#caption the photo

[sweetsweetjellybean]

The heavy weight of your overstuffed bag presses into your shoulder as you begin the climb to your fifth floor walk-up. You tug at your collar, peeling away the damp material from your heated skin as you trudge up the stairs. This was a mistake. Your fingers grip the railing as you round the first landing. This job. This apartment. This whole damn city – one big mistake. At home, the summer heat never felt this sticky. The air didn't burn your lungs. You could breathe. But then you remember the reason why you left.

On the next landing, the sharp smell of ammonia mixes with cooking spices, hitting your nose hard. Your steps clap unevenly on the tile, thanks to the broken heel in your bag. A TV volume cranks up, trying to cover the yelling from the next apartment. He would never see you the way you saw him. Golden and beautiful. His gaze always lingered somewhere else–on someone else. You couldn’t do it anymore. It was just too hard to watch. His sun-soaked, freckled skin was just too hard not to touch. It was time to move on. To trade in the love of your life for a chance to be…you can’t even remember now what you hoped to find. But it wasn’t this. 

You step more gingerly on the final flight,  where the tiles underfoot are more worn, some cracked and others missing entirely. The air grows stale. The weight of the city seems to press down on you with every step. You're too young to feel this tired.

With the final turn, your breath catches—not from the climb. You blink twice, but it’s not your imagination. Steve Harrington is leaning against the wall in front of your door. His face stays neutral as he takes you in for the first time in a year. 

“Hi,” he says softly, just like he has said to you a thousand times before.

Your throat tightens as you force out a reply. “Hi,” you echo back. Your bag drops from your shoulder to the floor as you reach up to swipe at the tear stinging your eye.

“What’s wrong?” He shifts his duffle higher on his shoulder.

Your head shakes from side to side, “Nothing. I just had a really bad day.” 

Silence stretches, a tangible thread connecting you. His eyes drop, then rise again, a half-smile playing on his lips. He holds up two airline tickets in front of his chest, “Wanna go somewhere with me?” 

Your lungs pull in a breath so sharp it borders on laughter, the longing you’ve carried releasing with the exhale. “Where?”

With two big strides, the distance between you evaporates. His hand gently cradles your cheek, the mossy flecks in his eyes come alive, mirroring the storm raging in your own. 

“Does it matter?”

[70sscifiart]

The late-night gas station run, in science fiction and fantasy

[mothcpu]

IM MADE OF DEAD MEAT AND I GOT NO TASTE AND I WONT LET UP TILL I GET MY WAY

[henreyettah]

03/10 🦊

More foxes here

[vraska-theunseen]

A Very Normal Orange, vraska-theunseen, 2024

[oldbutchdaniel]

andrew scott for interview mag, interviewed by olivia colman (x)

[kendyroy]

i love the thought of logan nodding off and laying his head on wade’s shoulder

and wade tries to take picture of him every time but he’s too scared that if he moves he’ll wake the sleeping kitty, so he just kinda sits there for hours (while gently petting logan’s head).

along with that, i like to think logan falls asleep in so many random places in the apartment, and wade takes a picture whenever he finds him like that…just cuz he loves seeing his man so peaceful.

he draws little cat ears on the pics and has a dedicated album for them (he has about 1000+)

[gemeenteurk]

easter weekend (but not the correct one [Orthodox])

[lasshoe]

Hannah Waddingham ✨ photographed by Victoria Stevens for ELLE Magazine

[sweetsweetjellybean]

Another little Steve blurb for you today. The photo was picked by @loveshotzz . Send me a photo or gif to caption if you want. I'll do my best to get it.

It's been a minute since you've seen him, and you don't mind having a second look. His hair is much longer now, his jaw even more defined and peppered with dark stubble. It just doesn't seem fair, you think, as you walk past him on your way to the cooler. You keep your head straight, though your eyes remain fixed on him, hidden behind your dark glasses. Why couldn't he have developed a beer gut or sprouted a horn in the center of his forehead? Exes aren't supposed to be this hot.

The smell of charcoal and sunscreen fills the air as your friends gather for an end-of-summer barbecue in the park.

"Looking good," he whispers low in your ear, giving your shoulder a slight bump as he walks past.

"I know," you reply, without turning your head, casually pushing up your glasses with one finger. It takes you another two minutes before you allow yourself a glance over your shoulder at him, and ten more before he has you pinned against the back of the bandstand. 

He mouths at that spot on your neck that sends your eyelids fluttering and your breath coming faster. 

“You taste like lemonade,” he groans, his lips tracing a path up your jaw, “and vodka.” His thumb glides across your lips before he presses a kiss there too. “And sunshine.”

That's funny, you think, as he tugs the hem of your tank free, his fingers finding their way underneath. You taste like something I'll regret.

“Steve.” His name comes out in a breath, sounding like temptation before you open for him and he sweeps his tongue against yours. 

“Come for a ride with me,” he murmurs against your lips while thumb grazes the underneath of your breast. 

“Can't,” you say with half-lidded eyes as you grip his collar, pulling him closer.

His hand glides down the back of your thigh, hoisting it over his hip. Suddenly, you feel him, hot and hard, pressing into your center. "Can't or won't?" he asks, his hips rolling against yours – a challenge and a tease all at once. 

You pause, both your hands cradling his jaw. “You're going to ruin me, Steve.” 

The sun dips lower, casting shadows across the grass. There's a sadness in his eyes but he buries it with his head nestling into your neck. “It could work this time.” His warm breath is followed by the drag of his lips. His lower half continues to grind against you, the thin material of your shorts doing little to dull the sensation of his cock hitting you just where you need it. The world narrows to the here and now, to the motion of you moving together.

He pulls back slightly, mouth at your ear, his voice low, drawing out a shiver. "Or maybe," he says, his hips pressing closer, making you gasp at the depth of feeling, "I'll end up being your favorite mistake.”

[70sscifiart]

Very Normal Houses in science fiction and fantasy.

Artists are credited in the captions, but check out the latest issue of my free sci-fi art newsletter if you want the full context. Also sign up for it! I'm going to try doing more roundups like this over there

[chronicroderick]

Hannibal Q&A selfies taken by the moderator at FanExpo Dallas, Sunday June 9th 2024. YOU'RE WELCOME MY CHILDREN.

[shimmershy]

I've been longing for Daisies to push through the floor And I wish plant life would grow all around me So I won't feel dead anymore

[ollierachnid]

You put that goddamn dog down boy

[evidenceof]

Band of Brothers BTS photos David Webster Continuity ->  Eion Bailey as David Webster.

First photo reads, "To Jane, my only fan." signed for the wife of Band of Brother's Wardrobe Assistant, P. Christopher. Polaroids also shared by him.

[cerubean]