Mm, coffee, yes.

queenerestor:

Guess who is no man

fierceturtle:

So I read this post by Copperbadge and the comment by mooseman13579, and I have to say I am ALL ABOUT fic dealing with the development of Stark Tower. I’m an architect and I have toyed with the idea in my head for a while, but Tony would be the client from hell for any…

did-you-kno:

J&D’s Foods sells bacon condoms so you can “make your meat look like meat.” Source

did-you-kno:

J&D’s Foods sells bacon condoms so you can “make your meat look like meat.” Source

I'M SO FRUSTRATED this person keeps debating the shooting with me and keeps bringing up Mike Brown's "history." This person believes that he charged at Wilson, and I don't know how to refute that specific claim... btw-thank you so much for this blog♡
Anonymous

justice4mikebrown:

1. All eyewitnesses agree that Mike Brown did not charge at Darren Wilson:

2. Bring up Darren Wilson’s history:

Bonus info:

janesfoster:

Jane Foster + Tumblr

Because the first time I kissed a boy I was disgusted. It happened in the last minutes of recess, behind the swings, under the creaky bridge of the old wood structure that we always called a castle. I had been told that princesses always kiss boys. I didn’t know what I was doing, and neither did he. Our small tongues like slugs, slimy and awkward in each other’s mouths.
I thought, this is love, it has to be.

Because when I was too young, a man too old told me he loved me. I didn’t know what I was doing, but he did. He gave me things: movies to make me laugh, and all the ones about ghosts, a new set of paintbrushes, a beautiful marble stamp with my name carved inside. there was a back room full of videos and the wet smell of watercolors drying.
I was carved inside.
People ask me why I don’t paint anymore.

I was fifteen, and summer was just beginning. A slow breeze was lifting the curtains. I was spooning my best friend. The two of us cupped in the soft bowl of a papasan chair, nestled like fragrant fruit ripening, curled into each other. I was fascinated by the way her hair curled soft and golden, so close to me. Close enough to do anything. There was too much closeness. I kissed the freckles at the nape of her neck. She jumped up and screamed, demanding, What the hell was that. Thinking quickly I laughed- The look on your face!
She didn’t know what I was doing, and neither did I.

Because when I was fifteen, I thought I was in love with a girl across the country whom I had never met. My mother found my diary and read it: my fervent declarations of love, pages covered with a girl’s name, covered in hearts. My mother screamed, demanding, Tell me this is not true! I said, yes, you are right, it is not true.
She knew what I was doing, and so did I.
I thought, this is love,
protection and deceit,
it has to be.

Because my first real love had a love like a strangling fig. He took and took of me, until my well was dry. And then he took my dirt and my stone walls. I was carved inside.
He said, Everything is for you. I live for you. Breathe for you. Bleed for you. I would die without you. And I will, I will.
I wanted to know, is this love?
And he said, It has to be.
I knew what he was doing, but wished that I didn’t.

I thought, all I ever know of love is blood. It has to be.

Because the first time I met you I was scared you wouldn’t like me. You said I held your hand too tight. But inside of an elevator you kissed me quick, and you laughed at my stunned face and wide open eyes. I stood there for a second after the door opened, wanting it to close,
wondering what I could do to make you do that again.

Because I know the way you hold me.

Because we talk until dawn until my throat is sore from shared secrets and quiet laughter. I made myself sick one night staying up with you. I make myself sick sometimes, glutted on longing stuck in my throat. I want to kiss your eyes closed and watch them open to see how you look and how you look at me. I want you to stop me between floors and trap me in a confined space. I want the curve of my lips along your collarbones, I want it as my first thought in the moments before knowing.

Because in the quiet pre-dawn moments I even let myself want the things I cannot let myself say, the way if you say a wish it will not come true. I don’t know what I’m doing.
I think, I am so scared,
Because I am so scared.

why I am the way I am about you 

by michi, for my bae 

(via traumachu)
"Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"
Hey, Noelle, I love your Hobbit, Avengers and Pacific Rim comics, and really just all your comics but anyway: how did you like Lee Pace as Ronan the Accuser? You kept silent on the subject and I've been kinda hoping for some fanart and comics or I guess just your commentary on it cause that's fun to read too.

gingerhaze:

There’s really nothing to say about Ronan the Accuser. He was the most underused villain since…ever, in the MCU. Which is a shame, because as an overzealous law enforcement official, he could have been a really fun counterpoint to the band of criminals that make up the movie’s heroes. Kind of a Space Javert character, albeit more extreme.

bluewindsummer:

Bucky in the 21st Century: Bonus #1

Idea credits to captainjaye (from this post)! 

PART 1 | PART 2 

I feel like Natasha and Bobby Springer would get along like wildfire

…crabby, cantankerous wildfire.

Sleepy Hollow S1 Gag Reel