Jhoira Artificer

tamorapierce:

greenekangaroo:

tamorapierce:

cryptidsandoddities:

Clouds are weird yo.

What’s weird?  The top one opens out, and there’s rain, and the mountain has a tiered hat like Devo, and the bottom one is beaming up Kirk, Spock, and McCoy.  Do I have to explain everything?

TRIS WILL YOU KNOCK IT OFF WE KNOW LIGHTSBRIDGE EXAMS SUCK GOD

::cackles madly::  No, no, no, dear heart, you haven’t heard the news!  Tris is going under an assumed name, to get her certificate as an ordinary mage!  And Tim Gunn will be her advisor!!

misterracoon:

roachpatrol:

yeah seriously tell us how wizardry’s done in the new world tell me how the wizards from france and spain and britain stamped out the brujos and the medicine men and set up their own schools tell me what the fuck the british raj did to fucking india because the patel twins are going to school in scotland and what are they told about their history, tell me about native american kids learning to say wingardium leviosa with hate in their hearts and tell me about wizarding rabbis bickering about whether you can use potions on the sabbath tell me about the slaves on their ships with their wands broken, mouthing curses in the dark tell me about the runaways that made it with garter snakes wrapped around their wrists that told them when they tasted dogs in the distance, tell me about the underground railroad and abolitionists with unbreakable vows and home-spun invisibility cloaks and disilusionments, using obliviate, using imperio, knowing that they served a higher justice, tell me about what happened to black wizards in the fifties, about what gates they were storming in the sixties tell me about queer wizards taking love potions every morning in their coffee to stay married to their husbands and their wives because what else could they do?

the world only begins and ends with straight white christians if you don’t bother looking any farther than that and too many people don’t and i am tired, tired, tired

Oh. 

And how hard is it to land even a minimum-wage job? This year, the Ivy League college admissions acceptance rate was 8.9%. Last year, when Walmart opened its first store in Washington, D.C., there were more than 23,000 applications for 600 jobs, which resulted in an acceptance rate of 2.6%, making the big box store about twice as selective as Harvard and five times as choosy as Cornell. Telling unemployed people to get off their couches (or out of the cars they live in or the shelters where they sleep) and get a job makes as much sense as telling them to go study at Harvard.
caterville:

Oh he’s good.

wsswatson:

people: “benedict cumberbatch is the most attractive actor to play sherlock holmes”

me:

thefrogman:

iguanamouth:

WHERE are they getting this stuff !!

By Lauren [tumblr]

Who do you think was the first person Steve Rick Rolled?

darthstitch:

typewriterchan:

kisleth:

typhoidmeri:

dopemixtape:

typhoidmeri:

dopemixtape:

Steve discovers Roll Rolling one night while working through the list of music recommendations Sam and Natasha had given him.  At first he thinks it’s a random ad popping up in the middle of the music video. Then he reads the comments. Nearly every one involves swearing and the term ‘Rick Roll’d.’ Google, as always, is unbelievably helpful and Steve laughs out loud to himself upon reading the Wiki page.  

Sam is first.

Steve:  Otis Redding is terrific - thanks for the recommendation. Found one you might like. Let me know what you think.

He pastes the link into the text before hitting send. He smirks and waits.

Sam:  Steve Rogers, you Rick Rollin’ sonofabitch! Dammit, man. Who knew Captain America was such a troll?

Steve’s sharp bark of laughter echoes off the walls.  

Steve: On your left

Sam:  You’re an asshole

Sam:  Fifty bucks says you can’t get everyone else

Steve:  I won’t feel bad taking your money, you know?

Sam:  That’s why you’re an asshole.

image

IDEK you guise.

Steve: Hey, Clint, thanks for the movie recommendations. Pretty in Pink was great. I liked this one too.

Steve carefully pastes the link in and presses send without a moment of regret. He tosses his phone on the counter and opens the fridge. Halfway through making a pile of sandwiches his phone vibrates on the counter. 

Clint: WTF?

Clint: U rick rolled me.

Steve: Sorry, pal.

Clint: UR an asshole. >:( 

Steve snorts and screencaps the texts. 

Steve: one down.

He attaches the picture and sends it to Sam, laughing to himself as he pulls a carton of milk from the fridge. 

Sam: Why am I friends with you?

Steve: My senior citizen’s discount. 

Natasha doesn’t reply. Steve hasn’t heard anything from her in three days, so he assumes she’s off somewhere on the other side of the world kicking ass and taking names.

He’s walking back to his place one night with a couple of large pizzas, listening to the 60s mix Sam made for him when a little blur of red and black lunges at him from the shadows. His attacker sweeps his legs out from under him and knocks him to the ground. He’s prepared to spring to the defense when he sees it’s Natasha. Steve’s laugh is cut short when she presses a pointed heel against his throat. “Dammit, Nat! You made me drop my pizzas. What the hell?” 

She presses her heel a fraction closer and breathing becomes difficult.

Natasha eyes him coolly with her arms crossed against her chest.  ”I’ve had motherfucking Rick Astley in my head for three days now, you little shithead.”

Steve snorts and immediately regrets it. 

Natasha kicks him in the ribs before offering a hand to help him off the ground.

"Share your pizza and let’s figure out how you’re going to get Stark." 

image

(Natasha is having exactly none of your shit, Steve.)

Despite what Tony thinks, Thor has no trouble with Midgardian technology. Humor, yes, but technology no. Steve sends Thor an email, swipes his iPod off the desk and goes out for a run, listening to the 70s mix Sam made him.

unknown number: I hate you.

Steve: Excuse me, I think you have the wrong number.

unknown number: I have the right number, Captain Rogers. Thor has not stopped singing all day.

Steve: I’m sorry, Dr. Foster.

Dr. Foster: No, you’re not. ヽ(ಠ_ಠ)ノ

No, he really wasn’t.

….

Steve finds an acoustic version, heavy on the sitar, of Rick Astley’s notorious hit and asks JARVIS to play it the next time Bruce plays his tea time music.

Two days later they learn that Hulk can’t sing but he can hum.  Rather soulfully, he thinks as he sends a video clip to Sam.

Sam: You fucker, Rogers.

Steve: Five down. One to go.

Sam: Good luck with that one, asshole.

Steve: Better have my money ready, Wilson.

image            (Thor enjoys Midgardian folk tales sung in chanted verse)

Tony is the hardest by far. Steve brings pizza and vodka with him when he visits Natasha, and Clint is there too as a happy accident. He bounces ideas off them and everything he can think of just isn’t enough. They break for the night and he retires to his apartment.

He almost considers giving in to Sam when Tony gives him the answer unknowingly.

Steve is sitting on one of the stools in Tony’s workshop, drawing the Suit (which Tony was tickled over), when DUM-E beeps and nudges his arm. Steve grins and takes the washer they’d been using for ‘fetch’ while Tony mutters to himself and looks over the damage Steve’s body armor had sustained. 

(“It’s impossible!” He’d wailed, looking at the large gashes in the fabric.

"Tell that to my stomach," Steve had replied from the hospital bed where his skin slowly stitched itself back together under the bandages.)

"Hey, Tony." Steve lightly tosses the washer like an extra-small frisbee across the workshop. "Is DUM-E limited to just beeps?"

"No, he has proper speakers, he just refuses to use them for anything else. He doesn’t have the AI functionality of JARVIS. He’s like a baby. A really old baby. Or the mute eldest brother."

Steve smiles brightly when DUM-E comes back with the washer.

——

It’s really easy to get the song onto his iPod.

——

It’s almost easier to get the iPod hooked up to DUM-E and get him to push the ‘play’ button once Tony had settled in.

——

The entire team watches through the (thankfully soundproof) glass wall as Tony shouts and chases DUM-E around his workshop.

Steve: Did it.

Sam: Pics or it didn’t happen.

Steve steps into the workshop and records the song playing as DUM-E zips around, Tony chasing him. It sends it to Sam who doesn’t reply for ten minutes.

Sam: I’m paying you in beer. BECAUSE you can’t get drunk. Asshole.

Steve: That’s Captain Asshole to you.

BEST ENDING OF ALL TIME AMG

Slaps this onto blog.

Prompts for Pie 6: Peggy Carter Finds Her Way Home

scifigrl47:

(For krameriagrayi, who requested a bit of Peggy Carter)

"New Jersey?"

"You needn’t sound so disdainful. It’s quite a real place."

"Real is relative, Agent C." Howard Stark threw himself into a chair, sending it rolling sideways. He slouched low, head back, arms tossed out to the sides. His face looked pinched and pale, and Peggy gave him a sideways glance. Hungover, it would seem. She wasn’t surprised. "I’m not arguing real,” Howard continued. “I’m arguing if it’s a place I’d like to spend time. And that has a simple answer: It’s not."

"I suppose you’d prefer to see us put forward the effort required to maintain our current efforts from, where exactly?" She set her chin on her fist, fluttering her eyelashes. "The cabana beside your pool, perhaps?"

He grinned at her, his eyebrows twitching in an absolutely ridiculous expression. “There are worse ideas. New Jersey, for instance, New Jersey is a worse idea.”

"So you have said." She arched an eyebrow. "Repeatedly."

“I gotta repeat it,” Howard pointed out. “You aren’t listening.”

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confusedcatsagainstfeminism:

Confused Cats Against Feminism is a project of We Hunted the Mammoth:The New Misogyny, tracked and mocked.