bit of some really terrible hooch and squirreled ourselves away to get drunk. it took steve about four drinks to be totally wasted, and it turns out steve is a pretty entertaining drunk, with crazy fast mood swings and a tendency to want to touch things, just to see how they felt. he was wandering around the apartment trying to figure out if dark colors or light colors felt better, and he wanted to see if my hair–a nice dark color, versus his light blonde–felt nice. so i let him run his hand over the top of my head, and i was teasing him because he had all the fine motor control of a baby, so he’d made a mess of my hair. i think i said something like ‘my hair’s terrible now, stevie, and now nobodys gonna respect me’ and steve went ‘NO!! you have nice hair bucky your hair is GREAT it is SO GREAT.’ which was nice of him, because my hair really was a mess.

 and then he punched me.

he punched me several times. 

drunk steve is not much of a brawler so he didnt do much damage before i tipped him over and sat on him. it wasnt much of a fight. but if youre looking for stupid, attacking me to defend my own hair is probably one for the history books.

sometimes i miss wee steve, because big steve thinks my hair is ridiculous. i bet if tiny drunk steve were around, hed try and fight captain america to defend my hair’s honor. now that’d be a fight worth watching

9

I can’t see Albus willingly walking into Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, even for Scorpius, so instead I like to think he stole his brother’s invisibility cloak and whisked Scorpius away on a late night date to the lake. It included a picnic (which was 100% sweets and cakes) and stargazing, because sometimes the most magical moments require no magic at all ♥︎

My Visit to Trump’s Washington

I spent much of this past week in Washington – talking with friends still in government, former colleagues, high-ranking Democrats, a few Republican pundits, and some members of Congress from both sides of the aisle. It was my first visit to our nation’s capital since Trump became president.

My verdict:

1. Washington is more divided, angry, bewildered, and fearful – than I’ve ever seen it.

2. The angry divisions aren’t just Democrats versus Republicans. Rancor is also exploding inside the Republican Party.

3. Republicans (and their patrons in big business) no longer believe Trump will give them cover to do what they want to do. They’re becoming afraid Trump is genuinely nuts, and he’ll pull the party down with him.

4. Many Republicans are also angry at Paul Ryan, whose replacement bill for Obamacare is considered by almost everyone on Capitol Hill to be incredibly dumb.

5. I didn’t talk with anyone inside the White House, but several who have had dealings with it called it a cesspool of intrigue and fear. Apparently everyone working there hates and distrusts everyone else.

6. The Washington foreign policy establishment – both Republican and Democrat – is deeply worried about what’s happening to American foreign policy, and the worldwide perception of America being loony and rudderless. They think Trump is legitimizing far-right movements around the world.

7. Long-time civil servants are getting ready to bail. If they’re close to retirement they’re already halfway out the door. Many in their 30s and 40s are in panic mode.

8. Republican pundits think Bannon is even more unhinged than Trump, seeking to destroy democracy as we’ve known it.

9. Despite all this, no one I talked with thought a Trump impeachment likely, at least not any time soon – unless there’s a smoking gun showing Trump’s involvement in Russia’s intrusion into the election.

10. Many people asked, bewilderedly, “how did this [Trump] happen?” When I suggest it had a lot to do with the 35-year-long decline of incomes of the bottom 60 percent; the growing sense, ever since the Wall Street bailout, that the game is rigged; and the utter failure of both Republicans and Democrats to reverse these trends – they gave me blank stares.

10

philiplukas  +  hands
(episodes one to three)

[caption: ten gifs of philip and lukas from eyewitness. each is a different shot of their hands on each other.]

7

YOI @ Namjatown (non-food pics)!

They had a nice big poster + Makkachin <3

On March 24th, they added a new game, “Yuuri’s Hug Hug Competition.” Lined up super early before opening so I could take a shot before prizes ran out. As u can sorta see from the last photo (taken from Namjatown’s official twitter, all other photos are my own), the game goes like this: You can buy up to 5 tries every time you go up (which is not often; you gotta get a ticket that tells you what time to come back, usually several hours later there were so many people). For each try, the nice ladies will give you a lil ball which you can place anywhere on the ramp to the right. You let go of the ball, it swings onto the slope and bounces off the lil stoppers and falls into one of the slots at the bottom, each of which has a character (the person Yuuri “hugs”) and a letter A-D. There’s only one A (Victor), and increasingly more of the lower prizes (most D), which obviously means you have to be incredibly lucky to get A and most people get a lot of the other letters. A prize is a tote bag, B prize is a charm, C prize is a button, and D prize is a random sticker (all others you can choose your character, which is why some characters ran out faster than others). It’s supposed to be mostly luck bc of the knockers and the fact you have to place the ball on the ramp so you can’t really tell it to go anywhere….

….but apparently I had amazing freakin luck or there is some skill involved bc

I got A prize twice in 8 tries ^v^)b So top tote is Yuuri + Vic + Chris (was out of stock later in the day), bottom tote has Phichit + Yurio + Otabek. All in all, a very successful day <3

I love badass DJ!Otabek, but everyone, please take a moment to consider World’s Worst DJ™ Otabek Altin, who gets by DJ-ing for events because: 

  1. being Kazakhstan’s Hero comes with a pretty large fanbase, and
  2. Yuri Plisetsky is terrifying, and no-one really knows how to say no without the risk of getting injured by the knife shoes he brings to all of Otabek’s raves “just in case”.
On Your Left - Thomas

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Thomas/Reader

Word Count: 4754

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Kinky Thomas, Orgasm Denial, Oral (both receiving), Choking, Captain America quotes hidden throughout 

Notes: This is what happens when I ask the girls what they want me to write next. They say “Write Thomas! Make it kinky!” 

Keep reading

3

Matsuda Hiro (Ikejiri) popped into Haikyuu rehearsals today!

One time a bunch of kids were singing happy birthday at lunch and literally every lunch Mom and one of our principals came running like a SWAT team and made them all go to the office because apparently they were being “Disruptive” and “Inconsiderate” to everyone else who had their birthday today so of course the next day everyone in every lunch hour sang happy birthday to no one but instead of just singing one hour brought in like 3 Bluetooth speakers and blasted the actual song while singing alone and another class slammed their hands down on the tables while signing and one class… They had a flash mob…. The horror and disgust by the adults was worth it all

Dating Cassian Andor Would Include
  • Cassian not directly confessing to you
  • In fact, for a good while you didn’t have any inkling of an idea that he even liked you in the first place
    • He chided at you for not shooting straight enough at practice targets and scolded you about being safe whenever you did anything even remotely reckless during a training exercise
    • Wasn’t he like this with everyone else?
      • Actually, apparently not: according to K2, there was just enough recognition of difference in his actions for him to be confident that Cassian did, indeed, have feelings for you
      • This was only furthered by the fact that K2 would catch Cassian glancing at you “57% more than he did with any other person on base.“

Keep reading

“i didn’t know i couldn’t use your resources with adfly”

are u sure?

like, really sure?

like, suuuuuper sure?? cuz i have some fuckin doubts, my guy.

Painting meatballs

For @copperbadge: Sounds like you could use some cheering up this week. :) 


Most days, being a superhero did not pay off. He’d been chased through probably twenty miles of tunnel, managed to drop his last nine arrows down an open manhole (who just leaves manholes open?), and it was only by the grace of his fingertips that he hadn’t gone down after them. He’d forgotten to go grocery shopping, he had a headache from somewhere south of hell, and he was almost hungry enough to share a bowl of Kibbles ‘N’ Bits with Lucky and call it a night.

“Happy freaking birthday to me,” he grumbled as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment. By the time he realized that his keys had apparently gone the way of the arrows, he didn’t even have enough frustration left in him to swear. He dropped his head forward, hitting the door about ten million times harder than he’d meant to, and jerked away with both hands over his forehead.

He definitely didn’t think anyone could blame him for being a tiny bit slow to react when his apartment door opened by itself, but he did manage to have a knife up by the time the interloper leaned around the doorway.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him. “Is that a sharpened butter knife?”

Clint glowered at her and slid the blade back into his boot – one of only three, but his count, that hadn’t ended up buried in some guy’s thigh, or washed away in Shit River. “I had to improvise,” he defended. “Why are you in my apartment?”

The other eyebrow quirked up to join the first. “Why are you not in your apartment? Also, you smell like sewage.”

“Long story.”

She tipped her head to the left to examine him, and maybe he was projecting or something else that the group home counselor would have said was unhealthy, but he was positive she could see right through the smarting mark on his head and read his mind. Without a word, she stepped back to hold the door open and gestured inside with one hand.

“I’ll get you a beer.”

“Don’t have any,” Clint muttered. He had about half a bottle of Nat’s shitty vodka somewhere, though he’d used the whiskey for antiseptic the week before.

“Good thing Jan knows how to throw a party,” she said. Her smile softened slightly and she gestured in again. “Though Tony thought jumping out and yelling ‘surprise’ was a smart idea for all of twenty-two seconds.”

Clint shuddered just imagining the heart attack he would have had if he’d opened the door and yelling had been the result. He was suddenly grateful that he’d lost his keys – he’d forgotten all about Stark’s threatened birthday party, and he was more than a little surprised that everyone else had apparently remembered. Now that he was paying attention like an ex-assassin and current masked superhero with poor apartment security and lots of enemies should be, he could hear the faint chatter of about half a dozen people and the subtle clinking of forks on plates.

He glanced at the door and then over to the elevator. “Maybe I should just go get some chips or something.”

Natasha shrugged. “If you want. But your meatballs will probably be cold by the time you get back.”

Clint’s stomach emitted a loud snarl, and his mouth instantly flooded with saliva. Nat might have been kinder than most people gave her credit for, but she still laughed at him as he stood rooted to the spot, doing a good impression of a meatball-zombie. 

“Please tell me they’re not those bullshit fancy meatless-meatballs or whatever Pepper had A Thing about,” he begged.

“Nope, they’re the cheap frozen meatballs you get out of a bag and dump in the oven.”

He could have kissed her. He definitely did moan, “My favorite.”

His apartment had been cleaned, and it smelled like Pinesol and sweet sweet processed meatballs fresh from the oven. Every lamp he owned had been moved into the living room, which had apparently not been enough, because there was an Iron Man suit standing in the corner and glowing like a six-and-a-half-foot art deco lamp.

“Surprise?” Tony offered, from the kitchen, and Holy Patron Saint of I’m never letting you live this down, was wearing a bright yellow apron liberally splashed with hearts and smiling sunflowers, a matching pair of oven mitts, and a lime green party hat.

“Why are you like this?” Clint blurted out with a laugh.

“Laugh all you want,” Tony said, setting down a tray of freshly cooked previously frozen guaranteed delicious meatballs so he could point at Clint with one bemittened hand. His eyes transferred over Clint’s shoulder and he nodded faintly. “But I’m leaving this here when I go. You can thank Jan.”

“Happy birthday!” Jan said as soon as Clint turned to face her, looking like she was ready to burst. “I really want to hug you, but you have been out doing things that got you a little too close to a sewer. Air hug!” She announced and crossed her arms over her own chest, squeezing hard and twisting side-to-side.

It looked like a really nice hug, and Clint was even sorrier about the damned sewer. He looked between his bathroom door and the piles of warm meatballs, and made a noise that he normally would have blamed on Lucky, but Lucky was on his back in the middle of the living room, shamelessly soaking up the belly rubs from Thor and getting his muzzle petted by Steve.

Natasha pushed past him to the kitchen, piled a dozen meatballs on a purple plate with the Hawkeye symbol stamped in the middle, and nudged him away with one finger. “They should be cooled down by the time you wash your hands. Go!”

Clint eagerly took the plate, leaned over, and lipped one of the meatballs right off the top. He tried to smirk at her, but was too busy sucking air in around the molten mouthful as she pushed him toward his bedroom.

~*~

Despite orders to the contrary, Clint had devoured the plate of meatballs before his shower, and he felt less likely to gnaw someone’s arm off by the time he made it back to the living room. A long folding table had been wedged between the couch and the bar, and it looked like Jan had dumped the entire Hawkeye section of Party City on top of it. It was cheesy, and stupid, and perfect. He stood in the doorway for a second to just look it over – they were all pretending that he wasn’t staring at them, and that was what good friends were for when you just got off of a Hell Week leading into Nightmare Night. Lucky was up on his back legs so he could have his front paw on Tony’s lap and was doing his damndest to get at the mountain of meatballs in the center of the table.

“I’m not feeding you,” Tony told the dog seriously, but his hand was wrapped around Lucky’s ribs to rub at his belly. “Seriously, have I ever fed a single thing in your entire life? Why don’t you go to climb in Steve’s lap? He’s a dog person, and I know for sure that he’s fed you at least once tonight.”

“That was just a treat, Tony,” Steve protested.

“He said the word treat,” Tony told Lucky, which just got him a messy kiss across the cheek and Tony leaning comically sideways in the chair to in a vain attempt to avoid it.

“Just push him away,” Clint suggested, stepping into the living room and climbing over the couch to get the open chair.

Tony gave him a frankly scandalized look, but turned back to Lucky to say, “You’re not getting anywhere with this. I am immune to canine flattery.”

“Not all canine flattery,” Natasha muttered, and for some unfathomable reason, Steve blushed and kicked her under the table. Natasha neatly dodged, and held an open beer out for Clint, so cold that it had mist curling out of the neck and droplets running down the sides.

“I love you,” Clint told her very seriously.

“I know,” she answered.

He swallowed about half of it before pressing the cold bottle gently to his forehead and rolling it back and forth. This was the life – why did he not have a million roommates again? He set the bottle aside and looked down to realize that what he’d mistaken for plates were actually large plastic painter’s pallets with little cups of “paint” set around the edges. There was a bright purple cup of paintbrushes sitting opposite his beer, and a stack of napkins with the Avengers Assemble cartoon Hawkeye at his elbow.

Jan leaned forward to explain, but Clint just shoved his finger in the yellow paint and licked it off – spicy mustard, the kind he got at Chinese restaurants and poured over everything.

“Or you could just do that,” Jan finished, laughing. “It was Steve’s idea.”

“This,” Clint said, snagging a meatball off the pile and a paintbrush, “Is the best birthday idea ever.”

Jan nudged Tony, who was still not-really fending off Lucky’s affectionate begging. “And you wanted to bring wine,” she scoffed.

Clint had three painted meatballs stuffed in his mouth when Jan climbed out of her chair and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She leaned over to press their cheeks together and squeezed hard, rocking him gently side-to-side.

“Happy birthday.”

“’appy meathba’ ‘ay,” Clint corrected, but he reached up to squeeze her wrist and leaned back against her.

Maybe he was just imagining it or something, but it seemed like his headache was gone.