this brush is pretty nice for inking where have you been all my life oh baby

dreamcatchersdaughter  asked:

Winteriron soulmate wing fic AU where your soulmate has inverted wings to you and your first words to each-other are written on the inside of your wings? Like if Tony has primary gold and trim red, Bucky's would be primarily red with gold? (they don't have to be those colors that's just my example)

I’m not sure how this is going to turn out because, to be perfectly honest, I really struggle with soulmate AUs. It’s not an idea that resonates easily with me, but I kind of wanted to try as a personal challenge to myself. I’m also twisting some of this a bit in terms of what indicates a match. This is gonna have a lot of gratuitous talk about my thoughts on destiny and I am so sorry and you should just not read it.

Tony never did have the patience for philosophy. Well, not philosophy for philosophy’s sake anyway. As it applied to science? As it applied to morality? Important shit. People needed to think about the implications of what they did not only as it related to the present, but also as it related to those who would follow, those whose lives would be dictated by present-day choices. He liked that kind of thinking. It was where his brain functioned best.

But all the, all the fluff? Waste of time. He remembered the first time he told Steve he’d never put much stock in amorphous concepts like “soul” and “destiny” and the shock on Steve’s face.

“But, but you’ve…what about the patterning?”


“You stock it all up to strands of DNA?”

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WestAllen fic: That Mood Indigo (pt 1 of 3)

Title: The Mood Indigo
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: WestAllen
Characters: Iris West, Barry Allen

Summary: Set in a diner 1947; Iris is a waitress and aspiring novelist, Barry is her favourite customer. Anything else between them would be illegal. But in the face of overwhelming prejudice against her, Iris dares to dream, and write, and fall in love.

Warnings: this fic deals with racism. I didn’t use any actual slurs worse than ‘girl’, but they are alluded to and in the third chapter there will be one specific incident of racial abuse described. I tried to keep the actual tone of this story fairly light and whimsical, close to that of the show itself, but I couldn’t avoid the realities of what life for a young black woman in America in 1947 would have been like (nor would it have been honourable of me to do so). Iris and millions of others like her would have had to deal with an overwhelming deluge of racist, sexist bigotry on a daily basis, and I tried to address that reality as respectfully as possible from my position as a white writer creating fanfic about TV/comic book characters.


Barry Allen becomes Iris’s favourite customer mostly by accident.

It’s not that he does anything especially noteworthy, not at first. In fact it takes three months before he even really talks to her – the first time he comes in he stutters, blinks at her, asks for ‘just coffee, please, ma’am.’ And hands her back the menu with his long thin hands.

But he’s always polite, quiet, respectful. She can tell by the state of his clothes (the carefully patched pants, the thread-bare jacket, the unfashionable hat), that he doesn’t have money, but he always, always tips properly. He calls her ma’am rather than girl (or anything worse). He doesn’t stare at her behind or her chest. He makes eye contact when he orders. He’s always a little late, always in a hurry, but he’s never impatient or rude. He’s always turned out sharp – hair combed, nails clean.

He always greets her in the mornings when he runs in for coffee, and when he comes back, every other evening or so, for supper, he nods hello like they know each other, like they’re friends. Then he sits quietly in his booth with a book, reading and shoveling eggs and ham into his face like he’s scared someone’s gonna take the plate away from him. Still, he’s so skinny, maybe that’s something that really happens to him.

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