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Mew Erebor..! by AlyTheKitten

These last few post are just TOO CUTE!!!!

Mew Erebor..! by AlyTheKitten

These last few post are just TOO CUTE!!!!


One of those sketches I’ve been keeping in scrap folders without posting.  You know, I never imagine either of them being very ~romantic~, not even Stiles, but maybe Derek does some rare sweet gesture and he can’t really help it then.  And embarrassing him in front of the pack is like a bonus.

One of those sketches I’ve been keeping in scrap folders without posting.  You know, I never imagine either of them being very ~romantic~, not even Stiles, but maybe Derek does some rare sweet gesture and he can’t really help it then.  And embarrassing him in front of the pack is like a bonus.

(Source: -wondersmith, via swingsetindecember)

lierdumoa:

pterhale:

#I love how they’re both trying to get themselves and stiles out asap #it’s not just like welp let’s bail! #it’s erica grabs stiles by the hand and isaac is pushing him out there door #’cause they may talk mean ‘n sassy sometimes but they care okay#pack feels

Personal headcanon: Derek got his pack together before this mission and gave them very specific instructions regarding this eventuality.
Derek: Stiles is an idiot. If you tell him to run he will stand in front of you and play human shield. Do not let him do that. If you have to run away, just bring him the fuck with you.
Isaac & Erica: ::each raise a hand in question::
Derek: Try to avoid knocking him out first.
Isaac & Erica: ::lower hands::

lierdumoa:

pterhale:

#I love how they’re both trying to get themselves and stiles out asap #it’s not just like welp let’s bail! #it’s erica grabs stiles by the hand and isaac is pushing him out there door #’cause they may talk mean ‘n sassy sometimes but they care okay#pack feels

Personal headcanon: Derek got his pack together before this mission and gave them very specific instructions regarding this eventuality.

Derek: Stiles is an idiot. If you tell him to run he will stand in front of you and play human shield. Do not let him do that. If you have to run away, just bring him the fuck with you.

Isaac & Erica: ::each raise a hand in question::

Derek: Try to avoid knocking him out first.

Isaac & Erica: ::lower hands::

(Source: directorstarkk, via alyseofwonderland)

skookumthesamoyed:

meowoofau:

mini me

It’s me but mini.

Image credits: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.

 (x)

(Source: meowoof.com.au, via swingsetindecember)

*30
ipomoeaj:

adamazur:

"Victorian Velociraptor with Violets." Acrylic and liquid gold leaf on Rives BFK. Made by Adam Mazur. 

"MOTHER WHY HASN’T THE DUKE CALLED AGAIN?"

ipomoeaj:

adamazur:

"Victorian Velociraptor with Violets." Acrylic and liquid gold leaf on Rives BFK. Made by Adam Mazur. 

"MOTHER WHY HASN’T THE DUKE CALLED AGAIN?"

(via nettlewildfairy)

*15

LOTRO Adventures :)

merraevenstar:

image

A rainbow in the Shire

image

The sunset at Tom Bombadil’s House

image

The sunset on top of Weathertop

image

Some fireworks in Rivendell

image

Some fireworks in Bree

image

Hanging out with Lindir and Bilbo

image

Sup Elrond

image

The night sky in the Shire

(Source: sindarinarcher, via lotro-love)

*78

cloud dancing

Anonymous asked: ALL THE FIC with the team in stark tower walking bucky through his manpain and ptsd WITH LOTS OF FEELINGS

ifeelbetterer:

Bruce

Bucky is crouched on the floor in front of Bruce when he opens his eyes. He breathed out slowly—the last perfect breath of the meditation—and focused on Bucky’s face.

"What does it feel like?" Bucky asked, intense and blank at the same time.

Bruce shrugged. “It doesn’t,” he said truthfully.

He stretched his arms above his head, feeling the muscles bend. He waited.

Bucky kept watching Bruce for a long time. His gaze fixed most often on Bruce’s eyes, but they flickered quickly back and forth from there to the rest of him: the bended legs tucked under him, the loose limbs, the careful in-and-out of breath.

"Would I be able to—?" Bucky asked. The question ended in the absence of a verb, a word Bucky couldn’t put into shape yet.

Bruce knew something about the word he was looking for. It was a big word.

"I can show you," he offered.

Bucky sat and listened while Bruce explained about breath patterns, mantras, brain wave patterns, and conscious muscle control.

Bucky never meditates where Bruce can see him. Whether Bucky did or did not was not the point, though.

Clint

Clint landed in the hospital after a mission. Five hours of surgery, six of sleeping and Natasha sitting in silence next to the beep of his heart monitor.

She waited and Bucky had so few ties to anyone that he waited down the hall in the designated space for waiting, under the sign that redundantly told him he was waiting and it was a waiting room. She waited and Bucky waited (sometimes bringing her a coffee) and apparently it was for the moment when Clint groggily opened his swollen eyes and she got to say, “you’re an asshole” and then, “sixty four” just before she slammed the door behind her.

Bucky didn’t understand. He looked at Clint.

"Sixty-four people," said Clint. He waved his uninjured hand vaguely upwards. "Saved sixty-four." He paused to cough, wet and weak. "She counts how many I save when I can’t."

"Do you do the same for her?" asked Bucky.

"I always count," said Clint. "Gotta." He coughed again and Bucky—who felt a twinge of something he couldn’t quite fit into a conscious thought—fixed the pillows behind him, thinking about the cough.

"Fifty-two," continued Clint. Bucky frowned so Clint, already beginning to fall back asleep, clarified. "That’s your number," he said. "I always count."

He was asleep again. Bucky pulled up the thin blanket—again, a twinge of something, a thought about coughing and wanting thicker blankets—to keep him warm.

Outside, Natasha was waiting.

"He counts how many lives we save," she explained. "Each of us." She glared at Bucky, daring him to—to do something wrong, but what exactly he couldn’t say. "He doesn’t know about the bus and the subway, though. He was already down. Your number was seventy-three."

She walked away before he could draw the breath to respond.

Steve

Bucky silently opened Steve’s door and walked with perfect, absolute quiet over to the bed. The dream had so clearly left him with an image of blood and blonde hair and wide, trusting blue eyes. He had had to check to see even though he knew better than to trust his dreams.

Steve breathed in and out, quiet and healthy.

Something inside—the thing that didn’t speak in words inside him and had never needed memories or Bucky to be able to claim sovereignty over his own head—told him clearly that a quiet, healthy breath was all Bucky ever wanted. It told him to lie down content tonight because it would not be the night Steve died.

All he needed was for Steve to keep breathing, quiet and healthy.

That sounded like the mantra Bruce had talked about: maybe that could be Bucky’s.

Maybe it always had been.

robotmango:

gooqueen:

every year after you turn 17 you get further away from being the age of the dancing queen and that’s my least favorite thing about growing up

ah but when you turn 34 you’re two dancing queens and thus having twice the time of your life. and at 51 you become the dancing triumvirate and three golden crowns are forged in your honor

lots to look forward to

(via theallthatmattered)