Steve often insinuates that he and Howard had a passionate love affair during the war to mess with Tony.
Peter Solarz
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Claire Keane
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Sade Olutola
trying on a metaphor
occasionally subtle

Janaina Medeiros

if i look back, i am lost

shark vs the universe
taylor price

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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Sweet Seals For You, Always

JBB: An Artblog!
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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@star-spangled-sass
Steve often insinuates that he and Howard had a passionate love affair during the war to mess with Tony.
"Are you not hungry, sir?"
Bucky reached out to take the waiter’s wrist in a firm grip, stopping him from taking the plate of food away. Did he not realize what that question meant to Bucky? No, how could he? Oh he was hungry and for more than just the blood pulsing through those veins.
He hadn’t realized he had been staring, not caring about the food he wouldn’t taste anyway. Too much of his attention had been on the waiter and to hell with his date. He was planning on taking her home for a good fuck and erasing her memory. After taking a taste of her. But he had found someone more interesting when she went off to the bathroom. The blond waiter like something out of a Greek myth. Adonis. Or Apollo. He wasn’t sure which one to compare him too.
Bucky’s thumb caressed over the pulse of his wrist, his eyes lifting upwards to focus on his face. “What time does your shift end?” He smiled, not even caring about pesky questions of whether or not the waiter was even interested in men. What did sexuality matter when all Bucky had to do was smile to get his way.
Steve was more than just startled when the guest grabbed his wrist -- for a moment, he was more than even just taken aback; he was, in some deeply primal way he didn't understand, almost frightened. Which was absolutely ridiculous. But that flash, that thrill of fear, was there -- though it came and went so fast it barely had time to register in his conscious mind.
But he didn't dwell on it, because after that first bright taste of fear flared along his nerves a hot rush of desire flooded through his body, so strong that it nearly left him weak in the knees like some swooning chick in a romance novel, and that was a lot more interesting to focus on. Sure, he'd been eyeing the sultry looking guy all night, paying far more attention to him than strictly attention to him over the course of his shift, not even bothering to pay the same amount of attention to the guy's date. She was pretty, but who could be bothered to give a fuck when the guy had that -- that kind of sheer god damn animal magnetism that Steve hadn't ever thought was a real thing until just then? She was tofu, and this guy -- this guy was the finest filet mignon on the menu. And Steve, for one, was fucking starving.
Steve was, also, completely and totally over his current job as a server at the restaurant where the sexy son of a bitch had brought his light-of-love that evening. Over the asshole bosses, over the terrible customers, over the coked-out or kleptomaniac co-workers, over the suspect levels of hygiene employed by the line cooks. And when the shift lead had fired one of the pretty young hostesses earlier in the night (ostensibly for accrued tardiness, though Steve had a sinking suspicion it was really for refusing to blow him in the walk-in) he'd gone ahead and finally let himself check-out completely from the whole shit-show, amusing himself for this one last shift by sending the hot guy smoldering edroom eyes and sneaking shots of whiskey off the bartender who'd been his only real friend in the whole hell-hole.
He'd finish his shift, or at least give it a good old college-try, and then he'd throw his resignation in the shift-lead's face. Maybe even throw a punch at the asshat, too, if he got confirmation of his suspicions about trying to get one over on the hostess. And then he'd shake the dust of this place from his heels and find something else to occupy his time until he figured out what it was that was missing from his life, and a way to get it -- and the sense of balance, of purpose or meaning or intention, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it that came with it -- back.
So when the sexy, dark-haired guest who threw all kinds of fascinating signals at him started caressing the underside of his wrist with his thumb, a beautifully dirty, intimate kind of gesture that cut out the middleman entirely and sent little stabbing jolts of lusty pleasure straight to his dick, Steve didn't hesitate for a minute before replying. "I was gonna quit this bitch at the end of the night," he says, licking his lips, voice low and a little shaky. "So fuck it -- my shift ends now."
Jesus take the wheel
Whoa there Jesus
send me a ✿ and i’ll generate a number.
1: aggressive kiss
2: all over kiss
3: back kiss
4: cheek kiss
5: eyelid kiss
6: fingers kiss
7: firm kiss
8: first kiss
9: forehead kiss
10: french kiss
11: gentle kiss
12: ghost kiss
13: hand kiss
14: jawline kiss
15: last kiss
16: neck kiss
17: rain kiss
18: stomach kiss
19: underwater kiss
20: upside down kiss
DEAR EVERYONE EVER
I am very behind on everything.
Like, it's a situation of nearing epic proportions.
EPIC.
LIKE UNICORNS FIGHTING GODZILLAS EPIC.
I'll try to get through some stuff tomorrow, but in the meantime, this is an official sorry-so-slow post <3
"If you respected the sanctity of the game, you wouldn’t call it soccer. You know…we had just about broken Rebecca of that nasty habit…" Giving Steve a pointed look, she headed to the kitchen to grab him a beer. England’s departure had put Jacqueline home from Brazil much sooner then she anticipated and so…in the spirit of football and all the was sacred she had actually agreed to spend a week or two in NY, staying with her father.
Aka at World Cup Central. At least for the Commandos.
Handing him one of the two bottles she returned with, she settled on the couch beside him. “You just like that they say your name about twenty times again. Admit it, you’re searching the crowd for people dressed like you.”
"Well, if you wanna go look it up, the phrase "soccer" is from the official name of the sport -- "Association Football". Called familiarly assocer or even -- hold on to your shirt now - soccer by the elite English prep school kids who were playing it back in the mid 1800s, one of whom was almost definitely a Falsworth. But since they had like nineteen different types of football or whatever, I guess you had to shorten things, so people wouldn't have to keep asking stuff like 'do you mean associated football, my fellow nineteenth-century chum, or do you mean that rugby football with the hookers I've heard tell of'. And then it sort of slowly gained momentum, so that by the time I had my little, you know, time-out situation, we were pretty much just calling it soccer instead of football over here while you guys were doing your thing across the pond."
He raises an eyebrow at her, glancing away from the game briefly, flashing her a wickedly teasing grin. "So this is at least partially on you, and since I'm Captain of America and not Captain of The United Kingdom, I'm gonna go ahead and keep on with "soccer" for now."
He takes the beer from her, knocking his bottle lightly against hers in a good-luck salute. "I love the beautiful game for its beauty," he says, his face very serious as he takes a long swallow of the beer -- excellent, as always, when Jac was in charge of stocking the fridge. But the serious face doesn't last long, a bright smile bursting forth -- a little rough around the edges, as it will be until this game's in the books. "But yeah, it's hilarious and awesome to see the things people come dressed up as. Yes -- including me."
"Shall I get you a shot gun and a mason jar, Captain?"
"Nah, but if you're offering I'll take a beer and just a touch less sass until my heart no longer feels like it's going to leap outta my mouth on fire."
"I respected the sanctity of the game when it was your turn, after all. Turnabout, fair play, all that good stuff, Jac."
I believe…
Teddy Goalsevelt is ready to take on Belgium! Let’s go, USA!
these are the best kinds of friends
The bestest.
G O D B L E S S A M E R I C -
“I got into the Captain America costume! I am pleased to say it fits rather well. Didn’t have to make any alterations… I played Loki, dressed as Captain America. Chris was so game. Chris Evans doing an impression of Loki doing an impression of Captain America. It’s kind of amazing.” - Tom Hiddleston
exchanging headcanons and AUs with friends like
Dear Ladies (and any men) who might have at some point in time kissed Captain America (especially you, Rebecca Darling),
You’re Welcome.
Love,
Jacqueline Falsworth
Sharon Olds, “Feared Drowned”