needed the nap i suppose

butterflies-and-hurrricanes  asked:

Could I ask for Mettaton (maybe even King Mettaton) as D1? It looks like his "everything is perfectly fine" face.



postin’ badly shaded art at 2am because I forgot (again) what happens when i caffinate and now I have an entire other comic series about ffxiv planned. I’ve named it “I don’t know shit about ffxiv lore but I’m gonna ignore that and have a weird rp with..myself.”


  • me: *has ideas*
  • me: *doesn't write them down, tells no one about them*
  • someone else: *mentions similar ideas*
  • me: how FUCKINg dare u

lilstarqueen101  asked:

I was wondering if you could make a fic about Steve and Bucky making out and getting walked in on by their daughter. Please.

It had been a long week.

Bucky had worked the night shift every night since his supervisor was gone, and Steve of course worked days. Delia, their darling three year old, had had to miss preschool because she had a cold so Bucky had stayed up all day with her, and then passed out into bed when Steve had come home.

A super long week without their usual down time together, or their nights in each others arms or nights (ahem) just in each other.

Just a long goddman week, and Bucky was about two minutes from losing his mind when Steve finally got Delia down for her nap, closing the door as quietly as he could, and tip toeing away.

“I think she’s asleep.” he said with a weary smile. “We might actually get an hour or so together before she wakes up and wants dinner.

“Oh thank god.” Bucky grinned up at his husband from the couch, and then held a hand out. “Come here and kiss me, babe. Have we even kissed today?”

“I dont think we have.” Steve slid onto his lap, straddling him easily and Bucky groaned when Steve settled unto his thighs, loving the heavy weight against him, pressing him into the cushions. 

“Come here.” Bucky lay his left hand carefully on Steves hip, then cupped his jaw with his right, brushing his thumb over Steves bottom lip before urging him in for a long kiss.

After six years together there was no hesitation between them, no having to adjust to each other or anything like that. Just sweet perfect kisses everytime.

Sweet, perfect, heated kisses that were rapildy turning into a heavy make out session.

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Niece mine

Some Mystrade fluff. Well. Pre-Mystrade-ish. The Reichenfuckening has fuckt my ability to write, but I hope you like it anyway. It’s pretty long so you can also read it on AO3. Love you guys 💜


24th June 2016

“Yeah, no, that’s fine, Mycroft.”

“I would appreciate it if you could involve Sherlock in the Hartingdon case, too, as there are a few aspects to it which may link to a matter we have ongoing at the moment.”

“No problem. Just send me the files, as always.”

“Thank you, Detective Inspector.”

“Greg. You know I asked you to call me Greg. And you did, for a while.”

“My apologies, Greg.”

“Alright. You know, I was wondering, we could probably – I mean, if you fancied it – we could…we could do this over dinner, sometime.”

Mycroft freezes at his desk for a moment. He’s tempted. He really is. But he can hardly look at the man. He is unreasonably attractive. If they were to blur the boundaries of their purely professional relationship by meeting on more informal terms, no matter how innocently, the…situation he finds himself in would only worsen. As it stands, the problem is manageable; his painful attraction to the silver-haired DI is bearable when parcelled out in short doses every couple of weeks.

It is kind of Lestrade to attempt to be friendly, but on this occasion, it would be counterproductive.

The man is so kind. And thoroughly admirable in every sense.

Mycroft does not look up from his paperwork.

“Thank you, Det- Greg, but unfortunately I have a lot to attend to at the moment and cannot find the time.”


9th July 2016

“Sherlock – no – this is impossible –”

“Hardly impossible, brother dearest. It seems to be happening already.”

“There must be someone else –”

“Nope. All away. Or dead. Some of them are dead. John and I have to go now. Important. Back soon.”

“Sherlock –”

As the car roars away, Mycroft looks down at the small human cradled awkwardly in his arms. The changing bag hangs from his shoulder, where Sherlock dumped it. Rosie blinks at him. “Christ,” mutters Mycroft.

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first, i’ve been informed that the term ‘allosexuals/alloromantic’ is offensive to people and i apologize for that. That really wasn’t my intention and second i made this post out of anger which doesn’t really excuse me but it was really immature and i shouldn’t have done it.

i’m not apologizing for my first post bc it’s my personal opinion on something that got way out of hand but i will apologize for this one. Hopefully the one that’s spreading around links back to this

Sometimes, the truly amazing thing about this shit show isn’t the antics of the actors themselves. It’s the people who continue to support it and defend it against all logic, legalities and reason.