#john bingham

[jenwaynecleaver]

I would recommend these books 📜🕷️

[fatgirlgetsfitatlast]

[jules-sixx]

ohhh courtney…

[denimbex1986]

'Neil Patrick Harris’ debut as The Toymaker delivered a chilling performance that elevated the third Doctor Who special in truly surprising ways.

“The Giggle,” now streaming on Disney+, quickly ditches the whimsy that characterized the previous two specials. Its opening minutes acquaint us with The Toymaker, who runs a toy emporium in Soho circa 1925. An assistant to the real-life inventor John Logie Baird purchases a ventriloquist’s dummy named Stooky Bill from the off-putting clerk (very clearly the Toymaker) and hurries off to help his boss run tests on a prototype for a live television system.

Baird pops off Stooky Bill’s head, fixes it to a crude-looking contraption, and starts the test. The experiment is a success and Stooky Bill becomes the world’s first televised image. Baird notes that to prove his invention works, he will next need to produce moving pictures. Gazing upon the now-melting dummy’s head in awe, Baird and his assistant hear distant maniacal laughing.

The focus returns to Donna and the Doctor in present-day London, where, if you recall, things have escalated dramatically. The people of London have suddenly and inexplicably turned on each other, brawling with strangers, stepping in front of careening cars, and setting fire to newsstands and storefronts. As the Doctor tries to talk down an especially unruly pedestrian, the Toymaker flits into view behind him. The enigmatic villain now sports a slick black suit, a top hat and liberally applied makeup, epitomizing fashionable evil.

UNIT soldiers arrive and whisk Donna, the Doctor and Wilf across the city to their headquarters.

Returning from “The Star Beast” is UNIT scientist Shirley Anne Bingham, who again proves to be a valuable ally to our heroes as they navigate this new threat. Shirley and UNIT Science Director Kate Stewart lead the Doctor and Donna to the control room, where former Companion Melanie “Mel” Bush greets them.

They wrap up the pleasantries and break down what’s happening: Every person on the planet suddenly believes they are right, and any attempt to convince them otherwise is met with violence. Everyone at UNIT wears a metal armband called a Zeedex to keep them from going mad, too. They don’t know exactly what’s going on, but they suspect a signal (triggered days prior to humanity’s collective snapping) is behind the chaos. They’ve identified a specific satellite as “a link in the chain,” but the Doctor suspects something deeper.

Eventually, the Doctor discovers that the signal setting the world on fire is actually a hidden recording of Stooky Bill’s crazed giggling. Shirley traces the recording back to October 2, 1925, prompting Donna and the Doctor to board the TARDIS and travel there. They quickly find the Toymaker at his shop, but finding him and beating him are two very different challenges.

The Doctor recognizes this old foe and tells Donna to return to the TARDIS. “You never ask me to do that!” Donna protests. She realizes that the Doctor is afraid of the Toymaker, but before they can do anything else, they find themselves trapped in a maze. Donna and the Doctor are separated, the former being forced to fight off a bunch of walking, talking dolls while the latter encounters Baird’s puppetized (not a word but we’re running with it) assistant. After overcoming their respective trials, Donna and the Doctor end up together again in a theater, where the Toymaker treats them to a puppet show recounting the Doctor’s adventures with various Companions.

The Doctor challenges the Toymaker to a card game and loses. Recognizing their very immediate predicament, Donna and the Doctor escape the Toymaker’s shop as it noisily converts to a tiny music box.

Back in the present, UNIT uses a galvanic beam to target and destroy the problematic satellite that’s boosting Stooky Bill’s malicious signal. The Doctor and Donna return to headquarters moments before the Toymaker appears, indulges in lively song and dance, kills a handful of soldiers, and abruptly flees.

The dastardly villain reappears and uses the galvanic beam to shoot this reincarnation of the Doctor, saying his next game must be played with a new Doctor. As this Doctor falls to his knees and starts dying, Donna and Mel rush to his side and promise to be with him until the end.

But the end doesn’t come. Instead, the Doctor, still David Tennant, makes a bizarre request: “Could you…pull?”

Donna and Mel tug on each of the Fourteenth Doctor’s arms, “pulling” the Fifteenth Doctor (played by franchise newcomer Ncuti Gatwa) from Tennant’s body. The Fifteenth Doctor explains that they can both exist at the same time because of “bi-generation,” which was previously thought to be a myth.

The Fourteenth and Fifteenth Doctor face off against the Toymaker in a final game: don’t drop the ball. The Doctors manage to beat the Toymaker and banish him from existence.

Donna and the Fifteenth Doctor convince Tennant’s Doctor to retire, and after using the Toymaker’s toy hammer to knock another TARDIS out of the TARDIS, the Fifteenth Doctor departs.

“The Giggle” concludes on a touching note: the Doctor, having “retired” from Time Lording, spends a quiet afternoon with Donna and her family. Is this the actual end of his story? Probably not, but it’s a much-needed change of pace for the guy….'

[streatfeild]

is it normal behaviour to halfheartedly fix the wst's 200 maximums celebration pic? i'm petty

[100-art]

Most Famous Contemporary Artists

2/8/2024 ♦ Framed Poster Print ♦ Canvas Print ♦ Metal Print ♦ Acrylic Print ♦ Wood Prints 🌐 Worldwide shipping

[46ten]

In times of such commotion as the present, while the passions of men are worked up to an uncommon pitch there is great danger of fatal extremes. The same state of the passions which fits the multitude, who have not a sufficient stock of reason and knowlege to guide them, for opposition to tyranny and oppression, very naturally leads them to a contempt and disregard of all authority. The due medium is hardly to be found among the more intelligent, it is almost impossible among the unthinking populace. When the minds of these are loosened from their attachment to ancient establishments and courses, they seem to grow giddy and are apt more or less to run into anarchy. These principles, too true in themselves, and confirmed to me both by reading and my own experience, deserve extremely the attention of those, who have the direction of public affairs. In such tempestuous times, it requires the greatest skill in the political pilots to keep men steady and within proper bounds, on which account I am always more or less alarmed at every thing which is done of mere will and pleasure, without any proper authority. [Hamilton to John Jay, 26Nov1775; bolded is my emphasis]

Hamilton, an 18-21 year old man who had not graduated from King’s College/Columbia, writing to John Jay, then an almost 30-year-old delegate from NY to the Continental Congress. 

The negative opinion of the multitude is period-typical, but Hamilton at sure a young age holding himself as different, indeed superior, that’s all him. 

Moreover, New England is very populous and powerful. It is not safe to trust to the virtue of any people.... You well know too, sir, that antipathies and prejudices have long subsisted between this province and New England.  To this may be attributed a principal part of the disaffection now prevalent among us. Measures of the present nature, however they may serve to intimidate, will secretly revive and increase those ancient animosities, which though smothered for a while will break out when there is a favorable opportunity.... Let your body station in different parts of the province most tainted, with the ministerial infection, a few regiments of troops, raised in Philadelphia the Jerseys or any other province except New England.

The ancient animosities between NY/NJ and New England!

And sometimes I find a little tidbit that I already knew but reminds me that I haven’t included Bingham on the list of folks with West Indian ties, who were also notably close to AH:  

William Bingham of Philadelphia, one of the richest men in America, served during most of the Revolution as Continental agent in the West Indies.

[byler-alarmist]

This is who Suzie's filmmaker brother was based upon, btw

wise words

[keycomicbooks]

The Spectacular Spider-Man #39 1980 John Romita Jr. Pencils / Cover by Jerry Bingham / Bill Mantlo Story / 1st Appearance of Spider-Lizard

The #SpectacularSpiderMan #39 1980 #JohnRomitaJr. Pencils / Cover by #JerryBingham / #BillMantlo Story / 1st Appearance of #SpiderLizard "Scourge of the Schizoid-Man" Responding to a classified put in the Daily Globe newspaper, #SpiderMan goes to visit Curt Connors. https://www.rarecomicbooks.fashionablewebs.com/Spectacular%20Spider-Man.html#39  #RareComicBooks #KeyComicBooks #MarvelComics #MCU #MarvelUniverse #ComicBooks #NerdyGifts #KeyIssue

[bob-the-movie-man-film-reviews]

Past Lives (12): Living within the multiverse of past relationships.

#onemannsmovies #filmreview of "Past Lives". #pastlivesmovie. An extraordinary debut film from Celine Song that is just perfect. 5/5.

A One Mann’s Movies review of “Past Lives” (2023). “Past Lives” reminded me of Friends Reunited, launched in the UK in June 2000. It was one of the early social networking sites and let you type in your school and pull up fellow students to find out where they were and what they were doing with their lives. In my case: there were those that were ‘famous’ – Lloyd Cole from ‘Lloyd Cole and the…

[oceancentury]

Designs for a house in County Mayo, Ireland for Lord Bingham (later 3rd Earl of Lucan), elevation of entrance front. Architect, John Buonarotti Papworth, 1826.

[gameofthunder66]

-(started) watchin' Season 1- 4/22/2023= on Peacock

2x04 “Only Devils Left” Yellowstone (2018-)

[lunarflux]

x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: the slow burn is slow burning

part 10: the inevitable crash

word count: 3,048

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The street was quieter than usual, the night cold and empty except for the occasional passerby. You made your way down the alley toward the Garrison, a slow, deliberate pace, your thoughts more on the events of the past days than the path ahead. The weight of the decision you made—though correct in your mind—Tommy’s amusement at your actions, the tension in the air between the two of you. It was a lot to carry, but it wasn't the first time you’ve found yourself with something weighing you down.

Just as you reached the corner, you heard footsteps behind you, quick, deliberate, the sound of boots on cobblestones. You instinctively reached for your knife—the concept that it could be Arthur or John trying to scare you crossed your mind. But when you turned, the figure that stepped out of the shadows was one you knew all too well.

Bingham.

The one who used to buy information from you. A man who’d never been above using others for his own gain, his reputation dark enough to send a ripple of unease through anyone who dealt with him. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The familiar scar across his cheek caught the moonlight.

“You’re walking alone at this hour, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Not a smart move, considering who’s still looking for your services.”

You stood firm, swallowing the minute flinch on your brow. “I’m not in that business anymore, Bingham.”

He stepped forward, eyes gleaming with a knowing, calculated glint. “You think I don’t know that?” He laughed softly, but there was something dangerous in it, something that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not asking for your services, darling. I’m offering you a way back in. You’ve got a talent for finding things out. I remember what you're worth. I doubt the great Thomas Shelby and the Peaky Blinders really know.”

You met his gaze without hesitation. “I've kept my connections, Alfred. I've extended my kindness to the Blinders for a modest fee. I don't think anything else will be necessary.”

Bingham tilted his head, stepping closer. His voice quieted, but the threat was all too real, seeping through each word. “Don’t make me remind you what happened the last time you tried to play both sides, sweetheart. You’re a smart woman. Don’t let the Peaky Blinders loyalty cloud your judgment. It’s only a matter of time before they stop keeping you safe and start seeing you as a liability.”

Before you can respond, a sudden, sharp voice erupted from behind you.

“Come now, y/n. I started drinking without you.”

Tommy placed his hand on the back of your neck, his silhouette cutting through the dim light, standing with a calm, controlled presence that you knew so well. His eyes flickered down to you, then back to Bingham. There was no hesitation in his movement, no uncertainty. He was here, and his presence kept the unwelcome guest from getting any closer.

Bingham didn’t flinch, though the subtle tension in his jaw betrayed his irritation. “The Thomas Shelby,” he sneered. “Of all the people to come out and... Save the day. Surprised you didn't send one of your errand boys to fetch her. Didn't think she was worth a rope from the big man.”

Tommy stepped forward, guiding you with him, not bothering with any pretense of diplomacy. He looked down at the ground. His voice was cold, clipped. “You're standing on Blinders property.” He motioned with his hand. "All of this, those buildings. This pub. The rubble beneath your feet. And this woman—" His grip on your neck tightened. "—she's Blinders property as well."

Bingham’s eyes scanned Tommy's face, but he found no trace of humor. There was no doubt in his mind about the power Tommy wielded, especially with the way he stood tall, unwavering. There was a threat in Tommy’s voice that left no room for negotiation, and he knew it.

“I suppose this is where I bid you farewell, y/n,” Bingham muttered, though his bravado was quickly fading. “In time, we will see each other again. I'll make sure of it.”

Tommy didn’t react to the veiled threat. He just raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering. “Come around here without an invitation again, and your body will be beneath this rubble. And then you'll be my property, too.”

Bingham chuckled at Tommy's threat, but, with a final glance at you, he stepped back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as he appeared. The tension lingered in the air long after he was gone.

Tommy stood there for a moment, his eyes still locked on the spot where Bingham vanished, his jaw tense. He took a slow breath, finally turning to face you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, the concern in his voice softer than usual, though his gaze remains sharp. His hand remained on your neck though his grip eased until it was a gentle hold.

You nodded. “You shouldn't have gotten involved.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed briefly, a hint of something unreadable in them. “I don't know what that fucking was, but I meant what I said.” He paused, looking at you with a touch of seriousness in his eyes. “The Blinders don't take kindly to strangers on our property. Touching our things. And that includes you.”

You placed your hand on his wrist and eased it down. "I'm not your fucking property, Tommy. Don't think I didn't catch that."

"You're a Blinder now, are you not?"

You could tell there was more he wanted to say, but he didn’t. Instead, he gave you a quick, assessing glance before heading for the door of the Garrison.

“Let’s get inside,” he said. “It’s too cold out here for games. Even yours.”

You followed him, the weight of Bingham's warning still hanging in the air, but now you were sure of one thing: Tommy Shelby wouldn’t let anyone take what’s his. Not without a fight. And part of knowing that meant accepting that—even though you would fight to the death to deny it—he believed you were his, too.

Tommy pulled a chair for you and set up behind the bar. He didn't speak. You watched quietly as he popped open a fresh bottle of whiskey. He pulled two glasses, but as he was about to pour yours, you held up your hand.

"Gin tonight."

The confusion quickly washed over his face. He pulled a bottle of gin from below the counter and filled your cup with a couple of inches. He placed the bottle down with a thud and toasted to the air. An odd silence that you'd never experienced with him before drifted over the bar.

He'd look at you occasionally as you sipped your drink, and you returned the glance. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but you knew something was brewing in his mind. Whatever he was thinking about, it was heavy. And though you didn't know the depth of it, you could tell he was carrying it alone.

"So, are you thinking about your big white wedding?" you asked quietly in an attempt to steer the conversation away from Bingham, letting the gin roll over your tongue. "A man who drinks in silence in a woman's company always has something like that on his mind."

Tommy didn't often look shocked, but when he did, it brought a smile to your face, knowing that you read him properly. This time, it wasn't the case.

"No," he whispered. "No white wedding. She wore purple."

For once, you hated that you were right. Though he said so little, the sadness beneath seeped into your skin. The news about his wife's death came to you via a drunk Blinder who sat beside you in a pub. Though, the information alone did not carry the weight of Tommy's loss, his melancholy tone said everything you needed to know. The aftermath of your business never returned the following day.

The gin rested against your lip long enough for the burn to turn into nothing. You couldn't leave the conversation this way, but you didn't know how far to push before he'd back down.

"What was her name?" you asked.

Tommy's eyes connected with yours. It was the only proper way to say her name, the only proper way to tell this story. And though the depth of this story had seemingly died with time, it never got any easier.

"Grace. Grace Shelby."

You lowered your gaze, the name of Tommy's ghost imprinting itself deep into your memory. "Do I need to ask if you loved her?"

"No, perhaps not."

You looked around the Garrison, motioning to the air with your glass. "And what did she think about all this? About you."

Tommy tilted his whiskey all the way back then swiftly poured himself another. "She loved me."

"That wasn't my question." You sat up straight and tapped the counter. "I asked what she thought about you."

Tommy stared at you as he processed what you were asking him. It wasn't a kind question. Or maybe, it was. You were being gentle with him, and that wasn't something he was used to. And if someone had tried, he probably didn't notice.

Grace had, until the end, hoped—expected—things would go right. And so he tried if only for her and her memory. He mourned. He wept—in private, but he still did nevertheless.

And now, here you were. Asking if he really knew what Grace wanted. He should have been insulted except your question didn't imply he was wrong. He knew what Grace thought about all of this. And damn if he didn't try.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"I don't think my permission would stop you regardless," he sighed.

"The way you were before her," you started, your voice low and soft, "are you that man again?"

Tommy's jaw tightened. Now, your questions were teetering on things he didn't know how to answer. He eyed you with caution as you raised your hand and rested it on the top button of his shirt.

"When a woman falls in love with a broken man—" You twisted your fingers, and the button came undone. "She finds you with your shirt open. Cold. Exposed. But you don't know any different because that's how it's always been. And then it happens—" Quietly, you refastened it. "—and suddenly you're warm and safe. She buttons you up and reminds you to take care of yourself."

You smiled softly, a kind contrast to his cold stare.

"And when that story comes to a close—" You tugged on his collar with a brief but strong pull, and the button came clean off. It clattered to the bar. You picked it up and held it in between your eyes and his. "—Either you're cold again or you're not."

Tommy took the button from your fingers and held it in his hand. Such a fragile token, he thought. If he played along with your line of thinking, he could throw it in the river and never be warm again. Or he could hold onto it and put himself together once more. He might never know which choice was the right one.

"Look, Tommy. I won't besmirch Grace's name by saying this, so I'll put it plainly." You reached your hand forward and rested it a few inches in front of his. "There are loves in our life that are meant to make us want more."

The faint image of a face formed in Tommy's mind. Grace's smile, the softness of her eyes. He saw it so clearly, greeting him again just as she had in his dreams for so long.

"There are those that make us want less."

Grace's smile turned blurry like a thick fog from the river drifted over, unkind and unwilling to let the light shine through

"There are those who wish us to be more than we are because they alone saw the potential, and those who wish us to be more than we're capable of."

Heavier and heavier, the fog took over her image.

"And then there is a love, only one love, that takes you as you are. As you were. As you ever will be. Because they take all of the shit, the broken pieces, the parts of us that are shattered beyond belief—and damn, they fucking love you anyway."

Until she was gone. Replaced by the sweet dew of vapors, overtaking the memories he held onto so dearly. Your words didn't force him to forget. Many tried and failed. No, you made him see it all differently, lifting the veil that love so crudely pulled over his eyes.

Tommy came out from behind the bar and stood before you, still turning the button between his fingers. His expression hadn't changed since you started speaking, a sign that he was processing all you had to say. If you were wrong, he might've stopped you. If you were right, then he wouldn't admit it.

What was it—that pull you felt? He felt it, too. The softness in Tommy's eyes tugged at you. The need, the desperation for comfort that he would never willingly seek—it was calling you, and you didn't understand why. Until now, he was your reflection, separated by the half-inch of glass in the mirror, but now the two images would coincide and pray they wouldn't shatter the other.

You expected him to flinch when you reached for his cheek, but instead, he accepted it. And you swore, just for a second, his eyes softened further as the warmth met his skin. He leaned into your palm with the briefest movement that could've easily been mistaken for a twitch. Before you could process what was happening, he mirrored you, his hand on your face, pulling you towards him until his temple rested against your cheek.

"You may call me a ghost, but ghosts only travel to those who call them." you whispered in his ear. "Maybe it's time you hang up, and just live."

The room felt like it was closing in around the two of you, the air crackling with the weight of unsaid words and the weight of every shared glance. Tommy was so close, so close you could feel his heartbeat pounding in sync with yours. The pull of him—this was what you expected, wanted even. You wanted the walls to come crashing down until he spilled out before you. The indestructible face of Tommy Shelby melted away for you at last.

Tommy pulled back and his eyes flickered to your lips for just a split second, the raw hunger in his gaze finally bubbling to the surface. He leaned in just enough that you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, your noses brushing as he exhaled. You could taste the desperation, the cold loneliness on his breath.

That taste rolled over your tongue, and the second realization washed over you in an unfamiliar warmth. You hadn't just broken him down. You were reciprocating. The mirror of your hesitation, a fire ignited from two matches burning into char until plumes of smoke poured out into the sky. Both your pieces on the board were at a standstill, locked in a face off that could only end in the two of you being taken out of the game entirely.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, pulling you just a little closer—closer than you'd had ever been. His lips hovered above yours, his gaze never breaking from your eyes.

As the space between you disappeared, the door to the Garrison slammed open.

“Tommy?” Arthur’s voice cut through the thick tension like a dagger.

Tommy stiffened, his eyes still locked on yours, but there was a flash of annoyance, a flash of something—something dangerous and almost angry—that passed over his face. He didn’t want to break this. He didn’t want to stop, but reality was harsh. Arthur’s sudden entrance slammed you both back into it.

Your breath faltered, and in that split second, when everything had been on the verge of shattering, you felt something cold rush over you. A rush of self-preservation, an instinctive retreat. Without a word, you pulled back from Tommy’s grip, your heart racing in your chest.

The heat lingered, still hanging heavy in the air, but it suddenly felt distant. You didn’t know how to explain it, how to admit how close you had come to meeting him down in the place where you forced him to stay—and you hated yourself for it. You couldn't let him see even though you'd both emerged from the same pool.

“Arthur,” you said, your voice colder than you'd intended, a mask sliding back over your emotions. “You’ve got a damn good timing.”

Tommy, still standing where you left him, didn’t speak. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek. He didn’t want to show how much he wanted to follow you, how much he wanted to pull you back into the moment that had slipped through his fingers. But he kept it in check. He had to.

Arthur looked from Tommy to you, his eyes narrowing. He saw the shift in the air, the way you were both too quiet, too controlled, like something had just cracked wide open and was now trying to fix itself. He could feel it in the room—the heat, the power play, the way you had both come so close to something irreversible.

But no one knew who had the upper hand.

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, but there was something in his eyes—a protective concern—for both of you. You wouldn't give him the chance to ask. Not now.

“Goodnight,” you snapped, turning on your heel and heading toward the door.

He nodded once, a silent acknowledgment. Then, almost as an afterthought, you glanced back, your movements deliberate.

"For the next deal, I’ll stay hidden. That’s what you expect, right?" Your words were laced with the same sharpness as before, but this time, there was something else behind them. It was the understanding that however this would play out, whichever of you was the first to slip further than intended—that one mistake could break you both.

The moment was broken, and so was your composure.

[hexespheres]

𝟲𝟬 𝙔𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙎𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝

(inspired by 40 Years of Psylocke)

→ First appearance: X-Men vol.1 #4 (1964)

→ Writers: Stan Lee (creator), Roy Thomas, Len Wein, Steve Englehart, Bill Mantlo, Jim Starlin, Chris Claremont, Mark Gruenwald, Steven Grant, Ralph Macchio, Roger Stern, Dennis Mallonee, John Byrne, Dann Thomas, Andy Lanning, Dan Abnett, Kurt Busiek, Geoff Johns, Brian Michael Bendis, Allan Heinberg, Rick Remender, James Robinson, Jim Zub, Al Ewing, Kelly Thompson, Steve Orlando & more.

→ Artists: Jack Kirby (creator), Don Heck, George Tuska, John Romita Sr., John Buscema, Sal Buscema, Rick Buckler, Bob Brown, Gil Kane, Jim Starlin, Jim Mooney, Jerry Bingham, Michael Golden, Rick Leonardi, Dan Green, Al Migrom, Richard Howell, John Ridgway, John Byrne, Steve Butler, David Ross, Andy Kubert, John Higgins, Mike Deodato, Ian Churchill, George Pérez, Joe Jusko, Mark Texeira, Alan Davis, Kieron Dwyer, Scott Kollins, David Finch, Olivier Coipel, Jim Cheung, John Cassaday, Jorge Molina, Daniel Acuña, Kevin Wada, Tula Lotay, Sean Izaakse, Pepe Larraz, Paco Medina, Javier Pina, Cian Tormey, Sara Pichelli, Russell Dauterman & more.

→ Costume designers: Jack Kirby, Don Heck, John Buscema, John Byrne, Richard Howell, Al Migrom, Colin McNeil, Mike Deodato, George Pérez, Alan Davis, Kieron Dwyer, Olivier Coipel, Jim Cheung, John Cassaday, Daniel Acuña, Kevin Wada & Russell Dauterman.

→ 𝘼𝙣𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙙𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨: Vita Linder (The Marvel Super Heroes), Katherine Moffat and Jennifer Darling (Iron Man), Susan Roman (X-Men: The Animated Series), Stravoula Logothettis (Avengers: United They Stand), Kelly Sheridan (X-Men: Evolution), Kate Higgins (Wolverine and the X-Men) & Tara Strong (The Super Hero Squad Show)

→ Various games: X-Men Legends II: Rise of Apocalypse, Marvel Super Hero Squad: The Infinity Gauntlet, Marvel: Avengers Alliance, Marvel Avengers: Battle for Earth, Marvel Heroes, Marvel Contest of Champions, Marvel Future Fight, Marvel Ultimate Alliance 3: The Black Order & more.

→ Current books: Scarlet Witch & Quicksilver by Steve Orlando & Lorenzo Tammetta, The Avengers (vol. 9) by Jed Mackay & C.F. Villa, Avengers United: Infinity Comic by Derek Landy & Marcio Fiorito, Blood Hunt by Jed Mackay & Pepe Larraz; Scarlet Witch (vol.4) by Steve Orlando & Jacopo Camagni

[gameofthunder66]

-(finished) watchin' Season 1- 6/24/2023- 4 stars- on Peacock

❝You know, I could drop him at the bus station, but he's been here a while. He's seen a lot. Train station's where I'd leave him.❞ — Rip Wheeler

𝐘ellowstone, The Long Black Train (1x04)