people should just reply to anon hate with this
damn dude thats brutal
That’s even more brutal
It got better
*magnetos away from my responsibilities* like
#i love how ‘Magneto’ is being used as a verb #like ‘flying’ or ‘levitating’ could have been used and still made sense #but with ‘magnetos’ you get the sense that the speaker ascends with great disdain for humanity and their petty matters #truly a beautiful verb (via roboromantic)
when someone mentions marvel
When someone mentions Doctor Who
When someone mentions Sherlock
When someone mentions Supernatural…or doesn’t, either way
the first three words you see are what you want most in life right now
You always have that one follower who attacks your notifications in the middle of the night and goes through your blog, reblogging everything in sight.
And you’re just like:
when my dad was in college he had a friend who told a girl he’d take her on a date unlike any other she’d ever been on and so he took her to the supermarket to watch the lobsters fighting in the lobster tank
they’re married now
i’ll be like 40 w/no kids and people will say “aw i’m so sorry for you” and i’ll be like how was the fucking wiggles reunion tour asshole i went to italy last week for fun and didn’t have to hire a sitter
This is a very sad mentality. To think oneself more important than that of progeny is the sign of a failed human life.
so the wiggles concert wasn’t as good as you thought it would be huh
According to “Joss Whedon: The Biography,” in stores August 1, Hiddleston, who plays antihero Loki in the film, wrote Whedon a heartfelt email after reading Whedon’s draft for the first time.
We’ve published Hiddleston’s letter in full along with Whedon’s response with permission from Chicago Review Press below.
I am so excited I can hardly speak.
The first time I read it I grabbed at it like Charlie Bucket snatching for a golden ticket somewhere behind the chocolate in the wrapper of a Wonka Bar. I didn’t know where to start. Like a classic actor I jumped in looking for LOKI on every page, jumping back and forth, reading words in no particular order, utterances imprinting themselves like flash-cuts of newspaper headlines in my mind: “real menace”; “field of obeisance”; “discontented, nothing is enough”; “his smile is nothing but a glimpse of his skull“; “Puny god” …
… Thank you for writing me my Hans Gruber. But a Hans Gruber with super-magic powers. As played by James Mason … It’s high operatic villainy alongside detached throwaway tongue-in-cheek; plus the “real menace” and his closely guarded suitcase of pain. It’s grand and epic and majestic and poetic and lyrical and wicked and rich and badass and might possibly be the most gloriously fun part I’ve ever stared down the barrel of playing. It is just so juicy.
I love how throughout you continue to put Loki on some kind of pedestal of regal magnificence and then consistently tear him down. He gets battered, punched, blasted, side-swiped, roared at, sent tumbling on his back, and every time he gets back up smiling, wickedly, never for a second losing his eloquence, style, wit, self-aggrandisement or grandeur, and you never send him up or deny him his real intelligence…. That he loves to make an entrance; that he has a taste for the grand gesture, the big speech, the spectacle. I might be biased, but I do feel as though you have written me the coolest part.
… But really I’m just sending you a transatlantic shout-out and fist-bump, things that traditionally British actors probably don’t do. It’s epic.
Whedon wrote back with a simplistic response:
Tom, this is one of those emails you keep forever. Thanks so much. It’s more articulate (and possibly longer) than the script. I couldn’t be more pleased at your reaction, but I’ll also tell you I’m still working on it … Thank you again. I’m so glad you’re pleased. Absurd fun to ensue.
Best, (including uncharacteristic fist bump), joss.
bucky barnes, oldest of four children, master of bandaging scraped knees, cleaning grubby little-child hands and sewing patches onto worn day-dresses
bucky barnes, barely two coins to rub together but he doesn’t have to look it. his shoes are always shined and his hair is always coiffed. though his coat’s two years out of style, he keeps it clean and ironed, sewing up tears with neat, near-invisible stitches
bucky barnes, sergeant. men from all around camp, busted pack straps and torn shirts and unhemmed uniform pants in their hands. they pay him in cigarettes, chocolate rations, contraband booze. sometimes he’ll take his payment in company and dirty jokes as he stitches by the white glow of the flashlight pinned between his knees.
bucky barnesthe asset. the asset is defending his position. awaiting extraction. he is wounded, a long, bleeding gash up his forearm where he’d forced it through a broken window. he finds a thin nail. alcohol. tears a thread from his bloodied undershirt. he grits his teeth as he forces his makeshift needle through skin and muscle.
his stitches are as neat as they’d ever been.
One nation, under Canada, above Mexico.
with liberty and justice for some