#cannibithobbal

[allisonargentsavestheday]

cannibithobbal replied to your post: Yes. This is me taking selfies in fron...

Just casually stopping by to say that your face and hair are flawless, your cat is adorable, your Christmas tree puts ours to shame, and I need that amazing necklace. That is all.

AWW THANK YOU! my necklace is bcbg girl. And i cannot take credit for the tree (cause my mom chose the decorations) or the cat (cause my littlest sister rescued him) BUT this makes me HAPPY! I hope you have a WONDERFUL christmas!

[imaginesteverogerss]

Imagine Steve getting addicted to making smoothies.

It starts with Tony getting a cold.

The first few days are miserable, filled with plenty of overdramatic sneezes and cries of  “What do you mean you want me to make an appearance, Potts, I’m an invalid!” Sam's level of annoyance with Tony goes from its usual eight to a solid ten and a half.

Day four, somehow, finds Tony silenced, sucking some orange smoothie out of a striped bendy straw. 

Then, about a week later Sam finds Pepper nursing her own bendy straw, her drink a nice shade of pink. “There was a note left on it, saying something about how it smooths out your skin? Somebody obviously must’ve overheard me complaining to Natasha, I’ve got this zit on my forehead that’s been making me feel like I’m fifteen again…”

Next is Bucky, who falls into the habit of drinking a purplish smoothie out of that striped bendy straw exactly one hour before he goes to bed every night. 

“Does it help, man?” Sam asks.

Bucky shrugs.

It’s not that much of a surprise, really, when Sam finds himself the latest victim of the bendy straw. He’s been having to stay late at the VA for the past couple weeks, and thus has been yawning maybe a bit more than usual. The smoothie he finds on his doorstep is green-blue, with a note taped to it explaining that it’s supposed to “energize” the drinker. 

“Hey, Rogers,” he calls out on their morning jog, “you got a straw I can borrow?”

Steve laughs and slows down, strangely unembarrassed. “What gave it away?”

“You’re the only person I know who wouldn’t just offer to buy me a cup of coffee.”

(link to smoothie recipes!)

[imagineagentcarter]

Imagine Peggy and Howard actually did stop in Lucerne for some fondue.

They don’t actually make it on the way home from dropping Steve in the middle of an active war zone.

It’s not, in fact, until well after the war, after Howard has gotten Peggy to join him at SHIELD, that, at the end of a particularly grueling mission in western Germany, Howard surprises her at the airport to suggest a little detour.

Peggy is surprised a second time when, contrary to Howard’s usual panache, they end up paused outside a tiny hole in the wall restaurant accessible only via an entrance in a side alley far from the center of town.

"It may not look like much, but they have the best melted cheese in all of western Europe."

"Well, I should hope so."

He opens the door and a sweeping arm gestures for her to enter.  “Shall we?”

She graciously steps inside, and as they’re quickly seated at a corner table, Howard doesn’t even glance at the menu before immediately ordering two bowls of fondue and a bottle of their best red wine.

They fill the next twenty minutes with talk of her latest mission and casual updates on progress with SHIELD (as they always do on nights like this), but as soon as their meal arrives the discussion is cut short and neither speaks for several minutes, too occupied with dipping bread into delicious cheese (which, Peggy is delighted to find, lives up to Howard’s extolment).

[imaginesteverogerss]

Imagine Steve stumbling on a collection of his own artwork at a museum.

The Smithsonian exhibit is uncomfortable, at best.

It’s like looking at someone outside himself who wears the same face.  It’s voyeurism, staring at his face, smiling and relaxed in a way it never was anymore.  And it just got worse and worse, as they trotted out every little bit of his past for consumption.

Nowhere is it worse than in the room filled with his sketches, and a few of the comics and posters he had done on commission.  Steve’s stomach lurches, swooping when he sees the sketches of his mother and twisting angrily when he sees the last sketch of Bucky he had ever drawn.

He’s sitting darning his socks by a fire, a huge grin on his face.  Steve remembers that the Commandos were in high spirits, and Morita and Dugan had been cracking jokes all night as they passed around cheap wine.  The fire was warm, beating back the cold of the alps, and Steve had never been more sure that everything would work out.

And just looking at the picture is enough to trigger the rush of memories that seem just on the edge of his mind every waking minute:  Gunfire and crashing and Bucky’s cry.  The way his eyes locked onto Steve’s even as he scrambled and fell.

It makes Steve feel sick, and he has to turn and leave.

[imaginesteverogerss]

Imagine Steve getting dragged out for a night on the town by some of the ladies on the USO tour.

It didn’t take long for the girls to realize that 1) Steve Rogers is not quite what they expected and 2) He has no idea how to talk to women. Stella and Ashley have made it their mission to drag Steve out to town for a night, and he’s proven to be a tough sell.

Today, they’re in DC and they’ve all just finished up and Stella leans against the doorway, appreciatively watching Steve change. Hey, she isn’t blind, you know. “So, Steve,” she drawls, grinning when he jumps and blushes, hot over his ears and along his freckled cheeks. 

"Um, hi, Stella," he says quietly, buttoning up his shirt. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah," she laughs. "We wanna take you out. All us girls."

Steve’s eyes go wide and he looks jumpy and startled. “Um. I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

Stella pouts at him, batting her eyelashes. “Why not, sugar? You’re too pretty to be wastin’ away inside the hotel room sketching.”

Steve looks shy and ashamed. “I…wouldn’t have anything to wear.” Stella huffs, unbearably fond of this hulking, sweetheart of a man, and she walks forward and unbuttons two of the buttons of his shirt, so you can see his collarbone and some of his chest. 

"There you go, sweetheart. That’s all you need. You look damn near edible in anything you wear." 

Steve blushes bright red and coughs, but he lets Stella lead him out.

She introduces him to all the girls and what they find out is that 1) Steve doesn’t get drunk and 2) He loves to get into fights.

(And maybe they all invite him back to their places at the end of the night. But who is he gonna tell?)

[imaginesteverogerss]

Imagine Steve baking cookies as gifts for all his neighbors, but people keep coming by and eating them.

"Stop! No! No more!" Steve exclaims, placing himself between Clint and the plate of cookies. "These are for not you."

Clint pauses, one cookie still in his hand, and makes a face. "Come on. One more. Whoever you're giving them to doesn't need more than six."

"Neither do you," Steve points out. Clint doesn't even pretend to look remorseful, just grins real big and shrugs.

"Some of them were for Nat."

Steve raises his eyebrows. "I've watched you stuff every single one of those cookies into your mouth."

Clint keeps grinning as he takes a bite out of the cookie in his hand. "They were for Nat in spirit."

"Just--just don't take anymore, okay? Please?"

"Sure, Cap, sure," Clint says, stuffs the rest of the cookie into his mouth and waves as he wanders off.

Steve turns back to his cookies, but--

The entire plate's gone. In its place lies one long red hair.

Natasha.

[imaginesteverogerss]

Imagine Steve inviting the Avengers over for what he plans on being a small private dinner at his place, but he doesn't exactly specify that so then everyone brings at least a plus one and Darcy crashes it and Tony brings like three extra people and a bunch of alcohol.

It ends up being like eighteen people, all crammed into Steve's tiny apartment. Tony keeps bugging him about it, but all Steve can say is that he doesn't need or want a lot of space.

Then someone mentions that they've brought a Cards Against Humanity deck, and everyone discovers just how fucked up they all are.

At three in the morning, Steve says goodbye to Tony and Pepper, the last two to leave, and turns to survey the place. There's trash everywhere, and glasses sitting precariously in all sorts of places they shouldn't be (seriously, halfway off of his bookshelf? Since when is that the kind of thing that people do?).

But he grins, because for once his house had been full of life again, and now he wants to paint.

[imaginesteverogerss]

Imagine Steve being too tired to change after a mission so he just goes to Starbucks in his Captain America uniform.

It’s absolutely pouring outside, so the Starbucks is packed, but he can’t bring himself to care about the stir he’s causing because he really, really needs caffeine.

He signs autographs while he waits for his triple-caf vanilla latte with chocolate syrup, then steps outside so that nobody tries to offer him his seat.

By the time he gets home, twenty or so people have posted pictures to their Twitters and Instagrams, of them and him, standing outside that Starbucks, his one arm thrown over their shoulders, trying not to spill his coffee, the other holding the shield over their heads to keep them dry, a little.

Off to the side in most of the pictures, there’s a small knot of people waiting for their turns. He’s sure he’s the only one who notices the face at the back of the group.

Bucky had been there.

Had been there, and hadn’t approached.

After every mission for the next several weeks he hits a Starbucks in his uniform (whether he’d worn the uniform on these missions or not, he changes into it so he can do this). In picture after picture, Bucky’s there in the background.

But it’s not on one of these trips out that Bucky finally approaches him.

It’s while he’s out for groceries, in a hoodie and sweats. He’s looking at tomatoes when a hand holds one out to him.

A metal hand.