Jenn - 29 - Canada

Let's be real here, what you're going to find is mostly aging boybands from the 80s/90s and attractive German treble-winning football players. I'm comfortable with my choices.

24th April 2014

Post reblogged from Very Sharp Teeth with 999 notes

verysharpteeth:

shipperwolf1:

aturningheart:

every time i see this i just want to cry

image

His face is fucking twisting here and it’s so fucking painful to see

Because first of all, he’s openly protesting something his superior is telling him, something his “master”, for all intents and purposes, is telling him

And I highly doubt argument is something programmed into the Winter Soldier, into the Asset, the Fist of Hydra, the perfect assassin.

No, he does not protest. He follows orders. He doesn’t ponder why he does a thing, he just does it. He doesn’t fret over who he’s killing, because it’s not his priority. Not his prerogative. Not his problem. He has one task, and it’s given to him, and he carries it out and he’s done his job. He’s does not exist to care.

He’s never had a reason to.

And so it probably very much bothers him to argue here, to say “But, because he just….doesn’t do that.

And then, of course, there’s why he’s protesting. Something is itching in his brain, tugging at him, something both familiar and incredibly foreign to him. He recognized a target, and his target recognized him. Called him a name that he had never heard before, and yet,

And yet,

And it hurts, physically, mentally, and there’s probably a serious onslaught of anxiety here, and what the fuck, he does not feel anxiety. He does not worry.

He does not ponder or care.

And so it’s probably a relief for him to hear, “Wipe him and start over”, because that means he doesn’t have to care anymore, and he doesn’t have to try to figure out how he knew this man and why it hurts so goddamn much to hear said man’s  voice repeating a name that meant both nothing and…something (everything?) in his head. 

Yes, wipe me, because I can’t take it. It hurts too much, and there’s no relief after. Give me the temporary pain of a clean slate so that I won’t remember him anymore, won’t hear him gasp out that name again.

Give me back my purpose. Give me back my peace. Rid me of this doubt. Because I think I might actually be starting to feel fear.

What kills me is his eyes are SO dead. He looks so tired and defeated…and yet. He still FIGHTS for that memory. They have burned him to the ground and you still see a little of the single minded, over protective Bucky there. They beat the fight out of him but that tiny little bit of him still resists because that man on the bridge…he meant something…somehow.

What kills me is that he could kill everyone in that room (even Brumlow, fuck you Brumlow) in like 3 seconds flat and he just doesn’t because he’s so lost and confused and they’ve broken him down so badly. They’ve made him completely unaware of his own power to the point that as badly as he wants to hang onto this sliver of a memory and let it grow into something, he knows they’re gonna take it away from him again and he doesn’t believe there’s a damn thing he can do about it.

I want Cap 3 to be Steve & Bucky hunting down everyone who was in that room and systematically beating the shit out of them, tbh.

Tagged: Bucky BarnesThe Winter SoldierCaptain America: The Winter Soldier

Source: aturningheart

24th April 2014

Photo reblogged from *insert witty title here* with 5,257 notes

gyzym:

LET’S ALL PRETEND THAT THIS IS HOW IT IS, that steve and bucky are just regular people, hipsters, kids that grew up in each other’s pockets and never got sent over the edge of the train, or down with the ship, or into the cryo chamber, or to war. that they made it to the 21st century the same way everyone else did and neither one of them has ever woken up disoriented in a borrowed future. that somewhere deep down in the bowels of the city there is a train running with their initials carved painstakingly into the underside of the plastic seats, each of them using the other’s housekey to carve their bit on the ride home from school, and it’s as close as either one of them has ever come to being memorialized. 
let’s pretend that the only time steve’s ever thought bucky was dead was for those six terrible hours last summer, when bucky sprained his wrist at work and there was a mixup at the hospital, a message on steve’s machine that was meant for someone else. that bucky finally took a cab home alone after waiting fucking hours for steve to show up, only to let himself into their apartment and find steve plastered to him a second later, gasping these wet, strangled-sounding breaths against the side of bucky’s neck. that bucky didn’t know what had happened but guessed enough to let his own anger drain away, to close his eyes and wrap his arms around steve’s waist in apology.
let’s pretend that bucky’s never been anyone but himself except on painkillers, a couple of times, so zoned out after getting his wisdom teeth pulled that he couldn’t remember his name; that steve laughed, and brought him ice cream, told him he could be anyone he wanted to. that their hurts are easily catalogued and explained. that underneath bucky’s t-shirt there is a patchwork of freckles and musculature but few scars, nothing that would make anyone gasp and wonder, that if there’s blood on his hands its only his own, or steve’s, maybe, picked up patching him up, trying to hold them both together. that his sleeping dogs are left to lie and even awake, they’re not so terrible, little trespasses, mistakes, nothing that would make anyone bat an eyelash. 
let’s just pretend that this is it, the two of them, steve in a sweatshirt and plastic-rimmed glasses and bucky like this, black pants, black t-shirt, his v-neck stretched out from all the times steve’s grabbed him by it and drawn him in for a kiss. let’s pretend that this is just one of a hundred thousand moments before they go somewhere, anywhere — a party or a ballgame, dinner with their friends, the grocery store, even work. let’s pretend that this is the part of their day where steve checks again that he locked the door as bucky leans against the railing on the stairs, eyes fond, mouth parted around whatever conversation is coming easy between them today, and says, “c’mon, rogers, c’mon.” 

gyzym:

LET’S ALL PRETEND THAT THIS IS HOW IT IS, that steve and bucky are just regular people, hipsters, kids that grew up in each other’s pockets and never got sent over the edge of the train, or down with the ship, or into the cryo chamber, or to war. that they made it to the 21st century the same way everyone else did and neither one of them has ever woken up disoriented in a borrowed future. that somewhere deep down in the bowels of the city there is a train running with their initials carved painstakingly into the underside of the plastic seats, each of them using the other’s housekey to carve their bit on the ride home from school, and it’s as close as either one of them has ever come to being memorialized. 

let’s pretend that the only time steve’s ever thought bucky was dead was for those six terrible hours last summer, when bucky sprained his wrist at work and there was a mixup at the hospital, a message on steve’s machine that was meant for someone else. that bucky finally took a cab home alone after waiting fucking hours for steve to show up, only to let himself into their apartment and find steve plastered to him a second later, gasping these wet, strangled-sounding breaths against the side of bucky’s neck. that bucky didn’t know what had happened but guessed enough to let his own anger drain away, to close his eyes and wrap his arms around steve’s waist in apology.

let’s pretend that bucky’s never been anyone but himself except on painkillers, a couple of times, so zoned out after getting his wisdom teeth pulled that he couldn’t remember his name; that steve laughed, and brought him ice cream, told him he could be anyone he wanted to. that their hurts are easily catalogued and explained. that underneath bucky’s t-shirt there is a patchwork of freckles and musculature but few scars, nothing that would make anyone gasp and wonder, that if there’s blood on his hands its only his own, or steve’s, maybe, picked up patching him up, trying to hold them both together. that his sleeping dogs are left to lie and even awake, they’re not so terrible, little trespasses, mistakes, nothing that would make anyone bat an eyelash. 

let’s just pretend that this is it, the two of them, steve in a sweatshirt and plastic-rimmed glasses and bucky like this, black pants, black t-shirt, his v-neck stretched out from all the times steve’s grabbed him by it and drawn him in for a kiss. let’s pretend that this is just one of a hundred thousand moments before they go somewhere, anywhere — a party or a ballgame, dinner with their friends, the grocery store, even work. let’s pretend that this is the part of their day where steve checks again that he locked the door as bucky leans against the railing on the stairs, eyes fond, mouth parted around whatever conversation is coming easy between them today, and says, “c’mon, rogers, c’mon.” 

Tagged: I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW IS EVEN THIS SADStuckysteve x bucky

Source: winterfel

24th April 2014

Photoset reblogged from LanghamStyle with 2,919 notes

Tagged: some of these are questionablesome of these i think he's been wearing for three daysall of them i want to tear off himsebastian stan

Source: margaery-tyrell

24th April 2014

Post reblogged from The One and Only Female Steve Rogers with 2,385 notes

bootycap:

who do i contact at marvel to get my life back

Source: bootycap

24th April 2014

Post reblogged from Drunk Sherlock Is The Best Sherlock with 23,520 notes

daeneryus:

one day sansa stark is gonna get pushed too far and she’s just gonna fucking lose her shit and start screaming and killing people and singing i’m not your toy by la roux and later surrounded by dead bodies she’s gonna compose herself and be like “i’m so sorry, that was very unladylike wasn’t it”

Tagged: and then she'll take a seat on the iron throneand cross her legs like a ladysansa starkgame of thrones

Source: daeneryus

24th April 2014

Photoset reblogged from My Way Of Compartmentalising All The Things I See with 944 notes

sebastiasstan:

Requested by jamesbootybarnes

Tagged: nobecause this made me so sadhe was so in loveand douchebag rejected himand it nearly killed himand everything was awful and i saw seb stan's pouty face a lotbut it was THE WORSTPolitical AnimalsSebastian StanTJ Hammond

Source: sebastiasstan

24th April 2014

Photoset reblogged from The One and Only Female Steve Rogers with 1,139 notes

Tagged: sebastian stantj hammondyou adorable little druggie shitpolitical animals

Source: thegladersoldier

24th April 2014

Post reblogged from "but I knew him." with 7,783 notes

heckybarnes:

look at the winter soldier’s little glove though this guy is scraping his bitching metal arm all over the pavement that glove doesnt even have fingers its not protecting shit it’s a 100% aesthetic choice scientists are like “but what if we made him like 20% more badass” “good showing charles, lets give him punk rock hair while we’re at it” 

image

Tagged: HYDRA cares an awful lot about looksi feel like HYDRA is as thirsty for Bucky as we all are

Source: heckybarnes

24th April 2014

Photoset reblogged from LanghamStyle with 362 notes

Tagged: i bet once they got out of the waythey started plotting reasons for Falcon and the Winter Soldier to kiss in Cap 3a lotso they could present them to Marvel

Source: lermanuds

24th April 2014

Post reblogged from The One and Only Female Steve Rogers with 4,992 notes

emocas:

emocas:

Sebastian Stan has a 9 movie deal with Marvel

image

#if he makes a surprise appearance in AOU i will rip a turtle from its shell nd eAT IT

of all the tags i’ve seen on this post, this is by far the best

Tagged: I am disturbingly afraid that will happenlike i won't be expecting it and then his stupid face will show upand i will scream in the theatre

Source: emocas