california buckwheat
Today's Document
RMH
Keni

Andulka
One Nice Bug Per Day
tumblr dot com
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
NASA
Sade Olutola

#extradirty

izzy's playlists!
🪼
Peter Solarz
styofa doing anything
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Cosimo Galluzzi

if i look back, i am lost

roma★
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Canada

seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Ecuador

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
@beenchantd
california buckwheat
An inane study about the Rubella vaccine during pregnancy.
“Sherlock.”
Really, nothing of interest in the entirety of the study, save for -
“Sherlock, I need to talk to you about something.”
Sherlock’s eyes immediately snap up to scan John. Apprehensive, nervous about the topic about to be broached. Serious, then. Perhaps the reason for his recent brooding and not, as otherwise estimated, due to the gloomy weather.
He earmarks the paper he’s reading and places it carefully on the table next to his chair.
John just stands in front of him, rocking back on his heels once, twice, hands behind his back.
“Why don’t you take a seat,” Sherlock suggests kindly, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Alright. Yeah, I think it might be better.”
He makes a big show of settling in to his chair opposite Sherlock’s, going so far as to puff up his Union Jack cushion for a full twelve seconds.
When he’s settled, he turns to face Sherlock and nods once, putting his brave, soldier face on.
“I think… I mean, I know… What I’m trying to say is… I’m bisexual,” John says, his shoulders sagging in relief after the statement is out.
“O…kay?”
“Yeah, so that’s. That.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrow in confusion. “When exactly did you come to this conclusion?”
“Past couple of days.”
“Past couple of days, right. What about the fact that we’ve been sleeping together for five months now?”
“Well, that was part of coming to my conclusion. I thought… I convinced myself I was straight for the past forty odd years of my life. Then there was you.”
“Then there was me,” Sherlock echoes, still a little lost.
“Yes. At first, I thought it was just a you thing. You know how you defy all expectations. I thought I was straight, but I’d fallen for just one man.”
“Right. What about the army, then?”
“Well, that - Hang on! How’d you know about that?”
“I’m Sherlock Holmes, remember? Besides, you were practically wet at the mouth when Sholto showed up to your wedding.”
“The army was just… necessity.”
“Nope,” Sherlock exclaims, popping his P with a precision he’s mastered over many years of proving people wrong.
“No?”
“What you and Sholto had was definitely more than mere necessity, John. Sherlock Holmes, remember?” he adds, pointing to himself.
“I suppose so. I just. I never felt this way about. Well, anyone really, and it led me to wonder… I mean, I know I’m not gay. There have been women…”
“Many women.”
“Oy!”
“Three continents’ worth.” He can barely contain his smirk by this point.
“Sod off! You can’t use pillow talk against me. It’s in the rules.”
“What rules?”
“The relationship rules.”
“You told me relationships don’t have rules. I specifically asked.” Sherlock is alarmed now, his mind racing back to every time he may or may not have violated these as-of-yet-unspoken rules.
“They do when I say they do,” John grins, prompting Sherlock to be at ease once again.
“Alright so. This declaration of yours. What does it mean, exactly? For us?”
“For us? Nothing, really. It’s just something I figured you might want to know. About me,” John adds softly, a slight blush creeping up from his neck.
“Well. Thank you for sharing.” Sherlock smiles, picking up the research paper once more.
A few seconds go by until he realises he should probably have reciprocated.
“I’m gay, by the way,” he announces, looking at John once more.
“Yes, you poncey tosser, that’s obvious,” John laughs, lifting off of his chair and lowering himself onto Sherlock’s lap for a kiss, one that’s given freely.
“Just thought you might want to know,” he murmurs between kisses.
“Thank you. I figured it out from the fact that every previous encounter you’ve had has been with a man and that you once told me, and I quote, ‘there’s nothing I’d like to do less than sleep with a woman.’ It was a little obvious then, love,” John teases, pounctuating it with a deep, long kiss.
“I think we’d better go to the bedroom and test out this hypothesis of yours,” Sherlock suggests, feigning a straight face. “It’s very important to come to accurate conclusions, John. I am a scientist, as you well know.”
“Hmm,” John murmurs into Sherlock’s neck as he kisses a slow line to his collarbone. “But where on earth would I be able to find a willing test subject?”
“I, ah,” Sherlock is barely coherent as he bucks his hips up, beginning to grow impatient. “I think we can, ah, arrange something.”
“Let’s go, then,” John announces, pulling himself and Sherlock up in one fluid motion.
The hypothesis is definitely confirmed that afternoon and all through that evening, too.
Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) dir. by Céline Sciamma
It never ceases to amaze me, the courage of hobbits.
Ziad Nakad “Atlantis” Spring 2020 Haute Couture Collection
Dozens of NYC Subway riders, fresh off a Robyn concert, singing “Dancing On My Own” while waiting for the E train. (Video by Triszh Hermogenes)
“Why did you and Mom name me after something that’s bad?” “We didn’t. “
Interstellar (2014) dir. Christopher Nolan
I tried to recreate this feeling I had while lying in the sun yesterday.
[last entry]
I feel it
Merry Christmas!
Claude Monet’s water structure and shades.
The Loneliness of Science Fiction
Interstellar (2014, dir. Christopher Nolan)
The Martian (2015, dir. Ridley Scott)
Annihilation (2018, dir. Alex Garland)
Blade Runner 2049 (2017, dir. Denis Villeneuve)
Arrival (2016, dir. Denis Villeneuve)
some of my favourite scenes from my animated short ‘Golden Hour’!
instagram | twitter | shop
Themis (Θεμις meaning ‘justice’) was the Titan goddess of divine law and order, the traditional rules of conduct first established by the gods in greek mythology. She was also a prophetic goddess who presided over the most ancient oracles, including Delphoi (Delphi). In this role, she was the divine voice (themistes) who first instructed mankind in the primal laws of justice and morality, such as the precepts of piety, the rules of hospitality, good governance, conduct of assembly, and pious offerings to the gods. Her symbols are Scales of Justice and the Sword of Reason that symbolised fairness and power of reason.
You meet her while staring at Le radeau de la méduse. It’s a Tuesday, you haven’t slept in days and there is a stain on her flowered dress. The museum is practically empty, tourist snapping pictures and talking loudly. You do not hear, see or care about them. The paintings are all that can ease the chaos inside your head, well, at least they did until now. She sits down, placing her bag between the two of you and sighing. She’s engrossed in her phone, typing rather furiously and so you dare to look at her a bit longer. Her hair are just the right length, falling on her shoulders, tempting you to reach out and stroke. You don’t, crisping your fingers around your jacket instead, just in case. You cannot see her eyes properly, but you study the line of her profile with attentive care. You wonder if her skin is as soft as she appears to be, wonder if you’ll ever find out. You curse under your breath, laughing at your own idiocy. You focus back on the stain, safer ground. You decide it has to be ketchup or some sauce, properly her lunch, eaten quickly and without real care. Somehow, it pleases you, this touch of I don’t care.
It is too late that you realise she caught your eyes, and despite turning away in a flash, you can hear her curse out loud, merde. You feel her arm brush yours as she reaches for something in her back and tries to remove the stain. You keep your eyes on the painting, your breath suddenly ragged. Désolé. Her voice is perfectly balanced, not quite a surprise in the end. She doesn’t stop, actually babbling about a late meeting and a awe full, overprice sandwich bought in a hurry. You’re not sure what to do, look or not look, reply or not reply. Panic fills every fiber of your body, but then, she laughs. A bright, shining sound that forces your eyes back to her.
She is breathtaking.
it’ll pass