Barton, I want you on that roof, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays.
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

Love Begins
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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

ellievsbear
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
noise dept.
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

#extradirty
ojovivo
will byers stan first human second
Jules of Nature
RMH
Misplaced Lens Cap
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
sheepfilms
Keni
YOU ARE THE REASON
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@captainclintthomas
Barton, I want you on that roof, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays.
Marvel Cinematic Universe + Hogwarts Sorting Hat
“please take me back to when i was yours.”
[ original verse, rescuing from the raft and thereafter ]
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
There’s no time at first, only the way her breath leaves to see him again.
She thinks his does too, maybe, both caught in stasis to be in front of each other again. She punches the control pad, tearing out its innards until the door to his cell slides open.
They nod as the other prisoners ask questions. She holds his eyes until it becomes too much and she goes to free the others.
More shouted questions that Clint tries to allay, but Sif finds herself with no room for any of it.
“Come.”
She leads them out of the Raft, over her trail of incapacitated agents; she doesn’t really have a plan from here, but she has Clint and that’s enough for now. She trusts he’ll know something. She can’t trust Coulson with this, and her one Asgardian contact won’t work for long.
Clint and the Falcon find them a safehouse, talk about leaving a signal for Captain Rogers and what they need to do. She learns names and meanings and Clint touches her arm like they’ve never been apart. It sets a chill in her blood.
Later it’s a fire. He comes to her room to ask her something, but it’s finally only them so he gets all of four words out before she’s on him. A hand at cheek and one at waist, pulling him to her lips and pushing him back against the door. It bumps closed and she locks it without looking because she has the taste of him again and it takes only two seconds before he’s returning her fervor.
He’s older and she can see it. He’s older and it makes her want to hold on tight. He’s older and it hurts. She has always known their time together was limited, that was the way of these things, but she keeps getting chances and she’ll take them. Part of her thinks they should be talking with words about this, but they’ve always spoken better with hands.
Right now his hands are telling her they still want her too, and that’s enough. For now that’s enough.
Sunday morning sun
At first she sleeps by the sea. Ocean. It’s an ocean they say.
At first she slays beasts to protect. To calm her bloodlust.
But firsts roll by, and soon years roll by, and sooner still there are no more roaming monsters. Only smaller ones. Ordinary ones. Ones she is not allowed to hunt.
They have homes now and mortal clothing and Sif still sleeps on rooftops when she can. Sky, she needs sky. Something bright in this confining world.
It’s a slow growing feeling, but the mist begins to haunt her and each day she draws a little bit closer to walking into it. Anything to save her from this mortal plane. She cannot let herself. She cannot give into melancholy.
She tests the boarders. She works her way through the city, hiding among mortals even as bright ageless eyes give her away to any who looks too close. She makes note of all the strange beings who now live pressed together in this city. The riddling sphinx and the songs of sirens. Witches and things unknowable. She passes through each territory until she has nowhere else to go but north. She’s running out of options.
Nothing satiates. Nothing settles restless feet. Thor tells her to come home, to stay. As if this mortal realm has anything resembling a home to her.
When she can put it off no longer she begins her northern explorations. Too soon there will be nothing left to explore, she’ll know this city too closely, but her feet itch and she has to follow them.
This is one of the quieter places. She treks through what passes for wilderness in this world and without looking she knows the mist looms up ahead. She merely keeps going. She has done this before. Gotten up close. When she stands before the barrier its power seems to waste away. It’s almost peaceful to her and the temptation to step forward wanes when the fog is right there in front of her. She’s not sure why. Sif supposes it means she doesn’t really want to go, but isn’t sure enough to name it her own want and not merely call it an effect of the mist itself. A defense mechanism. Stay away. You don’t want to be here. Still, she stands, and faces it down, and today is no different as she approaches.
With quiet steps she can see it now, straight ahead instead of looming over hills and treetops. She’s so focused Sif doesn’t notice the man not so far off in the distance. She does hear the arrow though, and turns head towards the sound right before it plants itself into the ground in front of her. Her eyes search, but she pauses, and does not move.
He’s getting old; it’s in the slight ache of his joints. His knuckles are a little swollen in the cool morning damp and his right leg still yells at him about the bullet he took 15 years back. He’s a simple man, graying around the edges.
His property backs up to the fog; a wall of mist that fluctuates between white and gray depending on the day. He’d bought the white clapboard farm house with a VA loan twenty years back. He’d worked on it slowly between deployments, letting friends stay if they could handle the wonky sink and the weird set of twists to get the front door to open. It was quiet. Now, at least.
Clint wasn’t tall, but he wasn’t short either. He was casually nondescript except for the crooked wry smile and the deep hooded eyes that seemed to see everything. He’d been told too many times over the years that he had a very direct gaze. That it intimidated people. That they felt like sometimes he saw more than they wanted to share. It had been helpful at times, problematic at others. Now, he just gave the woman the same wry smile, watching her with an easy focu around the bowstring lightly touching his jaw. “Just wanted to make sure you saw.”
He shrugged, wetting his lips and tasting the mild crackle of magic and damp. “Warning and whatnot.”
MCU’s 10th Anniversary ↳ Part 4/?: Thor (2011) - dir. Kenneth Branagh
they’ll only miss you after you’re gone
instagram.com/jordvnxsf
Delicate | Damien Rice
“My family’s people were forced here, stuck here for a century. That snow and silence, it’s the only thing that hasn’t been taken from them.” - Cory Lambert
Hawkeye & Falcon on a secret mission