Psssst. Steve/Tony and 10 Things I Hate About You.
Oh god. I mean, oh, God. Steve in the Joseph Gordon Levitt role, and Bucky in the Heath Ledger one, and Nat as the angry, vicious older sibling and Tony as the popular, gleeful younger one, and Clint as the goofy, motor mouthed friend with the bad advice and the scooter (I think? It’s been a while since I’ve seen this movie) and Fury as the bad tempered father and Phil as the guidance counselor writing the romance novel. I think I’ve gone too far with this, and I don’t care.
Bucky doesn’t see the big fuss, really. They didn’t even get the costume right. As if he’d wear little sky-blue booty shorts in war with tights and thigh-high boots.
"I think they’re cute," Steve says, smiling as he picked one off of the stand.
"Don’t buy that." Bucky says, snatching it out of his hand. Steve just picks up another one.
"You used to collect Captain America comic books back in the day," Steve points out.
"That’s different." Bucky sniffs. "Those were a riot. This is character assassination.”
Steve laughs. “Maybe if we gave him a little bottle of bourbon and a tiny sniper rifle?”
He finds one on Natasha’s bed.
"I can explain." She says, walking in to find him staring at it. He turns to look at her and she grins. "Actually, there’s nothing to explain. I’ve just always wanted to say that."
"I feel like you’re stepping out on me," Bucky says, picking up the bear. It even smells like Natasha, like it had been snuggled against her neck night after night while Bucky was mucking through the swamps of Panatal. He was jealous.
"That’s such an adorable accusation I’m not even going to get angry at you," Natasha says, plugging in her hair straightener and fixing her makeup in the mirror as it heats up.
Bucky squeezes the bear as hard as he can, making its little glass eyes bug out of the domino mask.
"Uh huh," Sam says unsympathetically, slurping on his three berry smoothie. "Yeah talk to me when Falcon Bear gets so popular that Natasha cuddles one to sleep every night. Then I’ll cry with you."
"That would be weird, though." Bucky says, stirring his own strawberry banana smoothie. "A bear with wings?"
"A Falcon bear."
"But it would be a bear, but also a bird?"
"No, it would be a bear in a Falcon suit-" Sam smacked Bucky on the arm as Bucky started cracking up.
For Christmas, Bucky buys a plain bear and digs out an old leather jacket of his that had gotten torn up on a mission. Painstakingly, he sews a little leather Falcon harness, complete with a full set of wings painted silver. And little goggles to boot.
It looks so good that he makes a little Black Widow bear too, choosing a bear with reddish-colored fur and scouring the internet for weeks to find an hourglass charm he can make into the belt buckle.
Captain America already had a bear, though it had never attained the popularity of Bucky Bear. So Bucky makes a Steve bear. Complete with a gingham shirt tucked into khaki pants, and an artfully rumpled trench coat. In one paw it held a falsified army recruitment form.
"Wow, that’s so thoughtful," Clint says, when he saw them. "Way to blow all of us out of the water forever, you douchebag."
"Oh these aren’t gifts," Bucky says lightly, packing them in boxes. "These are revenge.”
Falcon, Black Widow and preserum Steve Rogers bears hit the stores a month before Christmas, and quickly become the best selling toys of 2014, quickly outstripping the classic Bucky Bear, who most modern children could no longer associate with The Avengers.
"Really?" Steve demands, "A falsified army recruitment form?"
"I think it’s cute," Bucky laughs, eyeing the shelves and shelves of bears. "A riot.”
So we know it’s JK’s headcanon that Dudley has a magical child, right? Imagine his kid starting to show signs of magic and Dudley remembering all the odd things that used to happen around Harry. Imagine his kid coming home from Hogwarts and being all, “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME UNCLE HARRY WAS FAMOUS?” Imagine Dudley reading up on Harry and finding out about all the stuff he did and all the things that happened to him and struggling to grasp how his scrawny, speccy cousin saved the wizarding world. Imagine Dudley, white-faced with terror at his first big family get-together with Harry, Hermione and all the remaining Weasleys. Imagine Mrs Weasley being decidedly cool towards him until he eats fifth helpings of everything she cooks and telling her that she’s the best cook he’s ever met. Imagine Dudley meeting Fleur. Imagine the others embarrassing Harry by telling Dudley stories about him. Imagine Dudley and Harry going down the pub together for beers. Imagine Harry still calling him Big D. Imagine Dudley cheerfully never dieting ever again and being fat and happy forever THE END.
Don’t be angry at yourself when anxiety/depression flares up. It isn’t your fault and no one blames you and if they do they’re pieces of shit.
Don’t orbit around your perceived value so much. You’re not the sum total of what you produce.
Don’t let yourself wonder why people love you. That’s not how it works. There are not stark, individual reasons that a person can enumerate about why they love you. It’s the entire, unique combination of what and who you are.
Captain America and Bucky Barnes exchange a long, unsmiling look. Falcon, off camera, pinches the bridge of his nose.
"We’re married," Barnes says, flat and deadpan. "We’ve been married since July."
"Birthday present," Captain America says, smiling tightly. "We’ve been together since ‘39."
"Give or take," Barnes says, shrugging.
"Boyfriend, though. The boyfriend’s new," Captain America smiles, slow and dangerous, and Falcon cringes, closing his eyes and counting backwards from a hundred.
"We had a girlfriend before," Barnes adds, with a smile that looks like he practices it while he cleans his rifle.
"She was my girl,” Captain America says, and Barnes shrugs.
The interviewer is clearly struggling. “I see. So- um. Your- your boyfriend, does he- I mean, you two-“
"He won’t move in with us," Captain America says, blue eyes wide and innocent.
"We’re horrible to live with," Barnes says, smirking, leaning back in his chair. "Coffee cups everywhere. Cigarettes on the fire escape. Paint on the carpet."
"Cats," Captain America says pointedly. "Three Maine Coon tabbies. Hair on everything."
"Ah! The- the cats. They’re yours, aren’t-"
"They’re mine," Barnes corrects. "They tolerate Rogers. They’re my cats.”
"His Instagram is public," Captain America points out. "Those really are his pictures. Those cats are his children."
"Winter’s Children," Barnes says mysteriously, staring off into the distance.
Captain America elbows him in the ribs.
"Right, so, um. We have another Avenger with us today, um, your colleague-"
“Boyfriend,” Barnes and Captain America correct automatically.
The studio is dead silent. Falcon sighs as he walks out, goes to sit beside Barnes, who immediately moves so he’s forced to sit between them. Barnes and Captain America instantly go from dangerously tight to loose-limbed and bedroom eyed. Falcon shakes his head.
"Can’t take these two anywhere. Just ask me everything, they’ll troll you all day. Jerks."
i had a dream last night that i was working at starbucks and steve rogers walked in and ordered an iced americano and i said “one iced americano for the iced americano" and then i woke myself up by laughing too hard at my own joke
“WHY DO THEY ALWAYS SLICE THEIR PALM TO GET BLOOD. do you know how many nerve endings are in your hand?!?! why don’t they ever cut the back of their arm or their leg or something omfg”—
me everytime a character in a movie has to get a few drops of their blood for some ritual bullshit (via jtoday)
WHILE WE’RE AT IT, why do people try to cross those skinny bridges over lava/chasms/whatever by walking upright. IT’S CALLED CENTER OF GRAVITY. get on your hands and knees and crawl across that thing. HUG IT. SCOOT YOUR BUTT ACROSS. “but i look stupid!” lalalala but we’ll avoid that ~dramatic moment~ where you almost fall over and die because your damn fucking self wanted to look COOL
yes, mr. action hero, I am aware that running dramatically from the baddies at breakneck speed is important, but know what else is important? NOT GETTING SHOT. RUN IN A FUCKING ZIGZAG PATTERN ON THE OFF CHANCE THAT THE MOOKS WERE NOT COACHED IN MARKSMANSHIP BY THE IMPERIAL STORMTROOPERS.
Oh, hey, you there, sneaky hero-type breaking into any place for any reason? WEAR SOME FUCKING GLOVES. They’re called fingerprints, dumbass. You have them and you’re putting them all over the fucking place.