Meanderings

bblackwidow:

bblackwidow:

how did steve and nat walk around that mall with just a hoodie and not get recognized i mean if i was in that mall i would have been like “do you smell that? i smell freedom. i smell steve rogers”

[eagle screeches in the background]

It was the Clark Kent effect - Steve was wearing dorky glasses and thus unrecognizable.  :)

overnight-shipping:

camerapits:

noobtheloser:

quotes-n-hoes:

This is an ancient Roman amulet for luck. Yes those are flying penises.

Also of note, the Roman god of marriage, Mutunus Tutunus, whose name is derived from two Latin slang words for penis. His name is essentially Dick Wiener. If you have ever wondered just how much like us the Romans were, read the etymology section. 

Oh look.
It’s a flying fuck.
It used to be given, and now look, it’s no more.

LITERALLY. A FLYING FUCK.

Phalloi!

overnight-shipping:

camerapits:

noobtheloser:

quotes-n-hoes:

This is an ancient Roman amulet for luck. Yes those are flying penises.

Also of note, the Roman god of marriage, Mutunus Tutunus, whose name is derived from two Latin slang words for penis. His name is essentially Dick Wiener. If you have ever wondered just how much like us the Romans were, read the etymology section

Oh look.

It’s a flying fuck.

It used to be given, and now look, it’s no more.

LITERALLY. A FLYING FUCK.

Phalloi!

theappleppielifestyle:

ofgeography:

nobody does panic like chandler bing (source)

(i’m so sorry in advance but come on how could i NOT stevetony this)

So it’s breakfast in Avengers Tower, and everyone’s caught up in their own thing- Bruce is arguing halfheartedly with Tony about their latest potentially lethal science experiment, Natasha is sipping her tea with one of her feet over Clint’s lap, Thor is paying attention to no-one but his beloved cereal, and Steve is finishing up with his scrambled eggs.

Steve has to go into SHIELD, and he’s kind of rushed his way through breakfast, scarfing it down tiredly. He puts his dishes in the sink and says, “Okay, bye guys,” and gets several weary grunts in return.

He hasn’t had enough sleep, the coffee hasn’t hit his system yet, and he’s thinking about paperwork, so he’s on autopilot when he pads to Tony’s side, bends down and kisses him goodbye.

For a second it’s fine, it’s normal, they’ve kissed a hundred times over and Tony goes with it with a pleased hum before turning back to Bruce, who is staring, and then it hits him.

Steve is already freezing in place by the time Tony whirls around in his seat with almost comically wide eyes, and a glance around confirms that yes, everyone is indeed staring at them. Thor has his spoon halfway to his mouth, milk dripping back into the bowl as Steve’s brain goes into hyperdrive.

Steve thinks, shit, which he supposes is a sensible thing to think after you’ve just kissed the man who has been your secret boyfriend for the past three months.

Mostly out of the voice in his head chanting shitshitshit, he goes into parade rest.

Tony is still staring at him along with everyone else, and Steve has this moment of absurd calm through the panic as he straightens up. He’s fought Nazis. He’s decapitated vampires. He’s saved the world twelve times now.

Steve Rogers is a master tactician who, despite what people may think, can lie his way through things as good as the next guy. He can do this.

All eyes still on him, Steve bends again. “Bruce,” he says in the same tone he had said ‘bye’ before, and then kisses him full on the mouth, closing his eyes out of politeness. He thinks he hears a squeak from beside him, like Tony’s trying not to choke.

Steve doesn’t look at him lest he starts hyperventilating, and keeps a straight face that he usually associates with blind panic as he bends again to kiss Thor, who, unlike Bruce, actually kisses back. It’s okay, a bit too bristly for Steve’s taste.

"Good to have you back," Steve says as he pulls away.

Complete silence reigns as Steve makes his way around the table- “Clint,” another kiss to a face who obviously thinks this is a weird dream, and then Steve hesitates before saying, “Tasha,” and kissing her on the forehead, which he considers a very wise choice. The last thing he needs is to show up to work with three stab marks from where she shoved a knife into his hand.

"Always a pleasure," he intones before stepping back, nodding to them all, and leaving.

If it weren’t for his super hearing, he probably wouldn’t be able to hear Clint say, “Okay, what the FUCK,” when he makes it halfway down the hall.

I cannot count the number of ways I love this.

There are a lot of things I am meh about regarding this movie.  However, the cinematography wasn’t even something I’d considered and now I’m impressed by it.

knitmeapony:

jennifergearing:

instructables:

Fiber Optic Dress by Natalina

celria
OMG YOU NEED TO OWN THIS

….. I bet I could make that.

WANT!

destronomics:

dancys:

Would you rather… [x]

jackson thought this shit through.

ursulavernon:

I was supposed to be working, but there was a thing going to draw yourself as a pokemon trainer, and…well…I’m weak.
Poke-verse Ursula is a gardener who grows Grass-type pokemon in an effort to attract provide rare Bird and Insect types with a safe haven during migration. (That these occasionally chew holes in the Oddishes is, after all, the reason she grew them in the first place. Fortunately Oddishes respond well to pruning and many sport punk haircuts as a result.)She writes a regular gardening column “Beyond Butterfree: Habitat Gardening For Less-Charismatic Pokemon.”She is prone to collaring strangers at parties to inform them that Tall Grass has declined in the last century to unsustainable levels. “Do you realize that less than 5% of Tall Grass remains untouched in this country?” she cries, brandishing her mojito. “If something isn’t done to stop habitat loss, wild Pokemon may become something only seen in zoos!”(She will also tell you things about the mating habits of Gyrados that you were probably happier not knowing. It’s best just to nod and back away slowly. Depending on the number of mojitos involved, there may be hand gestures.)When not documenting the migratory habits of Mothim, she occasionally goes off to watch Bird-types, accompanied by her faithful Quagsire, Quag-Bob.

I <3 Ursula Vernon and her art.

ursulavernon:

I was supposed to be working, but there was a thing going to draw yourself as a pokemon trainer, and…well…

I’m weak.

Poke-verse Ursula is a gardener who grows Grass-type pokemon in an effort to attract provide rare Bird and Insect types with a safe haven during migration. (That these occasionally chew holes in the Oddishes is, after all, the reason she grew them in the first place. Fortunately Oddishes respond well to pruning and many sport punk haircuts as a result.)

She writes a regular gardening column “Beyond Butterfree: Habitat Gardening For Less-Charismatic Pokemon.”

She is prone to collaring strangers at parties to inform them that Tall Grass has declined in the last century to unsustainable levels. “Do you realize that less than 5% of Tall Grass remains untouched in this country?” she cries, brandishing her mojito. “If something isn’t done to stop habitat loss, wild Pokemon may become something only seen in zoos!”

(She will also tell you things about the mating habits of Gyrados that you were probably happier not knowing. It’s best just to nod and back away slowly. Depending on the number of mojitos involved, there may be hand gestures.)

When not documenting the migratory habits of Mothim, she occasionally goes off to watch Bird-types, accompanied by her faithful Quagsire, Quag-Bob.

I <3 Ursula Vernon and her art.

If he gets a beard of useful items then I want CLEAVAGE OF HOLDING!

outofcontextdnd:

our ranger talking about the druid when he wished a Jeanie to merge his beard and bag of useful items and she wanted to merge her boobs with her bag of holding

So that’s what Jessica Rabbit has!

WHO WROTE WHAT BIT?
Ah. Another tricky one. As the official Keeper of the One True Copy, Terry physically wrote more of Draft 1 than Neil. But if 2,000 words are written down after a lot of excited shouting, it’s a moot point whose words they are. And, in any case, as a matter of honor both of them rewrote and footnoted the other guy’s stuff, and both can write passably in the other guy’s style. The Agnes Nutter scenes and the kids mostly originated with Terry, the Four Horsemen and anything with maggots started with Neil. Neil had the most influence on the opening, Terry on the ending. Apart from that, they just shouted excitedly a lot.

The point they both realised the text had wandered into its own world was in the basement of the old Gollancz books, where they’d got together to proofread the final copy, and Neil congratulated Terry on a line that Terry knew he hadn’t written, and Neil was certain that he hadn’t written either. They both privately suspect that at some point the book had started to generate text on its own, but neither of them will actually admit this publicly for fear of being thought odd.

Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch (2006 edition) - appendix by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman (via hapfairy)
dotanon:

. walk with me
One of the nicest things about spending more time together was that Aziraphale finally had someone able to discuss literature with him on the same intellectual level. More than that, he had someone to hold up the umbrella while he gestured excitedly as he relayed the technique and highlights of the author he was currently praising. His memory was impeccable, so he honestly didn’t need to have the source material in hand, but it made for a fine experience when he could point to each passage. The rain never fell on either of them, regardless of the umbrella, but appearances were important.
Onlookers always smiled as they passed, charmed by the bookish man engaged in conversation with his dark looking companion. They might have been worried, but they were endeared instead by the umbrella always being tilted to better serve Aziraphale than the actual holder of their shelter—and by the slight crook of Crowley’s mouth as the angel managed to lose his train of thought by going off on a completely unrelated tangent.

I don&#8217;t ship Aziraphale and Crowley but this is still adorable.

dotanon:

. walk with me


One of the nicest things about spending more time together was that Aziraphale finally had someone able to discuss literature with him on the same intellectual level. More than that, he had someone to hold up the umbrella while he gestured excitedly as he relayed the technique and highlights of the author he was currently praising. His memory was impeccable, so he honestly didn’t need to have the source material in hand, but it made for a fine experience when he could point to each passage. The rain never fell on either of them, regardless of the umbrella, but appearances were important.

Onlookers always smiled as they passed, charmed by the bookish man engaged in conversation with his dark looking companion. They might have been worried, but they were endeared instead by the umbrella always being tilted to better serve Aziraphale than the actual holder of their shelter—and by the slight crook of Crowley’s mouth as the angel managed to lose his train of thought by going off on a completely unrelated tangent.

I don’t ship Aziraphale and Crowley but this is still adorable.