Upright Infinity

knitmeapony:

alykat86:

authorkurikuri:

tom-sits-like-a-whore:

who is on your team, captain?

#completely convinced marvel just finds the actual characters to play their parts

Marvel’s casting department cannot be beat. Literally all of the actors are their characters.

Sarah Halley Finn, casting director for Iron Man, Iron Man 2, Thor, Captain America, The Avengers, Iron Man 3, Thor: Dark World, Captain America: Winter Soldier, Agents of SHIELD, Guardians of the Galaxy, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Ant-Man, and every single Marvel one-shot. All hail the queen. 

ALL HAIL THE QUEEN!!!

ALL HAIL

apparently there was an earthquake

So, according to the news and a couple worried friends, there was a 6.7 earthquake just off of Vancouver Island this evening. Hilariously, I never felt so much as a tremor and had no idea until I dropped into chat and said friends asked if I was okay.

Just in case others were wondering, all is well. Didn’t feel a thing. :)

adamantsteve:

infiniteeight8:

rocketwalker:

bonitabreezy:

#omg i think i hate myself#this s clint in phils office after the battle#it’s been emptied out#but the pencil holes from to many long nights#and clint keeping him company#getting bored and that’s what he’s intently staring at#all the times he could’ve said something#and now he cantIt’s too empty, and it’s too quiet. He should be kicked back on the soft leather couch instead of this crappy desk chair that most certainly was not the one that Phil had used. He should be listening to the scoffs and small noises of frustration that Phil made when he was reviewing mission reports and the quick clack of keys from his keyboard. It’s just about one o’ clock in the afternoon, and Phil should be sitting there with his tie tossed over his shoulder while he eats the lunch Clint brought him with one hand and flips through a file with the other. But now it’s all gone. Phil’s gone, and everything he ever worked for is gone too, because SHIELD has been eradicated. The only thing left of Phil Coulson is the broken man that loved him staring at holes in the ceiling of his office.

*sobbing*

Someone fix it? *hopeful*

Clint sits there for far too long, til his ass is half numb, going over memories of this room and then over them again, trying to absorb every detail he can before someone else moves in. What tie Phil was wearing the time Clint surprised him with a year’s worth of finished paperwork wrapped up in an actual bow; what kind of sandwich it was the first time he came by with a spare; what day it was when he stopped bothering to knock before barging in. There are sounds outside - one of the admins come to ask if he’s alright, probably, ask if he needs anything. They always do that and Clint always bites back something mean, just pulls himself together and gets out. Tells himself it’s the last time. But then the door opens and it’s caught before it hits the wall, a practiced movement that’s indelibly burned into Clint’s consciousness. He doesn’t turn around, cause if this is a fantasy - and it has to be - Clint doesn’t mind dragging it out.A throat clears, and then a voice, bland as bored as anything says, “Barton, get your feet off my desk.”

Awwww.
I love that this got two fixes. :D

adamantsteve:

infiniteeight8:

rocketwalker:

bonitabreezy:

#omg i think i hate myself#this s clint in phils office after the battle#it’s been emptied out#but the pencil holes from to many long nights#and clint keeping him company#getting bored and that’s what he’s intently staring at#all the times he could’ve said something#and now he cant

It’s too empty, and it’s too quiet. He should be kicked back on the soft leather couch instead of this crappy desk chair that most certainly was not the one that Phil had used. He should be listening to the scoffs and small noises of frustration that Phil made when he was reviewing mission reports and the quick clack of keys from his keyboard. It’s just about one o’ clock in the afternoon, and Phil should be sitting there with his tie tossed over his shoulder while he eats the lunch Clint brought him with one hand and flips through a file with the other. But now it’s all gone. Phil’s gone, and everything he ever worked for is gone too, because SHIELD has been eradicated. The only thing left of Phil Coulson is the broken man that loved him staring at holes in the ceiling of his office.

*sobbing*

Someone fix it? *hopeful*

Clint sits there for far too long, til his ass is half numb, going over memories of this room and then over them again, trying to absorb every detail he can before someone else moves in. What tie Phil was wearing the time Clint surprised him with a year’s worth of finished paperwork wrapped up in an actual bow; what kind of sandwich it was the first time he came by with a spare; what day it was when he stopped bothering to knock before barging in.

There are sounds outside - one of the admins come to ask if he’s alright, probably, ask if he needs anything. They always do that and Clint always bites back something mean, just pulls himself together and gets out. Tells himself it’s the last time.

But then the door opens and it’s caught before it hits the wall, a practiced movement that’s indelibly burned into Clint’s consciousness. He doesn’t turn around, cause if this is a fantasy - and it has to be - Clint doesn’t mind dragging it out.

A throat clears, and then a voice, bland as bored as anything says, “Barton, get your feet off my desk.”

Awwww.

I love that this got two fixes. :D

kisleth:

infiniteeight8:

rocketwalker:

bonitabreezy:

#omg i think i hate myself#this s clint in phils office after the battle#it’s been emptied out#but the pencil holes from to many long nights#and clint keeping him company#getting bored and that’s what he’s intently staring at#all the times he could’ve said something#and now he cantIt’s too empty, and it’s too quiet. He should be kicked back on the soft leather couch instead of this crappy desk chair that most certainly was not the one that Phil had used. He should be listening to the scoffs and small noises of frustration that Phil made when he was reviewing mission reports and the quick clack of keys from his keyboard. It’s just about one o’ clock in the afternoon, and Phil should be sitting there with his tie tossed over his shoulder while he eats the lunch Clint brought him with one hand and flips through a file with the other. But now it’s all gone. Phil’s gone, and everything he ever worked for is gone too, because SHIELD has been eradicated. The only thing left of Phil Coulson is the broken man that loved him staring at holes in the ceiling of his office.

*sobbing*

Someone fix it? *hopeful*

His vision blurs from either staring too long or crying, but he doesn’t want to think on it too hard. He doesn’t want to know the right answer. He blinks the blurriness away and focuses elsewhere and he sees ghosts. He remembers verbal reports and post-medical visits and bringing Phil lunch, or donuts, or coffee.
He remembers teasing and flirting and office sex jokes that once became reality.
He shifts in the chair, aches coming alive in his back. He looks at the worn wood and can see every mark. Marks from the chair turning and banging against the front when Phil got up too fast—it had happened once too many times because Clint showed up hurt in his doorway more often than their of them liked. There were marks from him sliding onto it with his tac gear on, marks from that time he slammed a mole’s face into the corner, marks from his nails digging into the edge when Phil fucked his brains out…
Marks and memories and ghosts.
"Fuck." Clint’s voice cracks and he slams a fist into his thigh. It clears his head, dashes away the ghosts. Well, most of them.
He can still feel Phil everywhere, see him everywhere. “Dammit, Phil.” His next breath shakes so hard he has to cough. “Goddammit, Phil…” He wasn’t supposed to go like that. He was supposed to retire, Clint was the one young and stupid enough to be killed in line of duty. He didn’t even die when he was brainwashed.
He wished he had.
His feet hit the floor and he wants to bolt, but he can’t get his limbs to move. So, instead, he folds himself in half and wraps his arms around his thighs. He buries his face in his knees and sobs.
His ears ring with white noise and words. Everything Phil’s said, the good and the bad. The voices overlap and Clint digs with fingers into the rough denim, inhales the fabric softener and dirt, tries to push away the shaking and the soft, defeated sobs.
The voices don’t go, but one is clearer, louder. “Clint.” So simple. Just his name. And yet it has the power to shatter diamonds, to freeze lava, to break him completely.
But the loudest voice isn’t alone. It comes with the rustle of fine wool, with the scent of Phil’s favorite cologne, with tentative and gentle fingers threading into his hair. He freezes for half a second before snapping up and pushing back in the wheeled chair, but he doesn’t get far because the wall is behind him.
Phil’s crouched, just before where Clint had been. He has an arm in a sling, a cane resting against the desk, and a small, sad smile. The shaking gets worse and he can feel his face crumple and fall. Any mask he’s maintained is gone with no hope to get it back. “You’re…” His words lurch out of his mouth. “You’re just a ghost. Just like all the rest.”
The ghost looks hurt. “Clint…”
"You’re the best damn ghost, but you’re still one so get the hell out. I’m done with the lot of you." His voice is shaking and he wants to bolt, but this ghost is between him and any exit. He’d push through him except fr the fact that he really wants him to be real and if he can walk through him… well, that would make everything so much worse.
"Clint, I swear, it’s me." Phil straightens, bracing himself on the desk. It groans from the weight on it. Clint’s eyes snap to the wood and then up to Phil’s face. "I swear." He holds out a hand to take, swaying on his feet like he can’t balance well on his own.
"Prove it."
"Take my hand."
"N-no, prove it some other way." He doesn’t remember gripping the arms of the chair so hard, but he can feel his knuckles ache and if this were a dream he should be awake from the pain, right?
The ghost braces himself against the desk and slowly steps closer. Clint looks wary but he doesn’t bolt. Not even when the ghost rests a knee between his legs, or braces his good hand on the back of the chair. He can feel the warmth of Phil’s body and fresh tears well up. “I’m real.”
Clint swallows and a tear drips down his cheek. Phil leans in and Clint can’t stop the gasp when warm, slightly chapped lips brush the tear away. He does it again when another tear falls.
"Phil?" Phil nods and Clint’s mouth is trembling but twisting into a smile regardless. "Goddammit, you asshole."
"I know." Phil kisses him, his arm shaking until Clint stands, wrapping his arms around his waist securely. Clint leans agains the desk and Phil leans against him. "I know."

Oh, the feels. But such a good end! *hugs* Thank you!

kisleth:

infiniteeight8:

rocketwalker:

bonitabreezy:

#omg i think i hate myself#this s clint in phils office after the battle#it’s been emptied out#but the pencil holes from to many long nights#and clint keeping him company#getting bored and that’s what he’s intently staring at#all the times he could’ve said something#and now he cant

It’s too empty, and it’s too quiet. He should be kicked back on the soft leather couch instead of this crappy desk chair that most certainly was not the one that Phil had used. He should be listening to the scoffs and small noises of frustration that Phil made when he was reviewing mission reports and the quick clack of keys from his keyboard. It’s just about one o’ clock in the afternoon, and Phil should be sitting there with his tie tossed over his shoulder while he eats the lunch Clint brought him with one hand and flips through a file with the other. But now it’s all gone. Phil’s gone, and everything he ever worked for is gone too, because SHIELD has been eradicated. The only thing left of Phil Coulson is the broken man that loved him staring at holes in the ceiling of his office.

*sobbing*

Someone fix it? *hopeful*

His vision blurs from either staring too long or crying, but he doesn’t want to think on it too hard. He doesn’t want to know the right answer. He blinks the blurriness away and focuses elsewhere and he sees ghosts. He remembers verbal reports and post-medical visits and bringing Phil lunch, or donuts, or coffee.

He remembers teasing and flirting and office sex jokes that once became reality.

He shifts in the chair, aches coming alive in his back. He looks at the worn wood and can see every mark. Marks from the chair turning and banging against the front when Phil got up too fast—it had happened once too many times because Clint showed up hurt in his doorway more often than their of them liked. There were marks from him sliding onto it with his tac gear on, marks from that time he slammed a mole’s face into the corner, marks from his nails digging into the edge when Phil fucked his brains out…

Marks and memories and ghosts.

"Fuck." Clint’s voice cracks and he slams a fist into his thigh. It clears his head, dashes away the ghosts. Well, most of them.

He can still feel Phil everywhere, see him everywhere. “Dammit, Phil.” His next breath shakes so hard he has to cough. “Goddammit, Phil…” He wasn’t supposed to go like that. He was supposed to retire, Clint was the one young and stupid enough to be killed in line of duty. He didn’t even die when he was brainwashed.

He wished he had.

His feet hit the floor and he wants to bolt, but he can’t get his limbs to move. So, instead, he folds himself in half and wraps his arms around his thighs. He buries his face in his knees and sobs.

His ears ring with white noise and words. Everything Phil’s said, the good and the bad. The voices overlap and Clint digs with fingers into the rough denim, inhales the fabric softener and dirt, tries to push away the shaking and the soft, defeated sobs.

The voices don’t go, but one is clearer, louder. “Clint.” So simple. Just his name. And yet it has the power to shatter diamonds, to freeze lava, to break him completely.

But the loudest voice isn’t alone. It comes with the rustle of fine wool, with the scent of Phil’s favorite cologne, with tentative and gentle fingers threading into his hair. He freezes for half a second before snapping up and pushing back in the wheeled chair, but he doesn’t get far because the wall is behind him.

Phil’s crouched, just before where Clint had been. He has an arm in a sling, a cane resting against the desk, and a small, sad smile. The shaking gets worse and he can feel his face crumple and fall. Any mask he’s maintained is gone with no hope to get it back. “You’re…” His words lurch out of his mouth. “You’re just a ghost. Just like all the rest.”

The ghost looks hurt. “Clint…”

"You’re the best damn ghost, but you’re still one so get the hell out. I’m done with the lot of you." His voice is shaking and he wants to bolt, but this ghost is between him and any exit. He’d push through him except fr the fact that he really wants him to be real and if he can walk through him… well, that would make everything so much worse.

"Clint, I swear, it’s me." Phil straightens, bracing himself on the desk. It groans from the weight on it. Clint’s eyes snap to the wood and then up to Phil’s face. "I swear." He holds out a hand to take, swaying on his feet like he can’t balance well on his own.

"Prove it."

"Take my hand."

"N-no, prove it some other way." He doesn’t remember gripping the arms of the chair so hard, but he can feel his knuckles ache and if this were a dream he should be awake from the pain, right?

The ghost braces himself against the desk and slowly steps closer. Clint looks wary but he doesn’t bolt. Not even when the ghost rests a knee between his legs, or braces his good hand on the back of the chair. He can feel the warmth of Phil’s body and fresh tears well up. “I’m real.”

Clint swallows and a tear drips down his cheek. Phil leans in and Clint can’t stop the gasp when warm, slightly chapped lips brush the tear away. He does it again when another tear falls.

"Phil?" Phil nods and Clint’s mouth is trembling but twisting into a smile regardless. "Goddammit, you asshole."

"I know." Phil kisses him, his arm shaking until Clint stands, wrapping his arms around his waist securely. Clint leans agains the desk and Phil leans against him. "I know."

Oh, the feels. But such a good end! *hugs* Thank you!

rocketwalker:

bonitabreezy:

#omg i think i hate myself#this s clint in phils office after the battle#it’s been emptied out#but the pencil holes from to many long nights#and clint keeping him company#getting bored and that’s what he’s intently staring at#all the times he could’ve said something#and now he cantIt’s too empty, and it’s too quiet. He should be kicked back on the soft leather couch instead of this crappy desk chair that most certainly was not the one that Phil had used. He should be listening to the scoffs and small noises of frustration that Phil made when he was reviewing mission reports and the quick clack of keys from his keyboard. It’s just about one o’ clock in the afternoon, and Phil should be sitting there with his tie tossed over his shoulder while he eats the lunch Clint brought him with one hand and flips through a file with the other. But now it’s all gone. Phil’s gone, and everything he ever worked for is gone too, because SHIELD has been eradicated. The only thing left of Phil Coulson is the broken man that loved him staring at holes in the ceiling of his office.

*sobbing*

Someone fix it? *hopeful*

rocketwalker:

bonitabreezy:

#omg i think i hate myself#this s clint in phils office after the battle#it’s been emptied out#but the pencil holes from to many long nights#and clint keeping him company#getting bored and that’s what he’s intently staring at#all the times he could’ve said something#and now he cant

It’s too empty, and it’s too quiet. He should be kicked back on the soft leather couch instead of this crappy desk chair that most certainly was not the one that Phil had used. He should be listening to the scoffs and small noises of frustration that Phil made when he was reviewing mission reports and the quick clack of keys from his keyboard. It’s just about one o’ clock in the afternoon, and Phil should be sitting there with his tie tossed over his shoulder while he eats the lunch Clint brought him with one hand and flips through a file with the other. But now it’s all gone. Phil’s gone, and everything he ever worked for is gone too, because SHIELD has been eradicated. The only thing left of Phil Coulson is the broken man that loved him staring at holes in the ceiling of his office.

*sobbing*

Someone fix it? *hopeful*

Decision Time (Blizzcon & cosplay)

So, back when I started making the pally armor (which is, like, maybe 5% done), I told myself that I was doing it just for me, that I wasn’t going to put a deadline or a timeline on it.

And then a couple of months ago there was a teeny bit of evidence that there might be a Blizzcon late this year, and I started pondering whether or not I wanted to go…and whether or not I wanted to cosplay there.

Today, Blizzcon 2014 was announced (November 7th & 8th).

Tickets go on sale in two blocks on May 7th and May 10th and they sell out FAST, so I have to know by then if I’m going.

Some considerations:

1) If I go, I have to transport my cosplay. I’ll probably only cosplay for half a day, but it’s a huge element in why I would want to go. It’s a major plan changing element, because if I wanted to fly with the cosplay as currently intended to be built, it would require a new suitcase (a giant hard case one) and I’m still not sure I’d be comfortable checking it. Alternately, I could drive down. It would take two long driving days, because Google maps says ~20 hours, and I’m not up to driving through the night anymore. Driving would probably actually be cheaper, even with gas and hotel, given the price of international tickets.

2) It’s $199 for a two day event. That’s really goddamn expensive. I mean, I understand, but I’m used to that sort of price tag being for four days, so it’s a bit tough to swallow, especially when I can see all the panels via virtual ticket for somewhere in the neighborhood of $50. 

Honestly, if I’m going to take a week off (2 days down, 2 day event, 2 days back) to drive all the way to Anaheim for Blizzcon, I might as well take a couple of additional days and go to Disneyland as well. I’ve been wanting to go back to Disney anyway. I wonder if any decorations would be up for the days around Blizzcon…

3) I’d have to finish the cosplay by November. There’s a reason I didn’t put a deadline on the pally armor, and it’s because I wanted to do it right and not worry about it. This wouldn’t exactly be a speed build, because I have more than 6 months, but it’s still a deadline. But deadlines can be motivating. 

The way I see it, if I decide to go for it, my options for finishing in time are: (1) Work out a reasonable schedule for the pally armor (build in breaks, ffs) and stick to it, or (2) Switch to the armor I was planning to do second instead, because the other armor is a smaller build (10 pieces, all of them smaller than the pally armor’s 13-15 pieces). If I finish that, I could go back to the pally armor. I’m super excited about the second armor, as well, so I don’t really mind switching, but I do worry that I’m getting into a bad habit, switching again so soon after the Dredd build!

I’m sure there are other considerations, but those are the major ones on my mind at the moment.

hulksmashingpumpkins:

HAPPY EARTH DAY!

AO3 comment replies incoming

infiniteeight8:

I have just sat down to try to catch up on all my AO3 comment replies. I’m…months behind. As always. Some of you will probably get several replies!

*runs head first into all the unanswered comments on “Pine Lake Oasis*

*goes to get a drink*

This is gonna take awhile, because all these fabulous people left lovely comments that demand more of a reply than “Thanks!”. *g*

AO3 comment replies incoming

I have just sat down to try to catch up on all my AO3 comment replies. I’m…months behind. As always. Some of you will probably get several replies!