too ironic for you


suddenly, hogwarts AU and everyone is babies??! idk it’s out of my system now don’t tell me to draw anyone else or argue with me about house choices it’s done i’m going to bed now!!!!

Efi voice: Actually Spiderman is my favorite superhero because red is my favorite color and he reminds me of my cousin’s tarantula. Do you like tarantulas? I don’t because they’re too hairy but I like dogs because they’re hairy. Ironic, isn’t it? Do you like dogs? What kind of dogs do you like? I like pugs and poodles, but not the ones with the funny cut hair. Do you like those? Anyway, I wish there was a dog superhero. What would you call a dog superhero? What kind of superpowers would a dog superhero have?

Hanzo, who’s been listening intently the entire time: No, very, yes, German shepherds, yes. If SPIDERman has spider powers then maybe.. Dog…man? With the power to turn into a dog.

My heart breaks to find out that Lewis Tan (actual martial artist) had to fight to play Iron Fist. He ended up playing Zhou Cheng in the show, who is a villain.

So I’m writing this because Iron Fist was a mess of cultural appropriation and the argument defending a white Iron Fist is absolutely ridiculous.

The most dominant argument seems to be that Iron Fist was white in the comic. Well, that has no place here. Even when we complained about the Ancient One being canonically Tibetan, everyone else also brushed it off. Don’t tell us things like you-don’t-know-anything-about-the-comic.

Iron Fist was an invention of the 70s, when under- and misrepresentation of minority groups were not a widely discussed problem. In older comics, stereotypes, slurs, demeaning characterizations, and cultural appropriation that are considered to be outrageous today were abundant. However, those have stopped appearing in modern comics, so why should something as archaic as a white savior trope appear in modern TV shows? What were socially acceptable then may not be acceptable now. Time has changed; comics have changed with the time. Staying true to source material shouldn’t be as important as staying true to the time. (and if we’re talking about staying true to source material, the arc of this whole first season couldn’t be further away from Iron Fist’s actual comic origin)

Additionally, Danny being white doesn’t have much to do with his whole storyline. The trope of being an outsider could have easily been adapted for an Asian-American actor. A second generation Asian born on American soil, grew up the American way, who might get teased at school for the color of his skin, or the shape of his eyes, who hears stories about his parents’ homeland but never really gets it, who sometimes, secretly, wishes he looked more like his friends. He then is thrust out of that world, into the culture he heard so much about, surrounded by people who look like him. But here, he still doesn’t fit in. He doesn’t speak the language, he couldn’t get used to the food or the clothing, and he is teased for his cluelessness. An outsider no matter where he goes. Yet he perseveres, he works hard at fitting in, learns the language, the traditions, and everything in between. Eventually, he comes out on top and becomes a fitting Iron Fist.

It could have been so much more meaningful. It could have resonated with so many people who can never quite identify with any particular culture, with people who question themselves when they are asked to tick a box for their ethnicity. It could have helped the show avoid the cringiness of blatant cultural appropriation. It could have achieved so, so much.

And while an Asian Iron Fist would be perpetuating some stereotypes, it could also break a lot of stereotypes. As a lead role, we could’ve seen a nuanced male Asian character, who demonstrates different sides of himself throughout the show. We could have seen an Asian character who isn’t just comic relief or the smart one in the group (which we did get, somewhat, through Colleen Wing). He may know martial arts, but he didn’t start out that way (because really, us Asians were not born with kungfu embedded into our brains). We could’ve had a Black-Asian friendship between Luke Cage and Danny, which is rarely portrayed in media. Hell, we could’ve had a Black-Asian romantic relationship when they make Misty and Danny a couple, which is virtually never seen in mainstream media! Ever!

Danny’s race doesn’t matter to the core of the character. After all, he is fictional. In the end, what matters more is the fact that there are real people out there who are disappointed​ to see their traditions on screen, but (once again) not on a face that they associated with those traditions. It’s about the multiple times when there was a chance for an Asian or Asian-American (or Asian-British in Tan’s case) actor to be cast, and they fight hard for the role, but ultimately they were let down. It’s about the fact that this continuously happens to Asian characters, leading me (and perhaps many others) to feel like we don’t exist or we are invisible in the entertainment industry.

I could go on, but all I really want to say is representation matters.

Marvel, you can really take a page from other Disney projects, or even Star Wars, on this matter.

When a blind woman was named Inquisitor, none of her inner circle expected the task before her to be easy. Neither did any of them expect her to face it alone. Each of them has their own task, a duty they have assigned themselves to make Elera Lavellan’s life just a little easier, a role they carry out with stubborn dedication. None of them say it, but they all know that every one of them would rather die than see someone else take their place.

Solas walks with her in the Fade, drawing her into his memories, conjuring up images of the places they’ve been. Only her body is blind, and in the Fade, she can see the echoes he creates for her. They stroll the ramparts of Skyhold together, a smile flickering around her mouth as she looks out on the rolling mountains, and he helps her memorise every staircase and passageway so that she might navigate them more easily in her sightless waking world. He shows her the Emerald Graves, so that she can stand beneath the trees and gaze at the million different shades of green the sunlight creates as it falls through the leaves. He shows her, despite his scorn, the Dalish camp they visited in the Exalted Plains, so that she can remember her own clan and feel, for a time, at home. They walk the paths of his memories together, he her hahren, and she, a student and friend he is proud to teach.

Varric does what an author does best - he puts the world around them into words. When they reach the top of a slope and let out gasps of awe at a view that Elera can’t see, he steps up to describe it to her, painting every detail with the best words he can think of until she smiles and whispers, I can picture it. He does the same with the people they meet, telling her everything from the colour of their hair to how high she has to look to meet their eyes. Leave it to the others to do the basics, helping her to make it through the world. Varric’s duty is to make that world beautiful.

Sera is the one who climbs. Up the piles of rocks, balancing on beams and narrow ledges, clambering onto rooftops and jumping between gaps. She hates those creepy shards, but Elera says they’re important, and Sera’s damned if she’s letting a blind woman go hauling herself up those frigging rock piles to reach them. Elera would do it if someone else didn’t, stupid stubborn woman, and Sera doesn’t want to see her fall and get herself killed. Because even though she’s an elf, an elfy elf, a really elfy elf who wants those pissing elfy shards to open that elfy temple… somehow, they ended up as friends. Real good friends. And Sera was never one to let her friends get hurt.

Vivienne picks out her wardrobe, not only for all those soirees and balls that the Inquisitor is obliged to make an appearance at, but for day to day wear. Just because practicality is Elera’s greatest concern - finding something with few buttons she needs to fumble at and few fastenings to struggle with - doesn’t mean she should be forced to sacrifice fashion. Vivienne seeks out fine silk and velvet for her, fabrics that a Dalish elf could never have heard of or touched before. She finds tunics in rich turquoise to match her vallaslin, and, for special occasions, a ballgown in pale silvery-blue, so unearthly against her pale skin that she almost seems to be wearing moonlight.

Dorian reads to her. It starts with him making some remark about a book on spirit magic he’s been browsing through. That sounds interesting, she says, could you read that passage to me? And before long it’s a tradition. She comes to the library, he finds a book, they sit in chairs facing each other and Dorian reads. At first it’s mostly tomes on magical theory, but soon, he’s narrating a new chapter of Hard In Hightown every evening, and a little circle gathers around them to listen, all of them catching their breath in unison over the dramatic parts and groaning whenever Varric ends things with yet another cliffhanger.

Cassandra has always been at home on the battlefield, and right from the start, she appoints herself the task of making sure that Elera can feel at home there too. Two rage demons, approaching from the right, and three wraiths, she roars, as the rift splits open and pours the Fade’s denizens forward.  One Red Templar in heavy armour, one archer. Just the simplest things, the things that tell Elera where to stand and what spell to use. There’s nothing she can do to make the bellowing of demons and the clashing of weapons less chaotic - but she can try to bring some kind of order out of the chaos. That’s what she does best, after all.

Bull takes it upon himself to make sure she can indulge in all the things the others won’t let her. Honestly, they treat her like she’s made of glass sometimes, and he knows it infuriates her, knows that she doesn’t want to be coddled. She’s blind, not a child. So he’s the one who makes sure she drops into the Herald’s Rest like all the others, the one who buys her a drink and lets her vent. She rarely has more than one or two, but all the same, he walks with her back to her room afterwards. Leaders have as much right to let themselves go as anyone from time to time. The fact that this leader can’t see doesn’t make the damnedest bit of difference to that.

Cole helps. He appears from thin air to guide her up staircases and through passageways when she needs it - but only when she needs it, because he knows she wants to stand alone as much as she can. And since she can’t see the curl of another man’s lip or the twitch of his brow while she speaks to him, Cole reads people for her, telling her the things she can’t pick up from their words and their tone. To him, her lack of eyesight means nothing. She’s a person, like all the others, and her thoughts are the same as everyone else’s. 

And Blackwall stands beside her. Where he’s meant to be. He’s the shield between her and everything that could ever possibly hurt her, the hand that flashes out to catch her when she stumbles and the weapon that cuts down the enemy who dared to get close. He’s the arm she rests her hand on as they go about their travels, the voice that tells her the path’s getting steeper or take it slow, there’s a sharp drop to the right. At first it’s an obligation, the duty of a soldier who’s seen men suffer a thousand different wounds from war, losing eyesight and limbs and sanity and Maker knows what else. He knows how to help someone whose body isn’t quite whole. 

But it becomes more than that, so much more. She is so strong, so capable, so determined to face all the trials thrown at her by a world she can’t see - but she can’t protect herself from everything. Just as he has needed her, needed her calm kindness and her dauntless faith in him, so she needs him to be her first and last line of defence. He knows, as the rest don’t (all right, Cole probably does, but all the normal rest don’t) that the one thing Elera Lavellan fears is oblivion. Being lost and alone with nothing to guide her.

She won’t have to face oblivion while he’s still breathing. She will always be able to reach out for him and find him there, to hear him tell her, I’m here, my lady. To which she responds with a smile and a murmur - I know, vhenan. Thank you.

She is his fortress, he is her shield, and nothing in the world can touch them.

Being Tony Stark’s Daughter would include...

So this is my first kind of “would include” headcanon so let’s see if I do this right…it’s kinda long and i have no idea id this is what it woild be like so I just went for it xD

Tony Stark / Headcanon Masterlists

  • Actually turning out okay
  • Being the result of an old girlfriend– not really sure what happened to her. Tony never talked about her, you’re his main priority now. 
  • Not many people thought Tony would be able to handle a child, let alone one of the opposite sex
  • But he can actually be really chill
  • As a child he spoiled you so much, but he’s learned to calm down over the years
  • But when you want something you ask for it and he does the “on a scale of one to this will kill you if i don’t buy it” how badly do you need it?” but he usually almost always buys what you want. because stark.
  • You were exposed to the party scene very early on. The press was always interested in hearing from the perspective of Tony’s daughter
  • Pepper being your mother figure and her loving you even if you aren’t her own
  • You and Pepper hanging out when Tony is busy
  • She loves you so much
  • Tony calls a press conference? Pepper is there to watch after you. Tony has to save the world with the Avengers? Pepper keeps you in her sight to make sure you are okay
  • Oh man when he went missing in 2008, Pepper took you in because you felt safest with her without your father around
  • You were the most worried when he went missingIt was the worst time of your life, hearing your father was missing and presumed dead
  • Pepper came into the house one day “(Y/N)! HE’S BEEN FOUND! TONY IS ALIVE!”
  • Bursting into tears so quickly
  • Going with Pepper to see him when he arrived back and losing it even more when you actually got to hug your dad for what felt like the first time in forever
  • Tony being so relieved he got to hold you again, he didn’t know if it would ever happen
  • You basically forced him to tell you how he escaped meaning you learned so quickly about the Iron Man project
  • Spending so much time in the labs either just keeping company or helping
  • Trying to make your own AI since Tony has JARVIS why not try to make one yourself
  • Not actually doing too bad
  • Vacations were the shit because you could just hop on a private plane with your father and go wherever was decided
  • You basically forced him to tell you how he escaped meaning you learned so quickly about the Iron Man project
  • You wanting to build your own Iron Daughter suit but Tony freaking out that it’s too dangerous for you
  • “Then why do you do it? You’re my dad! It looks like so much fun!”
  • “It comes with a lot of responsibility, (Y/N), it’s not a toy.”
  • “So? I want to be like you! I look up to you and I want to do the things you do. I want to protect the world too, I can take care of myself.”
  • “I know you can…but I can’t risk it. I can’t risk losing you.”
  • And then you realize how much your father actually cares for you and you dropped the whole suit thing
  • [after the avengers becomes a thing] Having many ideas that you share with the science bros™
  • Bruce loves you because you can annoy Tony to death
  • Always pulling the “Steve would let me do that…” card to get Tony to let you do things
  • Meeting Peter and tony either loving him or “don’t touch my daughter, Peter Parker.”
  • The Avengers really is just one big family and they love you too
  • Never wanting the Accords to become a thing. Luckily, your young mind was able to talk sense into everyone and help them realize they’re being stupid the avengers can’t split up. someone go save the old russian soldier and everyone hug it out.
  • Tony and Steve still argue about everything, though, there is no getting out of that
  • “How do you deal with him?” Natasha asks you almost daily about your father
  • But there will always be the kind of sarcastic-loving-family relationship. 
  • Basically you are the glue for Pepper and Tony’s relationship and even though they took a break when the Accords stuff was happening, they got back together and you couldn’t be more happy
  • thats all ive got right now so xD

This conversation happened at two in the morning during a heat wave, so

anonymous asked:

Your art is so damn beautiful and you need to know that you are loved and appreciated. That is all. Have a wonderful day.

Originally posted by idolos-frases

omgosh thank you so much ;___;

I feel really wretched that I don’t frequent my tumblr as often as I used to - it’s not for lack of wanting, I just don’t have as many hours at my disposal to browse my dash and answer messages (that and my time management has gotten lax since university), but I’m gonna try and improve on that!!

YOU are loved and appreciated too Anon, by me and many many others im certain ;u;

anonymous asked:

good morning! i have a companions request for a baby inquisitor going up to the companions and going "i wuv you!" or something along those lines please :) you can do gifs if you prefer


Cassandra: (at least internally for the gif)

Originally posted by bugbuttrainbow

She smiles, genuinely, heart lifting. She lifts them into her arms for a hug and laughs. “I love you, too.”


Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

He stares in utter shock, then chokes back a sob and smiles. “I love you, too.”

Iron Bull: 

Originally posted by snorrierickson

His heart. It has melted. He hoists them up, and they giggle and squeal as he kisses their cheek. “Love you, too, Imekari– little kadan.”


Originally posted by droppppthebass

Aaaaaawwwwwww!” She squeals. “You’re just the cutest–” She picks them up and pelts them with kisses. “I love you, too, little boo!”


Originally posted by in-perfectenschlag

“Love you, too, kid!” He hoists them into his lap with a grin and starts impromptu story time, as he does several times a day with them.


Originally posted by sayrix

He gasps in delight. “Heart, so bright and cheery, nothing but joy, safety, love, I love you, too!” he says excitedly.


Originally posted by penultimxte

She’s actually taken aback, for once. After staring for a moment, she runs a hand through their hair and smiles genuinely. “You’re just the sweetest, cutest, most precious thing. Do you know that?”


Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

He’s shocked silent, and chooses not to say anything for a moment while he tries to make sense of the situation and what to say. Finally, he settles for a soft smile and running a hand over their head. “Ma serannas, da’len. You are too kind…”


Originally posted by minyoongae

He beams and lifts them into the air, swinging around as they squeal in delight. Finally, he presses a kiss to their cheek and laughs. “I love you, too, little amatus.”


Originally posted by aminotfemme

She lets out a squeal and kisses their head as she picks them up, cuddling them. “Oh, you are so sweet! I love you, too, mi pequeño amore!”


Originally posted by chloethegamer

She grins slyly and picks them up, bouncing them in her arms. “I love you, too.” she agrees. “For being so sweet, would you like a story or a song?”


Originally posted by the-reactiongifs

“I… I…” He’s speechless, eyes wide with shock. Finally, he smiles, soft and sweet. “I love you, too.”

Two Hours ‘Till Kendrick


Warning: smut

Author’s Note: thank you everyone who has been so nice and encouraging to me as a writer. I love writing and I love Ethan and all of you have made this this a fun little safe haven for me. I can’t say thank you enough. Drop me a message or an ask. I love talking with you! Now here’s a little Coachella Ethan, kinda, sorta.

“Remember when Ethan gave you fake flowers for Easter?” Cameron spoke dryly, knowing fully well Ethan was only a few feet behind her, leaning against the doorframe and nibbling on a plate of pancakes. You were sitting in front of a mirror curling your hair.

You looked at her through the reflection, a smile stretching at your lips. You went to speak, but were cut off by your obnoxious boyfriend who still spoke with his mouth full no matter how many times you told him it was rude and unbecoming of him.

Keep reading

I wrote a story for a friend as a birthday present, and since she likes gothic fantasy, I thought Elsewhere University would be a good setting for it.


You weren’t sure what to do when your six choice universities all rejected you. You’d expected at least one of them to accept you, since your grades weren’t bad and your student record was clean.

But none of them did. The day you got the last polite form rejection letter, you set it down and sat there, staring out the window. What went wrong?

Elsewhere University offered you an opportunity, one you thought was a joke. But you took it anyway.

And they took you.

Not Them. That would be a different kind of Taken. But you went to Elsewhere.

Move-in day was normal; the dorm was nice, and while it looked old from the outside, the rooms were spacious and comfortable, and you only had one roommate. Yours was a young, rather timid girl named Melanie. She didn’t talk to you much, though you and her were both fans of the same shows and generally had the same sleep patterns, hence the match.

She was quiet. She put up some posters; you put up some posters. Your stuff stayed in boxes for the first few days.

There were immediately meetings. Your parents weren’t invited; no one’s were.

Your RA was a tall girl with an incredible afro and a few jangling silver necklaces that didn’t match her outfit. “I’m Kiera,” she said, standing on a rock and gesturing with a packet of papers. “I’m your RA for the northern wing of the third floor. The southern wing belongs to Jordan.” She indicated the young man standing next to her; he waved, hand half-buried in the sleeve of his blue hoodie.

“First things first,” Kiera started, “welcome to Elsewhere University! You’re very brave.”

What? You wished you knew someone well enough to make confused eye contact. As it was, most of the freshmen looked a little baffled.

“A couple of notes about common courtesy. One, no extraneous loud noises after ten PM on weeknights, except for Fridays. The curfew for Fridays and Saturdays is midnight. Don’t run or throw things in the hallways, it might hit the fire extinguishers. Also, don’t touch anybody else’s bowls or cups that they leave in the hall. If you find a piece of lost jewelry, don’t touch it. If you see anything that isn’t yours, don’t touch it. Don’t run out of salt and don’t take it out of the kitchen. Don’t eat food you find in the kitchen.”

And on and on and on. You were baffled by a few of the rules, but most of them made sense (be careful about who you accept food from, be careful about going places with strangers, et cetera. You weren’t sure why they stressed it so much. That was just basic college knowledge – hell, basic life knowledge.

It got weirder when you noticed that most people seemed to leave bowls of milk by their doors, and seemed to have salt spilled under their windows. Metal jewelry seemed popular; iron necklaces and earrings, dark metal rings, silver studs and bangles.

After a month, you’d started to make some friends, and you and Melanie were comfortable being around each other. And you’d started learning about Elsewhere, and what Kiera had meant by brave. Extra footprints in on the pavement. Strangers at parties, queens striding past robed in shadow, parts of the campus where time didn’t pass or parts where it went too quickly.

Another month, and your delusions were dispelled. You bought iron jewelry, learned how to scrawl sigils on paper and pin them on doors and windows, ran a thin line of salt on the windowsill. Melanie didn’t complain.

You sat on the quad on sunny days, because in early spring (and it was always early spring, somehow) those days were nice, and it was good to be outside.

There were sculpted gardens to sit in, but those were more dangerous. You were playing with fire if you stayed there until nightfall. You came perilously close a few times.

The first time, you found your way out. The second time you did not.

The gardens held such strangeness, and were absolutely a fascinating place to be. Horticulture students set up projects here, taking care not to disturb the ones they didn’t make. So it was usually safe.

But you were caught wandering after dark. And you didn’t realize, marveling at a rose-vine and honeysuckle trellis, that the sunlight was fading until it was nearly too late.

You tried to follow the path out, but it led you in circles, and to places you didn’t know existed. This is how people get Taken, you thought desperately, hoping and praying that somehow it would be okay.

As if it were answering your prayer – and perhaps it was – the cat appeared. You froze at the sight of slitted eyes, but realized it wasn’t one of Them when the eyes leaped down and came over to rub against your leg and stare upwards.

Green Eyes, the cat was called, because that’s what it had. Green eyes set deep in its long face, sandy fur with black hints at the ears, paws, and tail-tip. You didn’t learn its name until later, and you never really figured out if it was an ordinary cat, or one of Them, or something else entirely.

“Can you lead me out?” you asked it, and it stared back. Your heart was pounding; you had no other lifeline.

It flicked its tail in the air like a banner and trotted away through the dusk. You followed it (because you had no other choice) and like a charm you found yourself stumbling out onto the quad. A few surprised upperclassmen watched, and when you looked for the cat, it was gone.

You tried to figure out how to repay the cat, if in fact you could. Next time you saw it, you promised yourself, you would give it something.

And you did see it again. Quite often, in fact. It was skirting the parking lot behind the biochemistry building, and when you crouched down and held out your hand, it came over and sniffed at your fingers before rubbing on you.

Then it was over by the dining hall, then walking alongside you on your way to one of your classes, then to all of them. Eventually, it came up to you while you were on the quad.

Melanie was there (though, like most other students, she’d quickly adopted a pseudonym and now went by Melody), and a few other friends you’d made, including a couple of upperclassmen. At Elsewhere, for some reason, the classes mixed a lot more than they did at other colleges. You weren’t sure why.

Green Eyes trotted up to you while you were sitting on a blanket in the grass. The upperclassmen stopped talking entirely and tried to avert their eyes, but when you reached out your hand and let Green Eyes sniff it and rub against you, they couldn’t help but stare.

“How are you doing that?”

You glanced up, at Shine, a girl with spiky white hair. “Doing what?”

“Green Eyes. You…” she paused, indicating the cat. Green Eyes looked to her – she shuddered – and lay down next to you, allowing you to stroke its fur and play with its ears.

The other upperclassman looked you in the eyes. “What did you do?” they asked, dead serious.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s claimed you.”

That you didn’t understand. You didn’t know how to ask if it was one of Them, but you said, “In… what sort of way?”

“I’m not sure.”

That answer wasn’t good.

Green Eyes didn’t interact with others much, and seemed to seek me out often. It always rubbed against me – I knew that’s how cats designated things as theirs, but I didn’t realize the full extent of Green Eyes’ claim.

During a party one night you found yourself stepping outside with a handsome boy, a soft-spoken boy with white hair and the whisper of fall wind (you missed fall, here in this place where the seasons never seemed to change properly) in his voice. You saw Green Eyes watching from the top of a fence, and the boy excused himself after a moment and didn’t come back. Your hands itched under the skin where he’d held them, but looked no different; your lips remained numb for days until you shook off the longing, kept inside by the memory of lantern-green eyes in the night air.

Labs never ended after dark, but your study session did, and when you braved the night (because the library closed, and you did not want to interrupt any of the Courtly business that goes on there) and the sound of baying hounds and the fell piercing blasts of hunting horns, when you stepped along the solid concrete while the rest of the world shifted and you passed the student center and the native plant garden and the towering trees that dropped leaves like silver and shadows like blood, Green Eyes went with you. You felt it join you when you walked outside, and it brought you to safety, tail held high.

You saw it everywhere. Legend said Siamese cats had kinked tails because they’d once held rings for royalty. You wondered which royalty; tall tales said Egyptian, but Green Eyes felt like something Else.

It’s hard to remember when you graduated. A lot of your time at Elsewhere is blurry, indistinct, like a fogged glass. But you have never forgotten Green Eyes, and when you return to Elsewhere – because all those who love Elsewhere come back eventually – you see it waiting for you on the sidewalk next to the drive, tail curled over its paws, the stream of students dividing gently around it.

You don’t lean down to pet it, because that’s not what you’re supposed to do right now. But it does rub against your leg again when you get out of the car, and when you step inside your new (old, very old, old enough to have memories and old enough to act on them) house, it waits patiently for you to invite it inside.

Its motives are mysterious. The aura it gives you is one of fear and mystery. The librarian who hunts monsters eyes it occasionally, but never makes a move; she doesn’t understand it either.

But you go into the sculpted gardens, and you go there at night. Green Eyes is always with you, to lead you out. Someday, you fear, Green Eyes will abandon you in the lilac labyrinth and you’ll finally be Taken; but it doesn’t feel like that’s what it wants to do.

You asked it one night, sitting on a bench surrounded by fireflies and watching shadows silently pass by with no people to cast them. Green Eyes sat on your lap.

“Why do you help me?” you asked it, glancing down. “Why did you do all of this?”

Green Eyes stared back up, and flicked its ears back and yawned; a smile, you recognize, from reading its behavior over the years.

“Is it because I asked for help? What did you want in return?”

Silence, but Green Eyes bumped your hand and began to purr loudly enough to shake. There’s something about Green Eyes that resists Them and Their works; its ability to navigate the gardens, and its aid to you over the years, has proved that. It does not need  your companionship; it does not need you as you needed it.

You look up. Green Eyes flicks its tail back and forth and you realize that while you are its companion, now, and it wouldn’t leave you, you don’t actually need it to get through the gardens. You know them in your mind, like a house you’ve lived in for a long time. When you step through the flowers and topiary you go where you want to go, not where anything else wants you to go. Green Eyes has taught you how.

When you walk through the gardens sometimes you see lost students stumbling under the trellises, eyes haunted, breath rasping in their mouths as they struggle to get out. You approach them.

You look about their age (Age is funny at Elsewhere; when you came back, you seemed to return to who you were when you left. The rest of the world is all iron and highways and radios, and you remember the things you learned here when you came back) and you realize now that they are too scared of Green Eyes to ask for help.

But they don’t need to ask you. You can offer. And when they see your human features and Green Eyes at your feet, they accept.


You’re Just Like Your Father

    Steve sneered at Tony, deep blue eyes brimming with an intense spark of hatred. “You know, Stark, you are just like your father,” he spat, crossing his arms across his chest in a familiar gesture. His mouth opened once again, most likely to spew more insults at him, but Tony couldn’t hear anything apart from the sound of blood rushing to his head, an overwhelming roar that threatened to knock the man to his knees. You’re just like your father. That one sentence destroyed him, ruining any bit of self control that he had left. He felt himself crumble, his mind trying desperately to repair, patch up the network of cracks that ran like spider webs along the boundary that barely kept him from losing it with each passing day. They both knew it was a lost cause.

    Tony felt himself shut down, his expression turning blank, emotionless. Unfeeling, he turned his dead gaze back towards Steve, still unable to hear whatever the super-soldier was saying to him now, with that cruel grimace etched upon his features. “Sorry, Rogers,” Tony began, forcing himself to sound careless, sound like the man all the other Avengers expected him to be. The vain, self centered billionaire who couldn’t bother himself to worry about anyone other than himself. “But I’m afraid I have to get back to work. As much as I’ve enjoyed our little chat, I’ve got so much to do…” he rambled, backing up towards the elevators, not wanting to turn his back on Steve. It had been a little over two months since the Avengers and Captain America had waltzed back into his life and yet Tony was still unable to turn his back on the man, was hardly able to be in a room alone with him. As it turned out, apparently, that instinct had not been a bad one, seeing how things ended up when the two of them were left alone with each other. (Granted this was the first time but Tony was willing to bet that this would the last- at least if he had anything to say about it.)

    “Excuse me?”

    Too loud. The outraged protest Steve directed at him was too loud. Unbearably loud. Tony nearly cringed, hardly being able to hold together his cold, distant façade. “Did you not understand me, Capsicle? I said I’ve got work to do. Or is that word missing from your vocabulary? I wouldn’t be surprised if it was…” He kept creeping back towards the bank of elevators lining the wall of the corridor.

    Steve growled (Like the animal he truly was) looking as if he wanted to punch a hole in the wall. Tony wouldn’t be surprised if he did, just to spite him. Who else was going to pay for the damages? Certainly, not Steve, despite Captain America’s righteous reputation. “This conversation is not finished, Stark,” he countered, the fingers of his right-hand twitching as if they were yearning to feel the cool metal of the iconic shield beneath their tips. Too bad Tony was currently in the process of upgrading the shield, originally a peace-making gift but now it was more of a burden.

    “Too bad Rogers. Unlike you some of us actually have to get things done,” he quipped, reaching to press the down button of the elevator closest to him. “And I would hardly call this a conversation,” Tony added, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief when the steel doors opened revealing the bland, dull chamber inside.


    “Rogers!” he mocked, feeling himself slowly lose his grip on reality. If he kept pushing the Captain things were bound to get physical and while Tony was itching for a fight, he knew it wouldn’t end well for him. Steve had certainly proved that to him in Siberia. “Let. Me. Work,” he hissed through gritted teeth. His hand clenched the edge of the elevator door, the whites of his knuckles visible in a startling way.  

    Steve didn’t deign him a response, but instead glared at him, his eyes revealing as much as any of his words would have.

    For a moment, Tony stared at the super-soldier, allowing himself to feel wistful for a few seconds. He took in Steve’s defensive pose, his crossed arms, tense legs and flickering gaze, wondering what the hell happened to them. They had been friends once, hadn’t they? Looking at their latest encounter and the weeks of careful avoiding that led up to it, it didn’t seem that way. But it wasn’t unexpected, wasn’t surprising… Tony knew that, in the end, him and Steve Rogers would not be a good combination. They were explosive, volatile, a bomb that could go off at any second. And it looked as if those final seconds were finally ticking down.

    After what felt like an eternity, he ripped his gaze away from his former friend and stepped fully inside the elevator. It was only when the doors finally closed that he collapsed, back against the wall, his legs unable to carry his heavy burden of a body anymore. Shaking uncontrollably, Tony punched the number that corresponded to his workshops floor needing to get back down there, needing to return to his safe place. Needing to drown himself in numbers and equations and robotics until he forgot all about that damning insult Steve had so carelessly thrown his way. He sat on the elevator floor, eyes wide and unblinking waiting for the stupid machine to take him back down to his workshop- the place he never should’ve left. At least there he belonged.

    After what felt like an eternity, the doors slid open revealing the familiar, empty corridor. And it was quiet- so goddamn quiet compared to the screaming and the shouting and the complaining Tony had to endure upstairs in the common area. He let loose a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping forward in tired defeat. God, he was exhausted.

    You’re just like your father.

    Tony grimaced, forcing himself to rise to his feet. He wished he could just cower in the elevator for the rest of his useless mistake of a life. His steps seemed so slow, so weighed down as he began to walk towards his haven.

    You’re just like your father.

    Tony could practically see Steve’s piercing, hatred filled gaze as he spat those words at him. The complete satisfaction that settled upon his features once he released that wall-crumbling insult into the tense air. He ran a hand along the cool, smooth wall, a fraction of it to steady his shaking limbs but for the most part the action was merely to remind himself of something real. That was something Tony seemed to be lacking from his life these days.

    You’re just like your father.

    He knew those words shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as they did. That insult had felt like a shard of glass piercing through his heart or, better yet, like when the virtuous Captain America destroyed his Arc Reactor with the shield Howard had made for him all those years ago. Again, and again and again as the remark continued to ring through Tony’s shattered mind.

    You’re just like you’re father.

    He rapidly shook his head, attempting to clear his head of that goddamned phrase.  Tony threw himself towards the entrance of his workshop, stumbling slightly as his legs decided to give up on him. Clumsily, he put in his passcode, the familiar, rhymical tapping slowly calming the too-fast beating of his overworked heart. The door slid open easily and F.R.I.D.A.Y immediately greeted him with a friendly, “Welcome back, Boss.”

    This time the harsh insult was no louder than a whisper.

    “Glad to be back F.R.I.D.A.Y,” Tony responded, voice quiet and small yet not breaking. The entry-way glided shut behind him, his A.I knowing him well enough by now to lock the door behind him. He walked over to his main worktable, feeling much more confident now that he was back in his own element. “Could you pull up the plans for Parker’s new suit? I’m starting to feel a bit guilty for putting it off for so long…” He didn’t bother to acknowledge the reason behind why he had been unable to upgrade Spider-boy’s suit like he had promised. (Two words: The Avengers).

    “Of course, Mr. Stark. Where would you like me to store the plans for Captain Rogers new shield?” F.R.I.D.A.Y inquired, a slightly bitter drop tinging her usually peppy accent.

    Tony took a minute to consider his response before hesitantly saying, “In the Junk File with the rest of my other projects.” In other words, the projects that had no hope of being finished within the next decade. But, hey, Steve was a super-soldier, he had time.

    “Right away, sir.”

    “Thanks F.R.I.D.A.Y.” He turned his attention to the detailed outline of Peter’s current suit, eyeing the parts he marked as desperately needing to be upgraded. Tony felt his mind settle, perfectly content with burying himself in the creation of things rather than the destruction. The cracks had not yet been repaired, but he knew work could easily fix that, patching up the gaping holes his argument with Steve had left. Although with that final insult still ringing in his ear, Tony wasn’t too sure how long that would take. So, he continued to work.

    And work.

    And work.

    Until he wasn’t sure how long it had been since that godforsaken argument. Since he had left the workshop. Well, at least he was being productive.

    Tony had just finished the final draft of Parker’s new suit and purchasing the needed materials (Who knew titanium-lined ballistic nylon would be so expensive? Quite the rip-off if you asked him) when there was a knock on the glass windows lining the outside of his workshop. He glanced towards them, startled, relieved to find that F.R.I.D.A.Y had darkened those windows without him having to give her the order to. He had been so pleased to reach his shop that he had forgotten to ask the A.I to do that (As had become typical when Tony locked himself down there). He was about to ask her who was attempting to bother him when he was working when suddenly a familiar voice called out to him.

    “Tony! Open up, man! It’s Rhodey!”

    He frowned, glancing at the darkened windows. He wasn’t really bothered by the fact that Rhodey was interrupting his work but he didn’t truly want to be bothered by anyone right now. All Tony wanted was to finish preparations for Peter’s suit and spend time with his bots. Maybe forever, he wasn’t too sure yet.

    “Tony? Please let me in!”

    But, then again, it was Rhodey. This was the man who had been there for to Tony since their days at M.I.T, who had stayed by his side when the majority of the Avengers had fled. He owed his life, and much more, to Rhodey. Shouldn’t he, at the very least, let his best friend in?

    “F.R.I.D.A.Y, open the door,” Tony ordered hesitantly, glancing regretfully at the newly finished design of Peter’s suit. Quickly, he moved the detailed image to one of his private folders before busying himself with scolding DUM-E (Who had, once again, attempted to wash the floor with coffee). He had a feeling Rhodey wouldn’t be too pleased if he found Tony consumed in another project. He didn’t look up even when he heard the thud of his friend’s footsteps behind him.

    “I’ve been looking for you for ages, man,” Rhodey greeted, planting a hand on Tony’s shoulders. “You okay?”

    He turned around, raising his eyebrows at his friend. “Since when aren’t I okay?” he responded, crossing his arms across his chest.

    You’re just like your father.

  Tony nearly cringed as the words flitted back through his mind. Damn it. Apparently, those hours of work did not solve anything. A pity, really.

    “Tony?” Rhodey looked slightly panicked, eyes wide and coated in a worried glint. “Hey, come on. Are you sure you’re okay?”

    He clamped down on his lower lip, biting down hard enough to break the tissue there. Hard enough to draw blood. “I’m sure, Rhodey,” Tony confirmed, turning just enough so that his friend would no longer be able to see his face. Or the pain that dwelled upon it.

    “’Cause, I mean, I heard about the fight you and Cap had,” he continued, hand tightening on Tony’s shoulder.

    “I said I’m fine Rhodey,” Tony assured through gritted teeth. “I don’t need you to check up on me, for god’s sake I’m a grown adult, I don’t need a babysitter.”

    His friend’s eyes darkened ever so slightly. “I know you don’t Tony but sometimes you terrify the hell out of me,” Rhodey confessed, running a hand through his shortly cropped hair. At the same time, his other hand released Tony’s arm, coming to rest, once again, at his side. “Like today for example.”

    He couldn’t help himself- Tony glanced back up at Rhodey, guiltily taking in the fear and pain that aged his features, lingered in his brown eyes. “What do you mean?” he questioned, his voice sounding unusually frail.

    You’re just like your father.

     Wasn’t he? Wasn’t it just like his dear old dad to disappear when his loved ones needed him- when Tony needed him most. How had attempting to hide from his greatest fear somehow turned him into his greatest fear? That was just like his crap luck, he supposed.

    Suddenly Rhodey’s hand was back on Tony’s shoulder, gripping tightly. “Ever since Rogers and his team of misfits barged their way back into your life, you’ve been working yourself to death. And that’s even without you shutting down,” he said, voice quiet, subdued. “You’re trying so hard to accommodate them, trying so hard to make things right when clearly it isn’t working anymore. It’s like watching a kid trying to force a puzzle piece in a place where it doesn’t belong. It’s just not going to happen Tones.”

    He could feel his lips turn down ever so slightly into a fragile frown. “Are you saying I don’t belong with the Avengers anymore, Rhodey?” And, oh God, he knew his voice was barely louder than a whisper but it sounded so loud in his head, in the comforting silence of his workshop. The question rang out, swallowing every other quiet noise being emitted in the room. All except for the one remark that was once again tearing through his head.

    You’re just like you’re father.

    “I’m not saying that Tony,” Rhodey continued, desperation heavily laced through the smooth, baritone of his voice. “All I’m trying to tell is that you’ve outgrown them. You don’t need the Avengers anymore.”

    Tony glanced up at him, fully meeting his friend’s worried brown eyes for the first time. “I can’t just leave, Rhodey,” he replied, voice cracking ever so slightly.

    That was all it took for Rhodey to wrap the invincible Iron Man into a solid embrace. “I know, man,” he consoled, running a steady hand down Tony’s back in a comforting gesture. One that his mother had used when his nightly terrors had sent him crawling into her bed in the middle of the night. “But, hey. You’re the most intelligent guy I know and you’ve got me, Pepper and Happy at your back. I have a feeling you’re going to be just fine.”

    “But what if I’m not?” This was the question that had been plaguing Tony for months. Ever since he had been left cold and alone in Siberia. “What if I’ll never be fine again?”

    Rhodey’s hand stopped moving for a long, heart stopping moment. But then the rubbing continued and the man began speaking again. “Then we’ll still be there. We won’t leave you Tony.”

     And, for a moment, he felt as if everything was going to be alright.

Imagine...Enjoying Captain America

Originally posted by demondetoxmanual

Request: Can you write a dean×reader where reader is really into like captain america and the winter soldier and dean keeps teasing her that she loves them more than him and just fluff?

Pairing: Dean x reader

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When Quiet Is Violent - Part 3 (End)

Masterlist  -  Part 1  -   Part 2

Summary: You’re retired, living a quiet and secure life when your ex, Steve Rogers, turns up on your doorstep with his best friend, seeking refuge. (bucky x reader, enhanced reader)

Prompt(s): Okay I know I already wrote Night Walks with these prompts but I really wasn’t happy with it, so here is attempt #2. @pandarositarequest: 93 and 94… but Reader being upset rather than Bucky?

93.“I’m telling you. I’m haunted.”
94. “I had a bad dream again.”
Plus anon request: 64 “Here, take my blanket.”

Warnings: swearing, fighting, deathy stuff and the aftermath.

Word Count: 3671

Author’s Note: The angst train’s brakes aren’t working. Prepare for a trainwreck. :) Remember that I love you.

Originally posted by dewiedawn

 Tony finally made it to the end of your long drive and stepped out of his car. Pieces of polished red metal immediately shifting into place around his body as you stepped down from the porch, looking casual and unassuming.

“Y’know most people call first,” you called to him, testing the waters, “and it works out for everyone, see, because then I can tell them to rent an SUV with snow tires, not a…” you paused, leaning to the side to peer around him at the flashy car that was just so Tony. “Bugatti?”

“Really? I thought you liked surprises?” he fired back, walking casually to the front of the car, face mask open, holding his hands out to the side in mock surprise.

“Is the car the surprise?”

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Originally posted by dork-iplier

Requested by  welppotato <3
So, the request was to do a one-shot series type of deal so… Look forward to an unhealthy amount of Sean related stuff (smut included!)



He was blindly scrolling through twitter, re-tweeting a post here and there before sighing.In a few days he was to leave for a Youtuber convention – and no, it wasn’t because he wasn’t excited to see his friends, he was just tired. Checking a few things online, his eyes roamed back to twitter a confused brow raised at the number one trending topic - #markipliercantdance and #allhailthedancingqueen took the second place.

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Inquisition Companions and Advisors as Highschool Teachers
  • Cullen: The awkwardly hot math teacher that gives you too much homework
  • Iron Bull: The gym teacher that works you too hard, but wants you to succeed
  • Josephine: Social Studies/World History teacher who is a little too passionate about her work
  • Leliana: The strict music teacher that everyone's scared of
  • Blackwall: Woodworking teacher that never actually makes anything useful
  • Solas: Art teacher that has a weird obsession with drawing wolves
  • Vivienne: The principal that is usually really nice, but has a strict dress code
  • Sera: Science teacher who does way too many dissections in class
  • Cole: The nurse/doctor whose name you never can remember
  • Varric: The awesome English teacher who hardly gives you any homework
  • Dorian: The librarian that everyone has a crush on
  • Cassandra: The lunch lady who complains constantly about her job