for my own shit

I too would die for my cat

i am not immune to fanservice

Got bad news for them about the ages of who is writing the books and scripts and filming the movies and tv shows they like … 

Got real bad news for them about the age of the people who run AO3.  

Got further bad news about the age of many of the popular writers in most fandoms.

Someone’s gonna be horrified we hen they find out how old the actors playing their faves are…

So this post circled back around and I wanna clarify my snarky comment at the start. I was purposefully pointing at the creators of tv shows and movies and books, not fans in fandom, for a reason. Most of those influential figures are white men in their 40s, 50s, 60s, even 70s. For long established book series, i.e. Tolkien or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, they’re long dead. 

It really troubles me that there’s this rise in teens targeting older fans (hell most aren’t even old, I would not call someone in their 30s old) while blissfully consuming media created by men twice the age of those fans they’re saying should go do their taxes or take care of babies or whatever. 

Why are older men allowed to create, shape franchises, set ongoing stories for decades … and older women (let’s be real this stuff is almost always lobbed at an older woman for daring to have a hobby and friends) are expected to fade into the background and never speak up about their interests, or indeed have interests, ever again?

What is happening to these kids? I see teenage girls insisting that any woman over 30 is a hag, a creep, pathetic, and should no longer speak to friends online or go to conventions or enjoy stories or create crafts or write for fun. That’s what they think of their futures? That past a certain age they aren’t allowed to have friends, hobbies, interests, spend money on things for their own enjoyment, do things for fun rather than profit? 

That’s bleak as hell. 

same energy

there’s more

Happy birthday, Tony. ❤️LOVE YOU ALWAYS.

i ship steve/tony/coffee

also 

*whispers* flustered tony

Solidarity

*chanting* Selkie! Selkie! Selkie!

AWWW THATS SO SWEET

Happy Halloween everyone! @hundredthousands-art and I see your Cap Wolves, and we raise you Ults! Iron Wolf and Vampire Steve, to pay tribute to Ults Steve’s escapades in canon. This is what twilight should have BEEN.

It was a true dream to work with HT on this (I drew and lined it, they blessed me with their incredible colours) and I will treasure it forever

His mate smelled of blood, rich and pungent.  Tony-this was the sound his mate used for him, and so he allowed it to be who he was–could almost taste the blood on his tongue.  His mate had been hunting, then.  His mate was a good hunter, strong and fast, as a mate should be, but Tony didn’t care for it when his mate hunted without him.  A low growl escaped him, and Steve looked over, stared at Tony for a moment, then dipped his head.  An apology.  It wasn’t good enough. Tony would make sure his mate understood that later.  They were pack, even though his mate seemed to not understand the rules sometimes, and Tony thought–dreamed?–that there were times the rules were different.  

But, not tonight.  Tonight was Samhain, the night of All Soul’s, and there would be fire. Tony remembered the fire as it grew and grew until it had teeth, and how the people shouted and jeered and threw their tinder, and Steve, Steve inside, staring out into the sun. He remembered their sharp, gleaming sticks they used to try to stop him, but his teeth and claws were sharper, and they should not have tried to take his mate from him. 

His mate shouldn’t be out alone, not this night of all nights.  Steve was pack, his only pack, and that kind of behavior risked pack.  He didn’t like it.   Later, when he could bite and hold until Steve submitted, he would make sure Steve understood, but for now, he would settle for less. Steve didn’t look contrite though, though he felt no surprise by it, only a mild annoyance. His hackles raised down his back, and he snapped at the air, gaining Steve’s attention once again.

“Believe it or not, I had no intention of anything happening,” Steve sighed, watching Tony carefully.  Tony allowed the directness of Steve’s look, because he was mate, but he bristled.  His mate should understand his place was at Tony’s side. Tony bared his teeth.  His mate bared his teeth, too, but his mate did this sometimes, and Tony understood it not to be a threat. It made him feel strange when his mate did this, like…like running through a field and rolling in fresh grass.  He allowed this odd baring of teeth, too, but chuffed a warning at his mate, anyway.  

Some nights, when he and his mate returned from a hunt, there would be a red mask dripping down Steve’s mouth and throat, and Tony would clean the coppery nectar from his skin, but not this night.  This night, his mate was clean and well-dressed in the veneer of humanity he usually wore.  Maybe he thought to conceal his hunt, because he knew he broke the rules of pack.  But, Tony’s senses were good, and he could smell it underneath all of that. The blood.  Someone else’s blood, mingled with his mate’s scent. Not unpleasant, not exactly, but…Tony liked his scent on  his mate better. 

He watched Steve take his chair by the fire, then sauntered over to stand next to him, lightly sniffing the air.  

“There were some drunkards leaving the tavern, who thought it a good bit of fun to set upon the barmaid as she made for home,” Steve explained.  

He reached over and stroked his hand over Tony’s head, then down his neck.  Tony leaned into it, knocking his head against Steve’s leg in approval.  It was good when his mate did this.  But, that did not mean hunting without pack was forgotten.  He chuffed again, a warning, then pushed himself up on his hind legs and braced his massive jaws around his mate’s neck.  Steve sighed, his hands coming up to wrap around Tony’s neck, then tilted his head back and surrendered his throat to Tony.  That was good.  It was important for his mate to show contrition.  Tony would allow it, this once, because the hunt was a good hunt, and Steve was here now.  

Tony released Steve’s neck and settled back on his haunches, though he snapped once in the air between them as Steve rubbed at the places on his neck where Tony’s marks were welling red.  That was good. It was pleasing to see his mate like that.  Tony leaned up again, this time licking his tongue over the wounds, tasting Steve and a mix of other things not-Steve.  He grunted in satisfaction and sat back again.  

“I sometimes forget what you’re like when you’re like this,” Steve said, his voice warm and soft, then quieter, “I didn’t mean to worry you, Tony. Next time, I’ll bring you with me, but you had only just changed, my love.” 

Tony didn’t know what his mate meant, but it didn’t matter.  There was an apology in his mate’s demeanor, and that was good.  It would do for now.  His mate was fast and strong, but the fires burned high this night, and every day, the sun waited.  Tony watched Steve for a long moment, making sure the lesson was learned, then threw his head back and howled, because the fires were always out there, though they were different now, and they should know what waited should they come for his mate again.  Satisfied, Tony curled himself around Steve’s legs and lay his head onto Steve’s knee, letting Steve stroke his fingers through his hair. 

I am! Yelling! So loud! Because oh my GOD! This is decadently feral and growly and bitey and a LIL fucky and therefore ALL THE GOOD THINGS IN THIS WORLD!!!

I’m honoured that mine and HT’s boys got to be the subject of your first ults fic ;) 

comments that make you go hmmm

that pink+blue aesthetic

HAPPY HALLOWEEN FROM VENOM AND SPIDEY GO OUT THERE AND GET LOTS OF CHOCOLATE 🍫🍫🍫

bonus: