jeusus:

ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ Here’s Natasha for my post-apocalyptic AU.

Since I already got the question, She’s not going to look as perfect as she does in the comic, none of them will. They are in a world where survival is more important than using up resources to blow dry your hair and scavenge make up.

Who would you like to see next in this universe? You can send me ideas here: http://jeusus.tumblr.com/ask

fuckitfireeverything:

themaraudersaredead:

The Harry Potter epilogue takes place in 2017, which means not only have those kids already seen Pacific Rim, but they have been subjected to Pacific Rim 2.

this is probably what “all was well” was referring to. 

chujo-hime:

samsteves:

i like how steve’s plan on stopping the insight helicarriers from being launched in cap 2 was to more or less guilt trip the hell outta the shield agents into not launching them

image

vanillabobo:

du4ne:

some of us have been following each other for a long ass time

#at this point i dont even care about your fandoms

posted 1 day ago with 49,056 notes
via:tardis-potter source:du4ne
#yup

chicagomoonlight:

kaywinnetleetam:

However loving his parents may have seemed, he [Simon] knew that, scratch the surface, and they’d scream and run away. And here he’s confronted with a guy who is just everyting he thinks is wrong about a person, who comes back for him when the chips are down because he’s on his crew. To me, that’s a  real parent, and that is an extremely beautiful thing to get to, and I think it’s very real… But the most important thing about ‘Safe’ was that relationship.

Joss Whedon, Firefly: The Official Companion, Volume One

fuck you, Joss….

I just noticed that the first person who was targeted was Maria Hill? and She was watching that

(Source: luvindowney)

bccabarnes:

 (x)

(Source: ohawkguy)

a-daks:

When that group project doesn’t quite come together.

wagnetic:

harblkun:

despairsfortune:

asexualrogers:

octopiwhalestreet:

yoquinto:

okay but a story about an asexual pirate who gets made fun of by the crew until he saves all of them from sirens

A pirate for the adventure, not the booty

image

oh my gosh i want that on a bumper sticker

image

Trying to pilot a ship here. Thanks.

IT GOT BETTER

(Source: blueyesxavier)

posted 2 days ago with 273,745 notes
via:tardis-potter source:blueyesxavier
#perfect #mogii

nympheline:

This is my favourite bookstore and bookseller in the world. Bar none.

I used to get to Seattle every six months or so, and whenever I visited I always made it a priority to stop in BLMF and ask its keeper what he’d been reading lately. He possessed an inexhaustible memory, a comfortable lack of snobbery, and impeccable taste. The first book he recommended to me, upon listening gravely to my litany of at-the-moment authors (Barbara Kingsolver, James Clavell, Maeve Binchy, Neil Gaiman, Charles DeLint, Anthony Bourdain) was Tipping the Velvet. He also later landed me with Geek Love, Anno Dracula, half the Aubreyad, and more modern Literature-with-a-capital-L than I could carry home.

The next-to-last time I dropped in, I asked if he had any P. G. Wodehouse.

"I have zero Wodehouse," he said, "and here’s why…"

Turned out that some fiend had taken to creeping in every month or so expressly to inquire of any Wodehouse and, once led to the volumes, to buy it all. ALL. Didn’t matter the condition, the edition, or whether he had another just like it in his possession; the villain bought every single P. G. Wodehouse in stock, every single time.

Was he a fan more comprehensive, more truly fanatical than any other I’d heard of, let alone known? Was he virulently anti-Wodehouse, only purchasing the books to keep their wry poison from infecting the impressionable masses? The world may never know.

I didn’t get any Wodehouse then, and I didn’t really feel the lack. I found plenty of other treasures that trip. But here’s one reason why BLMF and its proprietor are my favourite of their kind: that was two years ago, you see. Maybe three. In all that interim, I never planted foot in that bookshop. Never called. Never wrote. And I’m one face out of hundreds of thousands, dear reader; one reader he saw twice a year for three years, then not again for another three.

But I walked in the shop last Friday. Nodded hello.

"Can I help you find anything?" he asked, lifting his head from the phone.

"No, I’m good," I said.

"Wait—hold on a second." He set the phone down, walked ‘round the towers of books balanced precariously on the desk, on the floor, and atop other, only slightly less precarious towers. He jerked his head conspiratorially toward the far end of the shop, led me carefully to a shelf way in the back, removed a tattered stack of mass market paperbacks and motioned me closer to see what they’d been hiding.

Fifteen pristine Wodehouses: crisp, heavy, and—

Hardcover,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows.

Reader, I bought them all.