she • the outsiders • boygenius • daughter of cain • basically just a sodapop appreciation blog
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and one day,
I am gonna grow wings
a chemical reaction.
No because it suits them so well ok, let me indulge (#゚Д゚)y-~~ (get it the wings are sam, them kissing is the chemical reaction.....)
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“it means a part of me is still there. which means a part of the winter soldier is still in me.”
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i really want to write a tfatws formula one crossover but idk if my audience wants that! lmao do y’all want that 😓
#formula one#f1#tfatws#the falcon and the winter soldier#sambucky#probably#do you guys want to read it pls
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i’m back and i’m pre-gaming wtiwaly
#ethel cain art#ethel cain#willoughby tucker#wtiwaly#willoughby tucker forever#nettles#nettles ethel cain#this was all for you#pencil drawing#cal robertson#dale earnhardt
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i can’t even fathom this, it’s such a devastating event and it’s hard to process the sheer tragedy. my heart is full of compassion for the victims, the families, the community. my family and many of my friends are filipino and i live just outside of the city, so this one hits close to home. i love you vancouver, stay strong babies, donate if you can 💗
Hey, so, I don't know how many of you follow Canadian news, but yesterday, someone drove a car into the crowd at a Filipino cultural festival in Vancouver. I'm sorry that I can't put that more sensitively, but I really don't know how else to describe it. I'm not Filipino, but it happened in the neighborhood I grew up in. I'm not sure how to describe how I feel. I'd walked past the event an hour before with some friends. We'd joked about how the first nice weekend in Vancouver is a special occasion because everyone comes out. There's a vigil on that corner tonight.
The point of this isn't to talk about how I feel. A friend has shared some gofundmes with me and I wanted to post them here. And ask that maybe if you're local and you're able to, could you donate blood? I don't know. I don't have anything I can say. It's not my tragedy but I feel it anyway. If you can donate, I know it would be appreciated by the families.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-bring-rowel-home (goal reached but more funds always help)
https://www.gofundme.com/f/rizza (almost at 50%)
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In his dreams, Steve’s liver was between his teeth. There was a slit down his side, moonlight painting the white of his skin. The asset knew that his teeth were painted with blood, but the wound did not weep it. It stayed perfectly sealed inside of his beautiful body, unlike the organs he so carelessly ripped out with his jaw.
Steve was asleep, or unconscious, but he was not dead. Through his hot flesh the asset could feel his heartbeat, and it unsettled him. Another cut was made, and the asset pulled apart Steve’s ribs reverently. They came undone like yarn, slipping through flesh and metal fingers. It was too easy. The asset wrapped his metal hand around Steve’s heart. He knew not of the feeling of skin against beating tissue, and he had no intention of enlightening himself. Closing flesh around such an organ would be too close to love, and the asset felt only surrender.
He pulled, first gently and then harder, squeezing like the.. thing would come squishing through the cracks of his fingers like rotten fruit. His hand stayed clean. It was almost like sex, the push and pull, and finally the asset gave in and leaned his head down, closing his teeth around Steve’s heart and biting as hard as he could. The taste of iron and rot did not come, and the asset could not penetrate the hard muscle.
“I hate you.” The asset whispered into hot blood, hoping that the salvia that rolled down his chin would drop into the cavity that he had created, maim and taint Steve’s American Dream. “I don’t want this.”
Steve was whispering in his ear. He loved him. No, no, this was not love. This was weakness. This was surrender. Surely the rip of teeth should burn, have Steve screaming and begging the asset to stop. He wanted Steve to tell him to stop. Was he giving up?
He woke up panting, and hard, and on the living room floor. Gripping a loaded revolver in his right hand, he closed his eyes and bit his lip until it bled, imagining it was Steve’s blood in his mouth instead.
#stucky#steve rogers#bucky barnes#the winter soldier#steve rogers x bucky barnes#steve rogers x the winter soldier#tw cannabalism#blood and violence and sex mmm#james buchanan barnes#stucky shitposting#fanfiction#snippet#marvel#marvel fanfic#do i finish this yes or no
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steve rogers the kinda guy to kiss you on the head and tell you everything’s gonna be okay (the inside of bucky’s brain)
#steve rogers#bucky barnes#stucky#lucy has an obsession with people named steve lol#stucky shitposting#marvel#captain america#marvel mcu
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Sodapop Curtis is AT LEAST bisexual.
But I believe he's a pan icon
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i’m a cherryblade warrior don’t @ me
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stevepop and their ways of expressing love. soda puts his arm around steve's shoulders. soda bringing back bottlecaps and pretty rocks and sometimes bugs so they can share the nice things he saw that day. soda listening. soda knowing when to talk. soda narrating his day and getting steve to laugh.
steve checking soda's tires before they drive to work. steve reminding soda where he put his shoes. steve only listening to soda's favorite radio station, even without soda with him. steve loitering outside the dx and chainsmoking as soda closes. steve going to the rodeo just to see soda grin.
#you make me smile#this is so sweet#they’re so in love it’s almost hard to think about#sodapop curtis#stevepop#steve randle
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i hate how this is my most popular post. one of the very first things i posted when i had a weak grasp on everything and i was waiting for my dad to take me to the orthodontist. please stop 🌝
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when Darry calls soda n pony honey he means specific things for each.
for soda he means 'honeysuckle'. who springs up unexpectedly n is suddenly everywhere. whose bright amongst the bushes still dead from winter. the first sign of spring. who gives n gives n gives. who sticks to your clothes n whose laugh is sweet in your ears. he calls soda honeysuckle n means 'do you remember fillin hands n mouths n jean pockets forgotten n washed n scolded for but it never much mattered cause our faces are streaked yellow n bright n I'm so lucky youre my brother. you are the first sign everythin might be ok for us. you're first light'
for pony he means honeycomb. a labor of love. ain't easy to come by. he calls him honeycomb n remembers sittin on the front porch n runnin down to the river n sharin somethin stolen with sticky hands n skin freckled with summer. he calls pony honeycomb n means 'remember when I was just your brother? even then I'd scrap my knees n bandage my own stings n still give you the bigger piece. you're the thing I'm workin for.'
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If no one has told you lately, way to go tiger. 🤍
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