#exposed-likeanerve

[dangerwatson]

what items can be found in your muse’s pockets?

chapstick  (  she has like 80 tubes that circulate and no idea where the chapstick gnomes hide ‘em  )  phone,  patience for people who stop mid - traffic - flow and block a whole length of sidewalk. they exist in the land of itty bitty pockets,  not much else can fit in there.

[speaksfish]

@exposed-likeanerve   :   ❝ there’s a life on the line here. ❞

they’ve been at this long enough to understand there’s always someone’s life at mercy to decision  (  or indecision  )  by their ilk. and while it once lit a fire under his ass the likes of which resulted in knee jerk reactionary measures  ---  some in his favor,  most not  ---  he’s since learned to quell that tide. manage it with a practiced hand. surely banner was extending a courtesy beyond emotional plea;  if he had no PLAN,  if he came to arthur for a SOLUTION,  then to turn towards manipulation when facing minor push back did him little favor.

❝  to reiterate : i’m not dismissive of your concerns. i’m askin’ that we not act like complete jackasses,  ❞  fingers tap against trident in no discernible beat,  a groan of defeat bruce’s only hint at acceptance.  ❝  jackasses it is. you mentioned that this place is water - locked, i can get you there but i can’t make assurances you’ll get out. which puts the life count at two,  not one. are you comfortable with those terms ?  ❞

[dangerwatson]

@exposed-likeanerve   :   ❝ everybody wants their place in history.   no one wants to be the astronaut that nobody remembers. ❞

while a comforting thought,  being REMEMBERED  (  let alone for something of positive significance  )  seems as likely to happen for the individual as winning a powerball lotto. it’s an interesting desire  ---  one that reaches beyond monetary status,  or power. it’s a question of existence as this tangible experience,  and how arguments have been made back and forth since the birth of philosophy whether to exist is to be remembered or not.

❝  no one wants to be oppenheimer either. are you trying to say you’d be more comfortable with a narrative you can control as this ‘ first astonaut ’ ?  ❞ 

[owracle]

❝ would it help if i told you i lost a quarter of a billion dollars? ❞

GREY’S ANATOMY STARTERS // still accepting

                      “ You know, people usually lose money to a genius. “    Well, how crime family bank account she had emptied just to be petty? Before turned her chair around, eyes narrowed amusingly at him, shifting her weight a little forward to give him her full attention.   

                       “ Before I’ll help you, I wanna know how ya managed to do that. Please tell me. It’s going to be an interesting story, no doubt. “  [ @exposed-likeanerve ]

[kryptonianstars]

@exposed-likeanerve

he steps off to the path towards the door from the long, white sidewalk, everything on this side of new york edged the same way, drawn the same way, tilted just the same way-- or maybe that’s just how clark sees it all, collections of atoms and photons, shapes and colors and little else, something he has to navigate through, like a star in a darkened maze. he doesn’t like feeling this way about the city, about any city, all of them bright and shiny and begging for a release from their smog-filled atmospheres, car horns blaring, street-walkers shouting, technology forever buzzing in his ears, forever threatening to drown out everything else surrounding him that he really ought to be paying attention to.

such as the first step up to the frame of the entrance way to the tower, for instance, stumbling over it instead, in true clark kent fashion, because in this format he allows himself to be a little less concentrated, a little less condensed, a little less intensified; his senses usually so knife-sharp and razored, it’s almost akin to relaxing a muscle when he’s not donned in the red cape and boots. he keeps himself in the moment pretty well, but occasionally let’s his mind drift towards the the seeping sounds and lights of the world, the plague of humanity’s toils rushing up against him like waves to a shoreline, mass doses he doesn’t often allow himself to deal with, except when he’s pretending to be human. plus all the distractions no one else can hear or notice do tend to accentuate his facade as a mild-mannered, clumsy reporter, so at least half the ridiculousness is as genuine as it gets.

the monolith stands at an impressive height, not that he’s daunted or amazed since he’s seen much larger, but it is quite something to behold at least; intelligent design he assumes tony stark can take the credit for perhaps, given what he’s heard about the guy’s god complex. clark enters the building a few steps, the lobby seemingly empty and forlorn, silent as a mausoleum, and suddenly he’s not sure what to do with his hands except hold onto his satchel strap, the bag carrying everything from a notebook and pencil to his laptop computer. he shifts his thick-rimmed glasses up over the bridge of his nose higher. “uh… hello? is anyone… here? i’ve got an appointment…”

[canspeakformyself-blog]

‘ as a matter of fact, i am tired and i am hungry. ’ --Diana

✰ * º ❛  new girl sentence starters.  ❜

@oflove-andwar

A soft smile spread across Wanda’s face at the others words, and she replied, “That is a sorry state to be in. I don’t like being either tired or hungry, though a nap and some food is always a good time.” 

The woman before her did look a bit tired, but only a little. She seemed like the sort used to hiding it. Or maybe she just really loved her work, and she didn’t mind working through her tiredness. The museum seemed like a wonderful place, Wanda was glad she had made the decision to go. There was so much going on lately, and Wanda was really just trying to wrap her head around everything. She was tired herself, but knew she needed to start doing something. Hiding and staying in the apartment she shared with her brother would do no one any good. A place like this, filled with art and mystery and wonder... Why, it was the perfect place to visit. 

“Hopefully you get a chance to take a break soon. You look like some coffee is needed. I know a good cafe nearby. Wonderful hot drinks, and the best cherry pie I’ve tasted in a very long time,” Wanda added, the smile still on her features. 

Honestly, she was a little curious about the other woman. The way she held herself was admirable, she seemed to have such confidence and belief in herself... It was something Wanda admired and wished she had. She was working on respecting herself more and working on her own confidence. With powers like hers, she needed some self-belief. Not only that, but on a simpler level she heard the hint of some accent in her voice. She couldn’t place where it was from, and Wanda knew many, many accents.

“I am going to head to the cafe after I’ve finished here. I think I’ve been here longer than I intended.” She gave a little laugh, “I lost track of time in here. I’m going to take my time heading out just now, then it’s hot chocolate and pie for me. I think that’s my recommendation for you, too. You have to look after yourself. Please don’t overwork yourself, I’m sure the museum would miss you if you had to take a day off just to sleep.”

[legal-eagle-walters]

ø [late night text]

SEND “Ø” FOR A LATE NIGHT TEXT. 

[text: Brucey] Feelin a little homesick lately. 

[text: Brucey] Wanna come over and cook dinner with me and relax tonight?

[hcwkguys]

“you can’t be here now.”

Clint glanced up from his position on the couch, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly. “Always been good at showing up where I’m not supposed t’be, doc,” he quipped lightly, ignoring the feeling in his gut. Bruce was right, of course; people like the Syndicate or the Strike Force were more attracted to groups than singular heroes, more eager to take out several people at once than pick them off one at a time. It was a stupid move, of course -- people were more vulnerable when they were on their own -- but sometimes the desire to have something finished won out over the logic of tactics. Still, he had no intentions of leaving just yet. He was damn comfortable, and Bruce had way better groceries in his cabinet than what Clint had at home. “Besides, if you really didn’t want me to break in, you’d’ve bought better locks.”