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going through the badlands archive for anniversary celebrations and found these New Americana stills from some set ups that didn’t make the final vid. I love the whiplash of moods lol little baby.

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We have to let it out. We have to spend time together. And even if it doesn't make the emptiness go away. I promise you it will feel lighter. THUNDERBOLTS* (2025) dir. Jake Schreier

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I can’t breathe… he looks so good

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LEWIS PULLMAN as Rhett Abbott OUTER RANGE 1.04 — The Loss

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@mcuchallenge year of celebrations

Spider-Man Day @spider-mandaily Week 1 | Your Favourite Spider-Person

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Tom Sturridge as Dream of The Endless in 2.09: The Kindly Ones.

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Thunderbolts (2025) | dir. Jake Schreier

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You look... happy. I... suppose I am.

THE SANDMAN 2x09

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BADLANDS DECADE EDITION VINYLS AND CDS AVAILABLE NOW.

shop.visitbadlands.com

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Everything is blue

His pills, his hands, his jeans

And now I’m covered in the colors

Pulled apart at the seams

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halseyhq shared this clip on Instagram.

Apparently it translates to this: “When you look back on the past with her, she disappears before you know it. Perhaps she never even existed.”

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I'm here.

THUNDERBOLTS* (2025) dir. Jake Schreier

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BRADLEY JAMES as ARTHUR PENDRAGON The Death Song of Uther Pendragon

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dream’s been in one of his Moods again.

you’re across the room, watching him sulk behind that massive desk of his like the entire universe personally insulted him. he's been like this since you very gently pointed out that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t need to be such a cold bastard to the mortal girl in the dream he unraveled this morning.

you didn’t even say it mean. you were careful. polite. borderline diplomatic.

but the moment you said, “did you have to be so cold with her?” he full-body froze and replied with a clipped, “i do not require instruction in my own realm.” and then.

radio silence.

he hasn’t looked at you since. he’s working (allegedly), but every now and then you catch him pausing—just long enough to think, just long enough to be dramatic—before going back to pretending you don’t exist.

which is hilarious. and also unfair. because now you can’t stop looking at him.

his back is all stiff, his shoulders tense under the stupidly elegant fabric of whatever coat he’s chosen today. you know he doesn’t even need to wear clothes like that. he does it to be extra. to be “regal.” to make it harder to stay mad at him.

and it works.

because even when he’s being moody and petty, he’s also... painfully beautiful. and a little tragic. like someone carved a god out of starlight and then gave him abandonment issues.

you sigh. quietly. dramatically. and get up.

he doesn’t move when you approach. he’s totally still, even as you come up behind him and start massaging his shoulders.

he does tense at that—just a little—but he doesn’t stop you.

so you keep going. slow, firm pressure with your thumbs. leaning over him, your lips just barely brushing his ear.

“my dream,” you say softly.

no reaction. but you feel it.

“my morpheus,” you whisper.

his fingers go still. you can’t see his face, but you know that look—jaw tight, pretending it’s not affecting him. pretending you’re not affecting him.

“my oneiros,” you murmur. you kiss the side of his neck, light and slow. “my nightmare. my darkness, my starless sky.”

he says, “enough,” but it’s not sharp. it’s barely even a protest.

“why?” you ask, lips brushing against his throat. “afraid i’ll undo you?”

his breath catches. gotcha.

you keep kissing. trailing slowly down his neck, one hand sliding down his chest, the other still kneading his shoulder like you’re trying to physically drag the tension out of him.

you lean in again, mouth near his ear. “you sit here brooding like someone wounded you,” you whisper. “you push me away because i see too much. because i tell you when you’re wrong.”

no answer. but his hands lower from the desk. one grips the chair. tightly.

“you think you’re too much,” you whisper. “but you’re not. not for me.”

you kiss just under his jaw.

“my king.”

he snaps.

not in an angry way. in a finally breaking way. he turns, grabs your wrists like he’s grounding himself, and stares. hard. eyes all sharp and tired and soft underneath it all.

“you vex me,” he says, voice low.

you grin. “i know.”

he pulls you in. it’s not soft. it’s needy. like he’s been holding something in for centuries and it’s finally cracking.

and then he kisses you.

and it’s everything. it’s desperate and slow and almost angry with how much he wants it, how much he doesn’t want to want it. he’s holding you like he can’t let go or he’ll fall apart. like if he doesn’t touch you right now, he’ll vanish.

when you finally break apart, he leans his forehead to yours, breathing hard.

“i don’t know what to do with you,” he whispers.

you smile. kiss the tip of his nose.

“yes, you do.”

and then, just for fun, you whisper it again—

“my king.”

and this time, he doesn’t protest.

this time, he kneels.

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#Love him

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FLORENCE PUGH & LEWIS PULLMAN as Yelena Belova & Bob Reynolds — Thunderbolts* / The New Avengers (2025)

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REGAN ALIYAH as ZELMA STANTON Ironheart | 1x04: Bad Magic