taylor price
NASA
Peter Solarz
Misplaced Lens Cap
Sade Olutola
Today's Document
Monterey Bay Aquarium
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Stranger Things
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Game of Thrones Daily
trying on a metaphor
todays bird
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
@theartofmadeline
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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@sovietlegend
the rest remain forever CAUGHT between worlds of shrapnel shatters.
i swear i’d spend the rest of my life writing nothing but the word LIGHT at the end of this tunnel. if i could find the fucking tunnel. i’d write nothing but WHITE FLAGS. somebody pray for the SOLDIERS. somebody pray for what’s LOST.
NOT ALL CASUALTIES COME HOME IN BODY BAGS.
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you dreamt of being in my world. don’t forget it, don’t forget it.
BOW DOWN, BITCHES.
eh obviously this blog has been on a hiatus. i’m in the process of moving and starting a new job so i need something a little more no pressure. you can find me either on my jessica jones or my blog for lexa from the 100 at @leksakom
sorry for the impromptu hiatus, guys. i’m actually out of town right now for a job interview and i’ve been a little more consumed with that than getting online. my interview is tomorrow so wish me luck!
she can swing a sword as well as ANY MAN.
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sam wilson, everybody
I know I said I didn’t want to talk about it any further but oh well. I lied. Everyone is focusing on the “Steve” of the issue which is terrible. But what disturbed me most about this story was the NARRATIVE. Throughout this book, there was a pervasive, underlying, and explicitly stated perspective that people who join HYDRA ( and btw, for people saying they aren’t Nazis, as someone who has actually read the issue in question, I can tell you that they are explicitly stated to be white supremacists in the dialogue ), or similar terrorist organizations are just trying to be heroes, that they just came from a bad background and they have no one to look up to and that’s why they are the way they are. More disturbing to me than perverting a character is the fact that this is the methodology they are using to perpetuate it. What a message to put out in today’s hate fueled, violent world, to apologize for people who kill and put others down because “they’re trying to be heroes." This is what Nick Spencer and Marvel’s creative team should apologize for, because no matter what loophole they inevitably create to bring Steve back to the “good side,” they started this story by writing essentially an apologist manifesto for fascists.
bucky barnes: NOPE!
We’re all puppets… I’m just a puppet who can see the strings.
Alan Moore, Watchmen (via wordsnquotes)
IT’S COMFORTABLE, THE affection ribbing their relationship has evolved into. It wasn’t so long ago that their every interaction nearly ended at each other’s throats; Clint’s petty jealousy && Bucky’s stubborn will accounting for the unspoken antagonism. They’ve always been allies, fighting for the same cause regardless of their inability to hold a civil conversation. But it was only very recently—in the past couple years—that they became friends.
Time && close proximity has worn down their opposing edges. They fit now, no longer attempting to elbow one another out of frame. The thought causes Clint’s smile to resurface, previously submerged behind a mask of placid amusement. Futz, he’s getting a bit mushy with his age, isn’t he?
❝ You sayin’ I look good, Barnes? Keep your oglin’ eyes to yourself, kid. ❞ Another nudge to the soldier’s side. Anything to poke && prod, to continue touching him—
Wait, what?
The revelation is akin to stumbling into an undiscovered chamber of his heart, the beat && brine of it unmapped, brightly red, && inarguably dangerous. A thought path that could only lead him astray.
He shakes his head, steering clear of it completely.
❝ I think we’re about to hit the part of the internet Kate always warns me about. She’s always goin’ on about ‘homoerotic subtext’ && fanart. Maybe Sam && Steve gaze longingly at each other when we’re not lookin’. ❞ Now there’s an idea. One that thankfully frees him from the mandibles of his previous concern.
❛ DREAM ON ❜ his laugh jostles along with his prodded posture in shuffling spurts. bucky’s hips weave & teeter on the edge of his chair. & like a chuckling pendulum, he sways back the other direction, locks his palms around clint’s bicep & he shoves. with the kind of strength trained into the both of them, it could be a real spar & instead, it’s more of a game of chicken that brings a rosy heat up to his cheeks. the unbidden image of clint really yanking natasha’s catsuit up over powerful legs & tugging the zipper up between his arrow-drawn pecs flashes in. bucky’s mirth lodges hard in his throat. he drags his fingers fast through his hair, diverts his attention back to the screen. it’s a struggle to hide his stalling smile but he does it in favor of paying heed to the couple of their friends painted across the monitor. ❛ i’m just sayin’ you’ve looked worse is all. ❜
a troubled furrow makes his brows meet. playful jabs & digging commentary is just part of what they do. it’s a fine line between respect & irritable camaraderie. that’s all.
it’s not like he likes barton.
( he’s all right sometimes. )
he’s used to conflict smashing in against cavernous bones bracing his chest ; he doesn’t dwell. instead, ruthless curiosity spins his fingertip down the mouse’s wheel to reveal a full palette of sam & steve & various other visitors in on the romantic parade.
❛ erotic ? ❜ he SQUINTS at sharon sandwiched between natasha & bobbi in another artistic rednering. ❛ what? ❜ he seizes his cocked wrists away from the keyboard & leans back in a heady daze. he doesn’t turn to look at clint, not when the possibility of rooted truth behind these pictures remains. his silver hand bats through the air as if dismissing the very suggestion. ❛ no way! if they’re... ❜ bucky makes another noncommittal motion, gestures at the computer instead of voicing his muddled perplexity. ❛ then that’d mean all of us... ❜ trailing off, a dart back at barton.
his lips purse into a jeer, snarling up over his canine tooth. ❛ PFFT. ❜
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she didn’t require rocket science to figure out that that partner was aunt peggy. she’d been told the stories; of the date that never happened. & her fingers fan out, running easily through sun-kissed blonde hair, a momentary dull ache for her late aunt. sharon, however, remains smiling, fingers pressed against the nape of her own neck. ❝ i’d hate to disagree with you… but i disagree with you. i think you’re still a CATCH. just gotta find the right person to reel you in. ❞
the moment the words leave her mouth, she realizes the cliché of her statement, but it’s too late to take it back. blonde her sways slightly with the shake of her head, a soft but audible laugh empties her lips. ❝ well, if i get LUCKY, maybe he’ll consider me. ❞ brown eyes flicker up, glancing at him with a warm smile.
subdued self-esteem pushes his palm up toward his jaw as if he could shade himself from something good. his body doesn’t know what to do with the compliment. broken & jagged a weapon DOES what a weapon DOES, inflicts damage, pierces through safety to cause harm.
his throat rumbles a dissenting scratch.
❛ only kind of catch i am is the kind that goes behind bars. ❜ it’s a rough joke, doesn’t SIT WELL with him.
❛ somebody gets their hooks in me, they’re gonna hang me out to dry, maybe toss me in some boiling water. ain’t gonna be pretty either way. ❜ his chin bows ; he dodges his eyes away as if they had forgotten their crinkle from only moments before. ❛ but if i’ve gotta say anything, i think steve’d be lucky if you give HIM the time of day. sure he’d agree with that. ❜
“ you shouldn’t be touching anything. ” meant to be a reprimand, firm yet kind, with sunshine in her smile to lighten the load. “ please. ”
he snaps back from where his fingertips hook into a beaker’s mouth. shock rounds out his lips ; a guilty furrow drives between his brows. ❛ sorry. ❜ but before he fully snatches away, bucky bows in front of a different machine. ❛ what’s this one do? ❜
DECK CAUTIOUSLY against the white of his palms, a faint ambience illuminating —- BUZZING , vulture to carcass , DUST TO DUST. sordid marble looking at the other with his sanguine gaze , those sacrilegious hues humming and writhing. ❛ ain’t with THEM, ain’t with nobody. you don’t got to do THIS. ❜
OZONE, LIKE A BARE WIRE exposed down to the roots, like the oncoming storm charging the air & lifting the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. his skin sizzles ; he wants to run but there’s something in those sloe eyes that glues his boots to the pavement. ❛ why’s everybody always assume it’s ME who’s the bad guy? ❜
------ quietly climbs into his lap.
❛ ain’t THAT a sight for sore eyes? ❜ his arm loops around her shoulders, tucks her close against the shelf of his chest. his chin lands atop a sunshine splash of golden waves. it feels like a sigh. sore hearts, too.
@mythstakes
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HIS INSTRUCTIONS TURN INTO A MANTRA, breath flowing slower and slower with each passing minute – oh, make no doubt about it ; she’s berating herself for not having it together, right now, because damned if she hasn’t faced worse ! and yet –
and yet, here she is, clinging to him like he’s life support ; as tragic as it might be, she knows he gets it, knows he’s had blood on his hands, just the same. she tells herself that there aren’t many people on their side of the river that she can go to, in times like this. and, while that’s true, she can’t honestly say she’s entirely sure why she’s shown up here, of all places.
“Wait ! ” there’s an awkwardly pregnant pause, discomfort settling further and further into her bones, but she can’t seem to say what she needs to say. instead, she counters with a question, something innocent, predictable. “Did I get any on my face ? ”
details. details and details and more details —– they all blur together, tangle up like a ball of yarn that’s a lost cause. she remembers, sure, but she’ll need more than deep breaths to make sense of the names and faces that flit their way in and out of her head.
“I don’t think I got – hit.” she can’t be sure. so, holding out her hands, “I mean, this – it isn’t mine.” and, now she’s talking, it comes easier, bit by bit, like it was never missing in the first place. “I was at the docks. There was something coming in, with some guy I had my eye on, for a while. I don’t remember.” she does ; she will. but, for now, fatigue hits her like a tidal wave, absolutely devouring her.
SHE SAYS IT ISN’T HERS. this merlot wash drying in garish, pollock-strewn streaks across her palms belongs to someone else.
he doesn’t wear his age outright ; chestnut locks ( unbrushed, licking up in sprouting sprigs & rough-tossed thatches ) tip away from his temples. he has scars but not liver marks. muscles furrow his body instead of lapping wrinkles. but he DOES have crow’s claws dragging away from the corners of his eyes, driven in place by a marksman’s narrow squint. scrutiny deepens the lines there & he sweeps over her features, thorough through the fear shocking his eyes wide & over her stunned shoulders.
❛ there. ❜ his thumb swipes a cherry smudge from the hike of her cheekbone, smoothes it away as if erasing whatever horror drove her here with a simple dip. sympathy softens his gravel-rich tone. death is not an easy weight to carry in two hands. ❛ you’re all clear. ❜
while she sorts through adrenaline-blurred events, he sifts through his own routine. he’ll have to destroy the clothes & bleach out the sting of copper wafting to permeate his spartan home. she’ll need an alibi, a place to hide until the heat dissipates if there is any.
he pauses, more punctuated than the one selina left hanging in the air with dreadful possibility.
❛ do you... you’re pretty sure that you did this to him? that guy you had your eye on? ❜ a flash of lights swirls outside his window. bucky leans to his toes so that he can reach for the drape & watches as a car no telltale swish of blue streak past. he drops the curtain once it’s gone, once he’s certain that no one else is coming. ❛ or was someone else there? ❜
