sorry buff

8

susan/frieda + strength

shiro (about matt): he thinks he’s so tough just because he has big muscles

pidge: they’re not really muscles. i’ll tell you a secret: under his uniform, he wears foam rubber shoulder pads

shiro: *gasps*

6

Night animals

4

don’t play with alien flowers they might have fashion sense

4

@shir-oh-no Shance Boxer AU

6

“Fortunate Son” from Ao3 by @anna-droid
didn’t draw this from the actual fic but i enjoyed reading it

anonymous asked:

Steve fic based around this button? i(.)ebayimg(.)com/images/g/MDkAAOSwt0FZCocL/s-l500(.)jpg

Steve didn’t think something as small and inconsequential would have lasted. But there it was in a box of effects that Becca had given him (there was a shirt and a scrap of paper Steve had drawn the skyline on for Bucky and some letters with Bucky’s deliberate, heavy handwriting).  

I gave my share inside a faded red heart and the year – 1928.

**

He’d been ten, at the time, breathing reedy and limbs thin.  He was picking himself up from a scrap, (Bucky would be back for Steve once he’d properly run the other boys off), when he saw it, shiny and entirely not trash behind the barrel.

Fifty cents.  A whole fifty cents and Steve couldn’t believe it.  He and Bucky could split something at the diner, maybe.  

He thought of what his Ma had said about fortune and some people not having any, had thought of the fight he was in – the little girl was gone but her shoes still had holes in them bigger than Steve’s.  

When Bucky returned, Steve had pocketed the quarters and was dusting himself off.   

“Your Ma is gonna kill me.  Lookit you.”  

“We gotta make a stop on the way, Buck.”  

Bucky glared and Steve returned it, neither having the energy for anything more.  

Bucky sighed.  “Fine.”

Steve marched them straight to the Red Cross and donated the fifty cents he’d found, and the woman at the desk – kind-faced and eyes full of something Steve couldn’t describe – gave him a pin.  I gave my share, it said.  

He pinned it on his shirt and his Ma – when he stepped through the door at home she didn’t mention his bruises or the bleeding, but she saw his pin and smiled so wide, Steve thought her cheeks might ache.  

**

Steve left the pin in the box, needing to find a place that would be safe but visible for him to keep it.  It made him think of his Ma and Bucky and Erskine; on those days he questioned himself and his purpose, it helped him to think of his ten-year-old self, reassure himself that boy, that boy who wanted to give, was still in there.