he is ready for shipping

anonymous asked:

I had a dream last night about pre-war Bucky and he was getting ready to ship out so he was in his army uniform but he had an Australian accent! I don't even like the Australian accent and it was still the most amazing thing ever!

You don’t like my accent? *gasp*

Pavlovian Boner

Characters: Bones x Reader

A/N: based on the conversations started by @bkwrm523 and @medicatemedrmccoy about how “Lee” prompts an unwanted boner.  Sorry it’s a little short, but i can definitely do a sequel… ;) enjoy babes

Warnings: it’s all sexual references and boners


tags: @annalisehartmann @outside-the-government @yourtropegirl

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One of the new favourite times of the day since Rosie is older is bath time. She still has to use her own special tub but her eyes light up when John or Sherlock mention it’s bath time.  She babbles and claps her hand and Sherlock almost always beats John to the announcement because he loves bath time just as much as Rosie.  

It’s not to say that John doesn’t help.  He gets the tub ready while Sherlock is readying Rosie and lying out her romper for after bath time.  Meanwhile John runs the water to the perfect temperature and gets all her favourite toys ready - her pirate ship, fish, whale and octopus.  He puts the tear free soap nearby along with the flannel and the towel he sets on the basin. He also places the jug within reach to rinse her hair after its washed.  By the time he’s finished setting up, Sherlock and Rosie arrive back downstairs ready to begin their adventure.

First Sherlock checks the water even though he knows the temperature is adequate and then he gently places her in her own little tub. She giggles and splashes the water and John stands by the door way and watches.  He’s so enamoured by the way Sherlock cares for his - no their - daughter that he doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful in the world.

Sherlock meanwhile plays with the pirate ship with Rosie while takes the whale and splashes water everywhere including all over his shirt, but that doesn’t matter. She babbles about their battle, and just before the water cools too much Sherlock hands her the pirate ship and picks up the flannel and the soap and begins to wash her ten little toes, chubby little legs, her tummy and arms and ten little fingers, then back and neck and when he does her hair he extra careful not to get any in her eyes even though it is tear free.

After Rosie is nice and clean, Sherlock hands her off to John who is waiting with the towel and ready to rush her up the stairs to dry her off and dress her in her romper and get her ready for bed. 

Meanwhile, Sherlock empties the tub and cleans off the toys and the tub and dries everything off and puts them in their places.  He then pads out to the kitchen and readies Rosie bottle so it all John has to do is feed her when he comes down stairs and just like clockwork, John is standing by his side reaching for the prepared bottle and commenting on how soaked Sherlock is.

“It was worth it.” He smiles, “I’m going to go change, back in a moment.”

“And here I was hoping I could help.” John winks at him.

“You get Rosie to bed and you can help me undress while I help you do the same.”


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It Wasn’t

I have no idea where this came from… I don’t normally write in this fandom, but there is something about the interactions between Luke Alvaez and Penelope Garcia, that make me super happy.

You can read it below or on AO3: here

It wasn’t his hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort when her heart was breaking over her un-biological, genius baby brother being led away in handcuffs. It truly wasn’t the little one liners that he started quipping back to battle her on-point, over-the-phone sass. It mostly wasn’t his beautiful dog, Roxy, who was literally one of the sweetest things in the world. It definitely wasn’t his overly-warm hand holding hers, as he helped her step down off the curb on that awful car-hacking case. It undeniably wasn’t him buying that cat for her after he caught her crying before Vermont.

It may have been the first time her favorite coffee had just been sitting on her desk when she was late to her office because a meeting with the tech from counter-terrorism ran long. It might have been the trip home from the bar, when he walked her to her door, instead of waving goodbye from their Uber. It could have been her calming him down from the nightmare that he was trapped in, when they were sitting together on the plane and she gripped his hand. It would have been reasonable for it to have been the time he called her ‘the beautiful tech girl,’ to a detective when he thought he’d already hung-up the phone.

There were a million things that didn’t make Penelope Garcia think about Luke Alvez in any sense, let alone a romantic one. She was happy being single, again. She certainly didn’t dream about him or his hands and other things in intimate places.  She certainly didn’t need any romantic complications. She didn’t feel his gaze on her or notice the little trinkets that seemed to show up after each case that took the team out of town. She was perfectly happy alone.

They often rode the elevator together. He was new and his paperwork always seemed to take him forever. It was pure coincidence that he’d appear next to her as she was waiting to go home at the end of the night. She’d only gotten a bite to eat with him the one time, to be polite, and he had semi-entertaining stories, which had kept her out until almost 2 in the morning. She had only hugged him the other day, because she hugged everyone else and it would have been incredibly mean to leave him out. She hadn’t even noticed how warm he was when they embraced and the weird thing her heart did was likely excess joy from Reid finally coming home.

So she stood waiting at the elevator, with her phone chirping out tweets about her favorite shows and ships, as he walked up to her and bumped her with his hip.

“Hey you.” He was unequivocally not staring at her lips, which were painted a red shade that she hadn’t picked out with him in mind.

“Hey.” She stepped onto the elevator with him and the doors closed, leaving them alone in the small space. “So this was a bad one. Tech people getting killed for doing their jobs, hits kinda close to home. I mean not that I’d ever have to worry about something like that happening to me. Expect this one time I was investing things and I did get shot by this crazy cop, I have this awful scar on my chest. Not that you’re ever going to see my chest. And I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Maybe it got to me a…”

Suddenly his hands were on her face and he had her pinned to the wall of the elevator, completely crowding into her space. She had this fleeting thought about how there were cameras in this elevator, but then his thumbs brushed over her cheeks. His feather-light touches were somewhere between asking permission for what was coming next and making sure she was alright and she nodded ever so slightly. His lips were as nimble as the rest of him, taking three effortless kisses from her, almost giving her no chance to respond. He suddenly pulled away, leaving her annoyingly achy for his warmth. He straightened up as the elevator doors opened to the garage.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Penny. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“For your information tomorrow is Saturday.” Her heels clacked on the concrete as she caught up with him, catching his hand in hers. “Also no one calls me Penny. You owe me a drink for that, Luke.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Ugh. Don’t ‘ma’am’ me that’s even worse.”

No, none of the things he did or said made her heart flip or flutter. And she certainly wasn’t falling in love with the man, who was holding her car door for her and kissing her forehead. She absolutely wasn’t agreeing to his whispered suggestion that a margarita at his house would be cheaper and that Roxy was better company than barflies.

And there was no way she was smiling about him calling her Penny or thinking about kissing him again.


I have nothing to say or myself. Hope you all enjoyed it. Love to my Loves!

I finally got Henry in FE Heroes so this trash family is all back together again! :’’D

(bonus super quick stuff under the cut)

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|The Story of Last Night | Lafayette

So I was listening to The Story of Tonight Reprise and the idea of drunk Lafayette is literally everything to me right now.

I may not live to see our glory!” 

You rose an eyebrow at the chorus of voices that hit your ears as you entered the bar, and sighed when you recognized the faces. 

Not again, You purposefully maneuvered away from them, going by the counter. Its not that you didn’t like the four idiots, you did, but it was just that you had no time nor patience to deal with them at the moment. The whole reason you had skipped the reception in the first place, was because you had found yourself becoming quickly overwhelmed. 

Even among-st girls, Angelica sure knew how to party. 

You chuckled nervously at the memory of the flamboyant Schuyler (and Eliza who surprisingly got quite frisky the moment she got even a little alcohol in her system).

So yeah, it wasn’t a good idea to let them see you. Especially since it looked like they were dead ass drunk. They were bad enough normally, you didn’t even want to try to handle them while they were off their rocker.

“The usual?”

You lifted your head to peer at the bartender, who had a warm smile. You nodded, and the man blinked at your weary state. 

“Rough night?” He asked. You looked not too subtly in the way of the notorious gang, and he gave you an expression of empathy. “Ah, I see.”

“Hamilton’s hitched,” you clarified. The bartender snickered.

“I know. The whole place does,” He said, returning with your drink. You shrugged laughing along with him and taking a tentative sip before deciding to just chug the whole thing down.

Right when you were contemplating getting another round and joining the party of intoxicated laid-backs, a hand tapped your shoulder. You turned to see the face of none other than Hercules Mulligan himself.

“Y/L/N” He started, scratching the back of his neck with a crooked white smile. He looked to be still tipsy, but way more cognitive than he had been when you spotted the quartet earlier. 

“Please, Mulligan, you can call me Y/N,” You returned the smile, giving him your full attention. 

“Well then, right back at you, Y/N.”

“As you say, Hercules,” You taunted back. He chuckled deeply.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I require your assistance,” He began. You gave him a look of confusion, and he gestured to his arm. 

When you looked properly, you saw that he was practically carrying Lafayette  like he weighed a bag of feathers. While Hercules had regained his wits, the french man clearly had not, and was still properly bamboozled. 

“Monsieur Lafayette cannot hold his liquor?” You questioned in amusement. Hercules shared your sentiment.

“On the contrary, he is actually quite impressive in that regard. But alas, he had way more than any of us.”

You grinned but it wavered when you saw his suggestive gaze. “Wait…what exactly are you asking me to do here?”



“Please Y/N?” He couldn’t restrain his laugh. “John ran off somewhere, and I need to track him down so that he doesn’t jump in the lake.”

“Why can’t Hamilton do it?” You stalled. 

“Hamilton went off somewhere with Burr,” Hercules confirmed. You opened your mouth to make another excuse but a look from the tall man had you shutting up.

You groaned, putting your palm to your face. “I’m going to regret this.”

“Thank you Y/N,” Hercules was more than willing to hand over the drunk man to you, and you nearly fell over to hold him up. 

“You’re-” You barely started but he was already out the doors. “…welcome.”

You huffed, focusing now on the immigrant nearly drooling on your shoulder.

“Lets go,” You shook him slightly, enough to get him able to walk with you as you hung his arm around your neck.

“Hmm..?” He asked drowsily, a rumble vibrating through his chest and straight through you. “Where…?”

His voice was hoarse from the recent wake up and you would vehemently deny that it had goosebumps rising up your arms. 

“Home,” You said, absentmindedly watching the stars as the two of you hobbled down the empty street. 

“Home…?” He repeated. “You…would have a…ship at the ready?”

You snorted. Even completely wasted, he didn’t fail to have you in fits of laughter. 

“Not France, Lafayette,” You mused. “Though I think I would like to visit.”

“Anytime…” He opened his eyes blearily, seeming to want to see you. When he saw your face he seemed a bit surprised, but got over it. “Y/N…”

Your name rolling off his lips made you weirdly content. 

“You would escort me, Monsieur?” You were enjoying somewhat flirting with the man, knowing he wouldn’t remember a single word. 

“Anything for you,” He responded. You paused. That sounded a little too sincere. You peeked a glance to see if he had cleared his mind from the alcoholic fog, but his face was still flushed. Guess not.

“Its a date then,” You said. 

“Date…? Yes…a date,” He murmured by your ear, breath washing over you, a distinct smell of sweet whiskey. You were already getting flustered by the proximity, but when his lips pressed to your neck you lost your crap.

“What are you doing?” The words were rushed, your voice a pitch higher. 

“Tu es si belle.”


“Vous frappez, madame. Restez avec moi.”


The only thing that followed was a babble of french that you in no way could translate. The sultry flow of the romantic language by your ear was again getting too much for you. You were sure your face would burn off in no time.


That seemed to knock him out of his daze, but he still continued to speak in French, with a few random English words in-between. You suddenly noticed the confused expression set on his face and realized he quite seriously couldn’t remember the language at the moment in his state.

How adorable.

You let him off the hook for the intrusion of your personal space just because of that, and giggled quietly to yourself as you walked up to his door. 

You fished around in his coat for his keys, and gave a small ‘aha’ when you found them in an inner pocket. The door clicked open.

“Here we are,” You said. A strike of sympathy struck within you with another look at Lafayette’s disheveled state. 

It wouldn’t kill you to bring him to his room would it? You took the small journey with a pep in your step.

“Time to go to bed, Lafayette,” You spoke to him as if he was a child, patting his shoulder. He hummed.


You made to let him go but stopped breathing when the roles changed as he clamped his arms around your waist and dragged you down to the mattress with him.

“MMpH..!” You thrashed, face pressed into his chest, your bodies practically glued together. A heat ravaged your cheeks when you registered this, his toned body outlined underneath his clothes, the scruff on his jaw brushing against your cheek. You finally managed to disconnect from him enough to speak. 

“Let go!” You whispered harshly. Lafayette stirred, opening his eyes. The two of you stared at each other before an odd glint entered Lafayette’s chocolate eyes. 

“Laf-” You started.



“Stay,” He said shortly, more of a question than a demand. His eyes looked too clear, too soft for someone who was drunk.

You got lost in his gaze, your faces so close now that you could count every brown eyelash, the curls escaping his ponytail, framing his captivating features. 

Everything was shouting at you to say no, to get the hell out of there, but then his lip quirked upward and you were melting.


His head buried in your neck, your legs intertwined as the soft sounds of his breathing filled the quiet air.

And the dull beat of his heart lulled you to join him in the land of the subconscious not long after.


You frowned at the noise, wondering who had the heart of stone to do this to you so early in the morning. Opening your eyes, you watched Lafayette in blurry perplexity until the memories of the night before came back to you and just sighed, rolling back over.

“Go back to sleep, Lafayette.”

“Back to-?!” He was utterly befuddled, wincing at the sound of his own voice, nursing a hangover. Another round of french escaped his lips before he caught himself.  “Mon cher, what are you doing in my bed??!!”

“So you don’t remember last night?” You mulled, taking great satisfaction in making him freak out even more.

“Last night?!!” He sputtered, a complete mess of ruffled clothes, bed hair and tangled sheets. “What did I - did we - how did-”

You snuggled into the warm sheets, snickering. “Don’t worry, we didn’t do anything.”

A breath of relief left his lungs. “Oh merci bien.”

You hummed casually. “I mean, you haven’t even taken me on that date to France yet.”

You swear you had no idea the male human voice could go that high before. “Date??”

A thump alerted you to the fact that he had fallen out of the bed and onto the floor. 

You yawned, raising your hand limply above your head to point at the ceiling. Where to start? 

“I’ll tell the story of last night…”


Guys, I think I know why Keith sleeps with his belt, boots, and other gear on (Or at least, if we assume that he does; as evidenced at the beginning of Episode 2).

I was curious to see what kind of place Keith lived in when he was out in the desert, so I went back to Episode 1 to take a look at his room in closer detail.

But then something interesting caught my eye.

That couch has a sheet on it. 

Of course, it could just been a regular old prop put there by the animators to brighten up the scene, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that’s where Keith has been sleeping for his time as a hermit.

Sleeping there must not be all that comfortable, especially with boots and a belt on, but I was thinking, maybe Keith felt insecure and/or unsafe resting out in the middle of nowhere in a run down shack (I know I would be). Sleeping is one of the most vulnerable state you can find someone in. If anything happened, he’d want to be ready to flee or defend himself, especially since Keith is all by his lonesome. That’s why he sleeps with all his gear on. So he could be ready for anything.

Even though he moved to the castle-ship, he still slept with his gear on out of habit. Poor guy D:

P.S. I think this is Keith’s lunch.


There is so much symbolism hidden all throughout Treasure Planet, but it would take me years to uncover and explain it all, so I’m just going to focus on my beautiful baby boy and husband, Jim Hawkins. There is so much symbolism in Jim’s face and clothes, that once you’ve seen it, it’s frankly quite hard to ignore. 

In the beginning of the movie, Jim’s clothes are dark. Dark pants, dark boots, dark jacket, even darker black shirt. Dark dark dark. The darkness of his clothes symbolizes the internalized hopelessness he has, and the despondency that he emanates. After all, black is the color of mourning (unless you’re on Altea, then it’s pink) and Jim is still mourning the fact that his father left him and his mother when he was twelve. Now, let’s talk about his face. Do you see that shadowy eye mask? How about those bags that look kinda like scars? No, he doesn’t just have deep set eyes. Those are there to intensify the hopelessness of Jim’s outlook on his future. pretty deep, right? Just wait. It gets deeper. 

Take a better look here. Dark clothes, dark eyes, dark outlook. Hopelessness. 

Then, our buddy Jimbo here gets the map. The map is supposed to symbolize a sort of hope for Jim, something he had previously been lacking. Now, look at this next gif.

A glimmer of hope has entered Jim’s life with this odd little sphere, and Jim is ready to jump into the first ship he can and said across the galaxy, chasing his favorite fairy tale. (Damn, that’s a real dreamer there. I applaud you, honey.)

In the next scene we see him in, his clothes are a little different. 

He still wears the dark jacket, dark pants, and dark boots, but notice something: his black shirt is gone, replaced with one of a lighter color. This is SO IMPORTANT because it shows something that you might have missed if you weren’t overanalyzing the crap out of it like I am omg I have no life. He is wearing a lighter color, which symbolizes how he now has a little bit of hope to hold to now. However, he still wears the black jacket, which is supposed to show that he is still trying to hide this hope with his sullen exterior. 

Now, look! Jim’s jacket is gone! This is supposed to show that even after everything he’s been put through on this voyage, he now has hope. That hope was originally the map, but soon became Silver. 

I mean just look at the look he gives Silver when the cook cheers him up. My depression: cured. My skin: clear. My heart: full. 

Now, onto my next point. 

In the last scene of Treasure Planet, Jim has a haircut, and he’s wearing white. The haircut symbolizes that he took initiative to take care of himself. The white clothing is symbolic of a few things. White often denotes purity, cleanliness, and the most important of all, new birth or rebirth. At the end of the movie, Jim is essentially “reborn” into a new person, into a man who found his hope and future, instead of a boy haunted by his dark emotional state. Now, remember how I mentioned those eye bags and shadow mask? Notice here that they’re gone. This symbolizes the fact that Jim no longer is weighed down by his emotions. No, he sees he has a future, and has internalized hope. He looks forward to the brightness of his future instead of back into the darkness of his past. 

That’s it. Class dismissed.

*mic drop*