✪✪✪ @abrooklynboy - Tumblr Blog

"I've always believed that all you need is one man to make a difference.

To stand up when others are told to sit down.

To speak loudly for those who have no voice.

And to fight the good fight."

Selective ✪ Multiverse ✪ 21+ ✪ Multiship ✪ Independent

promos and banners by @/RPSchtuff

#on the internet everyone thinks you're a duck #pinned post

murder-popsicle:

“Which first?” Jane asked. “Find the Widow, find Rumlow, or find Zemo?”

It would help to have Natasha on their side in their search for Rumlow and Zemo both. There was no question that Natasha might betray them back to HYDRA; after all, she’d nearly died trying to take HYDRA down. The bigger question was whether she’d turn them in to what was left of SHIELD. And Jane’s gut said that the answer to that question was no.

At least, she hoped it was her gut. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. But the look in the Black Widow’s eyes when they’d faced each other in DC had been one not of fear, but of pain, as though fighting the Winter Soldier was causing her anguish.

She remembered. Jane was sure of it.

Draining the last of the whiskey, she said, “I think we could use Rumlow. Kill him and use his death as a trail to lead Zemo into a trap. Whaddaya say, pal?”

“Widow first. She knows current era better than us.” No matter the era, it was risky to depend on a spy. Their allegiances could be to a bigger picture, zoomed out to a sky rather than a flag. Romanova could sell them out to someone she believed would help. She may not. Rogers was willing to take that chance based on Jane’s gut. Hardly any other person would be trusted with her life. Jane was as skilled at her own craft as Rogers was at his. Call him an old fashioned man. Rogers only had Jane.

He would rain hell down on anyone who tried to lock them down or separate them again.

‘Pal.’ Rogers tapped Jane’s shoulder with his own. Rumlow’s slavering hyena face swam in the glass’ reflection against the rooftop. Zemo’s – both of them – purple balaclava floating in city smog. “Zemo’s gonna send loyal – or bought – soldiers instead of going himself. To Zemo’s prestige, Rumlow’s an overgrown tool loyal to the cause. Once we find Widow and kill Rumlow, we climb the HYDRA ladder.”

#murder-popsicle #red captain red guardian #my pal bucky

bobbob-56

everyday i think of sam wilson at pride

#comics 616 #on your left | sam

quietjellypeanut-deactivated202

The trouble with a lot of this, the “punch a nazi” website, is that much of its supposedly leftist user base can’t tell a nazi or nazi talking points apart from a rock. A lot of people will talk about supporting Jews and the Jewish community, but this website’s userbase has also effectively ghettoized most its Jewish users. You don’t hear them talking about how terrified they are about the uptick in antisemitism from all parts of the political spectrum because you’ve blocked them all. Any post on Judaism, no matter how innocuous, it could be a cute picture of a cat in front of a plate of hamantaschen, that does make it through ends up being flooded with antisemitic comments. Because you’ve effectively allowed much of this website to become a nazi bar.

storm-of-feathers

op's tags are important

#on the internet everyone thinks you're a duck | ooc

-blows dust off this blog-

#on the internet everyone thinks you're a duck | ooc

murder-popsicle:

Bucky took the bowl gratefully, the warmth of it seeping into her hands, and when she got a whiff of the aroma, it took all her self-control not to gobble it down in one gulp. After the starvation rations that they’d all been on in that damn factory, she knew full well that if she ate too quickly she’d just throw it right back up.

“Best oatmeal of my life,” she said after swallowing her first spoonful, feeling it warm her from the inside out. “That sainthood is deserved, Stel.” She couldn’t even remember the last time that something she’d eaten had tasted so delicious. Probably the hot dogs she and Stella had eaten at the Stark Expo the night before she’d shipped out. Everything since then had been either army rations or the stale bread and sour-tasting water the prisoners had been forced to survive on – or die on – in that HYDRA hellhole.

She was still in a lot of pain, bruised and battered and far too thin, but right now she was just enjoying the fact that she was still alive, enjoying her oatmeal, relieved to be out of that factory and happy to see her best friend, even if Stella looked significantly different than she had the last time Bucky had seen her.

God, she hoped they would let her wash today. She was still in the shirt Gabe had given her weeks ago, not to mention the trousers she’d been wearing when her unit had been captured. Both were crusted with blood and filth, and she was itching to get clean.

First though, she had some questions. She took another bite of oatmeal, marshaling her thoughts, and finally said, “You gonna tell me how you ended up growin’ three times bigger and showin’ up in the middle of Austria with a set of workin’ lungs? ‘Cause I gotta say, I am real damn curious to hear this.”

She was trying hard not to sound accusing, but she couldn’t completely keep the edge out of her voice. Seeing Stella like this beggared belief. Add in the hallucinations brought on by the doctor’s concoctions and that Schmidt fellow peeling off his own face over a pit of flames, and she felt like she’d spent the past few weeks stuck in some kind of hellish fever dream.

Being alive was swell. Bucky being alive had Stella’s smile, watching like a mother hen over Bucky’s spoon against the bowl, noting the way she held herself, and the first bite of oatmeal. They had been in this position before; Stella sick in bed, Bucky at her bedside. Stella relishing having taste back, when simple food tasted like what the Rockefellers would have.

Before Bucky had been drafted, the only warfare they had been exposed to was children defending their blocks with rocks, bricks, and debris and memories of their fathers’ war in bottles and old men on the street corners with missing limbs and broken faces. How Stella had scoured newsreels and papers for signs of her sister and home over there. Her worry whispered – she had found Bucky isolated. What sick experiments had the doctor done to Bucky?

Pulled away from the whisper, Stella laughed. There she was! Bawling Stella out for another harebrained activity. ‘Joined the Army’ wasn’t going to cut mustard!

“Right.” She glanced down at herself, expecting her own scrawny form in her WAC uniform. Tired, sore legs longer than Katharine Hepburn’s stretched under Bucky’s cot. “I did change. Doesn’t feel like it when I’m with you.” Sharp ears listened. Guards were posted further away; nurse on duty turned her Bible’s pages. Gesturing to the bowl, “Eat. I’ll talk.”

Leaning forward, she kept her voice low. “After we went our ways at the Stark Expo, I met a doctor.” Stella’s artistic mind, sharpened by the Serum, held up Sergeant Barnes saluting Corporal Rogers in her WAC uniform and the Bucky in front of her. Yes, this was her sister, sickly and abused, one of the survivors.

“A good one.” Lump gathered in her throat. Dr. Erskine had been a part of her life for a short time; in some ways, he was her father, recreating her. “He asked why I wanted to go overseas. Told him I wanted to do my part. Next thing I know, he was telling me I was being offered a chance at a different position. Turns out, they were wanting to create a unit of super soldiers to beat Axis. They’ve got...The Skull.” Confirming hellfire and a man ripping a perfectly good face off was real.

“We were put through physical and mental tests. Loads of strong guys with nothin’ goin’ on between their ears. Brilliant gals but….” Shaking her head, “People started droppin’ out. Some thought it’d be a ‘who was the toughest’ type of test. Dr. Erskine picked me. Told me the serum amplified what was in a person. ‘Good becomes great; bad becomes worse.’”

Looking towards the ceiling, then down at her boots, “There were supposed to be more of us. I was picked to be the first. After the procedure, Dr. Erskine was assassinated….An’ the Army wasn’t too pleased about me.”

#murder-popsicle #a brooklyn butch #my pal bucky

play-now-my-lord

Reminded by flag discourse about my proposal for a new Massachusetts state flag. The looming black triangle represents the creeping dread one experiences in Massachusetts, the white represents the horrible weather, the blue represents microplastics, and the slogan represents I saw it on a pack of cigs and thought it sounded sick

#art

why-i-love-comics

Captain America #1 (2025)

written by Chip Zdarsky art by Valerio Schiti & Frank Martin

#wednesday spoilers #comics 616 #the captain #reed

why-i-love-comics

Captain America #1 (2025)

written by Chip Zdarsky art by Valerio Schiti & Frank Martin

#wednesday spoilers #the captain #comics 616

why-i-love-comics

Captain America #1 (2025)

written by Chip Zdarsky art by Valerio Schiti & Frank Martin

#wednesday spoilers #the captain #my pal bucky

geryone

Erou, Maya Phillips

#musings

avengerscompound

Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

A Year of Marvels: July Infinite Comic (2016)

#the captain #my pal bucky #comics 616 #we happy few

murder-popsicle:

“Rest sounds nice,” Jane said wistfully. But there was no chance that they could rest until they’d completed their self-assigned mission. As long as the people who had done this to them were still out there, rest would never be an option.

Pulling one knee up to her chest, she said, very quietly, “I’d like to find the Black Widow again. I don’t trust that organization she works for, those SHIELD people, but I’d trust her. I think she’d help us. Assuming she remembers.” Jane paused, and then, even more softly, said, “I think she does. The way she looked at me… I think she does.”

Jane remembered now, remembered the love she and Natalia Romanova had once shared – the love that the Captain had kept hidden from his superiors, the love that had gotten all three of them punished and caused Karpov to wipe every trace of the Black Widow from his Winter Soldier’s memory.

Nearly every trace, that was. When they had met again on that deserted road near Odessa, the Winter Soldier hadn’t been able to take a killing shot. Some part of her, some deep down buried particle, had recognized her former lover.

They would get rest when they were dead or done with their mission. “It does,” Rogers admitted, watching her curl up slightly from the corner of his eye. “Okay. Then we look for the Black Widow.” He remembered the Soldier’s romance with Romanova; real despite the machinations Department X put them through.

He didn’t have anyone at Department X nor HYDRA like the Soldier had Romanova. The Soldier and their teams were all he had needed at the time. The Captain would have held all of her secrets.

Finding a love was better than causing bloodshed. There would be time for their mission later.

“I don’t trust S.H.I.E.L.D. either. I’ve had enough of organizations for a lifetime,” he said in an attempt of lightheartedness that faded as she continued speaking. “I believe you.” Her judgment was always trustworthy. “And if she doesn’t remember, hopefully she’s still willing to hear us out.”

#murder-popsicle #red captain red guardian #my pal bucky

murder-popsicle

@abrooklynboy (Stella)

The march back from the Red Skull's factory was…well, it was, and that was about all Bucky could say for it. She’d spent the first day wrapped in Stlla’s jacket and perched on the edge of a tank, too shaky and exhausted to walk for any length of time. What little sleep she got came in restless snatches, and she was still half convinced that everything around her was an elaborate hallucination brought on by one of the little doctor’s concoctions.

The bruises on her arms, though, and the ache in her legs after she started marching under her own steam – those felt real, too real to be something her mind had simply cooked up.

When they’d finally reached the camp, when the cheering had died down, the brass had pulled her aside, given her a shot of benzedrine, and dragged her off for questioning – what did the doctor do, how much did you tell him, what do you mean he didn’t ask about the Allied forces at all?

But the questions had ended abruptly when she’d had to lurch out of the tent to vomit. Whatever the liquid fire Zola had shot her full of was, it clearly didn’t get along well with stimulants. So the nurses had taken her for a physical instead, noting down each cut, each scar, each bruise, frowning deeply at the blood crusted around her ear, the skin stretched too tight over her ribs, and the scar that ran down her abdomen in an angry red line.

Finally, finally, she had been allowed to collapse, and for the first time in weeks, she’d gotten a true good night’s sleep.

She woke to the smell of oatmeal and the sight of Stella sitting on the cot opposite hers. Sitting up slowly, she bit back a groan. Every inch of her body was stiff and aching, especially her arms; not surprising, when she considered the sunset of bruises that covered the insides of both her elbows. Christ, she was sore. But her cough was gone and she could no longer feel her ribs creaking inside her when she moved. It was a welcome improvement, though it did make her wonder exactly how long she’d been in that lab. She’d lost track of time so completely that she wasn’t even sure what month it was, let alone the date.

“Stel,” she said, finally succeeding in pushing herself upright. “Hey.” A smile flitted over her face when she caught sight a steaming bowl in her friend's hands. “You brung me breakfast? You’re a saint.”

abrooklynboy

Over the course of Stella's roughshod Army training, it became quickly apparent she was difficult to exhaust. Here at the front, she was finally hit by what seemed to have never left before. Hunger, bitter cold, worn out muscles. Men and women who were lucky to be alive. Stella hardly left Bucky the first day, her sister sitting on the tank, weak and sick from the factory.

Phillips ushered Stella way, her cheeks still red from the attention. While the court martial apparently was not necessary, a chewing out was. Stella stood at attention while her CO read off her list of misconduct. Going AWOL despite orders to stay put, stealing a military vehicle, dragging Carter and Stark into the fray.

The conversation turned when Phillips said she would be doing that type of work again and again with the best people the Allies had.

Once she made it clear she was going to pick her own people, Stella was allowed to get some sleep in her tent. The moment she could, she collapsed into a dreamless sleep on her bedroll, still wearing the striped outfit and jacket she had borrowed.

'Captain' America, huh?

She woke up before the sun, stomach growling, run down from the Red Skull's attacks and the long march back. Only the cooks and watchmen were awake this early. A hot meal was welcome after foraging and canned rations; this time, she was able to eat as much as she wanted. After several plates, she sweettalked one of the cooks if she could get a bowl for Sergeant Barnes.

Bucky looked slightly better than when Stella found her on the table. Obviously, she was in dire straights but the nurses were taking care of her. When her friend stirred, Stella let out a cough to announce her presence. "Hey, Buck," she said, with a wave of her hand, holding up the bowl in her other hand. "Nominating me for sainthood over breakfast?" she teased, handing the bowl over to her. "How're you feeling?"

#murder-popsicle #a brooklyn butch