oylmpians:

a list of current immortals

  • florence welch: probably like 200 BCE celtic queen
  • keeanu reeves: 1500 renaissance hoe
  • jeff goldblum: late 1800′s i would guess
  • harry styles: fairly new immortal, 1970′s 
  • lorde: 1920′s flapper era
  • hozier: man who even knows, rough estimate is like, 400 BCE
  • john mulaney: 1930′s/40′s, still bitter about the great depression probably and if he could put it in a bit with out being #exposed he would
  • paul rudd: newest to the immortal club, didn’t age past the 1990′s

boogiewoogiebuglegal:

winterlive:

ellidfics:

seguin2011:

The unsung heroes.

That was one of the most horrifying, painful, beautiful parts of the movie.  So many of them weren’t prepared, so many were administrators who had no clue that the STRIKE teams had turned, let alone that a killing machine like the Winter Soldier was on the loose.  

So many of them died.

And yet none of them hesitated.  Despite the propaganda Pierce had unleashed, despite their orders, despite everything, they still responded.  Their sacrifice, their heroism – they gave the last full measure of devotion, and I can’t imagine that Steve wouldn’t attend the memorial service, even if he had to use a wheelchair or a cane because his own wounds hadn’t finished healing.

“Captain’s orders” indeed.

without these people, there IS no Captain America.

This part of the movie killed me— ordinary, decent people standing up (and in many cases, dying) on nobody else’s word than the Captain’s. They didn’t know how many were Hydra, they maybe didn’t even really know what Hydra was (aside from some dimly recalled story from their grandparents) but stand up, they did. And without them, without the few seconds of delay, the helicarriers would have launched on schedule. 

for the halloween prompts – “strangers who hooked up at a party while in costume but tbh i might be in love with you so i’m gonna walk this earth looking for the right woodland nymph” pre-serum steve as the teeny tiny woodland nymph?

whtaft:

“But Natasha, I love him,” Bucky says, laying with his head on Natasha’s lap. They’re sitting in their apartment on the chaise lounge Bucky bought from a professor in exchange for shoveling their sidewalk this winter. Bucky thinks he got a pretty good deal out of it; it’s the most comfortable thing he’s ever owned.

“You’re very dramatic,” Natasha says.

“It’s been three weeks since the toga party and I can’t find him,” Bucky says. He lets his hand drape over his eyes to add to the overall vibe he’s trying to give off. “I’ll never find him again. I’ll never see his beautiful face or perfect—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Natasha interrupts.

“See, this is what happens when I go out. One Alpha Delta Phi party and here I am, pining over the nymph of my dreams.”

The guy was beautiful. Small with elven features, thin but not delicate. He was beautiful as he looked at Bucky from across the room, a mischievous gleam in his eye as he raised an eyebrow at Bucky. And later that night, when they were in bed together, he was perfect. He was fun and giving, and his smile when they were finished was enough to make Bucky’s heart start beating fast. If he hadn’t gotten an SOS text from Sam that he was needed to help a drunk friend get home, he would’ve tried to stay all night.

“If he was really the nymph of your dreams, you would’ve gotten his name.”

“I was a little busy, Natasha,” Bucky says, moving his hand so he can frown at her with full effect.

“Even if you had his dick in your mouth, you could pause and ask for his number,” she says.

Bucky rolls his eyes, flopping back on the couch for good measure. “That’s not what happened and you know it.” He pauses, sighs. “He’s my soulmate and I’ll never see him again.”

“Well, if he’s got such a good nymph costume, maybe he’ll be going out for Halloween next week.”

Bucky pulls himself up. “You’re a genius!” he says. Then realization dawns on him and he flops back down. “Natasha,” he says.

“Yes?” she asks, voice restrained but long-suffering.

“There are hundreds of parties on Halloween,” he says. “How am I supposed to know which one he’ll be at?”

“That’s up to you,” Natasha says, folding the book she’s been pretending to read closed and standing up. “I have to go to ballet practice and you have your econ class in fifteen minutes.”

“My AP classes never prepared me for this,” Bucky says as she zips up her backpack.

“They didn’t prepare you for college, either, but somehow you’ve made it to senior year. You can make it through Halloween.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Bucky says. “I’m gonna need a miracle.”

“I think, in this case, you may have more luck pleading to Beelzebub,” she adds before leaving Bucky alone in their apartment.

— —

“Four hundred and sixty eight parties,” Bucky says, looking over the Excel spreadsheet he’s compiled over the past three days.

“And those are only the ones you could find,” Sam says, scratching the back of his head. “I know this is obvious, but there’s no way you can go to four hundred and sixty eight parties.”

“I’ve narrowed it down. There are at least fifty that are pretty much grad student-exclusive, and I didn’t think this guy was headed towards his PhD.”

“There we go,” Natasha says. “That’s some progress.”

“Another eighty are really small, ten people or less on Facebook. Even if he’s at one of those, I couldn’t just roll up. Besides, he said that he likes big parties. It’s easier to find someone to hook up with there, and he’s out on Halloween for a reason, just like everyone else.”

“To troll for seed?” Clint asks.

“Jesus,” Bucky says. “To have a good time. Hell, maybe he’d be out to look for me.”

“Fat chance,” Natasha mutters under her breath and Bucky shoots her a glare. She rolls her eyes. “What do we have to do?”

“I’ve narrowed it down to twenty likely parties. I have five people, including the three of us. That’s only four parties per person. Are you in?”

“Of course we are,” Sam says. “I don’t love it, but of course we are. Let’s go get your nymph.”

— —

Group text

Sam: house no 2……. nothing. someone did ask if I wanted to be a human sacrifice, so my night’s going great.

Clint: nothing here except for pizza.

Bucky: Stay on mission!!!

Clint: I can be on the mission and also eat some pizza.

— —

Bucky types an angry response to Clint as he walks to his next party. They’re all on a schedule, and should be switching by now, so Clint is putting them behind, and—

“HEY,” someone yells from behind him. Bucky ignores it, trying to focus on the task at hand. “Caesar, hey, HEY.”

And then there’s someone tackling him.

“Aurghahaaaa,” Bucky says, swinging his arm around and nearly dropping his phone.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you!” says whoever is on his back as he slips down. His voice is low and hot and it’s—

“Holy shit, it’s you!” Bucky says, grinning as he looks nymph guy up and down. He’s not dressed as a nymph tonight; instead, he’s Andy Warhol. “I was looking for you, too.” He can’t stop himself from smiling. He’d half-believed that he’d been dreaming this guy up, but here he is, wearing a bad wig and a black turtleneck.

“Really?” the guy asks.

“Yeah, I really was.” He pauses. “I’m Bucky,” he says. “Bucky Barnes. In case you wanted to know. You don’t have to call me Caesar.”

“Hi Bucky,” he says.

“Do you have a name? I’d like to call you something other than nymph guy.”

“Maybe I like that,” the guy says.

“Please?” Bucky asks, taking a step closer to the guy and wrapping an arm around him.

“Steve,” he says. “Steve Rogers. But if you take me home, you can still call me a nymph.”

“I’d love that,” Bucky says, leaning down for a kiss.

— —

“So you’re telling me that I went to six different house parties for nothing?” Sam yells into the phone the next morning. Bucky totally deserves it, but the criticism goes a bit over his head. It’s hard to pay attention to what Sam is saying when Steve is waking up next to him, looking beautiful and ethereal and perfect on November 1st.

tygermama:

See now I need a fic of Steve Rogers learning about history and finding out how history has treated the USO girls

how they were a footnote

how they’re discounted as unimportant

how the memoirs they wrote about their experiences, the whole two of them who got published, are looked down upon

and he gets so pissed

especially after the few of them who are still alive make contact, maybe they come to see him, maybe he goes to visit

and one night he’s seething about it, some documentary on tv getting it wrong again

and Tony makes a crack, poking to see what’ll happen (he writes it down somewhere therefor it’s science)

and Steve starts ranting about how these women were his friends, they worked hard, they got treated like crap, like eyecandy, they were getting shot at just like everyone else but no one would let them shoot back, how sexist historians got everything wrong and their stories were worth telling and respecting

it’s the most passion Tony’s ever seen from Steve and it’s because people are slandering his friends, most long dead

and the next thing you know, the Maria Stark Foundation and HBO are announcing their next big mini-series

Star Spangled Girls

executive producer and head consultant, Steven G Rogers

dollarforthewolfman:

rainbow-femme:

If society collapses and we gotta start living back in tiny tribal societies everybody’s gotta make sure when you start making those stories that get passed down through the ages that you include some ghibli movies in there. I want future archeologists to find multiple societies around the world worshiping chihiro the dragon rider goddess and howl the trickster god. We got one chance if it happens so don’t fuck it up

I can’t tell if we’re handling the collapse of society well or not anymore