reioka:

itsallavengers:

Captain America: Iron Man, you have to switch off the machine NOW

Iron Man: I’m trying but it’s fitted with some sort of defence mechanism that I can’t shut off!

Cap: what’s it doing?

Iron Man: .. It keeps saying ‘please don’t switch me off, I’m scared’ in this tiny little voice.

Cap:

Iron Man: iT SOUNDS LIKE DUM-E’S SAD BEEPING OKAY DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS-

This is hilarious because now I’m just imagining DUM-E being nearby and he literally does not give a SHIT about this tiny robot voice, he is OFFENDED that someone is MANIPULATING HIS FATHER’S FEELINGS, and also he’s a little pistol anyway so he just rolls over, beeping cheerfully, and slams his claw down on the ‘off’ switch repeatedly, while Tony watches on in horror.

Tony VS. Aperture Science Turrets!!

geekybibliophile:

phoenixtawnyflower:

glorious-spoon:

laylainalaska:

jenniferrpovey:

froborr:

jenniferrpovey:

halloweenatasha:

jumpingjacktrash:

mhalachai:

“By the first world war, soldiers swore so much that the word “fucking” came to function as no more than “a warning that a noun is coming”. “

Guardian review of Holy Sh*t: A Brief History of Swearing by Melissa Mohr 

i would like to take this opportunity to present my headcanon about that infamous “language!” line: steve and the howlies had such dirty mouths that they had to be constantly reminded to clean it up for the reporters that followed them around. so steve heard a swear word over the radio and had a kneejerk stop that we’re being filmed for the folks back home reaction.

in other words, he said “language” not because he never swears, but because if he’s not on guard he swears way too much. 😀

“the word ‘fucking’ came to function as no more than “a warning that a noun is coming”

And the interesting thing about actually dealing with people who do swear to that degree, which I have, is that eventually your brain completely tunes the word fucking out.

You basically don’t hear it. It becomes unimportant noise.

I was actually just talking to someone last night about how when I was a kid (the 80s), no one said “fuck” or “shit,” ever, but people casually tossed slurs around like nobody’s business. Now people use “fuck” and “shit” like punctuation, but slurs are increasingly taboo–and that’s exactly how it should fucking be.

You can tell we were kids in the 80s in different places…

OH MY GOD I FOUND THE POST AGAIN!!

When I first saw this post go around, I was traveling, but I had something I wanted to say and I could never find it again.

Okay, so, this post isn’t wrong, but what the original gifset doesn’t take into account (though some of the commentary touches on it) is how incredibly situational swearing was in the 1940s.

So, yes, men swore a lot – around other guys, in certain contexts. But they were very heavily conditioned not to swear around women and kids.

I think this might be one of the big reasons why a lot of people my age and younger got the idea that people didn’t swear during the 1940s. Most of us fell into the “kid” or “female” categories, or both, and guys our grandparents’ age would never, ever say “fuck” around us. And those words weren’t usually used in media of the era for similar reasons, so we got the idea that people that age were very prim and polite, when it’s more that they were prim and polite around us.

I remember as a young woman walking in on groups of old blue-collar guys talking among themselves, with profanity flying freely, and then noticing me in the room and immediately clamming up and apologizing to me for swearing around me.

There’s a bit in the Douglas Bader biography I was reading a month or so ago that demonstrates this in a WWII context. According to the book, the squadron pilots swore freely in their radio chatter to each other in the field, to the amusement of the WAAFs (female service personnel) who were listening to the radio in an ops room as they moved counters around on maps (much like we see Peggy doing in TFA) and the embarrassment of their commander:

After awhile, to the regret of the Beauty Chorus [the WAAFs], Woodhall disconnected the loud-speaker in the Ops Room, feeling that some of the battle comments were too ripe even for the most sophisticated WAAFs. (“They laugh, you know,” he said, “but dammit I get so embarrassed.”)

… so, right, even in the middle of a war, pilots saying “fuck” over the radio was something the female staff had to be insulated from.

Say what you will about the baby boomers, but they largely demolished that wall between “swearing around men” and “swearing around women”. Most guys my dad’s age don’t do it anymore, at least not to that much of an extreme. By the time you get to my generation (I’m 40), people might swear or they might not, and they usually don’t swear around young kids, but swearing around men but not around women is just not a thing anyone does anymore. At least I don’t know anyone who does it specifically and consistently who’s not elderly.

It’s not really an individual-sexism thing, more of a socialization thing – sexist on a societal level, sure, but I don’t think Steve would balk at swearing around women, kids, or in a refined or professional social setting because he’s a sexist or a prude. It’s just something you didn’t do as a polite person. Like blowing your nose on the tablecloth in a fancy restaurant. I think he could and probably would unlearn that, but it’d take time.

So, to me, about half the examples up there work just fine (“now why the fuck would I do that” to Bucky – absolutely! Or “Is everything a fucking joke to you?” to Tony) and several jar horribly, because they’re not the right context (like the “there’s only one God ma’am” bit – noooo, you aren’t going to get “fuck” and “ma’am” in the same sentence! not for a Steve fresh from the 1940s! – or “we have our fucking orders” … in a polite, professional context like that, no). Steve would never. Or, I should say, someone from Steve’s culture – who tries in general to be a polite and respectful person, as Steve does – would never. Maybe after he’s had a few years to acclimatize to the more relaxed social climate surrounding swearing in the 21st century, but I think it’d take him awhile; he would sort of instinctively jerk himself back from doing it in all but the most relaxed sort of “palling around with your teammates” environment.

(Headcanon-wise, I could see Steve very quickly incorporating someone like Natasha into his mental schemata as “one of the guys” – not consciously, but on a subconscious level: like, he doesn’t hold back from swearing around her pretty quickly – but taking a LOT longer with someone like Wanda or Pepper.)

tl;dr disclaimer: not a historian, was not alive in the 1940s, so please correct me if I’m wrong on things here.

I’m so glad someone said this, because this is something I think a lot of the Steve meta about swearing misses. Situational profanity, exactly! He wouldn’t cuss in anything he’d consider ‘polite company’, because you didn’t do that. I’m absolutely sure he’s capable of having a very foul mouth in some circumstances (he was a soldier who grew up in working-class Brooklyn, so… yeah), but in the cultural context where he grew up, you sure as hell didn’t say ‘fuck’ in front of a lady, not if you had any manners to speak of.

/speaking as someone who cusses like breathing, even.

This is the best explanation of Steve’s ‘language’ line I’ve ever seen.

@zombeesknees

[Six gifs showing Steve Rogers in the Avengers movies, with slightly modified lines from the moviesː

  • “Are you fucking nuts?“
  • “I could do this all fucking day.“
  • “I’m just a fucking kid from Brooklyn.“
  • “Is everything a fucking joke to you?“
  • “Now why the fuck would I do that?“
  • “That’s not the fucking point.“
  • “There’s only one God, Ma’am, and I’m pretty fucking sure he doesn’t dress like that.“
  • “We have our fucking orders, we should follow them.“

End ID.]

claire-luna:

good-is-a-thing-you-do:

Dude…

Whoever wrote this is in on the joke.

Okay, this is so funny it’s jumping the queue.

[Images are a series of comic book panels, featuring Rocket, from Guardians of the Galaxy, and three cops. The cops have their guns pointed at Rocket. Text:

Cop 1: What are you?

Rocket: I’m one of the X-Men.

Close up panel of the guns being cocked.*

Rocket: Avengers! I meant I’m one of the Avengers!

End ID.]

*They are pushing up something on the back of their guns. It could also be a safety? This description would be much better if done by someone who knew anything about guns, but making do with basic google searches and random trivia is still better than nothing.

hellenhighwater:

There seems to be some sort of fairytale Steve-Tony thing going on right now, and may I just recommend that somebody uses the Swan Maiden as a prompt? And that they also read this post first. And then come back and tell me that any MCU character other than Steve “I Will Fight God Barehanded” Rogers would be the swan in this scenario.

Picture this: Tony, young heir to the Stark dynasty, who never satisfies his father’s high expectations and never sees his mother outside of balls and galas. He’d much rather be inventing than glad-handing politicians and society members, but Howard locks him out of the workshop when there’s networking to be done. So instead Tony usually goes out into the Manor grounds, away from the noise and people, where there’s an old, barely-maintained koi pond that’s mostly been taken over by nature. There’s a pair of swans that likes to swim there, and an old bench. Tony sits there sometimes. Usually he’s quiet, but sometimes he talks to the swans, tells them stuff he can’t talk about to people. 

Steve and Bucky are swans. Always have been; Bucky’s the ideal of the species except for a wing injury that keeps him from flying long distances, and Steve’s  awkward and small, before he hit a growth spurt and turned into the biggest male anybirdy had ever seen. They spend most of their time together, usually in a small, undisturbed pond mostly ignored by humans. There’s a scrawny young human who comes there sometimes, and he talks. He’s not bad, for a human. They like him well enough, but frankly the food he sometimes brings is more interesting. 

Except one day Howard has had enough of Tony’s dodging out of social events, and storms off onto the grounds to find him, Stane trailing behind. He finds Tony at the old pond with the swans, and immediately starts yelling at him. Stane joins in with commentary. Tony gets up from the bench and opens his mouth to respond, and Howard hits him so hard across the face that he falls to the ground.

That was a bad move. 

There is a blur of white feathers, honking, and thunderous flapping across the surface of the pond. By the time Howard has turned to see what it is, it’s already turned itself into a six-foot-two shirtless slab of muscle, and Howard goes down with a single punch. Bucky, trailing behind, gets Stane with a second hit.

Tony, on the ground, assumes he has a concussion. Because that is the only explanation for the two enormous men standing in front of him, wrapped in feathery capes and looking like they wish Howard and Stane had put up a better fight. 

(Steve and Bucky really would like to punch more things, please, but clearly the injured little guy takes priority.)

….and then they go up to the house and fuss, probably, and Steve and Bucky eat the entire salad course that was supposed to be served to the guests at dinner, and Tony continues to wonder if he’s hallucinating. Howard and Stane eventually wake up and come to the house, only to find that Tony has acquired a pair of bodyguards that won’t let them within ten feet of him. Who keep…hissing?

It’s weird, but Tony’s happy with the arrangement. And Steve’s happy with Tony. And Bucky, longsuffering, puts up with them both (Until he meets Tony’s socialite friend, Natasha, and then there’s a little less suffering involved.)

I’m so proud of you! You almost shipped! (I remain convinced that non-shippers write the best fic, even shippy fic. There is the proper focus on friendship and relationship, and the appropriate lack of icky kissing.)

ironychan:

penandpage:

39cliffsidedrive:

Actual 3-year-old Tony Stark, everyone. 

I WAS JUST LOOKING FOR THIS LAST NIGHT AND COULDN’T FIND IT.

Comic panels showing Spiderman, Iron Man, and Hulk. Spiderman is standing on the wall, body parallel to the ground. Iron Man is watching him, interested. Hulk is happily eating pizza. Text:

Iron Man: But can you stick to the window?

Spiderman: Yeah. It’s really easy.

Iron Man: Interesting. That’s glass. A sheer surface. And you’re not even sliding around?

Spiderman: Not at all. Here, push me a little.

Iron Man: Yeah. You’re stuck.

Spiderman: I’m telling you, I stick to everything. Ceiling. Walls. Doors. Windows. I’ve done it all.

Iron Man: Really? Stick to, ummm … stick to – uh – stick to – ahh! Stick to the Hulk.

Later, Hercules shows up: Green Sir. You have a spider on your arm.

Hulk, arm sticking straight out to accommodate Spiderman hanging upside-down from it: Spider-Man is Hulk’s friend.

End ID.]  

alstonwiggles:

Natasha’s mission: To spy on Fury and the KGB agent he’s captured and been interrogating.

Clint’s mission: To mime out the entirety of the viral “octopus&puppy r 2 cute 4 words” video he found during lunch.

I’ve wanted an excuse to draw Catherine Tate’s ridiculous faces for ages, and finally did it with Clint. I didn’t even BEGIN to do Tate justice, but it was a barrel of fun, so have a Doctor Who reference~

image description below the cut

Keep reading

prokopetz:

Why do the movies never show us this Spider-Man?

[Comic description. Three panels of Captain America, Iron Man, and Spider-Woman all looking at Spiderman. Spiderman has a tupperware container of cookies and is wearing baggy jeans over his costume. Text:

Steve: One. Why are you 28 minutes late?

Peter: I thought this was just a talk and I… um had cookies in the oven.

Steve: Cookies.

Peter: These are very important cookies. I brought some. For everyone.

Steve: All right. That brings us to number two. Why are you wearing pants?

Peter: Okay, here goes… Around Christmas Doc Ock and I mind-swapped and the “me” that’s been running around was really him in my body. Now I’m back. But in my last fight, all my clothes got zapped off. So I webbed myself up some underwear. But I didn’t know that Ock changed my web-formula so it’d last longer, and now my pants are stuck to my butt. And it’s been over an hour. And I really have to pee.

end description.]

sammykat2hb:

Bucky couldn’t forget that he’d almost punched a 15-year-old’s face in without realizing it. Anxiety rolled in his head whenever he saw Peter without his mask. Tonight was no exception.

Peter was hunched behind a pile of physics books and loose papers, headphones in, squinting at his laptop. The digital glow highlighted his black eye and bruised, swollen jaw. Bucky had been sitting across the room for almost 15 minutes without being noticed, that worried him more than anything. Was Peter’s intuition blunted by exhaustion, or were his injuries worse than they thought? But their resident psychics and AI had all said he was fine. He must be fine. When (if) Bucky was cleared for missions, he resolved to try and get assigned as the kid’s backup. He knew Peter wasn’t fragile, he knew that not many people could land a hit on him anyway, it was just that the ones who could made it count. And this skinny little nerd was trying to catch up on his homework after getting pounded, that’s what drove Bucky crazy. Was he ever going to just stop and sleep?

Bucky took a moment to appreciate the irony of him, the master of insomnia, judging someone else’s poor sleeping habits before shoving off from his chair and heading to the fridge.


Something shiny reached over Peter’s elbow and planted a bottle in front of his face. Peter, lost in diagrams, Twenty-One Pilots, and blurring vision, almost had a heart attack. He yanked his headphones out just in time to catch the words “…’n all-nighter?” and see Barnes looming over him.

“What?” Peter squeaked. Dignified, the small, awake part of his brain grumbled. “Oh…yeah, pulling an all-nighter, sorry I didn’t catch the first part of that, ah – it’s just that I’ve already called in so many extensions and this paper is 30% of my grade, and then finals is next month and I just need to finish this…coffee? Yesss!”

Peter guzzled half of his new iced frappucino in two seconds. Bucky stifled a chuckle. “Take short naps. Set a timer. Results’ll be better than just trudging through with no breaks. Soviet assassin tip,” he added, because today wasn’t a bad day and he could joke about that.

This was more consecutive sentences than Barnes had said to Peter since…since they met, even? Peter gaped, which turned into a full-blown yawn, which made the right side of his face ache. “Thanks?”

Barnes nodded, “Sleep tomorrow, okay punk.” It sounded like an order.

Peter gave an only possibly-intelligible affirmation, but Barnes was satisfied enough to nod and leave without another word. Peter watched, then stretched, cracked his neck, and held the cold coffee to his cheek as he fumbled for the timer on his phone. The nearest couch was only a few yards away, that would do. If he got in his own bed he would never crawl out of it.


Bucky was pretty sure that no teenager could relax with a metal-armed public menace lurking in the corner, so he left Peter to hopefully sleep. Anyway, he had rounds to make before he could wind down, so he let his feet fall into their nocturnal path around HQ, and he thought.

Peter was gonna keep getting hurt. Bucky had yelled at Sam about wanting to yell at Stark for being a selfish piece of shit about that, because this was a kid who should have a life. Then Sam showed him the YouTube videos of Spider-Man drop-kicking armed robbers and giant metal bird men in nothing stronger than sneakers and swim goggles, and Bucky realized that Peter threw himself between people and danger whether he was bulletproof or not. So on this at least, Bucky agreed with Stark: keeping Peter nearby, giving him state-of-the-art suits and the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes at his back, was the only way to protect him short of sitting on him.

But he was gonna keep getting hurt. Clever, moral, empathetic…Bucky’s brain may be as coherent as a bowl of pudding some days, but he knew enough about that type to realize that black eyes and sleepless nights were inevitable.

A few minutes later, it hit him that he’d called Peter, “Punk.”

Sweet-Talker

buckykingofmemes:

Or, How Bucky Won Over The Hammer Of Thor.

(Here on AO3) 

Thor enjoyed the pleasant fragrances of Midgardian soaps. The one in the common-floor bathroom was labelled “Lavender Daydream” and was tinted a mild purple. It had a gentle floral scent with a slightly acrid undertone, and Thor wondered absently if Midgard had an actual plant named lavender, or if it was like blue-flavored drinks, with no non-artificial analogue. With Midgard, there was no way to tell. Regardless, it was a pleasing scent, and Thor would enjoy the soothing scent and gentle moisturizing properties of the liquid. 

Midgard was such a fascinating world. 

Thor toweled his hands dry and stepped out of the bathroom, intending to head towards the kitchen. Bruce had left some curry in the fridge, and Thor wanted to test his mettle against his perennial foe, the spicy pepper. 

He took one imperious stride into the common room and tripped. He caught himself on lavender-scented palms, just shy of sprawling flat on his face on the carpet. 

Sitting innocently in the middle of the hallway was Mjolnir. 

Strange. He was sure he’d left his hammer on the sofa. 


kingofmemes posted:

common room rules state that anything unlabeled is fair for anyone to use. shoulda put a sticky note on your mythological weapon of unimaginable power before you left it on my seat buddy

Posted at 3:23 pm, 4729 notes

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