THEME

accurate portrayal of midgardians

queerly-it-is:

d’you think the avengers ever play a game where they try to push steve’s buttons and get him all riled up and patriotic?

tony casually throws it into a conversation like “oh yeah I don’t vote” and steve trails off mid-sentence and gapes for a second before he starts in on the importance of the democratic process and how dangerous it can be if citizens give up their say in how the government is run and tony is trying so so hard to keep a straight face

meanwhile bruce is standing in the background timing the speech with his watch because whoever gets the longest rant wins a little trophy that tony made. the current holder of the trophy is clint who managed to convince steve that he doesn’t pay taxes

sizvideos:

To the Boys Who May One Day Date My Daughter - Video


Perhaps there’s a man that you love in the life that you’ve lost.

Perhaps there’s a man that you love in the life that you’ve lost.

agents of sassy » coulson edition

"my heart says yes but bones and spock and their eyebrows keep telling me no"
- james t kirk at some point, probably

bagellie:

benefits of being friends with me

kedoworks:

cute rocks

Blood sticks, sweat drips
Break the lock if it don’t fit
A kick in the teeth is good for some
A kiss with a fist is better than none

"The truth is those male feminists are often seen as being way more brave, and way more valuable than female feminists. I’m kind of tired of that. Because the truth is that as a woman, being a feminist is much more difficult. You’re accused of being crazy. People might even stop being friends with you if you speak out too much. You’re told you should be an “equalist” instead. Because ‘liberation’ is a dirty word (like feminism); it has to about ‘equality’ rather, because
men feel threatened by the word ‘liberation’."
-

On Autonomy and the Role of Men in Feminism, and Women Only Spaces or Events

By Anonymous

UNSW Tharunka, Special Wom*ns Issue

(via prussanic-miscellanea)

daysofxavierspast:

simplyssdd:

The fucking sass… I swear… 

THIS FUCKING CAST I SWEAR TO GOD

apocalypse-patisserie:

cliffnotesofanerd:

so are they EVER going to stop pretending Cas is spelt Cass or

Three weeks after Castiel moves into the bunker, Sam finally starts to look less frazzled. He’s sipping his morning coffee with his feet kicked up at the great table and casually scrolling through the news of the weird on his iPad when Dean wanders out of his room for breakfast. He only gives it a moment’s pause, while tying his robe closed, before he heads to the kitchen. He’s always happy to see when Sam actually looks relaxed in their home.

Cas is already sitting on the bench seat in the kitchen, he’s picking at a bowl of cereal with his spoon and looking slightly… pissed maybe? A little angry and a little sad.

True, it’s not his usual fare. It’s not banana bread, or eggs on toasted sourdough with tomatoes, or big fat muffins with coffee. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen Cas take breakfast so lightly.

"Can’t have it all, I guess," Dean mutters.

Cas looks up. “What?”

"Well, I’ve either got a happy you or a happy Sam, lately. I can’t seem to get both at the same time."

"Oh, yes," Cas gripes uncharitably, "I’m sure Sam’s very happy with himself right now.”

Huh. That’s not like Cas.

Dean rubs the sleep from his eyes and moves into family counselling mode. As soon as he’s poured himself some caffeine and maybe started throwing together something to eat he can—

He opens the fridge to a flurry of color.

It’s packed, as always. They’re three big guys, they go through a lot of food.

But now there’s little post-its fluttering on almost every bag and container and bottle in the refrigerator.

They are neon orange and some of them bright blue, like Sam ran out of the first color half-way through labelling everything. It was definitely Sam who did it, that’s his scrawl across each of the post-its. Different items with SAM and DEAN and CASS stuck to the front.

There are more for Dean than anyone else. He does the shopping, after all, and is sort of self-appointed King of the Kitchen.

There are plenty for Sam and a lot of the post-its with his name are stuck to the frou-frou-tofu crap and light beers that only he would want in the first place.

The fewest are labelled for Castiel.

Dean starts yanking the ones with his name off. “Cas, you can eat any of my stuff you want. Don’t listen to him.”

Cas doesn’t comment. Dean glances over his shoulder to see that Cas is still poking at the frosted biscuits in his bowl.

The mood lightens over breakfast as Dean shares some of his waffles with Cas, but Cas gives Sam a bit of the cold-shoulder for the rest of the day.

Dean pulls his brother aside at one point and tells him that if he’s gotta pull this stupid shit, he should just put post-its on the things of his that he doesn’t want Cas or Dean to touch. Sam shrugs, agrees.

And then, a few days later, another flurry of color as Dean walks into the bathroom.

The bunker has this huge room with showers and sinks, in the style of a gym or something, so they share the space between them.

It seems Sam has been through already this morning. Unfortunately, the humidity from the showers has left most the post-its floating around, face-down on the floor, so the different shave gels and shampoos and hair products and— fuck’s sake, there’s even post-its on the different stacks of towels!

Most of the items are still anonymous since the labels didn’t stick.

Dean’s standing there rolling his eyes for a moment and adding “ban Sam from going to Office Depot” to his mental to-do list when Cas comes up behind him, curious.

He scoots by Dean and picks up a few of the papers — the last of the blue and some new bright green ones — from the floor.

His shoulders slump when he turns them over to reveal three that say DEAN and one that says SAM and one that says CASS.

"This is ridiculous," Cas says, with real spite.

"Yeah. He’s going a little overboard with it," he scoots close and admits in a low voice, "I think he noticed I was stealing his shampoo but it just smells really good.”

Cas sighs.

The final straw seems to come at the end of the week. Dean and Cas come home from the grocery store to find the library littered with green and pink and yellow and purple post-its.

Cas and Sam get into it immediately. It’s kind of disturbing. Cas and Sam are basically the best geek friends that the world’s ever known. They agree on a lot, if not most things, and it’s disquieting to see them chewing each other out over something they love so much.

Cas points at an area of purple post-its. “First of all, Bobby found most of these, and I found all the ones over here! You can’t possibly divide the books between us, Sam! We all need to do research!”

"There are ones I need to reference all the time and you’re always bogarting them in your friggin’ bedroom! I search high and low for ‘em and I can never find them when I need them! And then him!” Sam points at Dean, “getting potato chip grease stains inside the Bergell Charm Directory and stuffing his stupid Hunger Games books into the spell tomes like we don’t know he’s reading them!”

"Hey!" Dean shouts, defensive.

"If you need a book you can ask me where it is, Sam!" Cas yells back.

"I shouldn’t have to ask! It’s—"

They’re very silent for a sudden moment.

Cas glares daggers. “Were you gonna say it’s your library? Is that what you’re getting at Sam Winchester?" he hisses.

Woah. Okay. This is getting scary. Dean steps between them. “No, that’s not what he said. This is DEFINITELY everyone’s library and we ALL have to use it. Both of you just calm down.”

"I’ll calm down when we can find where somebody left the Eymerich Grimorie,” Sam glares through Dean like he wants to open Cas up and see if the book rattles out of him.

"I’ll calm down when Sam learns to respect the people he lives with and stops accusing me of taking his useless crap,” Cas snaps.

Sam’s spine clicks him up to his full height all of a sudden. “If it’s all so useless why do you keep taking it?!”

"Dean was the one who used up your sprouts in a sandwich! He just doesn’t want to admit to knowing what sprouts are!" Cas shouts.

"How did you know that?" Dean’s drowned out by the yelling.

"And I’m not the one who labels a pile of wet towels under some random name because they can’t be bothered to do the laundry until it smells moldy!"

"Random name?" Sam and Dean both echo.

"MY NAME IS CAS!" Cas yells in their faces. He turns and flips a book closed to reveal the last of the stack of purple post-its. "Here, I’ll spell it for you:" and he writes on the post-it in black marker, C-A-S.

He rips it off the stack, turns, and slaps it on Dean’s forehead.

"Sea-aye-ess," Cas spells out, pointing to each letter as if Sam needs specific instruction. "One S. ONLY ONE S. I have no earthly idea where you’re getting that extra S from since there’s only a single S in C a s t i e l ,” he says, slow but loud, like he’s talking to someone who refuses to fucking learn.

"I don’t know any ‘Cass,’ he certainly doesn’t live here or I’m sure I’d have FUCKING MET HIM,” Cas snaps, throws the marker at the table so hard it skids off the other side, and marches away.

Dean crosses his eyes to look up at the post-it stuck above his nose.

Sam continues to look petulant but he knows he got his shit called out on the moldy towel situation. “Fine,” he shrugs stiffly. “One S,” he rolls his eyes like, wow, what’s the big deal.

Dean plucks the post-it off his face. “Hey, there really is only one S in Castiel, I mean, it makes sense.” He stares off in the direction Cas stomped off. “I’m actually pretty proud of him for, like, asserting his identity.”

Sam ticks a frown that would be agreement and admiration if he weren’t still being pissy.

He turns to leave the room, maybe go apologize.
But first he turns back.

"Cas labelled you for himself," he says to Dean. And smirks. And leaves.

Dean turns around the post-it on his thumb. “Huh.”

Atonement (2007) → “Dearest Cecilia, the story can resume.”

kageillusionz:

ang3lsh1:

kageillusionz:

ang3lsh1:

kageillusionz:

ang3lsh1:

kageillusionz:

ang3lsh1:

Maybe one April fools, Charles replaces all the kitchen knives with these. Erik sulks for a week.

Erik chops vegetables BY HAND! ‘Charles doesn’t love me anymore,’ Erik sulks.

Raven howls with laughter when Charles calls to complain that Erik had been refusing to put out because of this. Also all their meals has been of the easy, no need for knives cooking style ie not as tastey or good forbid. Instant.

Erik complains to Azazel that Charles doesn’t love him anymore. He refuses to even *touch* the ceramic knives. As far as Erik is concerned, they are made of lies and slander. Knives should be metal! Azazel, not for the first time in his friendship with Erik, wishes he had a drink in his hand.

Charles retorts that ceramic stays sharper for longer, to which Erik replies knives stay permanently sharp in his hands thanks to his ‘nifty mutation’ (coined by Charles). Charles counters with sometimes he wants to use the kitchen too, okay and sometimes Erik isn’t home to sharpen them. Of course then Erik says the last time he was in the kitchen they had to call the fire department. Charles responds by shutting the apartment door in his face. Erik has to seek refuge at Emma’s only because Azazel refuses to let Erik in under the excuse that he is getting it on with Janos tonight (Janos for the record thinks it may be brilliant, Azazel never, ever wants to see Erik naked, so no go), thank you very much. Emma only let’s him in because his story is hilarious.

Emma lets Erik sob and begrudgingly lets him use the spare bedroom even though she doubts Erik will be staying for very long. She tolerates Erik’s stupidity at the best of times but knows Erik is stupidly in love with Charles that he’ll be out of her house in a few hours and will be sitting outside the apartment, before realizing that he’s a *metallokinetic* and locks don’t stop him. And then they’ll confess and have make-up sex or whatever. Plenty of time to make her date with Moira. Lo and behold, Erik doesn’t disappoint a half hour later.

Charles very thoughtfully sends over a bottle of Dom Perignon 2001 (the bill is charged to Erik’s card, when he says anything Charles retorts that is easier than paying for the dry-cleaning bio Emma was going to send over due to tear-stains in her sheets, Erik knows when to shut up now) as thanks. He includes some very nice white silk ropes as an afterthought. When Erik sulks about that, he kindly reminds him that their bed is metal. Erik decides that he prefers that to silk, very much so. And process to demonstrate.

Eventually they compromise on the ceramic knives. Charles, thoroughly shagged out and plastered to Erik’s naked back with only a bedsheet around his waist, watches as Erik infuses metal along the handle and the back of the blade. Enough that he can use the ceramic knives (with only a measured grumble or two during said times of use). The Dom Perignon goes down very well with Moira on their next date. Emma sends a card along, signing it with a flourish and leans over to kiss Moira’s shoulder. The card eventually makes it to Charles and Erik’s apartment.

kageillusionz:

ang3lsh1:

kageillusionz:

ang3lsh1:

kageillusionz:

ang3lsh1:

kageillusionz:

ang3lsh1:

Maybe one April fools, Charles replaces all the kitchen knives with these. Erik sulks for a week.

Erik chops vegetables BY HAND! ‘Charles doesn’t love me anymore,’ Erik sulks.

Raven howls with laughter when Charles calls to complain that Erik had been refusing to put out because of this. Also all their meals has been of the easy, no need for knives cooking style ie not as tastey or good forbid. Instant.

Erik complains to Azazel that Charles doesn’t love him anymore. He refuses to even *touch* the ceramic knives. As far as Erik is concerned, they are made of lies and slander. Knives should be metal! Azazel, not for the first time in his friendship with Erik, wishes he had a drink in his hand.

Charles retorts that ceramic stays sharper for longer, to which Erik replies knives stay permanently sharp in his hands thanks to his ‘nifty mutation’ (coined by Charles). Charles counters with sometimes he wants to use the kitchen too, okay and sometimes Erik isn’t home to sharpen them. Of course then Erik says the last time he was in the kitchen they had to call the fire department. Charles responds by shutting the apartment door in his face. Erik has to seek refuge at Emma’s only because Azazel refuses to let Erik in under the excuse that he is getting it on with Janos tonight (Janos for the record thinks it may be brilliant, Azazel never, ever wants to see Erik naked, so no go), thank you very much. Emma only let’s him in because his story is hilarious.

Emma lets Erik sob and begrudgingly lets him use the spare bedroom even though she doubts Erik will be staying for very long. She tolerates Erik’s stupidity at the best of times but knows Erik is stupidly in love with Charles that he’ll be out of her house in a few hours and will be sitting outside the apartment, before realizing that he’s a *metallokinetic* and locks don’t stop him. And then they’ll confess and have make-up sex or whatever. Plenty of time to make her date with Moira. Lo and behold, Erik doesn’t disappoint a half hour later.

Charles very thoughtfully sends over a bottle of Dom Perignon 2001 (the bill is charged to Erik’s card, when he says anything Charles retorts that is easier than paying for the dry-cleaning bio Emma was going to send over due to tear-stains in her sheets, Erik knows when to shut up now) as thanks. He includes some very nice white silk ropes as an afterthought. When Erik sulks about that, he kindly reminds him that their bed is metal. Erik decides that he prefers that to silk, very much so. And process to demonstrate.

Eventually they compromise on the ceramic knives. Charles, thoroughly shagged out and plastered to Erik’s naked back with only a bedsheet around his waist, watches as Erik infuses metal along the handle and the back of the blade. Enough that he can use the ceramic knives (with only a measured grumble or two during said times of use).
The Dom Perignon goes down very well with Moira on their next date. Emma sends a card along, signing it with a flourish and leans over to kiss Moira’s shoulder. The card eventually makes it to Charles and Erik’s apartment.