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SLYTHERPUFF
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Multifandom Blog | James McAvoy Fangirl | PC Gamer

Fic Request:

Someone write a Bucky fic concerning a common phrase used as a trigger and one of the Avengers accidentally says it.  (Think: “Would you Kindly” from Bioshock)

itsleviooosah:

kvotheunkvothe:

forevvy:

 

Ten bucks probably feels like a lot of money to him, too. Like this wasn’t an idle bet.

$10 in 1945 is about $130 today

restlesslyaspiring:

pearlsandink:

Men’s Rights Activists.

OH MY GOD THIS IS A PERFECT REPRESENTATION

lyndraws:

my goal is to draw cherik in every possible cuddle pose you can’t stop me 

lyndraws:

my goal is to draw cherik in every possible cuddle pose you can’t stop me 

justamerplwithabox:

thedoctorsconsultingwitch:

The best subtitle ever

Beeeeby

justamerplwithabox:

thedoctorsconsultingwitch:

The best subtitle ever

Beeeeby

"The Winter Soldier’s facial expressions are almost childlike here, and the way he passively accepts that mouth guard tells you everything you need to know. He could probably kill everyone in the room within seconds, but instead he just lies back and lets them torture his brain to mush for the hundredth time. Before now he seemed like such an intimidating figure, but this scene shows the Winter Soldier what he really is: a little kid or a blank slate into which people insert their own goals and missions, fully-formed. “But I knew him,” he says in miserable confusion, sure that he recognises Steve’s face from somewhere. But Pierce, the voice of God, refuses to explain any further."

-THIS IS THE BEST PARAGRAPH FROM THE BEST REVIEW OF CAP2 I HAVE READ (HERE) http://hellotailor.blogspot.de/2014/04/captain-america-winter-soldier-tragedy.html

(via upallnitetogetbucky)

"

they put you on a pedestal but get angry when you do not
allow them a ladder. they assure you that your mother bore you from another planet but are resentful when you do not pay their air fair. ask you to be naturally beautiful but feel outrage when you do not shave the hair that grows on your legs like theirs, your thighs like theirs, like your skin could be human like theirs. but how could it be human like theirs? when you bleed for seven days and still have enough life left in you to insult them with a single syllable. “no.”

this blood that trickles down past knobby knees and spills across an oiled floor, leaving behind bare footprints caked in red. it would be nice to pretend that your ability to create something as amazing as fingernails with only your womb wasn’t treated like a reason to be scrubbed raw, but you’ve washed your hands a thousand times because you’ve learned that the illusion of cleanliness, of smooth skin, of inhuman characteristics that make up the word “girl” is the closest you will ever get to being treated like an actual person. and so you clean under your fingernails and imagine the things you could create if your womb filled with gasoline instead of blood, the things you would burn down with your monthly miracle. like the pedestals and the expectations and all the sharp razors edged in rust.

and soon enough the tips of your fingers are blistering pink and the water runs tepid and your mother reminds you to run to the convenience store. she wants that box of tampons you forgot about while you were despairing over the insignificance of your daily existence. and so you go to the store and hits you one more time that as the sizes go up, so does your disgust factor. these tiny white cotton cylinders that made you so embarrassed to buy at the age of twelve, and how innocent they seem in their plastic wrappings and their blue boxes. how amazing that something so delicate could hold so much weight. the price tags says $10.95. you decide the price is too much for something that makes you feel so pathetic but you buy them anyway.

"

i offered to tie the strings of my tampons together but apparently that wasn’t the same as “rapunzel, rapunzel, let down your hair.” // S.M. (via nobbiedanger)

mccartneymadness:

Paul McCartney by Jean-Marie Perier