reblog spam and dump for shit im not posting on main. my free corner where i can spit what i want. i mostly reblog madness, kitties, nerd shit(biology, astronomy, etc), pretty art, and media i like
main acc: @killing-machine
╰━───〃⌐╦ᡁ᠊╾━ ⚔️ ⌖ ✦
⚔ sexless butch. aiming to be grotesquely ugly-pretty. socially selective
⚔ tolerating misanthrope, owned by none and loyal to few. wife beater and chew-toy
⚔ extremely hateful within my best reasons and i could care less of what you think. go find another guy then.
A beautiful green aurora slathers up the sky in this 2017 June snapshot from the International Space Station. Aurorae have the signature colors of excited molecules and atoms at the low densities that are found at extreme altitudes. Emission from atomic oxygen dominates this view. The glow is green at lower altitudes, but rarer reddish bands extend above the space station's horizon. The orbital scene was captured while passing over a point south and east of Australia, with stars above the horizon at the right belonging to the constellation Canis Major, Orion's big dog. Sirius, alpha star of Canis Major, is the brightest star near the Earth.
Image Credit & Copyright: Jack Fischer, Expedition 52, NASA
alright I'm almost finished Project Hail Mary, and I have to say, I don't get why people are shipping the guy with Markiplier when he's already in a perfectly healthy queer-platonic relationship with the alien spider made of rocks
There isn't a placeable sound in the room, but Hank can hear the sound of his own pulse with his head pressed against the pillow, and it's unbearable. He tries rolling onto his back, and is quickly reminded of the burn beneath his shoulder blades. No reason to even bother with the other side.
Without any much consideration for the other person in the bed, he kicks the sheets off and peels himself off the mattress.
It doesn't help.
The loudness follows him out of the room and down the hall, silent to the world but thundering in his skull like war drums marching just beyond the horizon. Loud in a way that never leaves.
It's hear to stay.
It speaks of danger. Of threats lurking on the other side of these concrete walls. Monsters in the dark.
He is the monster. Has to be. If he isn't, something else will be. They have to be crushed.
"Hank."
The world cuts through the silence like a blade. Startles its target enough for his gaze to leave the window.
Doc is to his right.
Back to the window.
Nothing outside.
Warmth at his bicep. Doc's head against his shoulder.
Nothing outside.
"It's late," Doc says, and it is. But still, Doc is here, watching the horizon. Watching for things that think they're monsters. With him.
Something inside him releases, tension breaking and leaving him with nothing but the cold. Cold concrete under bare feet. Cold air nipping at his bare torso where bandages don't protect him.
The danger is passed.
Doc must notice it too, because his hand slips into Hank's, inviting but never pulling, and Hank follows like it's second nature.
It is.
Back into the warmth of the room.
Back into the silence.
Doc lays down first and Hank slots himself into open, waiting arms.
They don't talk. They never talk when they're close like this. Words could damage something so fragile.
But it's warm. And it's quiet. And most of all, it's safe.