❝I get up in the morning and my hair is all hanging in my face and poking up on one side, I need to shave and I look older than I am. When I stagger into the kitchen to get my breakfast, I don’t think, Oh, look at that handsome guy. Look at that talented special creature.
Please tell me this is a gag reel
Nope.This is an actual scene from the show.
please, if you’re not too busy, just take a minute and
look at your forearm
just take a good long look at that thing
the average length of a (female) forearm is about 9.75 inches long
so please, the next time you describe a human penis in your fanfiction as being “only 12 inches long”
just look at your goddamn hand and remember that that “only 12 inches” is 2.75 INCHES LONGER THAN YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING FOREARM WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU
Buttermilk the baby goat is kind of a dick.
when you join a fandom but you dont really fit in and you wanna talk to everyone but they’re already all friends
I often forget that not everyone reads gay fanfiction
So a few days ago I was overrun by a fever and kept whining about wanting to write sick fic. And then my favourite author scifigrl47 (who you all need to go praise, go, now) wrote me sick fic instead and it was fantastic and wonderful and I’m still flail armed over that. But I still felt this overwhelming urge to write my own sick fic, and so, here it is! This is dedicated and given gladly to scifigrl47, and is my longest oneshot ever. What even. I had to split it into two parts because apparently I’m bad at this.
It says something about Fury’s complete faith in Coulson when he assigns him as ‘handler’ of the newly formed Avengers team. That, or he secretly despises Coulson and wants him to retire early because this was not in his job description. Dealing with Tony Stark alone shouldn’t have been one of his duties. But somehow, someway, Coulson finds himself dragged into the Avengers Tower two weeks after his release from medical, given his own floor, and then told promptly that he is never to ask for a reassignment because, according to Fury, ‘I’m not dealing with this shit.’
The team comes together like jigsaw pieces from six different puzzles, superglue waiting in the wings and frustrated hands mashing them together. Clint has commandeered the kitchen as his own personal domain, and if it wasn’t for Stark constantly upgrading his tech and giving random appliances sentience, Clint would be a happy Hawkeye. As it is, Coulson has to file a report as to why a blender was thrown out the top floor window and managed to rip half of Clint’s hair out before its subsequent demise.
Natasha and Bruce get along surprisingly well, but not as well as Tony and Bruce. That mixture goes the opposite of what Coulson initially thought, Stark’s personality actually overpowering and calming the usually nervous Banner. But it’s the relationship between Stark and the Hulk that surprises most of the team. The first time Banner loses it, Tony just walks right up to him, pats him on the arm and says, “The sunset is awesome tonight, big guy, you’ll love it,” and leads the Hulk out onto the terrace. The team watches as Tony sits on the edge, the Hulk hunkering down behind him and the two actually watch the sun set. There was no rampage. There was no breaking of space. It was the calmest the Hulk has ever been.
the trials of owning cats- sporadic affection, closely followed by ‘wow this surface is warm and convenient.’
this happens to me daily. so i drew it.
So, awhile back (and when I say awhile, I mean like three days) Marr talked about a possible idea. An idea about a baby robot. And of course, the idea STUCK and now I have a new verse to play around with. Basically, this is kid!fic. I am writing kid!fic. But with robots. Ugh. Also this is a series. Because this is kid!fic. Ahhhh. Marr, this is for you.
It doesn’t happen with any real plan in mind, but because Tony’s coming off of a sixty two hour sleep fuckery high. His brains a little fuzzy and a lot manic and he just finished the final repairs for the Iron Man suit. And he’s sleep deprived. He is. But he’s hit his second wind and he wants to do something, his fingers itching and his mind scratchy. Before he can really think about what he’s doing, he’s staring at the code that gave birth to Dummy all those years ago. And wondering, silently, if he can miniaturize it.
He doesn’t think after that, just starts typing, starts moving code around like it’s simple. By the time he’s done, he blinks at the screen. Before him is a mini form of Dummy, just requiring assembly, and before Tony can talk himself out of it, before he can say sixty eight hours oh god go to bed what is wrong with you he starts working on the skeleton. He pads it, because the little guy is going to be tiny and will probably run into things worse than Dummy does. And considering how delicate the wiring is for this little body, extra padding can only be a good thing. He works on implementing the system, works on the little grasping fingers and the compartment for five screws and three nails, if his robot wants to carry things around. He works on the tiny wheels, salvaged from rollerblades he’ll never use, and works on the delicate arch of the robot’s arm. By the time he’s done detailing the last bit, the robot stands about a foot tall. Dummy and You are awake, curious beeping as they wheel over to him.