mumblingsage:

– He’s been out of cryo-freeze too long.
– Then wipe him and start over.

That almost-smile thing in the top right. I don’t. Ah. What. Help. Talk me through this. 

Gallery

Steve Rogers’ 1930s/1940s neighbourhood

selenay936:

But anyway, I recently sat down to figure out exactly where Steve’s local gay bars would be, or where the closest ones would be, for purposes of plotting things out, and uh … turns out that Steve Rogers lived in the MIDDLE of the biggest cruising/gay bar/gay hangouts area of Brooklyn. Like, a couple blocks from the St. George Hotel, which was almost entirely gay by the early 40s. 

This is actually a really great, fascinating essay on the area and time Steve grew up in. The whole idea that Steve (and Bucky even more) would be completely, totally clueless seems even more ridiculous when you really look at this stuff.

Steve Rogers’ 1930s/1940s neighbourhood

Link

bro-stoevsky:

shinelikethunder:

eccecorinna:

watertightvines:

I do feel that fandom, in its distress over Bucky’s general existence, has neglected something very important:

BUCKY IS NOW WANDERING AROUND DC UNSUPERVISED AND CONFUSED

Does he figure out the SmarTrip machine?

Does he wait patiently for Silver Line trains?

Does he like cupcakes?

Does he get to visit the dinosaur part of the Natural History Museum before it closes for renovations?

THESE ARE THE IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

DOES HE REMEMBER TO CHECK FOR WEEKEND TRACK WORK

does he know the good times to go to the zoo

does he read Capital Weather Gang yet

who signed him up for a DC public library card

I feel this is relevant to melannen, bro-stoevsky, shewhowishes, and our post-Cap-2 discussion of Bucky wandering into a Ben & Jerry’s and staring into the distance with a slightly haunted expression while the poor girl behind the counter tries to ask him what kind of ice cream he wants. (They’re probably running a special Captain America themed flavor, too.)

“Excuse me,” a woman said, putting her hand on the Winter Soldier’s elbow outside of the Ben and Jerry’s in Dupont, which was honoring free cone day. He almost dropped his ice cream in surprise, but held onto it. “Can you tell me how to get to the White House? I’m not sure if I should take the Metro to Elephant Plaza or Smithsonian. Do you know?” 

The Winter Soldier stared at her, so she pointed out the landmark, glittering in the sunlight at the other end of town. “I just need to get that way, to the White House.”

“That’s the United States Capitol,” said the Winter Soldier. 

“Are you sure?”

“No,” said the Winter Soldier, turning to leave with his ice cream.

He wasn’t sure of anything.

An hour later he found himself in Meridian Hill. He went into the park. His ice cream had melted on the aspirationally buff curves of his metal arm, and it was attracting bees. He found himself facing a tired-looking bronze and granite statue, also surrounded by bees due to the melting frappucino in spilled at the statue’s feet. 

BUCHANAN, said the inscription above the statue, and to one side, JAMES BUCHANAN OF PENNSYLVANIA.

The Winter Soldier felt a deep sense of loss, or discomfort, seeing those words. Something was missing from him as he was, taken or forgotten or lost, and thinking hard he identified it: the ice cream.

He needed a fresh ice cream.