#steve bloom

[did-i-mention-the-shirt]

look at the way they're holding his arms i cant--

he really is their child

[courseyoulovemeyoudontknowme]

Your Friend the Rat (2007, Jim Capobianco)

15/10/2024

[80smovies]

[jennyviviandee]

Has access to streaming all kinds of stuff she's never seen before.

...Instead rewatches the magnificent Malitda (1996) starring the sensational Mara Wilson that Danny Devito directed. Based off of the Roald Dahl book of the same name. Screenplay by Nicholas Kazan and Robin Swicord.

Interestingly, another Dahl adaptation came out that very year. A hybrid of live action with stop-motion animation flick of Dahl's James and the Giant Peach by Disney from director Henry Selick. Screenplay by Karey Kirkpatrick, Johnathan Roberts, and Steve Bloom.

[imagesinbloom]

What shops carry your products?

here is the list of fine retailers that carry our products. Shop local or shop with us online !!!

We are not always out at art fairs, and not everyone likes to buy online, so we have worked hard to get our products into fine shops around the area. Here is our current list!!!

[pinkloverdiplomatdragon]

photographs from a South Africa many thought would never end… by the photographer Steve Bloom

https://stevebloom.myportfolio.com/

[delicioushottubpeanut]

Y'know when you start liking a dilf and see all these edits and then become jealous because they have liked them longer than you

[thedeepestwarmestblue]

Mr. Harrington scans him head to toe, giving his extended hand a long look and Billy feels filthy, though he showered twice before coming over. He slides his gaze to his son, a curious tilt to his head.

“I remember that name. Is this is the same one who gave you trouble at the beginning of the year?”

Billy goes cold, the smile sliding off his face. Mrs. Harrington drawing in a shocked inhale.

“Marco! He’s a guest —“

Billy drops his hand, kicking himself because he knew this had been a bad idea. Had told Steve over and over, ‘it’s not going to work, pretty boy, I’m telling you, people like you and me don’t mix’, but Steve wouldn’t have any of it.

Billy bows his head, hot and humiliated, tries to make himself speak around the knife in his throat, but Steve is stepping in front of him, defensive.

“Dad! Really? We’ve been over this! There was a misunderstanding —“

Lucia is next to him then, her hand pressing into his back, guiding him into the kitchen, apologizing quick and low in his ear. Leaving Steve to argue with his father behind them, his voice muffled as the double doors swing shut.

She continues apologizing for her husband as she fixes them each a glass of wine, her Italian accent thick, her eyes dark and tender. The translucent blood red liquid swirls up the sides of fine crystal when she slides it across the counter to him. A third glass waits for Steve when he comes in several minutes later without his father. The fourth absent, like she had known.

His face pink and frustrated, brows drawn together. He throws himself down onto the sofa with his mother with a dramatic groan, taking in a deep mouthful.

“He won’t be joining us,” he says, flat.

Lucia runs her fingers through her son’s hair and Steve closes his eyes, sighing. Billy looks away. Steve opens them, winces when he looks at Billy, apologetic.

“I’m really sorry about that, Billy —“

Billy shrugs him off, like ‘I told you so’. Steve sets his wine down slowly, the glass making a gentle clink against the granite. Looks at Billy for a long moment, concerned, lips thin and unhappy, then he turns to face his mother and launches into furious Italian, his hands everywhere.

Billy watches him, entranced, can only imagine what he’s saying by the expressions on his face. The language fluid and musical, clashing with his tone, harsh and mocking, his eyebrows arching, swooping, buckling. Billy can hear his frustration. Questions, the end of sounds curving upwards. His mother clucking, soothing him, a hand on his knee. ‘Lo so, bambino, lo so’, she repeats over and over.

Steve eventually runs out of steam, looks over to Billy with a grimace.

“Sorry … I’ll use English,” he says.

Billy shrugs, finding it intensely attractive. The wine he’d been sipping not helping one bit.

“All good.”

[invinciblerodent]

That "least favorite companion" post I referenced earlier today keeps haunting me.

Because... well, it was obvious that many would say Oghren. I expected many to have said Oghren.

But it still makes me a little bit sad just how much of Oghren's depth and potential was lost by him being written as a "comic relief" character that both fell flat, and aged poorly.

I remember, the first time I played Origins when I was like 17-18, I was a bit put off by him immediately: he reminded me of people I knew in real life, and were not people I liked, or was proud to know. I was a little disappointed that I'd have to have him in my party for the last part of "Paragon of Her Kind". But that short little scene, where he first steps out under the open sky...

That scene, I still think about regularly.

The moment he casts off his caste, the last thing he still genuinely had. When he first looks up at the sky, and realizes just how vast and open it is. When he takes that step he knows would mean that he can never go back.

That tiny little scene, less than a minute long, made not just him, but my own Aeducan click for me immediately.

Because Oghren is a clear failure of the caste system. Or better said, a failure of dwarven society, really.

He's a castoff, a reject, a lost cause: a once respected warrior, a famed dwarven berserker and husband to a Paragon, who fell through the cracks because he fell out of his house's favor.

Because he got hit hard by his wife and his whole family leaving him behind. Because he got too hard to deal with, too embarrassing.

So under the carpet he went, in both his own mind and everyone else's.

Oghren's, is... an ordinary tragedy. A story of an everyday struggle for men like him (lonely, middle aged, depressed), with feelings that are quietly shoved to the side, joked about, tamped down by both him, and the people around him- and him not being “likeable”, well... isn't that just the way it usually is? People who are suffering are sometimes genuinely not good people.

And despite his best efforts, I can't bring myself to dislike him. I don't like having him in my party because I don't find him funny like he was clearly intended to be, and a lot of his dialogue, I find deeply frustrating and off-putting (in Origins and Awakening alike), but... I can't bring myself to dislike him.

I just... feel sad for him, more than anything else. Because in a few rare moments, there is loyalty. There's honor. Care. Sadness. Even humor when it's allowed to be there, beneath the very 2009 "sexual harassment is totally funny you guys".

There is a lot to talk about regarding Oghren, starting with mental health, and ending with the typical dwarven mentality being to cut ties with what they perceive to be lost causes (which also goes for Kal-Sharok, really), but... I can't shake this feeling that had he been written a few years later, with a touch slightly more careful than the ones with which he was originally handled, he could have been so much more.

..... Though I suppose there's some poetic irony in how the character who was let down by his people would also be one that was let down by his time.

[metalbvcky]

Shelves of Aster | Series: Bloom!Verse

NOW COMPLETE!

This has been a long, incredible journey. I'm not stopping, and I will take a break from this series, but this series is eternal for me. And now the first installment is complete 😭💜

Pairing: Steve/Bucky Rating: Explicit Tags: Modern Bookstore AU, Dom/sub, Falling In Love, Fluff & Smut, Dom Steve, Sub Bucky, Top Steve, Bottom Bucky (more on AO3) Word/Chapter Count: 126,517 (26/26)

💜 Summary 💜

A career in design has given Steve wealth and friends, but no partner. StarkTech rules the appliance industry, and the latest device has kept Steve from the dating world. Steve wishes he had time to jump back into the scene, find a new sub or a sugar baby, maybe someone to spoil.

Running into a store minutes before closing would soon show Steve what he’s been missing.

Bucky's life has had its ups and downs. His asshole ex threw him away shortly after moving to Brooklyn, which left him without a place to live. The owner of a local bookstore, the same woman he befriended while studying for finals, had been kind enough to ‘adopt’ him on that dreadful night.

Between freelance writing and a part-time job, Bucky doesn’t know when he’ll get laid. He wants a boyfriend. Romantic dinners, movie night cuddle sessions, and sexual experiences he’s only dreamed about.

What's the chance they're both kinky?

Read on AO3

[courseyoulovemeyoudontknowme]

Dug's Special Mission (2009, Ronnie del Carmen)

04/06/2024

[bloomingpresent]

Version of nomad Steve Rogers.

Blooming Present.

[dailydccomics]

special appreciation for canonically queer Siegfried  DC’s Legion of Bloom (2023)

[imagesinbloom]

Where are we next?

You will find us this saturday in the Bath Community Park located at 1615 N Cleveland Massillon Road. There are 72 booths of artists as well as food vendors and music. We are in the first row, booth #11.

[loveshotzz]

I see your florist! Steve that talks to his flowers about you and raise you. He talks to his flowers and the local stray cat (that he definitely feeds) looks at him all judgmental and he's all "don't look at me like that"

Just a silly little thought. I love him I also fully believe florist steve lives in the same universe as tattoo artist! Eddie.

STOP!! He starts asking the stray for advice on if he thinks you’re flirting with him and if he should ask you to dinner.

yes! I was telling some friends that in my head Robin owns a coffee shop around the corner from his flower shop.

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Sweet Pea - Steve Rogers x Reader

Sweet Pea (Lathyrus odoratus) - Meaning: Thank you for a lovely time, farewell

Summary: While on the run, Steve comes to reader for comfort. What starts as a series of one night stands turns into so much more.

Pairing: Nomad!Steve x Reader

Word Count: 955

Warnings: Allusions to smut, Steve leaving notes and being sweet, domestic fluff, dirty notes and drawings, the Blip, angst, Steve freaking out

Day 14 brings us some fluffy angst with our favorite Nomad!

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, comments, and reblogs are SUPER appreciated! ❤️

You kept the notes squirreled away in a small box in the back of your sock drawer. Steve always left one, using whatever scrap of paper was nearby. After the first few notes you’d taken to keeping post-its and a pen on your nightstand, which he used from then on to leave you his sweet farewells. 

The first few notes were stiff, formal, things like ‘Thank you for a lovely time, Sincerely Yours, Steve’ or ‘I truly appreciate you, Best, Steve’ like he was thanking you for picking up his dry cleaning rather than letting him fuck you into next week. 

At the beginning of your relationship, he’d only come by your safe house after dark and would leave almost right after you passed out. The more times he visited, the more comfortable he got and the longer he would linger. Sometimes you’d wake up in the wee hours with him spooning you, snoring adorably, but he’d always be gone by morning, a note left for you stuck to your coffee maker, a full pot already made. 

He was sweet like that. 

‘Thanks for last night. You’re incredible. <3 Steve’

‘I’ll miss you, but I won’t be gone long. <3 Steve’

‘See you soon, beautiful. <3 Steve’ 

The little doodled heart next to his name made your heart stutter. 

His visits became more frequent, from once every few months to once a month to every other week or so. More often than not, you woke up next to him. The first time that happened you’d shaken him awake, afraid he was late to something or needed to go. He’d smiled his classically handsome smile and simply folded you back into his arms. 

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he said, voice still thick with sleep. “I don’t have to be anywhere for a while yet.” 

A while yet turned out to be two full days with Steve. At first, you weren’t sure about his presence in your house, thinking he’d be bored out of his mind, but he found some home projects you’d been neglecting and did as much as he could in the time he had. The domesticity of it all was a new kind of intimacy that neither of you were familiar with, so there were some awkward moments trying to figure out each other's routines and particularities. But once that initial adjustment period was over, everything felt…natural.

You feared this would be the end of his sweet little notes, but instead of the end the notes started popping up everywhere. Sometimes it was a flirtatious note, sometimes a quick drawing of something silly or pornographic or a reference to something he now understood thanks to your pop culture tutelage. 

‘I love your tits in that top ;)’

‘Meet me upstairs when you’re done in the garden’

‘I definitely didn't use the last of the milk, it was a ghost. Who ya gonna call?’ 

The drawing he did of you pegging a suspiciously Steve-shaped Deadpool was probably your favorite. That one got taped to the fridge. 

While he was on the run, you were more than happy to provide him a safe place. His touchstone when he needed a reminder that he was still a human being. A place where he could fully shed the fugitive mantle and act like a normal person. 

He gets the call from Nat while he’s rehanging drywall in your upstairs bathroom. They needed him to get to Edinburgh, some weird readings were coming through whatever scanners she had. You were at the grocery store, so he grabbed the post-its from his side of the bed and wrote a note. 

‘Got a call from Nat, gotta go save the world again <3 Love you, Steve’

He stuck it where he’d be sure you’d find it, on the fridge, next to the naughty drawing that you loved, and made sure to lock the door when he left. 

A few days later, the truck he’d commandeered screeched to a halt in your driveway. His heart pounded in his chest as he thudded up the porch steps and threw his shoulder into your front door, busting it open — he’d fix it later, he had to know. 

He called your name and ran from room to room, searching for you desperately. Half the world was gone, and he couldn’t waste another second without knowing if you were one of them. 

He’d already lost Bucky. He couldn’t lose you too. 

Up in your bedroom he found his answer. On the bed, spread all over his side of it, were all the notes he’d written you. On your side, nothing but a hint of dust. His legs went numb, but they managed to bring him to the end of the bed before he collapsed, gripping the duvet and some of his wayward notes. 

Steve couldn’t hold back anymore, so he let the tears fall pitifully — first Bucky, then Wanda, Sam, T’Challa, so, so many others. And now, you were gone too. The one person who could have possibly helped him hold together what was left, had already done that once before after his schism with Stark. He’d come to you shattered and slowly, carefully, you’d glued him back together. 

“Steve?” your quiet voice asked. At first, he didn’t move, convinced he was hearing things until he felt your small hand on his shoulder. 

He turned, your name falling from his lips like a sacred prayer before he wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his wet face in your stomach. More tears fell, but these were from relief. 

“You’re alive,” he chanted, voice muffled by your tummy. You shushed him gently, running your fingers through his hair. 

“I’m here, Steve,” you promised, “I’ll always be here.”