need the next one though


I’m such a sucker for uncle Lance;;

[part 1] [part 2] [part 4]

medaloop  asked:

And here I am.... *looks at the chapter count of One Life For Them All* .... Waiting... Hoping...

me too.

Introducing a very good concept: Ezra with curly hair. Dave? Take notes

Priya, empress of India and Iowa and all the space in between, and her entourage

anonymous asked:

Platonic hug between Keith and Pidge? Maybe Pidge needs comforting after an anxiety attack or a battle and Keith helps her. Love your work, thank you!

I definitely remembered this wrong and did during an anxiety attack?  Anyway, two hugs for the price of one!  Awkward sidehug AND long-lasting hold-a-person hug!

They all knew Pidge took it rough when they encountered Galra slaves and her father wasn’t among them, but usually Shiro went to talk to her afterward, so Keith hadn’t thought about it much.  He hadn’t felt like he had a right to talk to her about it, anyway, not since that time he told her her family wasn’t more important than the whole universe.  That had been a bad play, and while he’d realized that at the time based on how the others had reacted, it hadn’t really sunk in until the Blades’ test.

He almost went and got Shiro, now.  But Pidge wasn’t just crying, she was shaking, so hard he could see it from the door to Green’s hangar.  That seemed like a whole different kind of bad, and he wasn’t sure getting Shiro was the right thing.  He tentatively stepped into the room, but she was too wrapped up in her head to notice, and he suddenly knew he’d made the right choice.

“Hey, Pidge, are you ok?” he asked.

Pidge looked up at him from where she was sitting against the wall, eyes wide.  Her face was flushed and her breathing was a little fast, like she’d been running.  She shook her head, frantically, and his mouth went dry.  No.  She wasn’t.  Of course she wasn’t.

He walked over her, searching for more words and not finding any.  Finally, he slid down the wall to sit next to her, laying an arm tentatively around her shoulders.  She reached up with the hand next to him and grabbed at his shirt.  "I can’t breathe,“ she said.  "I can’t breathe.  I’m gonna pass out.  I’m gonna die.”

“You’re not gonna die,” he said, tightening the arm around her a little.  "I promise.  I won’t let you.“

"I can’t breathe.”

“You can breathe.  You’re talking, and you can’t talk without breathing.”  As soon as he said it, he knew it was wrong.  It was too logical.  Not the kind of thing you said to someone when they were upset.  But then -

“Oh.  Yeah.  Then why am I dizzy?”

“You’re maybe breathing too fast.  That’s not good, either.”

“I think something’s crushing my chest.”

He blushed a little as he stared down at her, looking just long enough that she would know he’d checked, but trying not to stare too long.  "I’m pretty sure it’s not.  You look ok.  Normal clothes and all.“

"I think I’m dying.  Is my heart supposed to be going this fast?”

He checked her pulse, feeling the wrist of the hand that was tangled in his shirt.  "No.  But I think it’ll slow down if you can just breathe more deeply.“

”‘Just breathe more deeply’“ she parroted back sarcastically.  The flush that had been across her face when he walked up was gone, replaced by an eerie paleness.

Keith bit his lip, then moved on impulse, pulling her almost all the way into his lap so that her side was snuggled up against his chest, his arm still around her shoulders.  "Look, just lean into me and breathe when I do, ok?  We can do it together.”

He could feel her trying to take slower, deeper breaths, but when he reached for her wrist again, her heart was still racing.  She let go of his shirt, rearranging herself to recline more fully against his chest, and he kept one arm wrapped around her and the other hand on her wrist, feeling her pulse.

Her breaths gradually slowed and eased, and her heartbeat got steadier and more normal.  He felt a knot of tension relaxing in his stomach and half wondered if Pidge could tell.  He figured probably not, given how freaked out she still was.

Finally, Pidge relaxed completely, sagging into him and leaning her head back against his chest.  "I’m such a mess,“ she said.

Keith shrugged. "I think we all are, sometimes.  I used to sleep with my shoes on, in case we got attacked.”

“That seems like a rational response to being Voltron.”

“I used to sleep with my shoes on when I lived by myself.”

“Maybe less rational.”

Keith figured he probably should move.  But Pidge seemed content to stay here, and she’d always been kind of huggy with Shiro sometimes, and maybe she still needed this, so he stayed put, trying not to move too much so that he didn’t ruin her fragile new calm.

“Anyway, thanks, Keith.” Pidge said after a moment.  "For … whatever.“  She leaned forward, starting to get up, and Keith tried not to show how much of a relief that was as he scrambled to his feet behind her.

Before he could figure out what to say, she’d turned a bright smile on him and added, "You’re pretty great, you know that?”

He panicked.  "You’re pretty … sweaty.“

Pidge laughed.  "I take it back.  You’re a jerk.  But thanks anyway.  I mean it.”

Keith blushed, looking down at his feet.  "No problem.“

She didn’t say anything when he grabbed the socket wrench he’d come in here to borrow in the first place and then bolted, but later he overheard her telling Shiro that she was ok and he’d been "a big help,” and he could let himself feel proud, just for a minute, that he’d done something right.

Like @jenba, I am working on some community lots too. I just can’t seem to come up with good designs for the small lots close to the wharf, so have settle on repurposing them. I would love to change one to a vet so its close to the town centre which makes more sense to me. But anyway i spent all of yesterday recolouring all the C+D sidings (44 colours I used for my other siding) and this red just looks so nice ♥♥♥

Still need to come up with a building design to sit next to this one though, and decide what to do at the back. 


Part 6 of my Nouis Whatsapp verse, in which Louis has had ever so slightly too much to drink. ^_^

Next part will be regular prose and about them finally seeing each other again.

Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5.

Baby Niall saw a butterfly!

Affumicata Pizza (white pizza, mozzarella, smoked salmon, arugula, pomodorini, stracchino) from Via Napoli Ristorante e Pizzeria located in Epcot’s Italy Pavilion.

Title: Show and Tell
: The Walking Dead
Pairing: Rick Grimes/Michonne
Rating: M
Summary: Aaron volunteers to join Rick and Michonne on their next scavenging trip and, despite his good intentions and their best efforts, they’re both far from pleased.
Author’s Note: Here goes my first foray into the Richonne fandom—I can only hope I did the fabulous pairing justice!

Spoilers for 7x12.



“I could’ve gone a couple more days. I would have liked that,” Rick had said.

And, if she’s honest with herself, she would have to.

If she’s honest with herself (and she has no reason not to be at this stage), she doesn’t think she’s had what she has with Rick with anyone else. Mike came close during the good days, she thinks, but it didn’t stick.

When things fell apart, Mike fell apart with them, and there was no bringing him back—not for anything or anyone.

That’s not to say that Rick hasn’t had his fall from grace, more than once by all accounts; but he always came back (to Carl and Judith, to the group, to her).

The time they spent on the road, alone, together, only served to cement her belief that this was it for the both of them. The things he said, the things they did—it was what she wanted that, again and again and again.

And so, when Aaron volunteers to join them on their next scavenging trip, Michonne’s heart drops in a way that doesn’t quite surprise her.

It makes sense that he’d want to come, makes sense that they seek they increase their numbers on these runs because, as capable as the two of them are, there are a myriad of things that can go wrong without another pair of eyes.

But, there’s so much more that can go right when it’s just the two of them.

It takes her mere seconds to see that Rick feels the same way.

He’s quiet throughout the day, supplying her with little more than small smiles and short answers when prompted with questions, clearly lost in thoughts she isn’t privy to just yet.

It isn’t until she’s put Judith to sleep and joined him in the kitchen that she’s finally awarded with the clarity she’s craving.

He has two of the ready-to-eat meals they found laid out with a single candle between them, an arrangement that pulls something at the pit of her stomach. Who would have guessed that Rick Grimes was a romantic of the highest caliber after all?

“We really hit the jackpot that day, didn’t we?” She smiles, seeking to lighten the mood before prying.

“Yeah, we did,” he says.

In more ways than one, she thinks, but does not say.

“Aaron wants to join us, one our next run,” he says after a few moments of silence.

She stops chewing almost instantly, and looks up to find him watching her. She wonders if he can see the enormous pit that just landed in her stomach, the disappointment that settles into the back of her throat.

“What did you tell him?” She asks with a casualness that she does not feel.

“What could I tell him?”

And he’s right, he is. How were they to turn away help they so desperately needed?

“Well, the more, the merrier, right?”

“No,” he simply states.


“I know, I know. I’m being selfish,” he shakes his head, and her palm finds its way to his cheek before her mind directs it. “It’s just… it was good. Just the two of us, doing our thang out there. I liked that.”

“I did too,” she admits.

They’re silent for a few moments, his head bowed in what she knows is a keen disappointment.

Suddenly, before she spares a thought for what she’s doing, she leans closer to him, close enough that she can bring her lips right against his ear.

“You know what else I like?” She whispers, her lips brushing against the lobe in a way that draws a deep sigh from him.

“What?” He asks without turning to her, eyes closed and breathing heavy as she buries her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck (the way she knows he likes).

“This,” she tilts her head to the side, and presses her lips over his own, an invitation he’s clearly been waiting for if the way he instantly deepens the kiss is any indication.

They stay like that for a while, exploring each other in the leisurely way she’s grown to love until he pulls back, forehead resting against hers while his hands cup her face as if it’s the most precious thing that’s ever stood between them.

“What else–what else do you like?” He pants, and she can already feel herself growing wet.

She spares a brief thought for the fact that Carl isn’t home, and can potentially walk in on them any minute, before throwing caution to the wind.

She cups him though his jeans, and it’s obvious that she isn’t the only one who’s getting worked up. His constant hunger for her is another thing her body is still adjusting to, the intensity of it–the sheer frequency.

She’s stoking him now, and she can feel him growing harder still as her palm traces the length of him. He places his hand over her own, putting an end to her ministrations. It jars her enough that she tilts her head back so she can get a good look at him.

“Tell me what you like,” He says again, voice still raspy, but more than a whisper.

She swallows, unsure how to proceed. She’s no stranger to heated sex, far from it, but words don’t normally play a role. How can she tell him that she likes (loves) him, every brush of his hand, every kiss, every inch of him sliding in and out of her?

“You,” she simply states.

His eyes soften and, just like that, he’s kissing her again, nearly frantic in his movements before he wraps both hands around her waist and places her on the table directly before him.

His heat emboldens her, and the moment she’s able to break the kiss, she speaks.

“I like the way you look at me,” she whispers, and he pulls back to study her with hooded eyes, travelling from the planes of her face, to the exposed skin of her chest just above the opening of her tank top.

He takes his seat again, confusing her momentarily before he speaks.

“Show me then,” he gestures to her shirt, no doubt promoting her to remove it.

She doesn’t need to be asked twice, pulls it over her head in one swift motion, and is left in nothing but her black lace bra and his eyes mapping out a heated trail over her bare skin.

When his eyes meet hers again, she’s already undoing her bra, one quick click before she’s pulling the straps off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

He swallows then, and she knows it’s taking everything he has not to lay her across the table and bury himself inside her then and there.

She makes quick work of her jeans next (though she needs to stand for this one, close enough that he’d barely have to reach forward to touch her), but something keeps her from moving right to her underwear.

When Rick senses her hesitation, he gestures to her mid-section, wordlessly prompting her to remove them like she did everything else.

But something is still holding her back, keeping her from treading past the full-blooded state of exposure eliminating the garment will leave her in.

As if sensing her hesitation, Rick wraps both his hands around her waist, drawing her nearer.

He places an open-mouthed kiss on each of her breasts, the feel of his tongue and the scrape of his beard eliciting a quiet moan from her. He kisses his way down her stomach, all the way down to her navel, where he plants another kiss through the fabric of her underwear.

He wraps two fingers around the thin fabric, slowly drawing it down her legs until she’s lifting one foot, and then the other, to be rid of it completely.

He wastes no time in setting her atop the table again, drawing her legs wide open so he can stare right at her center, so two of his fingers can rub against the wetness of her lips and drive her mad with the need of him. The heat she feels blooming across her cheeks is almost unbearable.


“You like that?” he drawls, his breathing just as heavy as hers.

“Yes—oh, yes,” she moans.

He sticks both fingers inside her then, pulls them in and out with the sound of her wetness making the gesture seem almost obscene.

She pulls him in for an open-mouthed kiss, while his fingers work to drive her mad. He curls them inside her, just the way she likes, and her moans between kisses are growing louder than she’d normally let them.

She needs him, all of him, now.

It’s with that resolve that she begins undoing his belt, her hands moving with a practiced precision that her mind can’t quite mimic.

When she pulls the length of him out, long and hard, she begins stroking him just way she knows he likes. She’s awarded with a long sigh and a shudder that has him breaking this kiss.


It’s his turn to find himself at a loss for words, and it has her smiling. She seizes the moment.

“I like when every inch of you is inside me,” she whispers against his ear, and, vaguely, she thinks that this may be the most brazen thing she’s ever said to a man.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, before raising both her thighs, pulling her against him, and sliding the entire length of his cock into her with one solid thrust.

She gasps, her head falling back while his lips latch onto her neck, sucking and biting as he’s thrusting in and out of her, fast and hard and desperate.  

“It’s good?” he pants against her, and it takes a few moments for the words to register with her.

“Yes, so—so good,” she moans back.

It doesn’t take more than a few trusts to have her coming undone, the angle and the work his fingers put in before paying off in the best of ways.

She stifles her small scream against his lips, still taken aback by the desperate sounds he manages to draw from her.  

He comes undone very soon after, pulling out just in time, his seed a stark contrast against the skin of her abdomen.

He grabs the nearest cloth and begins cleaning them both up, as is his habit, head bowed and eyes focused on his work. She succumbs to the urge to pull him in for a kiss on the cheek, his stubble prickling the skin of her lips in a way she’s grown to love.

“Next time,” She whispers, “you’re going to tell me what you like.”


anonymous asked:

Ghost ducks vs the winter soldier -bro

It all started out with coffee.

Bucky, like most of the other Avengers, lived off coffee and takeout. It was one of the simple pleasures in life, and like cheese, it got better with age. Especially now that they had coffee creamer and Starbucks. In the thirties it was black and bitter and the first time he tried it he wanted to spit it out. This stuff, however, was heaven in a Styrofoam cup.

The whole heaven thing stopped when he walked out of the subway station and into a flock of green ducks.

He didn’t like ducks, but he didn’t hate then either. As long as they minded their own business they wouldn’t get shot. But these ones… well, lets just say he was ready to make an exception. Because these weren’t your average green ducks. All of them were just… glowing green with beady red eyes that vaguely reminded him of the little squirt’s nemesis, Plasmius. How Danny got a Twilight wannabe to hate him so much, well, that was still a bit of a mystery.

People who walked past didn’t pay much attention, oddly enough. Just avoided them while they talked on the phone or tweeted about their new orange overlord.

“Come on,” Bucky said, walking towards the flock of ducks. “Shoo! Go on, get outta here,” his Brooklyn accent was unmistakable as he waved his arms at the waterfowl.

At that moment he knew he fucked up.

All of them seemed to share a brain as they flew clumsily toward him, latching their bills onto different parts of his body. They got his hand, two were on either leg, and their was one hanging from his metal arm, trying to get a better grip through the clothing.

If a little girl hadn’t made eye contact with him when he dropped his coffee all over himself he would have started screaming bloody murder. There goes his little slice of heaven.

Every tine he pulled one off they would either turn intangible and his hand would go right through them or they would just fly back onto him. After almost ten minutes if this he gave up trying, and sulked his way down the sidewalk to the Tower, which was, of course, seven blocks away.

This is just like the time with the ghost hot dogs, Bucky thought bitterly.


45 painstaking minutes later he walked through the front doors of the tower, ignoring the stares of Stark’s staff, and brushing off Happy Hogan as he pushed his way into an elevator. It stopped twice on the way up, and both times the people who had needed on said they would catch the next one. It’s okay though, he didn’t want to talk to people anyway.

By the time he made it to the living room he was sure, so sure, that he was gonna make Clint more dead than their resident ghost boy. Because as soon as he walked through those nice, pristine, expensive doors, Clint was all over him like the ducks attached to his legs and arms.

He was cooing at them, acting as if they were so fucking innocent with their death grips and hatred of him for no fucking reason.

Barton the Dog Whisperer though could apparently talk to more than just dogs because with just a little bit of persuasion they had all come and followed him (and some bread he pulled out of nowhere) and curled up on the floor next to him, literally eating out of his hand.

“Are you fucking serious right now?’ Bucky raised his voice in frustration, blowing some loose strands of hair out of his face.

Barton just shrugged and continued feeding them, and Bucky could swear one of them was laughing at him. Oh, if they weren’t already dead…


When Danny got home the last thing he expected to find was those loose ghost ducks curled up in Clint’s side sleeping, while he was also sleeping, and a moody Bucky glaring at them from across the room tending to some nasty looking red marks on his legs. He glared at Danny and shook his head before going back to his legs without a word. Danny just shrugged and pulled out his thermos.

“So, what did I miss?”


first batch of twitter headshot commissions!

Fanfic: Friday On My Mind

@lhugbereth replied to your post: “@lhugbereth replied to your post: I was going to…”

well shoot… umm. i think he deserves a hug from each of the boys :) how about some fluffy cuddling!

Thanks for the push my dude

This is what happens when I listen to ‘60s pop music; innocent fluff isn’t my forte but at least I can say that I tried. It was meant to be a ficlet but suddenly it’s 2000 words of Ignis and his loving boyfriends in some kind of nebulous happy AU where Noct is a young king with Iggy as his right hand, and Gladio runs the Crownsguard with Prompto as his right hand.

Final Fantasy XV
Chocobros OT4 -> Gladnis / Promnis / Ignoct
SFW -> unrepentant fluff and cuddling
2,222 words (…yes I cut out 5 words to make that happen)


Coordinating four busy men to be in the same place at once wasn’t easy, even for someone with as much experience in scheduling as Ignis. If Noctis wasn’t attending to some vital royal business, then Gladio was off handling Crownsguard duties or Prompto was was stuck in another training session.

But after calling in a number of favours and with only the minimal amount of threats, Ignis had managed to secure them a Friday evening and the entire Saturday to themselves. It was the first time in months that their schedules had come together for longer than a few hours, and Ignis had already made them promise to be at his apartment for dinner at seven sharp.

Too bad it was only Monday morning.

Keep reading


Mason was finding it impossible to keep his hand from resting against Liana’s tiny bump any time they were near one another. He loved the way his fingers played across the stretched skin. Loved the knowledge that their child was growing and developing perfectly normally. That despite so many other heartbreaks and tragedies, so far everything was okay. 

As he settled beside her on their couch, dinner plates still on the coffee table, he could stop his wandering hand from settling in what had become its usual spot. “I love you. You amaze me, you know that?”