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“this is mine”

“this is mine…”

“this is mine..”

and so is this

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so goddamn precious

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source

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when Bucky saw Peter in the Spiderman suit the first time he was like “what the hell is that” so can we please just take a moment to imagine him meeting the Guardians of the Galaxy crew. imagine him meeting Groot and Rocket. Rocket would start speaking and Bucky would be like “…T'Challa man, I need you to put me back under bc my head still ain’t right, I’m telling you that Racoon just asked me for my arm”

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in regards to that fanfic prompt idea thing you reblogged I wanna request number 9 with Bucky

9. I am the museum curator and you can’t sleep inside the exhibit!! Stop moving the displays around at night for fun

A/N: I went a little overboard. This follows Bucky right after he goes to the Smithsonian.

1, 413 words___________________________________________________

“It’s midnight, can you chill?” (Y/N) ranted pitifully into the dark, hoping that whatever or whoever was making the ruckus would stop. She reluctantly wished that the museum was haunted instead of being raided by an actual human and she shuttered at the thought.

This was third night in a row that she’d sat in the museum waiting to catch a glimpse of the thing that was causing her, and her exhibits, distress. Patrons had been coming to her and complaining about rearranged displays for the past week, each seeming slightly more upset than the last. All she could really do was give open-ended promises to fix the issue and reset them.

“If you wanna talk, we can talk,” she yawned to the void, the amount of time she’d been working was taking a toll on her, “I want to know what page you’re on, dude.” Her lower lip pouted and she was getting a bit frustrated.

(Y/N) perked up at the sound of a particularly loud scraping noise against the floor. Moving hastily, she crouched down and scurried towards the commotion. She probably look like an idiot, but she did have to admit that she was making good pace and she was, mostly, silent.

She rounded the corner nearest the Captain America exhibit that showcased his accomplishments, fellow soldiers, and friends. Her eyes flickered over a tall, hooded figure who was bent down and messing with the display.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened dangerously when the person opened and reached into the pocket of James Barnes’ pants. She knew that a few of the man’s belongings still remained encased within the clothing. Peggy Carter had asked her, personally, to allow the items to stay and she’d be damned if she allowed some random person to defile James’ memory and her vow to Peggy.

Her chest puffed up and her jaw squared in hopes of seeming more intimidating. She silently marched towards the person, stopping just short of them. “What in the hell are you doing?” (Y/N) growled sternly, startling the trespasser.

The person, a man, jumped back quickly, falling on his rear with a echoing thud. His eyes were wide and darting from side to side in fear, (Y/N) dropped her façade and fell to her knees. “I’m sorry,” she cooed, holding her hands up innocently, “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just can’t have anyone touch those.”

“I needed to remember.” It was barely a whisper, (Y/N) hardly registered it.

“What?” she asked, brows furrowed.

The man’s eyes raised a bit, voice following in suit, “I needed to remember,” he repeated, looking over to the commemorative setup longingly.

(Y/N) released a short huff, “We have business hours, Sir. What could you possibly need to remember so badly?” though she didn’t mean to sound rude. She breathed out and moved to sit back on her legs.

The man moved too, sitting straight and crossing his legs, “I needed to remember who I am, or, at least, who I was,” he elaborated, lowering his hood to reveal long brown hair and an all too familiar face.

Her eyes raised, looking towards the mural on the wall and then returning to the man. “Oh my God,” (Y/N) mumbled, “oh my God,” she recited again, scooting closer to him to inspect his face.

(Y/N) sat back again, shocked to silence. She could feel her stomach drop and her chest bubble with excitement, “You’re Bucky, I mean, you’re James. You are actually James Barnes. I can’t believe you’re here, this isn’t possible,” she stuttered.

(Y/N) caught sight of James’ overwhelmed face and recoiled, calming herself. “You’re my biggest hero, Sergeant Barnes,” she retreated back to utter politeness, eyes ablaze.

James stayed low, so (Y/N) stood up, cautiously taking his hand in hers, and nearly sprinted towards his outfit, giving him silent approval to do as he pleased. He reluctantly looked at her, before running his hands over the material of his jacket and letting out a shaky breath.

“Did Captain America come here?” he whispered finally, tucking his fingers into a pocket and retrieving something.

“Cap?” (Y/N) asked, earning a curt nod, “yeah, Steve comes here all the time. Sometimes, I let him go through and just play with everything. He says it makes him feel nostalgic,” she added happily, watching James flick through the other pockets and placing each item in a heap on the floor.

When James finished, he looked forlornly at the pile and sat beside it. (Y/N), in effort to not invade on his moment, made work of re-fastening each button and patting the stiff fabric. She could hear light sniffles, her heart ached for the known stranger.

“Are you okay, Sergeant Barnes?” (Y/N) comforted lightly, moving closer and ducking beside him. She hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder, he first stiffened under the touch, but then eased into it.

James clutched a photo in the palm of his left hand and stared at it, he eventually threw up the hand desperately and sighed, “I can’t remember who this is.”

“Maybe I could help,” she offered lightly, “I know quite a bit about you, or,” she paused, pointing to the mural, “that you.”

He nodded, cautiously handing over the photo. (Y/N) could recognize the girl in the worn photo, “this is your younger sister, Rebecca Barnes.”

Bucky breathed in calmly, taking in the information and closing his eyes. He sat like this for a moment, before releasing the photo and picking up another, “This is Steve and I?” he asked, like it was a question.

“It looks like it,” she agreed, taking a closer look, “at Coney Island, I think. You guys look cute in that,” she admitted, noticing the young boys’ tousled hair and cheesy grins.

James hummed contently, “I remember feeling sick and forcing Steve onto the big rides and the smell of popcorn.” He pawed through the other items with a smile on his face, pausing briefly between each thing before moving to the next.

“Would you like me to call Steve?” (Y/N) cooed, “Maybe you can stay there for the night, it’s gotta be better than what you’re doing here, Sergeant,” she added suggestively.

James shook his head solemnly in disagreement, “Steve can’t know I’m here.” He looked back to his suit, “and you really don’t have to call me Sergeant, that was a lifetime ago.” “Okay, Jame-,” (Y/N) started, earning a, rather hilarious, grumpy look from the man, “Bucky,” she finished, correcting herself. “Where do you wanna go to sleep then, Bucky?” she asked.

“The gift shop in the Hall of Mammals exhibit,” he answered swiftly, “it’s not the worst place I’ve slept,” a disdainful look filled his eyes with the statement.

“Well, unfortunately, I can’t let that happen,” she stated, genuine sympathy lacing her tone, “but you can stay at my place. My apartment has an extra room and I’m sure my Bucky wouldn’t mind.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised, “your Bucky?”

(Y/N)’s hand scratched at the back of her neck and she let out a nervous giggle, “Did I really say that out loud?” Bucky answered in a nod. “Um, my dog. His name is Bucky too. I named him after you actually, I wasn’t really lying when I said you were my hero.”

“I’m no hero,” Bucky muttered darkly, looking down to her name tag, “(Y/N), I’m horrible.”

“You’re not even giving yourself a chance,” she retorted, standing up, “and let me make my own assumptions about you, I’ve waited three days for this. Do you wanna come to mine or not?”

“The Hall of Mammals isn’t that ba-,” Bucky started, only to be cut off by (Y/N)’s playful scowl, “I guess I will stay with you,” he huffed, collecting his things and standing up.

“Oh, that’s great!” (Y/N) hummed excitedly, giving a quick jingle of her keys, “I thought I was going to have to carry you out which would have been awkward,” she added in a slow mumble.

Bucky snickered and looked freely at the halls in which he’d inhabited for the past week. “I’ve actually liked it here,” he said aloud, walking towards his mannequin.

“Maybe I’ll get you a job,” she said, digging in her bag for a keycard. “Wait,” she paused, looking at him sternly, “if you were trying to ‘remember’ yourself, why were you messing with my exhibits?”

“Oh, that?” he acknowledged, tucking the trinkets back into his suit’s pockets and turning back with a semi-devilish grin, “that, was for fun.”

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if Bucky doesn’t get to meet Rocket in Infinity War then the whole film is pointless and may as well not be made

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Tom Holland on Lip Sync Battle

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Pixar and Marvel Parallels

Bonus:

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Awesome knife-flips

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all of Bucky’s lines in Captain America: The Winter Soldier

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Scarlett (Johansson) said I’m always enthusiastic about everything. Especially when it’s potentially disastrous.

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Steve taking the shield and becoming Captain America for Bucky / Steve leaving the shield and title of Captain America for Bucky

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