ok but @justlookingoutforthelittleguy just told me he likes it when I call myself ‘daddy’ like what is a socially acceptable way to respond to that without copious amounts of awkward silence and vodka
almost home
sheepfilms
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
No title available
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

roma★

Andulka
macklin celebrini has autism

titsay

Kaledo Art
Monterey Bay Aquarium
cherry valley forever

#extradirty
NASA
Show & Tell

Origami Around

shark vs the universe

Janaina Medeiros
we're not kids anymore.
KIROKAZE
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Latvia

seen from Vietnam
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Austria
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
@thefuturist-ishere
ok but @justlookingoutforthelittleguy just told me he likes it when I call myself ‘daddy’ like what is a socially acceptable way to respond to that without copious amounts of awkward silence and vodka
justlookingoutforthelittleguy:
🕸️—❝Mr. Stark, seriously? You can’t leave the harassment to bullies my own age?❞
Why is hanging out with you like signing a death warrant to any coolness vibes I could’ve had.
“Hey, now - - I was the one being harassed. Do you think any grown man wants to open up Twitter or Instagram and see themselves tagged in a bunch of pictures of puppies, kittens or spider.. midges or whatever they’re called? Give me some respect, here, it’s too cute, it hurts me - my Linkin Park soul can’t handle all the feedback.”
Kid we all know that’s a rhetorical statement slash question and I’m not actually going to dignify it with a response, or I’ll feel particularly mean.
@thenamesallison
The creak of a single chair-back burdened with glorious purpose would be the last thing anyone tracking or recording the famous inventor would hear, as one or two idle wrist movements on a glowing pad brought down surveillance in the neighboring two rooms as well. The intel was relayed softly, an uncertainty to his voice that most couldn’t hope to hear while the charismatic philanthropist was alive and kicking -
[ “Hey, it’s me, again. I know you’re getting at least, say, three point five of these messages, because I’m the one sending them, and I don’t know why anyone thinks that if Cap can communicate with me by methods as ancient as letter-writing, I might not know where you’re at. God - that sounded so ‘you’re grounded for the next four years’, shit - end protocol.” ]
[ [ If I might make a suggestion, ‘I’m sorry’ might be a better way to go, sir. ] ]
The mechanically warped voice of his AI was idle, as though she was almost becoming intolerant of his less-than-desirable attempts as leaving little endearing anecdotes for someone who once again, probably never wanted to see his face again.
“Yeah- I got it, F.R.I.D.A.Y, thanks.”
essisms:
❛ Walgreens? You really think a Walgreen can fix THAT? ❜ she retorted, a bit irritated by his tone of voice. Nevertheless, it was Tony Stark. She knew enough about him to know this wasn’t anything odd. She could always just heal him, she proposed. After all, his friends were weirdos, she doubted it would faze him.
❛ About that — I can just patch you up myself. It’s a bit complicated but, yeah. ❜ she spoke a bit awkwardly, swaying back and forth on her feet. This was a lot harder than she imagined. ❛ Uhm, I don’t think we should do this here. You’re going to need to take that suit off. ❜ okay, maybe this wasn’t the best approach.
There wasn’t exactly time in these dire moments to get sassed by a brat in a dark alley-way, but at the moment, the enigmatic inventor was limited in his options - it was a certain degree of irony and awkward pride that forbid him from just allowing his suit to be manually controlled, someone from the compound contacted, and have his accident-prone backside just picked up and hauled back to a more secure location. As such, he received the retort with nothing more than a tired sigh and a mouth getting thinner and thinner as each moment passed... by pain or intolerance to getting called out, either way, the ageing Avenger certainly looked displeased. - - muddy irises suddenly halved themselves from view, then widened, his gaze suddenly locking with the young woman’s as the creak of metal burdened by foreign liquid tried in vain to cause his suit’s arm to raise, mechanical fingers extended in the universal gesture of ‘wait a fucking minute’, before dropping once again to his side.
He had no reason to disbelieve or misinterpret what she was trying to express, not given his experiences - but that was dangerous, too dangerous - and to him, of all people, who was currently chained to the front porch by a very important stack of papers...
“ - - - shit! Hey, hey, - hold up there, you don’t just drop that kind of thing on someone’s head, especially not when we’re sharing this special little moment right here, you know, the clandestine meeting in the dark alley? You can /what/? As in ‘you’re a wizard, Harry’? Ok, I get it, we don’t have much time, but if you really can ... ‘fix this’, and this isn’t just a cheap ploy to see my expensive undershirt, you’re... ...yeah, you’re going to have to come with me.”
[[ ok losers daddy’s home but has a massive headache - like this quietly for a short starter when I wake up maybe. ]]
DEAR FUTURE - I BOUGHT YOU - I OWN THE RIGHT, TO LET GO [ DESTROY YOU ] THIS IS MY LIFE, AND I - - -
BOLD ANY FEARS WHICH APPLY TO YOUR MUSE.
ITALICIZE WHAT MAKES THEM UNCOMFORTABLE. repost, don’t reblog.
the dark. fire. open water. deep water. dying alone. crowded spaces. confined spaces. change. failure. war. loss of control. powerlessness. prison. blood. drowning. suffocation. public speaking. natural animals. the supernatural. heights. death. dying. intimacy. rejection. abandonment. loss. the unknown. the future. not being good enough. scary stories. speaking to new people. poverty. loud noises. being touched. sex.
tagged by: Stole this train wreck from @gammagiant tagging: everyone who understood my reference about those little Sutter Home drinks like seriously can they even be considered alcohol but no actually EVERYONE WHO SEES THIS
♟
F.R.I.D.A.Y. COMMUNICATIONS| | [ 🔧 ] - PATCHING A WOUND. @essisms
“Alright, quick question. What the hell was that?”
Whirring gears and automated servos had already displaced the eccentric inventor’s visor, leaving him without any sort of proper response from his computerized assistant. This was, more than likely, a failed test - he had meant to ensure that a new propulsion system was up to spec, but from the looks of it, F.R.I.D.A.Y. just wasn’t enough an organic system to cover the navigational errors of a human’s response-time… … they would probably never be the same, these suits of his- he just didn’t have half of his young life to dedicate to yet another super computer, and there was no back-up data for a growing mind…
… either way - probably best to worry about all that when he could actually feel his spinal column. The glowing core at his heart illuminated the alleyway in which he had less than gracefully destroyed the neighborhood trash pickup site. The coordinates had been set for Queens - so the enigmatic Avenger’s current predicament wasn’t quite a mystery to him, at the very least. The first person he had noted… a girl - and a quick gesture was made in her direction, one urgent and almost rude, ending in a hiss and a wince, crimson pooling out from between the Iron Man suit’s metallic joints. Yeah, probably landed on that.
“Hey - you, help me out here, really quick - There’s got to be a Walgreens or something near here, I need you to grab a roll of gauze, some prep pads and like - three of those little four packs of Zinfandel. “
Nonsexual acts of intimacy: Select from the following for my muse to respond to...
♔: Finding your muse wearing their clothes
♕: Holding hands
♖: Having their hair washed by your muse
♗: Your muse falling asleep with their head in my muse's lap.
♘: Cuddling in a blanket fort
♙: Sharing a bed
♚: Head scratches
♛: Sharing a dessert
♜: Shoulder rubs
♝: Reading a book together
♞: Caring for each other while ill (specify which party is which)
♟: Patching up a wound
♤: Taking a bath together
♧: Your muse playing with their hair
♡: Accidentally falling asleep together
♢: Forehead or cheek kisses
♠: Your muse adjusting their jewelry/neck tie/ etc.
♣: Back scratches
♥: Your muse crying about something
♦: Slow dancing
essisms:
THIS. YOU GET ME.
BLIZ PLS IT’S FOR MY SANITY
that’s my girl.
language! (x)
character flaws & strengths
↳ bold what applies to your muse! ↳ repost! don’t reblog!
╳ flaws
moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | liar impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky
♔ strengths
honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm
tagged by: @justlookingoutforthelittleguy (thanks for making me lay it all out there kiddo) tagging: literally anyone who sees this
justlookingoutforthelittleguy:
🕸️—Wow, that sounded really bad. Actually, it looked bad, too. Peter accepted the barren mug with the sloping weight of patent concern on his brows. Stark was always just a little more acerbic than he expected, and he wondered how he could still be surprised by the sound of candid disinterest in everything and everyone that surrounded him, as it permeated his voice. Was it a construct? Like, a defense? As a teenager, he used the tactic plenty of times, himself; the duplicity of living with secrets and insecurities and things that no one could help out with, anyway. Was it something like that? Or was that disillusioned dispassion the price of being so incredibly talented, so unfathomably intelligent, so freaking wealthy? Peter rolled a shoulder, idly, dismissing the conundrum - it wasn’t the kind of question he had the right to ask, and postulating on Mr. Stark’s behavior was sort of rude, wasn’t it?
And so he cradled the mug in both hands, letting his sensitive fingertips memorize its surface in a natural, subconscious process as he channeled nervous energy into sensory data.
He had been pining for refreshments of some kind, if he were to be honest with himself. He’d skipped breakfast in favor of being spirited away to the Compound at the first invitation in awhile. He had some suggestions about his Spider-Man suit, and he’d hoped to watch Tony work on it while he was there, if time existed in enough quantity to allow for it. The suit was carefully and affectionately folded inside his backpack, but he hadn’t quite mustered the courage to ask Tony for anything - not even the drink he’d been ungracefully offered.
But now… upon witnessing Stark’s exhausted and aggravated state, he had to wonder if there really was anything in the fridge. Who went grocery shopping for the Avengers, anyway? He couldn’t picture Stark in a store, at all. In fact, he couldn’t imagine any of them buying milk or beets; who cooked in the compound? Did they have hired staff? The structure was relatively quiet for the time he’d been there. Interesting, but also somehow foreboding.
❝I, uh, green tea is fine. ..I-I’m basically good with anything. Water, even. Listen, though, Mister Stark… are you really okay? I gotta say, you look…
….pale?❞
Rude?
❝You don’t have to go to any trouble on my account, though, Mister Stark. I’m good. Really. If uh, if there’s um… anything I can do to help… or yanno, help out with, I mean, I wouldn’t mind. I-I’d like to, actually. If there is. I’d be happy to help.❞
The elation that he felt each time he stepped inside the Avenger’s Compound was profound, but it subsided just slightly as he stumbled over his care for the weary and vexed hero. When he had first stepped inside the structure, he felt like a kid in a candy shop, or whatever the idiom was. Now, however, he was surveying the place as though he could train in on something that needed to be done, that he could resolve by himself, as though it might spare Stark a little of his apparent fatigue.
A single palm spread firmly against the marble counter top, while its brother worked tirelessly against the side of the ageing Avenger’s temple, in a futile attempt at either crushing the nerves, or shoving the throbbing out the other end - he wasn’t a fan of over-the-counter types of medications, and there was only so much homeopathic dirt-water he could imbibe before the age old method of fighting whiskey with vodka came to mind.
“Paler than most people here, I get that - the Vision’s got a tan that puts my complexion to shame, but that’s no reason to, you know, actually say it to my face. “
The concern was set aside and placed in a sarcastic tomb to which he hoped no one would have the guts to venture into, as a pitcher filled with what was more than likely tea of the green variety was sub-sequentially gathered and utilized to fill yet another mug. Crossing the distance and bestowing the gift of health, a flick of four fingers towards himself was the signal to relinquish the empty one, a long with a silently raised brow - a silent request never to speak of the mishap, lest his pride bring him to a fit.
“No, no, kid, you’ve got it all wrong. The little guy, remember? That’s your shtick, me? I’m not little, in fact, I’m here, to help /you/. Whether or not I’ve got gin playing the harmonica on my forehead, is none of your concern. You’ve been fidgeting there for like, fifteen minutes now - is it homework? The bag - Peter - because I know you don’t usually bring a change of clothes, you got something for me?”
His voice was just a hint softer, as though he was trying to make a great effort to sound hospitable, despite being who he was - it was always difficult to talk to .. well, just about anyone, but especially the heroic and quietly righteous.. . granted, it was.. one of the reasons he had chosen the brat... but it certainly didn’t make it any less aggravating. Taking a sip of some intensely volatile-looking herbal supplement, he cringed, visibly, an oath by which no young ears should be subjected to sworn underbreath.
“I’ve got lemon and sugar if that stuff is as disgusting as what I’m drinking.”
F.R.I.D.A.Y. communcation; [ 🕷 ] - @justlookingoutforthelittleguy
Just a visit, to see the compound - he figured it would be fine, just in case the little sticky wonder ever decided he really wanted to play with the big guns. The enigmatic inventor rumbled something vaguely unintelligible to the vague inquiry, probably an affirmation of his state - he hadn’t slept, for.. say, sixteen hours, and there was no amount of caffeine or chlorophyll available that could overrule the screaming headache threatening to squeeze his skull in two. Without much ceremony, an empty mug was held aloft behind him, towards the friendly neighborhood nerd - the aging Avenger neither turning around nor explaining much of anything.
“Here - you drink coffee? Tea? Southern sweet, green? I’ve got orange juice for mixers. I’m all out of insect fluid, so you’ll have to pick something I hear you’re pretty good with.. mixing cool crap together with other crap to make something less crappy, so I’ll show you a lab or two later, once I can walk in a straight line.“
He finally seemed to remember that he had, in fact, handed over a cup with nothing in it, a vaguely perturbed glance cast askance, but figured it might just look like he was offering the kid a choice, mysteriously, and not just the fact he was possibly losing it.
Casually steals one of the weird, shiny cards from your tiny purse. Someone's having a smoothie sale down the street, and there's no way in fel she's missing that.
| |Sir, one of your secure bank cards has been stolen from your wallet.| |
“Yeah, I know, thanks buddy.”
Such idle speech, the minuscule plink of metals meeting slowly subsiding as the eccentric Avenger exhaled deeply from a toned, perpetually strained chest. There was something about a kid with father issues, even a magical zombie from another universe, that resonated with that cold, metallic heart of his. He hadn’t yet been able to tell the freakishly tall girl ‘no’, even when it meant his credit cards were stolen for such ridiculous whims. Despite his difficulties with aliens or anything too remotely magical and dangerous, the former warmonger felt little to no fear in the face of the scarred Final Fantasy protagonist, if he didn’t have the paternal instincts of a missing left shoe, one could describe his current emotional quotient as a doting state.
“Hey, I mean, we’ve all got our thing, I like burgers, the kid likes smoothies she can’t taste. They’ve got good deals at Jamba Juice, can’t be more expensive than that one time I got drunk and thought I had installed a toilet in the suit.”
| | You promised you would never recount that experience again, Sir. | |
“I’m just impressed she knows that means cash.”
❅—“In order to survive the gnashing of its teeth…
“Iu oɹpǝɹ ʇo snɹʌᴉʌǝ ʇɥǝ ƃuɐsɥᴉuƃ oɟ ᴉʇs ʇǝǝʇɥ…”
❝I would graciously accept your expertise on the appropriate manner of dress for the demographic that you would prefer to conceal me within.❞
The tone he used was polite, but dismissive. There was no reason to divulge the details of his visitation. Additional information would not soothe the inventor’s distrust, and it was folly to misuse his own energy in an attempt to reassure the dark-haired mortal with kind deceptions. His lichfire eyes scanned the room with more interest than he extended to the unfathomable implications he made concerning brides and lavatories. The liquor was consumed with a soft sigh. It wasn’t nearly sweet enough.
❝The basement will suffice; though I am fond of gravesites as well, if you perhaps have a family crypt within a subtle distance.❞
The suggestion was meant to be helpful, if it was possible. The glass was drained of even its scant, flavored ice, and the shards were crushed beneath teeth that belonged in the maw of something less humanoid than the creature standing as a guest. He handed the empty glass back to the inventor. The gesture barely disguised that the specter was now surveying his host’s countenance. His otherworldly senses pried where his faulted eyes could not perceive; but they invaded the necessary space between himself and the dark, earth-colored gaze across from him, regardless.
❝I confess, I did not anticipate that you would accept my requirements so readily… Forgive my asking, and let it not seem an ingratitude, but… What prompts this rare assurance of cooperation? I was unaware that you were capable of compliance. ❞
—we crawled whole, ‘ǝloɥʍ pǝlʍɐɹɔ ǝʍ
into the belly of the beast.” “.ʇsɐǝq ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎllǝq ǝɥʇ oʇuᴉ
There was little reason in admitting a distinct misgiving, a lack of confidence in one’s own power was daunting when faced with the prospect that you had everyone you cared about crammed into one gigantic penthouse. The wounded mother bird tactic had worked before, but this was a bit more similar to leading a shark away with the scent of one’s own blood. Being the reason for failure, the one chip in the bricks that caused an entire infrastructure to collapse… the great Tony Stark had taken hit after hit in his ascent into humanity, and at times, he realized he wasn’t enough.
A true visionary, this simply meant that aging inventor would take more risks, perform more ludicrous feats, lie and compromise as he struggled to become something able to defend as easily as he blew shit up.
The mention of familial burial grounds caused a notable dilation of pupils, a ghost of a snarl displaying no more than a prick of ivory. Nothing in those scratchy tones changed, however, the former Stark Industries CEO sounding as sarcastically amiable as he could.
“Not many of those in the middle of New York. You’ll have to make due with my old lab, Angelus. We’ll get you dressed up later, I have a date with Pizza Hut soon and we don’t have time for you to do your hair.”
Staring into flaming ice had to be the most unnerving experience in his life, besides steering a nuclear warhead into a tear in time and space, of course - but he would vehemently make eye contact, dirty irises barely taking time to blink.. or.. at least, he was pretty sure this was eye contact, sort of hard to tell, with all the flickering. Returning the glass to the counter, he would raise that free palm, beckoning with all five fingers.
“I’m feeling like a pretty generous guy right now, nothing compliant about being a good host, right? C’mon, I’ll show you your room.”
Because I can’t do a damn thing if I tell you to leave, and you say no. Except fire lasers, I guess.