trying on a metaphor
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
dirt enthusiast
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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#extradirty
Mike Driver
KIROKAZE
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
taylor price
DEAR READER
⁂
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Claire Keane
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sheepfilms
Sweet Seals For You, Always
$LAYYYTER
d e v o n
seen from Tunisia
seen from Brazil
seen from Kosovo
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from Uzbekistan
seen from United States
seen from Venezuela
seen from Jamaica
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from United States
seen from United States
@raisedred
“You’re a good man.”
“Not really, no. But you’re the only one that understands that.”
alexschlitz:
one last thing for today– natasha, for idrilka ❤
i do a thing called what i want
& raisedred
liked this post.
░ — ⌈ ✰ ⌋ — ░
bloodstains marked the trail to his place, a wooden bar chair he occupied, his metallic fingers curled around the neck of a bottle. only a few days into recovery and something snapped inside his mind like an electricity grid which poles has been transposed. two opposite worlds crashing, leaving him reeling and desperate for a way to blow off the steam. in the end it has been easy. a barely occupied bar with brawling men. they have been assholes, which was good enough reason for the Soldier to intervene and pull the apart.
it’s fascinating how quickly one thing lead to another. how one single decision could spread chaos like wildfire. once someone dared to throw a fist his way, he’s already moving on mere but animalistic instincts. survival his priority. soon enough they realize their inferiority, backing off to lick their wounds and allowing him to get that drink he’s been yearning for from the beginning.
❛ — lost the game with the shortest stick? or why else are YOU goin’ and lookin’ after me? ❜
he’s been trained to be a spy and an assassin. even though he might have been on ice for the longest time of his past seven decades, he acknowledges the signs.
littered around the bar, there’s jagged glass, splintered pool cues, overturned chairs, and a few bodies. ( there are always bodies. ) though none of them are dead, only unconscious--- she took the liberty of checking just to be sure. the rest of them are cowering at the other end of the room, keeping a distance and speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones. even then, she notices the fear that unearths beneath the cracks in their foundations.
and rightly so.
she eases into the stool beside him and her gaze immediately shifts down to his hands. knuckles caked in blood, fingers welded tightly around the neck of a bottle he should know by now has no affect on him. still, she watches him throw the liquid to the back of his throat, as if each drop might get him closer to some semblance of inner peace.
------or perhaps complete self-destruction.
‘ to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. ‘ ------but by the looks of this place, that ship has sailed.
they are a ramshackle collection of soldiers, sinners & outcasts. what little PRESERVATION of safety they might once have had was renounced the moment they signed their name upon SHIELD’s dotted line. ( come one & all to the TICKING TIME BOMB SHOW. ) and he might be flesh, bone and blood human, but he has inches of the world’s strongest metal sheathed around every limb and weakness. he doesn’t bleed as they do. his suit might bend & scrape, but his skin is STEEL. titanium. in the aftermath of battle, retreating to the common space shared by the team in the center of the living room, he lounges in the pulled-apart pieces and remnants of the armor he has yet to shed, even with the aid of the tower’s protocols designed to step in where exhaustion causes him to stumble. he and the black widow alone are left to lick their wounds, though he has none from this battle to show of. ( one might call it luck, he calls it quick-thinking. ) sharp eyes flicker to where she’s examining a wound across her shoulder. and there is RED that even the most feared assassin in the world can shed. tony pauses, lips pursing as her line of sight snaps up and zeroes in on him with blatant vexation. his brows drop, mocking lining the deadpan twist of his mouth.
“ so, what, are you gonna’ bleed out all over my carpet ? i’ll be sure to tell the cleaning crew to cut me a discount for ‘ just a flesh wound ’ bloodstains. ”
she acquires scars as easily as the dust that collects on the surfaces of unused furniture.
in her line of work, it’s rare to come out the other end completely unscathed. shadows and marks riddle her body from a past life she doesn’t quite remember, permanent mementos of the blanks in her memory. she might have been a bare canvas once--- skin smooth and clean and pure, void of the rigidity that life beat into her with bloody knuckles. but when she’ll look into the mirror later that night, the thought will seem too absurd to even fathom.
maybe that untouched girl never existed. maybe she was always this way.
she looks at him and sees something else. while his suit had taken a beating, there wasn’t a single scratch on him. no blood shed or laceration in sight--- at least not from where she can tell. and there’s obscure envy there, hidden beneath flesh and marrow, behind her arsenal of fraudulent identities, that he has nothing to show for his transgressions.
she looks at him and sees composure. leisure. placidity. it’s staggering--- especially given the fact that her limbs are still re-acquainting themselves with the stalled flow of adrenaline. but then again, this is tony, so she doesn’t expect anything less, really.
eyes make a show of rolling within her skull, a laugh startling its way out of her. it’s rough, forced; it scrapes against the lining of her throat as if she hadn’t laughed in months. ( knowing her, that might as well have been true. ) and even then, she’s still not sure how genuine it really was. but it’s enough to divert her attention from seeping wounds and the exhaustion that threatens to settle into her bones.
‘ right, because you wouldn’t have been able to afford it otherwise.
‘ if you’re so worried about the blood, you’d think that big brain of yours would have considered tile. or wood. something less------ stainable.
okay but why aren’t you writing road trip aus?
it’s literally the best thing ever?? you can have two characters traveling the country?? learning more about themselves?? learning more about their friends??
you can literally apply this to any couple. otp?? no problem. ot3?? hell fuckin’ yeah. ot5?? you may need to rent a bus for that.
driving shitty rental cars and living off of gas station food and going way too fast down highways with the radio up
alternately: “hell no you cannot survive off of gas station candy I’m taking us to a real restaurant”
getting lost on the way to the restaurant and having to ask for directions at a remote little souvenir shop
going to tourist traps just to buy shitty souvenirs for each other and compete for the most tacky ones.
traveling to super crowded cities and taking a couple of days off just to enjoy the feeling of being lost. driving down winding country roads and opening all the windows because it’s like being found.
which member of your otp wants to go to super sophisticated cities and which one wants to visit the world’s largest ball of yarn?
staying in shitty motels, okay? the kind of creepy-not-quite-real aesthetic of neon lights and soft linen and staying awake all night listening to the other person breathe.
alternately: you literally get the chance to write the scenario where the characters trade off seats during the night and the driver keeps looking at their sleeping companion and getting distracted because of the way the moonlight bounces off of their face and ugh
taking turns deciding on the next destination and characters declaring things like “oh my god, I hate the countryside” but they wind up loving it
car karaoke. someone probably owns the complete collection of disney cds. they probably take it very seriously.
characters who keep making more and more detours because they want it to last forever even though it can’t.
comiitatus
the winter soldier, they called him.
natasha thinks he’s more of a lost soldier than anything else, someone who would much rather scrape his own heart out than to ever admit that he’s a dwindling fire with lungs that have inhaled cold air one too many times.
it’s a feeling that resides in the hollows of her own bones, calcifying to the point where she’s not sure where her transgressions end and she begins.
she has been everyone and no one. she has lived countless lives, and taken countless more. she knows the weight of the blood she’s spilled; it lodges underneath her fingernails.
and maybe that’s why he chooses to distance himself from the rest of them, and also why she decides to seek him out, suspending his deliberate seclusion. though she doesn’t come empty handed------ with her, a plate of whatever ingredients she could find in the tower’s kitchen. a peace offering.
the abruptness of her presence shifts the room’s otherwise distilled nature, tilting it’s delicate balance. she notices his rigidity immediately upon arrival, movements wired and attention alert. had she been anyone else, she would have reached for the gun secured at her hip, trigger-ready. but instead, countenance steels.
when you’ve been forged as a weapon, everyone becomes a threat. it’s not a habit one can easily shake------ she would know.
‘ easy------ just a sandwich. ‘ you still eat, don’t you?
❝– aye!❞
graceful. a literal exclamation in response to natasha’s discovery. and then —— oof. on the cold hard ground, suddenly. so her private eye skills needed a bit of work.
kate’s hands hamper down and in a blind second she’s dusting off the ass of her trousers. ❝damn it. i knew it. the spring collection had me like a shackle, nat – how’d i do before that?❞
‘ pretty good------ but you could use a lighter step.
tone saturates with an authenticity she rarely ever displays. she’s facing her completely, now, hands settling at the juncture on either of her hips. fingertips idly tap there as her line of sight sinks down to where the younger girl is stood. the smirk that adorns her features could be genuine too, but she’s not so sure.
‘ so...
the word drawls after a moment of scrutiny and the perk of a brow.
‘ you gonna tell me why you were following me?
seraphsfire:
tony takes it upon himself to aggressively set Steve up on dates because he thinks Steve spends way too much time by himself or doodling. Obviously some of Tony’s ideas of a good ‘match’ for Steve are pretty off, but Nat, who has been crashing at Steve’s more and more frequently, is delighted to help Steve by weeding out the awful ones.
These potential “dates,” more than happy to go out with a gorgeous blonde and not seeing him for much more than that, come to Steve’s door to find a snarky, gum-chewing redhead.
All of them tell different stories to their friends afterward:
“his CRAZY lesbian roommate told me 'i want to have your adopted babies’ and tried to shave my head”
“He has this weird younger sister who i think is part of a cult; she said she only eats 30% post-consumer recycled fiber and was tap dancing to swedish death metal”
“This lady dressed like Jessica Rabbit was sitting on top of his refrigerator talking about how she used to be a police officer in Transylvania, then fell in love with a boy named Jesse and burned down a fish farm?”
“I mean she would’ve been gorgeous but she had about twenty ponytails on her head and wouldn’t let me in while waving a fake lightsaber and making 'vwoom’ noises”
“She tried to convince me she was Jareth, the Goblin King? she had all this weird makeup on and told me my new name was Sarah.”
“I don’t look anything like Vladimir Putin but she just wouldn’t let it go and then stopped speaking in English entirely and switched to Russian or something.”
“She threw a dead fish at me”
“She told me that steve isn’t a real person and that he’s actually a man that lives in her finger? and then asked me a lot about pirates?”
“Whenever i tried to talk she would just start laughing really loud.”
“I know steve is like, you know gorgeous and tall but honestly reenacting star trek episodes with his weird friend for hours isn’t worth it”
╰╳ raisedred
breathing HEAVY, arms supporting her body from where they rest just ABOVE her knees, back curved. an auburn eyebrow raises towards her friend? mentor, who is standing still, arms crossed, hardly even breaking a SWEAT. she swallows HARD and begins to stand up straight, cursing whoever though it would be a good IDEA for her to learn hand-to-hand. it wasn’t like she would allow anyone to get that CLOSE to her in the first place.
❛❛ again, let’s go again. ❜❜
neither winded nor afflicted in the slightest, gaze slants to where wanda remains hunched over herself, lungs eager to regain the air it had just lost. behind malachite hues is a stoical vacancy, though the fire that ignites beneath her impassive veneer pines for more.
( more fight, more vigor. her chest aches for a challenge, but she reels it in------ keeps it locked within her cage of ribs. )
a brow perks at her request, vaguely impressed at the resilience she presents.
‘ ------you sure about that? ‘ you look like you’re ready to keel over.
he’s BARELY made it to the door, and at this point, his mind’s grown too BLEAK to find more motivation to CRAWL to her door step; he hopes for a STROKE of luck, and THANKFULLY, he does get one, when he sees natasha walking out of the apartment complex. of course, he’s RUSHED to, and with no HESITATION, he lets his head drop onto the side of her SHOULDER, for willing himself just to be HERE, was a STRENUOUS process.
the one eye NOT swollen shut, barely stays open, for the DAMAGE around it makes it difficult to keep that one FUNCTIONAL as well; nevertheless, despite his GRIM appearance, there’s a broken CHUCKLE at her QUESTION.
“ran into some friends from HYDRA.”
‘ hate to see the other guys.
the corner of her mouth ticks upward, a subtle ascent, but the expanse of lips flatline the moment his head meets her shoulder for support. muscles tense accordingly, tendons coiling beneath skin that feels too hot to touch.
her hesitation loiters. she’s sure he noticed.
‘ you need real medical attention.
tone is scolding, though that doesn’t stop her from slinging an arm around his torso and hauling him into her building once she finally gathers her resolve.
she can’t leave him. she doesn’t know why, but she knows that much.
using all the strength she can exert, she drags him across the lobby and into the elevator, balance wavering slightly under his weight.
‘ ------you still with me?
mechaniism liked for a starter !
it isn’t until the adrenaline leaves her system that bodily consequence is all she’s left with; muscles fatigued, bruising woven among spindly sinew, once-smooth skin split and cracked with unsightly gashes.
lithe digits dab gently at the worst legion, examining the damage upon stained fingertips. a sting shortly follows and blunt teeth grit behind her lips, breath rushing between ribs as she exhales heavily through her nose. a sudden reminder of her own mortality in the form of a bullet that skims across the flesh of her shoulder, breaking skin.
hardly lethal, but still painful nonetheless. ——though it doesn’t quite distract from the pair of eyes trained on her with an unwavering caution.
head snaps up in response, features the slightest bit irritated.
‘ ------------it’s just a flesh wound. ‘ feel free to quit hovering.
mockeye liked for a starter !
it takes her less than a block to realize she’s being tailed, and nearly a block and a half to figure out that it’s kate. pace hastens and falters in alternating fashions in attempt to distinguish whether or not her footsteps match the speed she offers, just to make sure she really is being followed.
( and not the least bit surprised when she notices that they do. )
the edges of her lips crease into a ghost of a smile.
she doesn’t turn. movements cease altogether instead, limbs solidifying into dead weight as she stops to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk.
' ------might wanna keep a little distance next time. ‘ caught your reflection in a shop window.
