The Bowery Presents
Not today Justin
titsay
taylor price
The Stonewall Inn
noise dept.
No title available
Doug Jones
macklin celebrini has autism
EXPECTATIONS
roma★
shark vs the universe
almost home
RMH
Noah Kahan
Mike Driver
$LAYYYTER
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
todays bird
seen from Ecuador
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Mexico
seen from Malaysia
seen from T1
seen from Bulgaria
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Myanmar (Burma)
seen from Netherlands
seen from Costa Rica
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Guatemala
seen from Malaysia
@gammaxrage-blog
Just a friendly reminder that, if I follow you, I want to write with you!! I have HIGH KEY anxiety, plus a major inferiority complex, that can make approaching people extremely daunting. I know that I’m not the only one who deals with this, for sure, but know that I am following you out of interest, not just because you followed me! I never feel OBLIGATED to return the follow–I do it because I want to interact with you!!
shieldloyal:
“ADDAMS SAID YOU WERE ASKING TO BORROW MY NOTES AGAIN.” The item in question is held aloft like some kind of PRIZE as she slides into the seat beside him, finally setting the BLUE COVERED spiral notebook in front of him while she works to UNTANGLE herself from her bag.
It’s always easy to find him, even in the maze of tables in the LIBRARY —– the same table, the same SEAT even, and always with the one to his left reserved for her. The same standing STUDY DATE, even if neither one of them will call it what it is.
“Lucky for you it’s under TEN PAGES this time.” Sharon leans slightly so she can get a better angle flipping through the formidable STACK of neatly penned BLACK INKED notes. ”Dualism vs. Monism. Fun stuff.” / @gammaxrage
He doesn’t NEED help. He never does. But there are a few choice people from whom he has opted to keep that information. Professor Addams being one—he doesn’t want her questioning his motives (not that she would, but he’s paranoid)—Sharon being another, and the third...himself. To admit to himself that he is doing this to spend a couple of hours a week with a girl who is way out of his league would shake the foundation of his personal understanding. He has a crush. He doesn’t get crushes.
Yet here he is, staring down at an open book, not taking in any of the information, not a single additional note on his page as he waits for her, only jumping into action when he hears her voice as she flanks him and takes her place at his side—the usual setting of their routine.
“Guilty,” he says shyly, turning to face her after having written a few words in his notebook, a feeble attempt at convincing her that he has been doing something during the wait. “Thanks.”
Taking the papers from her, he fingers through them, nodding slightly as he counts them. “Nine. And you finessed,” he says observantly, pointing to the bottom of the final page where the spacing had decreased and the font shrank in size, all the while maintaining order and somehow not becoming claustrophobic.
“I’ve been in every patchwork revival tent from here to yon,
so brother don’t you recognize your own kin?
I have returned like a prodigal son.”
promo credit: malefisensational
vandync:
‘ ——— well, you did a DECENT job for being your first time dealing with PYM PARTICLES ‘ hope commented looking through their work for the time heist. hank insisted they needed to see everything they worked on, even if the quantum tunnel stark built was completely destroyed. maybe it was better that way though, she didn’t want other aliens using it. ‘ thank god no one was EFFECTED by them, several details could go very WRONG. ‘
@gammaxrage liked for a starter.
“Thanks,” he said flatly, only partially due to the fact that he felt underestimated. His gaze accompanied Hope’s as they scanned the data that was collected—he was far too engrossed in their findings to sound interested in her compliment. Bruce had dedicated nearly every waking moment to his work since the incident, desperate to distract himself for fear of what the Other Guy (or he himself) might do. Hope was good company for this, forcing him out of isolation while presenting him the opportunity to cope in the way he was most comfortable with. She didn’t pry—there was much that they could talk about without having to be VULNERABLE. She was respectful of his boundaries (both physical and emotional).
“Wrong? And you didn’t inform me about this before we started why?” he prodded as he straightened himself, taking hold of his glasses by one arm to pull them from his face, his free hand reaching up to pinch between his eyes. “A little disclosure next time would be nice.” There was no malice in his voice—in fact, his words were colored with the faintest tint of amusement—he was sure she had her reasons.
Bruce Banner appreciation post
stoncghost:
“Hm. I must ask Mister Strange to record my Catfish for me, then.”
Which, funny enough, she didn’t even entirely get the gist of the show - yet she enjoyed it anyway. Weirdos masquerading as other more conveniently attractive individuals, some romance, tears, big emotions and silly, daily troubles; what’s not to like?
Odd, isn’t it? How the presence of the supposedly most dangerous man on Earth (or so she’d been told) was quite the comfort. No trying to explain her complexion or, worse yet, trying to hide it. No trying to get through to people that she’s not a mutant, and that she was so out of place on planet Earth it was near painful.
None of that. He knew that. Knew her reputation, and still extended a helping hand. Or, well - perhaps, exactly because of it.
She straightened herself from where she’d leaned to a tree. Exhaled. “Lead on,” Gamora urged. Honestly, the faster she could get out of the prying eyes of children, the better.
With a nod, he started forward, his pace only carrying him ahead of her briefly before he slowed enough to allow her to join him at his side. The first few steps were taken in shared silence, the vivacious sounds of reunion and replenishment the backdrop to their journey.
There was much to be excited about, but Bruce found it difficult indulge in. Maybe he was being selfish, but his life had been altered in irreversible ways, which made the prospect of sharing in the happiness daunting. He envied it—the joy of the collective gain reminded him of his personal loss. But he knew that Gamora was no stranger to this feeling and was able to find some comfort in that; it helped him feel less ALONE.
“I never pegged you as a fan of reality tv,” he teased, retreating from his thoughts. That same small smile softened his expression and he shook his head, adding: “fortunately, most of us aren’t like that. Most.”
HERE COMES TROUBLE.
sensesdialed·:
A return back to life, to a world that’s moved on for five years without him there. Everyone else going through the time, while Peter hadn’t aged a second. They WON, they got their victory, but not without a heavy PRICE. He’d been thrown into the battle before he could process anything, before he could really think about what happened to him on Titan, and the end of it had absolutely CRUSHED him once again. It’s not fair, it wasn’t fair! He just got back, and then, Mr. Stark was taken away– Peter has to watch another person die in front of him.
It’s already weighing down on him by the time the funeral rolls around. When he was first left alone after returning, it had all hit Peter at once, and he BROKE, senses overloading as sobs wracked his body. Now, as he stands here among the other guests at the funeral, there’s a sadness sitting on his shoulders, but along with a numb feeling. He’d been in the room, watching Mr. Stark’s hologram and holding back tears, and stood close to the dock outside.
Now they’re left inside, and he’s sat down, staring into the distance, at the cabin he NEVER got to visit in his absence. He’d spotted a photo of him and Mr. Stark in another room, which twisted his heartstrings, and now, he’s just doing his best not to cry. He already let a few tears slip out before, and he’s sure he looks like a mess, but he’s trying to stay strong. He needs to be, for the people that lost more than he did, like Mr. Stark’s family. It’s strange, he’s in a room full of all his childhood heroes, yet he can’t seem to pay them any attention.
Lost in his own thoughts, he notices Bruce standing there when he hears the other clear his throat, and moves his head, gaze flickering upwards. He hadn’t expected ANYONE to really approach him ( do they even know who he is? )– this is a surprise.
There’s an uneasy feeling pooling in his stomach– carry on his legacy. How can he do that? He CAN’T be the next Iron Man, he’s not good enough for that. And…he doesn’t really want to believe Mr. Stark is gone yet, either. But he recognizes the sentiment behind the words, and nods a little. “Y– yeah….yeah. Thanks.” On any other occasion, he’d be AMAZED talking to Dr. Banner, but this whole situation has dampened his usual light demeanor. “I– um…appreciate it. Did you…did you say he thought of me? Like– you…know who I am?”
He watches the boy intently, the hesitation in his response readying Bruce to backtrack—to do his best to compensate for the words that had come out wrong; he had never been good at talking, and certainly not at COMFORTING. Had his mother been present in his formative years, he might have been taught that skill (at least enough to be considered passable). Instead, he had taken after his inept father and his aunt, who had tried her best, but shared in the effects of childhood abuse. Hell, it’s a wonder he turned out as successfully as he did, all things considered.
However, Peter pushes past his his uncertainty, the thought of having said something wrong forced to the back of the Doctor’s mind, where it will idle until he is alone and can mull it over with little hope of resolution. The question at hand is, currently, much more important.
“He wouldn’t shut up about you, Peter,” he says, a faint, almost playful smile touching his lips, offered in reassurance, “I’m sure Pepper can back me up on that.” In all actuality, Bruce hadn’t seen Tony as much as he’d hoped he would during the five years between battles—he had shut himself off from everyone except his immediate family. Bruce had reached out a number of times, even being granted to see Morgan once, but they were moments few and far between. But every time Peter was brought up; he could only assume this pattern of behavior was constant, even in the Doctor’s absence.
“He worried a lot about you, even before the blip. And I heard nothing but good things about your work. And, from what I’ve seen, I believe him.”
I’ve never been good at emotional stuff.
Except anger.
Anger, I’m good at.
promo credit: malefisensational
trauma didn’t make me pretty, trauma didn’t make me timid or anxious or soft or delicate trauma made me angry, trauma made me hateful, trauma made me distrusting and mean and bad and undeserving of pity or help.
Tony’s death had left many people with a significant void in their lives and Bruce was no exception. The time to mourn had passed—he had spent this time in mental hibernation, surrendering control to the Hulk willingly. But grief struck the beast just as hard and, once it had run its course, he retreated, tired; they were both TIRED.
After his episode, the Doctor felt an uncommon urge to be present. It was not for his sake—in times of strife, he had learned to distance himself from others, buried deep in work with no real purpose—but for Tony’s.
And for Peter Parker.
He knew too well the damage that the absence of a male figure could cause and not only had the boy lost his parents and his uncle, but now his mentor and someone who had the potential to be looked to as a father figure. Bruce could not fill Tony’s shoes—he knew this—but he hoped he could provide some sort of...guidance, in one way or another. Which is why he had begun inviting Peter into his lab, allowing collaboration on different projects; it was distraction enough for the both of them.
After several weeks of working together, the boy had invited him back to his home to meet his aunt. Meeting new people was one of Bruce’s lesser-favored pastimes, but he could tell that the prospect of them being introduced was exciting for Peter—who was he to deny him of that? He was trying, he had vowed to; this would be GOOD for him.
These thoughts accompanied the pair as they waited outside the door to the Parker residence—thoughts that were likely had to reassure, but were proving to be ineffective.
plotted starter for @auntlarb!
more than
a t e m p e r
BODY LANGUAGE.
bold: always / usually applies italic: only applies situationally / sometimes.
𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜. arms crossed on chest / hugging oneself. crossing legs. fist-like gestures. pointing index finger. karate chops. stiffening of shoulders. tense posture. curling of lip. baring of teeth
𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎. hand to face gestures. head tilted. stroking chin. peering over glasses. taking glasses off — cleaning. putting earpiece of glasses in mouth. pipe smoker gestures. putting hand to the bridge of nose. pursed lips. knitted brows.
𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚗. arms crossed. sideways glance. touching or rubbing nose. rubbing eyes. hands resting on weapon. brows rising. lips pressing into a thin line. strict unwavering eye contact. wrinkling of nose.
𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 & 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. open hands. upper body in sprinters position. sitting on the edge of a chair. hand-to-face gestures. unbuttoned coat. tilted head. slacked shoulders. droopy posture. feet pointed outward. palms flat and facing outward.
𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎. hands behind back. hands on lapels of coat. steepled hands. baring teeth in a grin. rolling shoulders. tipping head back but maintaining eye contact. chest puffed up. shoulders back. arms folded just above navel.
𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢 & 𝚊𝚗𝚡𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢. chewing pen or pencil. rubbing thumb over opposite thumb. biting fingernails. hands in pockets. elbow bent. closed gestures. clearing throat. “ whew ” sound. picking or pinching flesh. fidgeting in chair. hand covering mouth whilst speaking. poor eye contact. tugging at pants whilst seated. jingling money in pockets. tugging at ear. perspiring hands. playing with hair. swaying. playing with pointer or marker. smacking lips. sighing. rocking on balls of feet. flexing fingers sporadically.
𝚏𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. short breaths. “ tsk ” sounds. tightly clenched hands. fist-like gestures. pointing index finger. running hand through hair. rubbing back of neck. snarling. revealing teeth. grimacing. sharp-eyed glowers with notable tension in brows. shoulders back , head up - defensive posturing. clenching of jaw. grinding of teeth. nostrils flaring / heavy exhales
tagged by/stolen from: @chooserofslain
tagging: @shieldloyal @americasxss @stoncghost @rcscue & anybody else!
“ tony, trying to get you to stop has been one of the few failures of my entire life. ”
PRIVATE & EXCLUSIVE virginia pepper potts of the marvel cinematic universe. established may ‘14 and portrayed by KITTY. ( graphic credit )
So you’re going for artificial intelligence, and you don’t wanna tell the team?
americasxss:
— With each passing day there seemed to be a new threat even more dangerous than the last. In an attempt to be cautious everyone needed new gear and weapons. Luckily for Steve he had one of the brightest minds working on his new and improved suit. He had only heard vague details about it but he was excited to see what was to come.
-Bruce had called Steve down to lab; for what, he wasn’t sure. In his head he had hoped everything was already done. The anticipation kinda drove him crazy. He just wanted to make sure if anything where to happen he was ready.
-Strolling into the lab he noticed Bruce shuffling through some papers; possibly sketches of the suit. He saw a tape measure resting over his shoulder and a pencil shoved behind his ear. How could he forget? He still needed to take measurements.
✪ — ‘ So, uhh, what’d you need? ’ He tried to play it off like he didn’t see the tape measure or the pencil. He decided it would be best to let Bruce rough in the details. Maybe he could even get a sneak peak at his new upgrades?
Despite the technology at his disposal, there were some things that Bruce preferred to keep downgraded; he could have created a digitized blueprint of the suit--hell, he could have styled a projection that would adapt to Steve’s figure and record his measurements, requiring only enough energy to push a button. While this was efficient, the Doctor was, in some ways, old-fashioned. Some practices he considered to be timeless--as advanced as technology had become, he was convinced that being hands-on was foolproof; perhaps it was stubbornness, or maybe some subtle act of pride... Whatever the case, he was dating himself, but it would not change his values or derail his course of action.
His gaze lingered on the sketch before him and he tapped at the page with his finger, securing his starting point, before lifting his eyes to greet Steve, a soft, shy smile shaping the curve of his lips.
“I need your measurements for the new suit,” he said, reaching up to retrieve a small notepad that was tucked away in his shirt pocket. “Tony wouldn’t let me hear the end of resorting to this kind of manual labor if he was in your position, but I figured you won’t mind the more old-fashioned method, Steve.” This comment, despite being spoken in jest, had the potential to be interpreted as offensive...he could only hope that it was not taken as such.
