They didn’t have pagers in the 50s.
I feel like this is more than made up for by the fact that we “honor” then with racist sports mascots.
Clint/Coulson, #26 Elevator Meeting (with a twist)
Phil trudged into the lobby of his apartment building, nodding politely to Mrs. Lebowitz who was standing by the collection of mailboxes, swaddled in her quilted house-coat as always, and then shuffled inside the elevator as soon as the doors began to slide open.
Wearily, he pressed the 11th floor button and slouched back against the wall, doing his best to ignore the rail digging low into his back. The elevator stopped on the third floor, and Phil made a minimal effort to straighten up, only to blink in confusion when the doors parted and a scruffy yellow lab was the only passenger to join him in the elevator.
The dog trotted into the center of the car, turned in a few circles, then plopped down on his rump facing the doors.
Phil regarded the dog bemusedly for the rest of the short ride to the 11th floor. When the elevator came to a smooth halt and the doors parted, Phil stepped forward, but the dog made no move.
"Not your floor, buddy?" Phil asked. The dog yipped and kept his seat. Chuckling, Phil stepped past and patted the dog’s head. He held his hand out in front of the door to keep it from closing, then systematically began pushing floor buttons until the full panel was lit. He exited the elevator, calling back, "Good luck!" The doors closed a moment later, the dog’s tail beating against the floor happily.
It starts out innocently enough. But then, don’t these things always do?
Sam steps back from the blender, twisting his torso and blindly reaching out for the for the plastic cup he left on the syrup counter, when the new guy, Steve, yelps behind him and calls out, “Careful! On your left!” Sam drops his arm just in time to avoid the frothing milk sloshing over the edges of the metal pitcher as he bumps into Steve and jostles him.
Sam turns and checks, “You good?” Steve nods. Sam grabs the cup he was going for and pours the frappucino, tops the blended coffee with a hearty helping of whipped cream, drops the drink off at the pick-up counter, and swings around on his pass back through the prep area to collect the mop.
And that’s that.
Except then it starts to become a thing. Sam’s not sure if Steve’s just decided to constantly ere on the side of caution or if he keeps doing it looking to tick Sam off. If he is, it’s damn well close to working.
"On your left," Steve chirps when he slips his arm around Sam to grab a cup from the stack.
"On your left," Steve greets when Sam opens the shop, sidling up to him as Sam struggles with the key that always gets stuck when you try to pull it back out and handing him a glazed donut from the Krispy Kreme at the other end of the strip.
"Yeah, I know," Sam interrupts him when he’s mopping the floor, Steve moving chairs and tables out of the way. "You’re on my left." Steve grins and Sam rolls his eyes.
Sam loiters outside the theater, lazily scanning the faces in the crowd in search of Steve. It’s nearly showtime, but this place always runs a good ten minutes of previews before starting the movie, so he’s not worried about missing anything yet. Still, when a guy asks him out on a date, it’s a definite strike when said guy doesn’t even meet up with him on time.
Sam turns his head to check the red digital clock over the ticket window: only a minute to go. He’s debating just heading in by himself, screw Steve and the ticket he already got for him, when someone comes up behind him and says, “On your left.”
Fighting the dual urge to scowl and grin, Sam pivots and does his best to glare. “You’re lucky you’re cute, dude.”
Steve smiles, that innocent one that’s probably gotten him out of grand theft auto or some shit, and pats the bulging pockets of his jacket. “Sorry, I had to load up with candy. I even got you some Mint Cookie Dough Bites.”
Sam just continues to stare him down, deadpan.
"Plus, I managed to fit a can of soda in my pants pocket," Steve adds proudly.
Sam snorts and starts for the entrance. “And here I was thinking you were just happy to see me.”
Steve falls in quickly with his longer stride and slings his arm up over Sam’s shoulder. “Always.”
This is so cute and wonderful! I love Steve being cheeky, and Sam both rolling his eyes at it and finding it endearing. Yessss, perfect.
MAX WAS SO GOOD AND I’M STILL CRYING AND NO BECAUSE NO JASPER WASN’T AND HE WOULDN’T AND HE DIDN’T SO NO MOTHERFUCKERS NO
wasn’t he great
like I’ve never really seen him in anything else but damn that man has some acting chops on him
A+ casting right there
Jasper is on vacation with Victoria and Blake (not TAHITI) and they are all competing to see who gets better first
"I got hit by a truck, I think I win," Jasper announces.
"Technically. You technically got hit by a truck. It doesn’t count of Spider-Man eased most of the blow,” Felix corrects him, shifting uncomfortably. “I got my ribs caved in by Deathlok before Agent May thought it prudent to stop him from stomping on me any further.”
"What do you think, Vic?" Jasper asks, looking over at the third member of their little party.
"I think you shouldn’t ever dare call me ‘Vic’ if you want to avoid being tossed into traffic again," Victoria says flatly, "and that you’re both behaving like babies."
"Do you have any idea what it’s like pretending to be one of them? And then getting thrown into a semi for your troubles?” Jasper says.
"About as much fun as trying to root out all the HYDRA operatives under my command, I would imagine," Victoria points out. "Before being shot and left for dead by them."
"Oh, which reminds me: fuck you, Sitwell," Felix says, squinting against the glare of the sun. "I honestly thought you were one of them."
"That was the whole damn point,” Jasper answers. “And fuck you for being too perceptive for your own good. Why do you think Garrett had Deathlok trying to kill you?”
"Will you two be kissing now or later?" Victoria asks, lowering her shades over her eyes.
"You did not just go there.”
"I wouldn’t kiss Sitwell if my life depended on it."
"…wait, why the fuck not? I’m a great kisser!"
"Oh, don’t go getting offended."
"No, we’re settling this. Let me kiss you."
"Clearly we need to ask them to tone down your pain killers."
"Alright, fine, I’m coming over there."
"What? No. Sitwell, you—Jasper stay the hell away from me.”
"Babies," Victoria sighs, leaning back in her recliner as the two men continue to bicker. Of all the people to be stuck on an island paradise with, it would be them.
Well, at least they’re entertaining to watch.
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.