Nino Hires Max To Hack Into Gabriels Files To Find Dirt On Him And To Send Him Viruses But Instead They

nino hires max to hack into gabriel’s files to find dirt on him and to send him viruses but instead they find 12 pre-recorded versions of the hawkmoth rap

Instructions: Tag ten followers you want to get to know better

big thanks for the tag, ive just been ignoring tumblr for a while oops

GENDER: nonbinary 

STAR SIGN: sagittarius 

HOGWARTS HOUSE: ravenclaw

FAVORITE ANIMAL: axolotls or koalas prolly

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: sometimes like 3, but sometimes 7 or 8 who knows tbh

DOGS OR CATS: i have two cats n a dog must i pick (cats unless its not a big dog)

NUMBER OF BLANKETS YOU SLEEP WITH: my comforter and like,,, 6 or 7 extra blankets im cold all the time okay

DREAM JOB: uh thats a tough question ive No Clue 

WHEN I CREATED THIS BLOG: sir i could not tell you if my life depended on it (please say my life does not depend on it)

FOLLOWER COUNT: 14 what can i say

WHY I MADE THIS BLOG: idk some folks sent me tumblr posts and so i was like sure ill give it a try

HOW I CAME UP WITH MY URL: my nickname is green pencil (gp) and instead of just green pencil,,, :,) 

i will tag @potato-guns, @sl33pybear, @the-flannel-wearing-demon, @angxlsgrxce and anyone else who would like to participate is welcome to do it of course!! 

Instructions: Tag 10 followers you want to get to know better.

Thanks for the tag, @justagirlinafandomworld

Gender: Female

Star Sign: Virgo

Height: 5'6’. I come from a long line tall women, so I’m tied for shortest.  

Sexuality: Why label shit?

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Favorite Animal: How much time do you have? Dogs, otters, axolotl, pigs, etc.

Average Hours of Sleep: 8ish. Sometimes a lot less or more.

Dogs or Cats: Dogs

Number of Blankets You Sleep With: 1 comforter or 2 blankets.

Dream Job: Published writer or screenwriter.

When I Created This Blog: July of 2016? I know it was July.

Follower Count: 1598

Why I Made This Blog: To post my Castiel fanfiction.

How I Came Up with My URL: I love Dean’s quote “fight the fairies!”, but that url was taken. So I added “gone to” as a spoof of “gone fishing”. It’s my delusional dream of being a hunter in the supernatural universe. 

Tagging some friends and recent notifications from followers I don’t know yet: @tomhiddleston-is-mischief @crazyevilninja-is-tired @thepallaspalace @not-a-good-angel @pancaklaith @fandomgirl17 @aris-main-blog @longlivethewizard @hopefulbeautifulsnowflake @myfandomchangesalot

Peter: Settle this. Are they called “gifs” or “jifs”?

Tony: Well, the G stands for “graphics”, that’s a hard G, so I’d say “gif.”

Harley: What? The guy who invented it says its “jif.”

Peter: I’m sorry, do you mean the guy or the juy?

im not a great writer but please ill try my best

I've been seeing this fic prompt thing around a lot and Im bored so I thought I'd give it a go, just slightly modified.

Send me a fic title and a character or ship and I'll write it for you

The characters/ships I'll take are in the tags but y'all already know

for @lovelyirony because her style inspired me while writing this

The first thing, the first real thing, that Jim notices about Tony Stark is his hands. His hands: not manicured, not delicate, not soft or smooth, not perfect. Not what he expected from a rich kid whose daddy’s money paves the way for every milestone of his life.

No. They’re rough and calloused, with engine grease, of all things, still under his nails, and scars around his knuckles that don’t look like they’re there from fights, but rather from hours of long work resulting in skin that doesn’t heal properly.

They’re mechanic’s hands, worker’s hands, the same hands that Jim, who’s worked on his dad’s car and his momma’s stove all his life, has.

So. Tony Stark, heir to the grand fortune of Stark Industries and son of the American hero–the Merchant of Life–Howard Stark, has something in common with Jim Rhodes, nothing but a momma’s boy from rural Pennsylvania.

Jim keeps that in mind.

The second thing he notices is the way Tony speaks. It’s an observation that comes after a few weeks of knowing him, not within a few seconds, because Tony’s voice changes, and it requires attention to notice. And care. Jim notices because he’s…paying attention. Because he cares. Huh.  

That’s an emotional thread to pull on some other time, he decides.

But Tony’s voice…it surprises him, because the almost childish babble laced with excitement is so different from the sharp quips paired with sharper smiles and different still from the slurred words that hold no meaning but build up so many walls and the furthest from the seductive purr belonging to someone so many years older than Tony.

Tony’s like a parrot, mimicking the tones of those around him, blending in so that no one realizes he doesn’t belong, but Jim does. Because he’s paying attention.

And maybe that’s why he’s the only one who gets to hear the babble, the voice that maybe belongs to the real Tony.

The real Tony.

Jim wants to meet him more than he realizes, or understands.

Why is he so attached?

He’ll figure it out some other time.

The third thing that Jim notices is the way he sleeps, and he thinks that the only reason it took him this long (almost four months) to notice is because Tony doesn’t sleep while he’s awake. When Jim falls asleep, Tony’s awake, or not even in the dorm, and when he wakes up, Tony’s awake, but more often than not, gone already, unless he never came home in the first place.

Home. Huh.

When he comes home–to the dorm–after a late night of studying, Tony’s there. In bed. Asleep.

And it’s so different than Jim was expecting.

Tony’s not sprawled out, like he should be, not taking up space, like he owns it, not acting like a rich kid who’s there because his daddy put him there.

Because he isn’t any of that, and Jim knows that now, but it’s still a shock to come home and see Tony–who’s so much tinier than he thought–curled up on the edge of the bed, knees tucked to his chest, a whole two feet of bed unused behind him.

Like he’s leaving space for someone. Like he’s waiting for someone to slip in behind him and complete the puzzle he’s created. Like he’s waiting for comfort he’s never gotten before.

It…hurts.

And Jim can ignore it, at first.

But then Tony mumbles in his sleep, almost rolling off the bed, and the pieces of the puzzle don’t matter anymore, because Jim slips in to fit them together.

And Tony relaxes in his arms.

And it feels right.

And Jim knows, now, why he was paying attention.