things my brain has supplied me with tonight:
- what if peggy carter dies in avengers 2 or cap 3
- can you imagine hydra telling bucky that steve crashed his plane into the ice and bucky realising that no one is ever gonna come for him
- the last thing bucky saw before he fell from the train was what steve roger’s face looked like when he realised his best friend was dead
sleep tight guys!!!!!!!!
ANYONE’S GHOST — “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.” — [LISTEN]
History repeats itself. Somebody says this.
History throws its shadow over the beginning, over the desktop,
over the sock drawer with its socks, its hidden letters.
History is a little man in a brown suit
trying to define a room he is outside of.
I know history. There are many names in history
but none of them are ours.
friend, i don’t think you understand what you’re asking
“Je suis prest. ‘I am ready.’ But ready for what?”
CALL ME BY YOUR NAME BY ANDRE ACIMAN
and friend let me stop you right there i picked that book up thinking “trashy beach romance!!!!!” and i was SO WRONG. it’s romance, there’s a beach, but it’s not a trashy queer ya beach romance. it’s a beautiful, adult, stunningly well-written and absolutely heartrending epic that was SO INTENSE i honestly thought i was going to DIE
fruit scene notwithstanding
i’m not gonna explain the fruit scene you’re just gonna have to read it
dya know i love ddg so much that every time i embark on a reread i COMPLETELY FORGET that it never makes it above a hard pg-13 because i never feel like it’s missing anything. not like when you get to the end of an nc-17 rated fic on ao3 and all you get is a casual handy. i never felt like i was cheated out of anything in ddg. HOWEVER, that doesn’t mean i can’t rec you EVERY SINGLE NC-17 DRARRY FIC ON MY DELICIOUS:
it’s much nicer to be really gay and emo with a great stash of queer wizard erotica am i right ladies
Finger Nailin Hay In, 2007-2008
acrylic, acrylic ink, charcoal, conte, sparkle sticker, watercolor, watercolor pen on paper
78 x 108 in.
Title: Love Is To Die
Remember how everyone’s favorite part of Heath Ledger’s performance in Brokeback Mountain was his almost painful physical repression, his reluctance to express any emotion that wasn’t punching or SHUTTING DOWN? His voice was closed in on itself in a raspy burr — he fell to the ground rather than shed tears — his face was hooded and dark and full of twitching cheek muscles. Kristen Stewart is Heath Ledger, I assure you. She has the same handsome face, the same winsome, masculine smile, the same reluctance to make direct eye contact.
For years, everyone in the world has misunderstood Kristen Stewart’s compressed emotional range. They thought it meant she was a limited actress; it means nothing of the kind. She is John Wayne being forced to play the Maureen O’Hara character. Give her a rail to lean against during a sunset, a military jacket, a toothpick to chew on, and something to squint her eyes against lazily in the distance, and her guardedness will be transformed from unsuccessful femininity to The Great American Male.
Kristen Stewart is a goddamn cowboy.