Do you know who has the codes to override that protocol?
This is how Maria knows that Nick has a birth mark on his left ass cheek...
I was at the mall today and overheard this dude talking to two lesbian chicks. I hear him ask, “So which one of you is the...
we have all read fanfiction that we shouldn’t have
just a few favorite tags
just open up tag viewer on this post and settle in with a snack cause ain’t nobody sleeping tonight, friends
installing tag viewer for this was the best decision i ever made
want to, would love to, but tragically cannot (unless we’re talking an AU), because with the canon as it stands, i see the steve/sam transition from friends to benefits going one of the following ways:
"So, uh," Sam says, "did you want to share the bed, or should I take the floor?"
Steve gives him an exasperated look. “Yeah, Sam, take the floor. It’s the least you can do, especially after taking a leave of absence from your job to keep me sane while I hunt down my brainwashed best friend. Actually, you know what? I think you should sleep in the hall.”
Sam rolls his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders eases, and he drops his duffel on the bed. “The hilarious Captain America, folks. Sharing, then?”
"Sure," Steve says easily, heading towards the shower. Then he grins, wicked, and adds, "Unless, of course, you’ve got some sort of panicky heteronormative idea about the acceptable boundaries between male friends, a concept enforced by the patriarchal structure of — "
"I am never," Sam groans, collapsing back on the bed, "letting you listen to NPR again. I pick the music for the rest of the trip. I pick the music for the rest of my life.”
Steve, the irritating bastard, starts humming Trouble Man as he shuts the bathroom door, and just laughs when Sam yells, “You learn too fast! You learn too much,” over the sound of the shower spray.
tawghasa said: Steve stays the night and next morning he pulls on a tee and it’s one that Skye had left in Phil’s room to be ironed. Phil tells him that he looks very pretty. Steve hates everything.
Steve detangles himself from the blankets on the bed and stumbles slightly, he grabs clothes along the way, not really caring if they are his or Phil’s and makes his way into the bathroom to relive his full bladder. Once he’s done he takes a look in the mirror.
Steve’s bed head - sex hair his mind correct him and he grins - is crazy so Steve works about fixing that first before squirting some toothpaste on his finger and works on getting rid of his morning breath. He’s feeling a little more awake, so he’s suddenly aware that he’s pulled on a pair of Phil’s boxers and a brightly colored shirt that he never actually imagined Phil would ever own. He looks at the cartoon character on his shirt, vaguely remembering it from one of his classes, and shrugs. Phil’s into comics, he probably got into cartoons as well when he took in Skye.
He makes his way through the two bedroom apartment and into the small kitchen where he see’s Phil standing at the stove, frying bacon to go with the plate of scrambled eggs on the counter. It’s a Saturday which means Skye won’t be up till noon and the two have some time alone together before she wakes up.
Steve makes his way behind Phil and wraps his arms around the older man’s waist. “Smells good.”
"That was the plan." Phil turns around and leans in for a kiss, but stops with an amused expression on his face.
"You look very pretty in that shirt, I didn’t figure you for a Princess Bubblegum fan though." Phil has his "I’m not laughing at you face" and it takes Steve a moment to slot all the pieces together.
"Fuck I’m wearing my student’s shirt, aren’t I," Phil bursts out laughing and Steve scowls. "It’s not funny Phil, this is…"
"My shirt," A voice calls from the back of the kitchen and Steve rests his head on Phil’s shoulder and groans. "I didn’t know you were a fan of Adventure Time Steve.”
Steve would have taken off the shirt right then and there, but Phil had left some impressive hickies all over his body last night and wearing his student’s clothes was better then letting them see that he has hickies.
The Coulson’s were going to be the death of him.
You ever notice how there are no cute asexual self-discovery stories?
Like, there are tragic self-discovery stories with every sexuality, and queer sexualities in particular - I’m not trying to make light of how many people face major personal and life crises in figuring out their sexuality - but there are also usually some fun ones thrown in the mix; the ‘I realized I liked girls when I fell in love with April O’Neil as a kid’ kind of stories.
Asexual self-discovery stories are always ‘I thought something was wrong with me for years and couldn’t really talk about it with anyone without them suggesting I seek medical/psychological help and had no resources because A is the boring sexuality nobody talks about. Then I found out A was a thing and was relieved.’
It’s really pretty depressing.
i got sad so i wrote you one and i hope it’s happy (happier???).
“That’s when you knew? When you were seven?” Jim’s head is propped up on his hand, his hair mussed from a long, toss-and-turning nap between Alpha and Gamma shift. Spock had joined him halfway through, so the mussiness was probably 35% his fault. Maybe less; Jim always seemed to settle down into sleep whenever Spock joined him in his bed.
But it was this, the quiet words between two people—one of whom had just woken up and was still rubbing sandy, human grit from his eyes—that Spock liked best about their recent arrangement.
"Vulcans do not consider sexuality as stringent and defining as Humans," Spock points out. "So yes, at seven I was well aware of my inclinations. I had never considered the possibility before that, but when I did I knew."
"Hm." Jim sticks out his lips in thought, his eyes dancing upwards. Finally he says "T’Pring?" with all the myriad questions such a name could encapsulate.
Spock nods. “I told my mother that I would endure the bonding, but I had no wish to mate with my betrothed.”
"Let me guess." Jim’s fingertips play through Spock’s hair. His bangs fall back above his brows. "She said you would when you grew up."
"That is correct." Spock allows Jim to see an almost-smile, a small crack in his controls. "I replied that it was not a question of age or time. I had no language for what I was trying to tell her; Vulcan is not as stringent, as I said, and therefore does not have a word that means asexual."
"So what did you say?"
Spock thinks for a moment, his eyes on the ceiling. “I pointed toward Gol, to the east, and I said,” he lifts an eyebrow, “that I was the opposite of the mountain.”
If Jim is surprised, he hides it well. “Not the mountain. As in, small and squishy?” He knows he’s wrong, his lips quirk self-deprecatingly. “Help me out here.”
Spock gave him a faux stern look before doing so. “All mountains on Vulcan were volcanic, or had been. All the words for ‘mountain’ literally mean ‘filled with fire.’ The words for ‘fire’ of course also mean mating, as you know. I told my mother I was instead filled with air, that I was atmosphere.”
Jim’s hand slips from his hair to his chest, which is still covered by the blue uniform tunic. “Why does that not surprise me? And what did Amanda say to that?”
Spock lays his hand atop Jim’s, resting on his silent chest. “She was quiet for a period of time. Then she smiled and said I was her little sylph. And she understood.”
"Sylph." Jim rolls the word around in his mouth. "I like it. Can I use it? Or would that be weird?"
Spock pulls the bedclothes higher around Jim’s shoulders. They have 22.4 minutes before they are needed on Gamma. “You may, though it is,” he says, and they settle back into sleep.
"…and it’s not as if there’s been any conclusive study on the validity of the markings," Jemma goes on, babbling at this point really.
Skye, pressed up against one of the larger windows on the Bus with her ankles crossed and knees pulled up to her chest, scoffs. “Well, obviously. They can’t even pinpoint where the marks come from. No one’s going to bother testing the strength of the bonds until they can figure out the science mumbo-jumbo behind the marks themselves.”
Jemma tangles her fingers together behind her back, taking a deep breath in through her nose to stop herself from fidgeting from foot-to-foot. “Yes, well, and there’s a decided air of magic and fairy tales involved, which the scientific field is more often than not above believing in—”
"Yeah, I get it," Skye cuts in. "It’s just a coincidence, they don’t mean anything.” She gets to her feet jerkily, yanking her sleeve down over her wrist and the tan symbols that now reside there. The interlocking circles—identical to the ones on Jemma’s wrist—look like an intricate birthmark, but they’ve only been noticeable since Agent Coulson agreed to remove Skye’s tracking bracelet.
Jemma’d noticed her match mark weeks ago, now, but she’d put it out of her head, convinced the marks had been triggered by some random meeting somewhere out in the field or at the Hub. She’d not been interested in trying to track down some elusive stranger who would supposedly become her soul mate when she’d already met someone she was more than passingly attracted to, and now she was screwing it all up in her usual bumbling fashion when it came to anything involving normal social interaction.
"Wait, no," Jemma exclaimed, her voice more squeak than anything else really, and reached out to stop Skye from walking away. She grabbed Skye’s hand, and with a gulp, she laced their fingers together, pulling their wrists—their match marks—flush against one another. "What I was trying to say, is that, well, I like you.”
Skye just looks back at her, and Jemma can’t describe her expression as anything other than boggled. “I mean, I have liked you,” she continues nervously. “Before any of, uh, this, came to light, so it’s more just a delightful bonus.”
Jemma is certain her face must be smoking, she’s blushing so much. Skye only regards her silently, blinking her distracting brown eyes intermittently, and Jemma has to bite her lip to keep herself from opening her mouth again and making this horribly awkward situation all the more worse.
But then Jemma’s eyes are pulled down to their joined hands where Skye has just squeezed her fingers tight, and when she glances back up at Skye, a smirk is stretching across her lips. Jemma would very much enjoy licking it away, and Oh dear, no, you can’t go around thinking these things in polite company!
"You’re kind of ridiculously adorable, you know that?" Skye teases. Jemma has some manner of response to that—they’re flirting after all, or at least Jemma assumes this is what flirting is like—but Skye’s tongue slips into her mouth when she opens it to retort, pushing the words back down her throat, and Jemma can only clasp Skye’s hand between both of her own and hold on for the ride.
flux-capacitard replied to your post:uhuhuh…I would like to see the mermaid au I know you’ve got some kinda ideas for? :Di really love the second to last one
Phil lives because he is a merman and his anatomy is different (basically Nick throws him in the ocean, tells him to heal his ass, and he comes back and it basically goes into AoS)
"I know you are there," The splash of water comes without warning, but Nick isn’t too surprised to find himself soaking wet. "Was that really necessary?"
"Is confining me to a lagoon in the middle of Tahiti necessary?" Phil glares at him from the water, the effect slightly ruined by his flyaway hair being plastered all over his head in awkward places.
"You know why you’re stuck here Cheese, don’t even try to argue with me on this. I’m not going to loose you again." Phil sighs, but he doesn’t deny the allegations. The problem with his species is that they are always drawn to the ocean, and Phil’s been human for so long he isn’t quite sure if he would return if he were to fall into his most basic instinct.
"The longer I’m in here the harder its going to be for me Marcus," Phil lifts up a hand and Nick helps haul him out of the water so they are sitting side by side on the docks. "I’m forgetting things."
"You’ll finish healing and will be on two legs again in no time." Nick sounds so determined that Phil almost believes him. "For extra incentive to come back on land, I’m going to finally give you your own team."
Phil is quiet for a while, his silver tail swishing in the water slowly. “Do you mean it?”
"Of course." Phil smiles softly and makes an odd cooing noise under his breath. Nick’s learned over the years, ever since he first met Phil all those years ago, that mermaids require very little to be happy. All it took for Nick to convince Phil back then to come with him was the chance to fly, and its still one of the things Phil loves the most.
Giving him his own plane was a guarantee that Phil would come back.