foot backwards

Burning Love - Part One

A broken heater results in a need for body heat.

I have lots of requests. But I seem to write things that fit none of them. Story of my life.

‘Spence, has your heating and hot water gone off too?’ You moaned into the phone.

‘Yeah, can’t believe this has happened in the middle of December. I will be surprised if I’m not already in the early stages of hypothermia.’ He replied, as you laughed.

‘Do you wanna come down here and keep me company?’ You asked.

‘Absolutely, we can freeze to death together.’ Spencer said, before hanging up, leaving you smiling as you clutched your phone.

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One man tents aren’t meant for sharing

I wanted to write bed sharing. So I did. 

Smut ahoy.

3k words-ish

One man tents aren’t meant for sharing. Neither are sleeping bags. Too bad they don’t have any choice…

On FF.NET and AO3

Killian Jones’ rather bony elbow dug into Emma’s back. Wincing, she scowled then retaliated by shoving her icy cold right foot backwards until it was wedged between his bare legs, causing him to mutter profanities under his breath.

Today was such a fucking mess. She was cold, tired and mentally drained from an afternoon of drudging through the forest with… him .

“Swan…” he groaned, the low timbre of his voice cutting right through her body making her gut clench.

“Keep your arms to yourself, buddy,” she snapped, her frown growing deeper.

“Gladly,” he quipped, flopping dramatically onto his stomach. The extra-large sleeping bag that housed the pair lurched in his direction, spinning her onto her back and somehow wedging her arm beneath him.

“Urgh!” she cried, tugging herself free, thanking God and all the stars that the man was at least wearing an undershirt.

He turned his head. Though it was late, it was summer and the night sky still provided enough illumination to see his expression: a smug grin combined with raised eyebrows.

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Spandex is for amateurs

Blueliner was pretty cute for a superhero, but then again so was Derek Nurse…

Dex had known his day was going to be awful. Nothing bad had actually happened that morning, but there was that feeling in the pit of his stomach. That all too familiar feeling that meant he’d run into him today, which meant Dex left his place wary of everything and everyone.

He was right to be suspicious.

Dex’s face was pressed down into the disgusting carpet, a heavy boot resting on his back. The boot, sitting heavily on an old bruise, was an uncomfortable pressure that got worse the longer it was there. He crushed the urge to shift and lay stiffly on the ground. It wasn’t even lunch yet and his day had gone to shit.

“Hurry up, Chad! That’s enough for now. We gotta get out of here before-“ 

The Chad at the till let out a cry of “Chad!” as the boot, and attached Chad, flew off of Dex and into the wall. He was wrestled to the ground, quickly cuffed, and Money Chad darted for the bank entrance. Before he made it beyond a few steps, Money Chad was trussed up like his partner. It was over in the blink of an eye.

Honestly, what was wrong with these guys.

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anonymous asked:

How do you determine the different levels in step sequences? Everything is so fast, I don't get how people can count the edges and turns?! Love ur blog btwn ❤️❤️❤️

(Huge thanks to @drag0ness for this reply!)

Counting step sequences is difficult and requires a lot of practice to be able to discern the steps and turns the skater is doing in order to achieve the highest level. Most of this is from the ISU Handbook (for singles skating; step sequences in ice dance are a whole other beast) but I think watching a step sequence with all the steps/turns written out helps. There’s a video listing all the turns and steps in Yuzuru Hanyu’s 2016-17 FS step sequence here.

The basic things that skaters do with their feet (gifs of ice dancers doing some of these turns/steps can be seen here and here):

Turns: twizzles, brackets, loops, counters, rockers, three turns

Steps: toe steps, chasses, mohawks, choctaws, change of edge, cross rolls

Turns/steps that are considered “difficult” (by the ISU):

  • Twizzles (turn)
  • Brackets (turn)
  • Loops (turn)
  • Counters (turn)
  • Rockers (turn)
  • Choctaws (step)

All of these are turns on one foot. The choctaw uses 2 feet but you are stepping to change to the opposite edge on the other foot (eg. from a backward outside edge to a forward inside edge).

To get a level 4, you need to do a minimum of 11 difficult turns and steps and you have to do the steps in both clockwise and counterclockwise directions. Each step cannot be counted more than twice. In terms of ice coverage, it must either use the entire length of the ice or double the width of the ice.

Other level features:

1) Rotations in both directions with full body rotation covering at least 1/3 of the pattern in total for each rotational direction.

2) Use of upper body movements for at least 1/3 of the pattern. Easy to understand - is the skater using varied arm movement? Arms moving around affect your balance, can help you steer your body around the turns. Is their torso moving too or does it only stay upright over their center of gravity?

3) Two different combinations of 3 difficult turns executed with a clear rhythm. By this they mean that within the 3 different, difficult (of the 5 turns listed above) turns you do, the ending edge of the 1st turn must be the starting edge of the 2nd turn and the ending edge of the 2nd turn must be starting edge for the 3rd turn. By 2 different combinations, it means 1 on right foot, 1 on left. (For example, in the Yuzuru video above, he does the first combination on his left foot at 00:13 and the second combination on his right foot at 00:23.)

Some mistakes that can affect levels: 

1) A skater may not be able to hold an edge during a turn and as a result do a hop; this may make them lose 1 of the 11 difficult turns/steps they have planned and lose a level.

2) The edges in the turns are considered too shallow to be counted in the step sequence; counted as not enough steps/turns.

3) Not enough ice coverage; this can invalidate the entire step sequence.

TL;DR Did the skater do at least 11 hard thingies with their feet? Did they do the hard thingies in both directions and used both their feet? Is their upper body moving too? Did they cover a lot of ice and show deep edges? If so, it’s probably a level 4.

Me Against You


A/N: I turned 18 today, on the 10th of April, and as a birthday treat, here’s an extra long chapter!! I wanted a date with Tom Holland for my birthday present, but needless to say, I did not get what I wanted. Someone please tell me that he’d love me as much as I loved him if we ever met in this lifetime. 

Warning: Angst, mentions of torture.

Everything happens quickly.

One moment you’re staring up at a wide expanse of blue sky, watching the jet disappear; the next, you’re surrounded by a group of soldiers rushing onto the scene in combat fatigues, pointing their guns at you.

Realization sends you backpedalling, but you run into something solid. You turn, already swinging, and nail one in the chin. He stumbles to the side and would have given you a clear shot to your friends, but three other soldiers take his place.

Before you realize what’s happening, a metal collar is snapped around your neck, sharp electrical pulses shooting through you. Suddenly, you can’t move, can barely breathe. Panic fills you, joining the adrenaline rushing through your veins, and your body isn’t sure how to react. Keep fighting, or shut down.

“W-What are they doing?” You hear Peter ask. You can’t see him, but he sounds scared. Panicked. “That’s a collar. Mr Stark, you said they were only going to talk to her!”

Stop it,” Agent Barton snaps. “That’s a child, not an animal, get that thing off!”

Keep fighting. Definitely keep fighting. The idea of sending your SAT scores to Attica instead of Cambridge is not appealing. You unleash it all with a scream. A plane explodes in a ball of fire, shaking the ground beneath your feet. Screams of terror fill your ears. The shock wave hits everyone within a hundred foot radius, knocking them backwards. You hit the ground hard, and a wave of pain sweeps over you.

“Run!” You try to shout, but only gurgles escape.

And then that familiar voice says your name, taut with pain.


It’s him.

“(Y/n),” Peter tries again.

You slowly lift your head up to stare at him.

He’d known what would happen. He’d done this. He’d betrayed you.

Peter’s scrambled to his feet now, hands outstretched, almost as if he wants to touch you, but can’t quite bring himself to.

With a feral scream, you launch yourself at him. You and Peter slam onto the ground, hard. Volts of electricity shoot through you, sharp and hot and carnivorous. You open your mouth to scream. Peter takes the opportunity to shove you off of him, shooting webs to pin your hands and feet to the ground.

(Y/n),” Peter manages. He sounds closes to tears now, his tone as tormented as his expression. “(Y/n), please, I’m your friend.”

You stare at him, your eye wild and feral-looking, your breath coming quicker and quicker from your parted lips. The pain is crashing over you in waves, the shocks making your muscles twitch and seize painfully, but you manage to raise your head, glaring at Peter with such soul-deep hatred that the blood turns to ice in his veins.

“We were never friends!” Your screams come one after another, scraping along your raw throat without pause. “I have always HATED you!”

For the third time that day, Peter recoils. He goes incredibly still, so still that you notice how his hands are trembling. He’s wearing a mask, but you know that his face is contorted in misery. There’s a quiet whoosh of air, followed by the sharp stab of pain in your arm. You can only stare at the small darts in your shoulder before blackness pulls you under.

“– How is she?” A male is saying. You recognize his voice. It makes you angry. Angry enough to force you out of your deep sleep, the only thing protecting you from feeling the pain in your body.

You blink, looking through eyes glassy from the strain they’ve endured. Tony Stark peers in through the glass window, looking at you as though you are a particularly interesting specimen under a microscope. Dark half-moons ring his eyes, and his arm is in a sling. You can’t find it in you to feel sympathetic for his injuries.

The anger magnifies, giving you strength. Strapped to the cot with metal shackles, you fight for freedom. Snarling like the very animal you might be becoming, you twist and buck, half-crazed eyes staring at him, wishing that you could do so much more than try to kill him with your eyes. All you receive for your trouble is another jolt of electricity. The bed shakes with the force of your shudders, the pain acute, gut-wrenching and soul-zapping. They’re going to kill you. How could they not? After a while, even your skin begins to vibrate and it doesn’t stop when the electricity does. Your bones feel brittle, as if they’re going to break at any second. Your lungs have to be filled with glass rather than air. Every breath is agony.

Tony Stark only looks at you again once your screams have stopped. His head droops. With shame? “The Spiderling wants to see you. You hurt him pretty bad.”

Good,” You snarl, surprised at the sound of your voice. You’ve shouted, but only a whisper can be heard. “Tell him I hate him and that I lied.”

Tony Stark closes his eyes, releasing a heavy breath. “He was doing the right thing.”

You raise your head to stare at him, eyes narrowed to angry slits. “No. He was doing what you asked him to.”

Tony Stark’s mouth opens and closes, and you know he’s searching for a response. When he finds none, he turned on his heel and marches out of the room.

“Good riddance,” Clint mutters.

Scott’s the first to recover, a curious edge to his voice. “What exactly did you lie about?”

You let your head droop back onto the pillow. “Having a good time,” You dead-pan, your eyes flickering up to the ceiling. “We went out a lot.”

Scott’s the first to snort in amusement. Slowly, the others join in, Clint and Sam snickering right along with him. It’s even enough to rouse a weak and rusty-sounding laugh out of Wanda, who’s been silent for the whole week that you’ve been stuck here.

It feels good to laugh. Even for only a moment.

You wake with wet cheeks, and a warm, calloused hand tapping at your face. You hope this doesn’t mean that the doctors are back to draw more of your blood; but the doctors at the Raft would never be that gentle with you.

(Y/n)? (Y/n), can you hear me?” The voice is pained, and you think you hear a muttered curse of, “Damn it, Tony.”

The pain is a constant throb in your head and limbs, you shouldn’t move; it will only make everything worse. Wincing, you crane your head up to see who has called your name. Blinking several times, you focus as hard as you can on the only face you can see. It is contorted with anger. His eyes are the palest blue you’ve ever seen, and remind you of clear summer skies and languorous lagoons. He’s not in the red and blue uniform, but in a plain grey hoodie, a white shirt and a pair of jeans. But you would recognize that face anywhere.

“Captain,” You croak weakly. “How was Russia?”

“Cold,” He answers wryly. “I prefer a warmer climate.”

He kneels, you hear the tinkle of metal being ripped apart, and your hands and legs are free. It’s difficult to move; fatigue has added weight to each of your limbs and your eyelids feel as if they’ve been replaced with sandpaper. Captain America helps you sit up, draping his hoodie over your shoulders.

“The collar now. Okay?” He offers you a calm and steady smile, his eyes warm and kind. “One, two –”

Quick as a flash, he grasps at the collar around your neck. Your fingers dig into your palms, gouging crescent shaped marks into soft flesh. Bracing yourself for an electric shock, you nod tersely, and he breaks it apart with his bare hands. You exhale in relief, smiling faintly and wanly at him.

“We’re getting out of here, (Y/n),” Captain America says, smoothing back soaked and matted hair away from your forehead. “Everyone’s waiting in the jet.”

You’re unable to support your own weight; he has to half-carry, half-drag you for several paces at your insistence that you can walk. When what little strength you have drains out of you, you crumple into a heap on the floor. He gives up the charade of allowing you to walk on your own and unceremoniously lifts you up off the floor and into his arms, as if you weigh nothing more than a feather. Your head lolls against his chest as he carries you out of your cell. An alarm erupts, screeching through the empty room.

“I was mean to him,” You confess groggily, your voice strained. “Very, very mean.”

Him. That kid with the webs?” Captain America bends down, and rips a badge off the neck of an unconscious guard. “The one from Queens?”

“He’s called Peter Parker,” You confirm, tears springing into your eyes. “He’s got the warmest brown eyes, and the nicest brown hair. He’s funny, he’s smart, he’s nice. He always got picked on by Flash Thompson, but Peter never let Flash bully me. He’s – well, was – my best friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Captain America apologises, the pain naked in his voice. “I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in this. Tony shouldn’t have –”

You close your eyes on a pained sigh. “Tony Stark is responsible for many things. But he didn’t make me shove Peter out a window, or into a concrete wall. I did those. Me. I’m a horrible person.”

Captain America uses the badge to open the door to the hallway. The two of you enter a long, narrow, passage that you’re relieved to find is empty. Maybe he’s disabled all the guards already. You can only hope. You’re tired of fighting, of having to use your powers. All you want to do is curl up in a ball and fall asleep.

“Believe me, I’ve seen a lot of horrible people. You’re not one of them.”

It doesn’t make you feel any better. You close your eyes against the pounding in your head. “I said I hated him. I hurt him, really bad. Peter hates me now.” And I don’t blame him.

Down the hall. Around a corner. Another hall, another corner. In the stairwell, your breathing and footsteps echo off the walls. But these are the only sounds. No one is following the two of you. Others will be here soon, though. You’re certain the alarm’s already been reported to Ross, wherever that monster is.

A pained groan slips past your lips as Captain America carries you up, up the steps. As fatigued as you are, as undernourished, as wounded, your trembling seems to magnify with every new inch of ground the two of you gain. He opens the door to the landing pad, and you see the jet you’d helped to hijack sitting right in the middle of it.

It’s dark outside. Frigid air envelopes you, worse because you’re in thin prison clothes, with only a hoodie draped over your skinny frame. The cold sea breeze whips hair around your face, and, you think, slices at your skin. You huddle closer to Captain America, exhaustion glazing your moon-soaked features.

“Hold on,” Captain America says pleadingly, and you hear the worry in his voice as he practically sprints for the jet. “There’s a first aid kit in the jet. You’re going to be fine.”

Sam yanks the door closed as soon as the two of you are on the jet, strapped in and ready to go. Without a hitch, you’re shooting across the dark sky. Bucky turns, sympathy written in his eyes. He’s been through some horrible things, too. Wanda is curled up by Clint’s side, her face gaunt and her eyes closed. Scott’s already asleep, snoring like a jackhammer in the seat by the window.

“What if he hates me?” A sob escapes you, a testament to the still-fraying rope holding back your emotions. It won’t last much longer now. “Peter hates me, I hate me, I’m –”

(Y/n), do you want to know what I think?” Captain America asks kindly, kneeling down to look into your red-rimmed eyes, brimming with tears. He clasps your hands in his. It feels as though you’re holding the full blazing sun in your small palms, his so hot and yours so cold. “I have heard nothing but positives about Peter Parker. If this guy is as good a person as you seem to think he is, then I’m willing to bet he’ll forgive you when you apologize.”

Your chin trembles, a fresh round of tears threatening to fall. You lean forwards, pressing your face into his shoulder, and there is a sudden, hollow silence.


I don’t think I ever shared this process gif I made of my Azura tarot card!
1. VERY basic pencil sketch (oh god)
2. Digital sketch over
3. Lineart
4. God that face is bad, gotta fix it (this took me so long)
5. Flat color
6. Shading
7. Coloring lineart
8. Make the background slightly less boring
9. Slap a texture on it
10. Fix the details i didn’t notice until now (backwards foot, sleeves, shading on the frills).

Wanna start getting back into this, but not in order… so who knows who’ll be next! (i do)
Fire Emblem Tarot tag

Title: Safe
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Word Count: 1,330
Characters: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Reader Gender: Not specified
Warnings: None
Notes: Request from @fandomiteen for “okay, maybe 16 from the prompt list with Daryl? :)) If it’s not too much trouble!! 😆❤ thank you so much! 😍” // I had no idea writing for the love of my life for the first time would be so nerve-wracking. Thank you to the wonderful @skywalkingdixon​ for beta reading this & helping calm my nerves. 💜

Originally posted by onlydarylnormanfic

You had always been the calm, cool, and collected type. You never yelled, and you almost never spoke your mind. However, there was something about the undead constantly trying to kill you that made it a little hard to stay that way. It was especially difficult when things went wrong, resulting in you and those you care about being put in danger. And that was exactly what had happened today.

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You and Peter Parker have been best friends since the 7th grade. Now you guys were in your twenties and roommates. And he didn’t know you’ve been a SHIELD agent for a long while. Your mom had been a SHIELD agent all your life, so they were familiar with you. She was MIA when you were 11. She was then pronounced dead a few months later. An agent took you in and you moved to Queens for 7th grade. And there you stayed. You and Peter had some things in common that a lot of other kids just couldn’t relate to.

Years later and you and him found yourselves sitting at the kitchen table of your two-bed-one-bath apartment. It was very peaceful in the morning. You two just talked and ate your breakfast. But this day was going to be a bit more interesting than others.


Masked men kicked in your 5th floor windows and flew in your home. Your SHIELD instincts kicked in and you immediately stood up and kicked your chair back at one of the soldiers. Another man charged at you, so you grabbed your cup of tea and smashed it over his head.

Peter was fighting, too. You had no idea where he learned to do that. But there was no time to find out how your roommate could throw a punch. Your place was being invaded by anonymous armed men.

Your cache was tucked under your bed, all the way on the other side of the apartment. Guess it was time to improvise. You ran to your kitchen cabinet and pulled out two mugs (that you made sure weren’t Peter’s). You quickly smashed them both on the corner of the counter, creating makeshift brass knuckles. Just as you did this, an assailant ran up behind you and you immediately swung your fist at them, knocking them to the ground instantly. Your ceramic-knuckles didn’t last long, though. They shattered and you were back to square one.

Peter was still kicking and swinging at the attackers in the living room. He had 3 left and you had 4. They kept piling it but this looked like the last of them. You kicked one in the stomach and kneed another in the crotch, swung at him, backed your elbow into another and they all lost their balance when you leg-swept them. You quickly knocked them out before they could get back up. Seconds after you took care of the last of your batch of enemies. After he made sure they were out, you both stared at each other and at the same time, you both said:

“How did you–”


“You just–”

And then you both stopped your stuttering and you both asked each other the same question.

“Who are you?”

You both stopped and looked down at the supposedly unconscious bodies laid across the floor.

“Um, (Y/N)?” Peter started. “I-I’m kind of a superhero.” He managed to get out. You raised both of your eyebrows.

“‘Kind of?’ What do you mean by that? Are you or not?” You spewed your questions out.

“Hey, no more questions until you tell me who you are!” He yelled. You looked at him with what he called your “Stare of Death,” and then put your hand on your hips. You rolled your eyes and sighed.

“I’m a SHIELD agent.” you answered. He looked at you with wide eyes.

“Like The Avengers SHIELD?!” he blurted. You gave him the stare of death again.

“First of all, shush. And second, yes. Now answer my question.” you spoke. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to spill it.

“I-I-I’m Spider-Man.” he told you. You looked as surprised as ever. But you stopped looking surprised and started looking concerned. “(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” he asked.

“If we’re both major targets, then who did these guys come for?” you questioned while motioning towards the bodies. He contemplated his answer, but then just shrugged. “This place isn’t safe anymore. Where else can we stay?” you asked.

“May’s?” he replied in the form of a questioned. You nodded and ran out the door while he followed.

You and him burst into his Aunt May’s apartment. She was like your aunt, too. She took care of you after your mom passed and the SHIELD agents couldn’t look after you.

“Oh, hey guys!” She greeted.

“Hi Aunt May!”

“Hey Aunt May!” you both said as you sprinted to Peter’s old room. You both sat on his bed and tried to put together what just happened in the past hour. Both of your thoughts were interrupted by a loud “DING” from a timer.

“You guys are just in time for cookies!” Aunt May told you both. You looked at Peter and he answered Aunt May.

“We’ll be right out!” he shouted back. You kicked your foot backwards and hit something under the bed. When you went to check, you discovered your old skateboard. You were just about to pick it back up when Peter stopped you.

“(Y/N),” he interrupted your reunion with the skateboard. “We need to figure out who they were after. You can go through your old stuff later.” You frowned and looked down at the skateboard and see an old Batman sticker you put on there as a kid before kicking it back under the bed.

“Okay, let me call Maria.” you suggested. He tilted his head.

“Hill?” he asked. You looked at him with an exhausted expression. His “Spidey-Senses” probably sensed that you were about to say something sarcastic, so he walked into the kitchen to get a cookie. You dialed the number and waited for an answer.

“(Y/N)!” Maria exclaimed into the phone. Her joy turned to seriousness quickly once you told her what was going on. “I’m sending 3 agents your way. Clancy, Ramirez, and Kyle.” she told you. “You rendevous at your apartment in 20.”

You left Peter’s old room and were immediately met a cookie.

“So what did she say?” Peter said with a mouthful of cookies. You rolled your eyes and went to grab a cookie.

“We gotta leave in a few minutes. Some people are on their way.” you answered. You quickly finished your cookie and ran out the door. “Bye Aunt May! Love you!” you shouted as you ran out the door. She let out a small chuckle and shook her head.

“Love you, too.” she said.

You and Peter got to your apartment as soon as the agents came.

“(L/N), Parker.” They greeted.

“Ramirez, Kyle, Clancy.” you all walked into the apartment with your weapons aimed. Surprisingly, they were still on the floor.

“C’mon,” you said. “Let’s see if they have any emblems or ID’s for their organization. Surely someone hired them.”

After a few minutes of searching, Peter picked something up.

“Uh, guys. I think I found something.” he said as he studied the article.

“What is it?” you asked.

“It’s an red octopus with a skull.” he answered. Your eyes widened and the 3 agents looked at you. “What?” Peter asked.

“They’re after you (Y/N).” One agent stated.

“They could’ve been after both of us.” you suggested.

“Peter’s never actually interfered with HYDRA. They don’t even know who he is.” Clancy told you.

“They could’ve figur–” you were cut off by Peter.

“(Y/N), they weren’t running towards me. All of them were trying to get to you. They obviously had no interest in me. I was just trying to protect you.” You pushed your hair back and exhaled.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” You asked. He shrugged. “And why would they be after me right now?” You turned to the SHIELD agents. They all shrugged. “You guys are no help.”

“Well, your mom was a huge threat to them. There were 53 confirmed missions that were successful on our part.” Ramirez informed you.

“Okay, but I’m not my mom. She didn’t tell anyone but Fury and Maria that I existed.” You argued.

“Well, your records got added to SHIELD’s database after you joined. Do you remember when Agent Romanoff leaked SHIELD’s info?” You nodded. “Well, that’s probably why they see you as a threat now.” you groaned.

“Well, what do we do now?” Peter asked.

“You and (Y/N) aren’t doing anything. If anything happens to (Y/N), Fury and Hill will have our heads. You have to watch them and make sure they don’t do anything stupid.” Kyle said.

“Hey! Who said I’d do anything stupid?” you shouted.

“We’ve known you for 13 years, (Y/N). You’ve done some stupid things. Now get your stuff and go somewhere until it’s safe.” Everyone nodded. You went to your room and picked up a few guns (just in case) and some clothes. Peter got his stuff and took a few movies because he knew how boring it would be with Aunt May. Her place was the only place you could go.

You got to May’s and she was delighted to have you two live with her again, though, it was only temporary.

You finally found your old stuff and got a chance to look through it. There wasn’t anything else to do, so you basically just chilled. And then there was Star Wars and arguing because Peter keeps messing with you and calling AT-AT’s “walking thingies.”

-Lizzie (GIF button isn’t working so pretend there’s a gif of Tom Holland spidey.)

Tag List: @babiijayla @emmcfrxst

Title: Lang Love Interest (Daughter of Scott Lang! Reader x Peter Parker)

Summary: Full of resent for her father after moving; the reader is ready for everything about their new place to suck. Except, it doesn’t.

Word Count: 1664

Warnings: Teenage awkwardness :-)

A/N: I WANT TO WRITE A PART TWO ALREADY! Let me know if that’s something you’d want :)This was such a fun request, you guys. It also definitely helped me get out of the slump I felt like I was in. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!!!




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You Are The Wilderness: Part 1

Originally posted by groundersgifs

Summary: You’re a Farm Station resident with a strong aversion to grounders. When you cross paths with Roan, will the Ice Nation Prince reinforce or change the negative perception that you’ve placed upon him? (Part 2)(Part 3)

You remembered the space station violently shaking and vigorously rattling as it made its descent to Earth. You heard the metal components breaking apart and saw the terrified expressions of the other Farm Station residents as you clutched onto your safety belt for dear life. You desperately hoped that the spacecraft would hold together long enough to complete your journey to the ground. You clenched your eyes shut, preparing for the hard impact of landing, and when you opened them again, you were thankful to find yourself alive.

You and the other citizens from your home station survived the tough and terrifying journey to Earth. There were breaths of relief and cries of elation reverberating off of what was left of the damaged metal walls.

When the front doors peeled opened, mouths gaped and gasps of awe escaped lips, seeing that the space station had landed in the snow. Real snow, you saw real snow for the very first time, majestically coating the hills like a glittering white blanket. It was freezing but it was beautiful, magical even.

The kids were celebrating. They ran out into the fresh icy powder and played, tossing snowballs and stretching out their tiny limbs to create precious snow angels. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, seeing their innocence and their happiness. It was a joyous occasion, a wonderful time to be alive and experience the ground.

Then they came…

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A Fluffy Little Beast

Pairing: Brock Lesnar X OC/Reader

Word Count: 2,428

Contains: Fluff! I think. A new pet shop opened across the hall from OC’s workplace, and she absolutely has to drag boyfriend Brock in to see the animals. No smut! This was the result of me struggling to figure out how to write fluff, so I hope it’s okay - special thanks to @omgmissmillie and @macfizzle for helping me out with planning this <3

Originally posted by totaldivasepisodes

The mall was busy and bustling with people, but I hardly noticed it. Scrolling through my Facebook feed while lounging on a bench, I was waiting for my boyfriend Brock Lesnar to arrive to pick me up from work. I’d been working at the mall’s bookstore since high school, and now that I was a manager, there was a part of me that suspected I’d never leave. The fact that my boyfriend was a professional athlete who made lots of money definitely helped, since I could work for fun instead of working because I was desperate to pay bills.

A few times while waiting, my eyes had wandered upwards from my phone. A new shop had opened up across the hall from mine today, a pet shop with a large, colourful bird in the window. He tended to squawk at the passing people, and a few of my own customers had mentioned how cute the animals were over there. My curiosity was just beginning to peak when I saw Brock approaching, and I leapt up from my seat on the bench.

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