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When it comes to renting a dumpster in Kansas City, you can choose between a yard, yard and yard container. Dumpsters are sized based on how many cubic yards of waste they hold. For example, a yard dumpster is 8 feet wide x 22 feet long x 4 feet high. It holds 20 cubic yards of easycars24.plions: 8’0” W 2’0” H 15’0” D. Kansas City’s Number One Dumpster Roll Off Service KC Dumpster now offers that commitment to excellence not only to contractors but also to the average homeowner who needs help hauling trash and debris. Read More About Us! Roll Off Dumpster Rentals.  Bagginshield ADAM-AH!!!:purple_heart: Thank you so much for the feature:purple_heart: Time to share some more art This time it's a little more fun So here's the full pic. I just love this episode so much haha - Then broken into individual parts Hope you like it!! kaciart. 01/24/ Tim Drake fan art kaciart. Saved by Saint Pepsi. Batman Fan Art Batman Love Tim Drake Robin Comics Dc Comics Funny Animal Memes Stupid Funny Memes Marvel Memes Marvel easycars24.plted Reading Time: 50 secs. Kaciart June loobeeinthesky: “ You’re gone, gone, gone away I watched you disappear All that’s left is a ghost of you Now we’re torn, torn, torn apart There’s . The Cost of Concrete Disposal. The 10 yard dumpster, our most popular size for concrete disposal, typically costs between $ and $ depending on your location.. Keep in Mind: To haul the concrete to the landfill yourself, you will pay between $32 and $40 per ton plus the price of a vehicle rental. A junk removal truck to remove two tons of concrete can cost up to $ alone. 

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But he can also see what's not in the picture: the kitchen on the other side of the bed, the humidity of a July afternoon, the increasing worry over the latest news from the war, the ghost of a kiss on the lips.

He takes his eyes off the phone for a second and smiles as he looks at his legs, entangled with Steve's who is currently laying there with his eyes closed, enjoying the air conditioning on this hot summer day. I don't know where this came from stucky-week , but here it is. And I wasn't supposed to be doing anymore prompts, i need to sleep! That he really looks at the world, and sees it as it is as artists must do , as well as how he hopes to try to make it.

Posts Ask me anything Submit a post Archive. He puts together the pieces. He had known, of course, but now he knows.

Tony being his dorkiest self. I love flying boyfriends. Dated: Brooklyn, July 8rd Rest of the pictures seemly unrelated to this one. Once developed using two different exposition times, it shows the inside of a brick apartment with two men laying together in bed in close intimacy.

Jimin gets. I bought a lovely brown paper pad and wanted to play around with white pencils on it. I just love this episode so much haha - Then broken into individual parts Hope you like it!! This is just a quick scroll through my bts tag on patreon Comment which you'd like to see. It took a while to cross-stitch this onto normal fabric , but I love how well it turned out. Next Page. All at once, a terrible suspicion creeps over him.

It worms under his skin and buries itself there. His throat's suddenly dry; he has to lick at his lips before he can ask, "What do you mean? Prompto's eyes are damp around the edges now. They're trained firmly on the fabric of the sleeping bag, refusing to meet Noct's gaze.

The part with the sword. And the choking. And the saying it was my fault? His mind scrambles back, frantic, trying to remember what he said. Every recollection feels like a cactuar needle buried in his heart; every memory of words spoken in anger rises up, bright and hot, to try and suffocate him. The hitch of the chest pressed against his comes again, harder this time. Noct's fingers rub carefully at Prompto's bare shoulder.

It's not enough; nothing he can say will be enough, but the words come pouring out all the same. For the first time, Prompto's arms tighten their hold. They loop around his back and cling, like he's a drowning man and Noct's a life raft. He thought he was going to lie down in the snow and never get up again, and that it was because Noct had decided he wasn't worth having around anymore.

The horror that rears up in his throat is thick enough to choke him. He can't even say it. Prompto struggled through miles upon miles of barren, blizzard-swept landscape, and Noct can't even finish a godsdamned sentence. That's plenty. But Prompto's tucking his head in, against Noct's collar bone, and he takes a shuddering breath.

Noct lets his fingers drift up, cautiously, to card through the fine hair at the back of Prompto's neck, and the body pressed up against his, still uncomfortably cool to the touch, gives a little shiver and edges in closer. Plain text with limited HTML? Main Content While we've done our best to make the core functionality of this site accessible without javascript, it will work better with it enabled.

Get an Invitation. Out of the Cold Asidian Summary: When his phone's location indicator overlaps the blinking white dot at last, there's not so much as an overhang — not so much as a tree to block the wind.

Notes: For Kaciart. Work Text: It's Prompto that's falling. Noct stares after him as the train rushes on — watches him fall, and fall, and fall. And for a time, everything goes dark. Ignis is going to kill him. He's worried about Prompto's. But Prompto fell without anything. The snow's stupidly thick. If Prompto's phone runs out of battery, he's not sure what he'll do then, either.

But he's getting close. He can see it on the map, that white dot blinking up at him like a promise. It means neither of those things. The first thing they need is shelter. The shelter, when he finds it, isn't much. That's going to have to be enough. Then he turns back to Prompto. After that, it's Noct's turn. Sweet Six, it's like spooning a block of ice. That night's a little blurry, still. Then — thank all the gods — he feels motion. But that was — it was Ardyn, wasn't it?

He had been so sure it was Ardyn. Did he really tell his best friend that he was trying to kill him? Was Prompto really wandering out here alone, believing it? No, that wasn't — none of that was for you. I mean, I'm still in one piece. It's not plenty. It's not even close to okay.

Out of the Cold - Asidian - Final Fantasy XV [Archive of Our Own]

He can feel it when Prompto's breath hitches; pressed so close together, there's no way to keep it hidden. The silence feels more intimidating than the worst daemon he's ever faced in battle.

It goes on for seconds that feel like years before at last Prompto's voice comes, shaky and uncertain. He pulls back, just slightly, to take in Prompto's face — finds nothing but uncertainty there. There's a kind of pleading in his best friend's eyes, a desperation that feels like a hook caught in Noct's chest.

All at once, a terrible suspicion creeps over him. It worms under his skin and buries itself there. His throat's suddenly dry; he has to lick at his lips before he can ask, "What do you mean? Prompto's eyes are damp around the edges now. They're trained firmly on the fabric of the sleeping bag, refusing to meet Noct's gaze.

The part with the sword. And the choking. And the saying it was my fault? His mind scrambles back, frantic, trying to remember what he said. Every recollection feels like a cactuar needle buried in his heart; every memory of words spoken in anger rises up, bright and hot, to try and suffocate him. The hitch of the chest pressed against his comes again, harder this time.

Noct's fingers rub carefully at Prompto's bare shoulder. It's not enough; nothing he can say will be enough, but the words come pouring out all the same. For the first time, Prompto's arms tighten their hold. They loop around his back and cling, like he's a drowning man and Noct's a life raft. He thought he was going to lie down in the snow and never get up again, and that it was because Noct had decided he wasn't worth having around anymore.

The horror that rears up in his throat is thick enough to choke him. He can't even say it. Prompto struggled through miles upon miles of barren, blizzard-swept landscape, and Noct can't even finish a godsdamned sentence. That's plenty. But Prompto's tucking his head in, against Noct's collar bone, and he takes a shuddering breath.

Noct lets his fingers drift up, cautiously, to card through the fine hair at the back of Prompto's neck, and the body pressed up against his, still uncomfortably cool to the touch, gives a little shiver and edges in closer.

Plain text with limited HTML? Main Content While we've done our best to make the core functionality of this site accessible without javascript, it will work better with it enabled.

Get an Invitation. Out of the Cold Asidian Summary: When his phone's location indicator overlaps the blinking white dot at last, there's not so much as an overhang — not so much as a tree to block the wind. Notes: For Kaciart. Work Text: It's Prompto that's falling. Noct stares after him as the train rushes on — watches him fall, and fall, and fall. And for a time, everything goes dark. Ignis is going to kill him. He's worried about Prompto's.

But Prompto fell without anything. The snow's stupidly thick. If Prompto's phone runs out of battery, he's not sure what he'll do then, either. But he's getting close. He can see it on the map, that white dot blinking up at him like a promise.

It means neither of those things. The first thing they need is shelter. The shelter, when he finds it, isn't much. That's going to have to be enough. Then he turns back to Prompto.

After that, it's Noct's turn. Sweet Six, it's like spooning a block of ice. That night's a little blurry, still. Then — thank all the gods — he feels motion. But that was — it was Ardyn, wasn't it? He had been so sure it was Ardyn. Did he really tell his best friend that he was trying to kill him? But when he is shoved back in his cell, safely packed away as they prepare for the next round, the quiet gives him space to think.

And his thoughts take a different path. He remembers the way they casually compensated for his strength and healing speed; specialised equipment and restraints that were clearly old and much-used. Pain is only pain, and his body will heal. But that understanding… the grief, the anger and remorse, wound him where the serum cannot reach. When they come for him again, the thing that makes Steve Rogers stand - glaring his defiance, determined to endure whatever they do next - is the understanding of what friend has survived.

Steve and Bucky love spending time looking at what people call "old pictures" in librarys' and museums' online catalogs: They go through them on their phones just the same way people from this century do with their photo libraries It brings back memories, smells and places that are not longer there.

It's Bucky who finds the picture: one lazy summer afternoon and after too many pictures of random cars from the 40s, he's presented with two young men in bed. Bucky can see their relaxed and blurry faces, the brick wall, an open window, clothes hanging from the bed. But he can also see what's not in the picture: the kitchen on the other side of the bed, the humidity of a July afternoon, the increasing worry over the latest news from the war, the ghost of a kiss on the lips. He takes his eyes off the phone for a second and smiles as he looks at his legs, entangled with Steve's who is currently laying there with his eyes closed, enjoying the air conditioning on this hot summer day.

I don't know where this came from stucky-week , but here it is. Back at it again with the awesome art your art is still my background on my phone slsks. Read 2 more replies. You are so sweet. Reply to: kaciart And you are so talented :heart:.

Your art is amazing, you should be getting more attention than you do :. You are blocked from following this user and viewing this user's posts.

91 idee su Lord of the reengs nel | il signore degli anelli, signore degli anelli, lo hobbit

While we've done our best to make the core functionality of this site accessible without javascript, it will work better with it enabled. Please consider turning it on! Remember Me. When his phone's location indicator overlaps the blinking white dot at last, there's not so much as Kaciart dump overhang — not so much as a tree to block the wind.

There's just Prompto, flat on the ground, crumpled form curled in on itself. He found a jacket, somewhere — a hat, too, pulled down so that it covers his ears. They're undoubtedly the only reason he got this far. Noct prays they were enough. Inspired by this incredible comic by the very talented Kaciart. Thank you for sharing this absolute wonder with the world! That's Prompto's upturned face, mouth open to scream.

Those are Prompto's Kaciart dump arms, pale against the backdrop of the ground, stretched up toward the sky. Noct knows the modified Crownsguard jacket; he helped pick out the patches for it.

He knows the boots, scuffed on the outsides of the soles because of the way Prompto's feet land when he runs. There's a sick sinking sensation Kaciart dump his gut, like he's just made the worst mistake of his entire life.

And Noct — Noct knows that voice. He hears that voice in his dreams every night, while its owner stands over Luna's corpse. He moves on instinct — jerks sideways. He still doesn't quite miss the impact of hard metal against his skull. Kaciart dump got at least a lecture and a half coming, and Gladio's going to be even more pissed off.

That argument they had on the train is going to look like a playground spat between preschoolers after this, and honestly? Noct couldn't care less. Ignis and Kaciart dump are plenty capable of getting the passengers off that train in Tenebrae. Once they're settled and everyone's safe, they can track Noct down with the GPS on his phone.

He's twenty years old, trained in combat, and he can warp the hell out of any situation that might get him killed. He's not worried about his own life right now. Because the little blip on his phone, telling him where Kaciart dump best friend is, has him wading straight into a snowstorm.

And sure, Noct's got supplies; Kaciart dump the Armiger handy, he has a heavy winter coat, and material to make a fire, and enough rations for probably a month and a half. Prompto doesn't even have his gun; Noct made sure of that.

He knocked the damn thing straight out of his hand. If Ignis was here, he'd be suggesting they set Kaciart dump camp and break for the evening. Ignis isn't here, though, and Prompto doesn't have that choice.

So Noct shields his phone as best he's able from the worst of the weather, and he ducks his head, and he pushes on. Every minute seems to last an hour. He can't feel his nose anymore, and Kaciart dump in feels like inhaling broken glass. He tucks the phone up into the sleeve of his jacket, hoping it's somewhat weather resistant.

If he loses it now, he's not sure what he'll do. It hasn't moved for maybe fifteen minutes now, and that? That's got Noct's stomach tied up in knots. He hopes it means Prompto's managed to find shelter. He hopes it means his best friend is in one of those weapons outposts the Niffs seem to like sticking in the middle of nowhere. At least then, he'll be out of the worst of the wind and snow. He scrambles Kaciart dump his best friend, flipping him face-up with unsteady hands. Frost clings to Prompto's eyebrows; his lips have started going blue.

Noct's never seen him so pale, or so still, and there's Kaciart dump moment — one heart-wrenching, stomach-churning moment — when Noct's sure that he's fifteen minutes too late. Then he sees Prompto's chest rise. The air fogs around his lips, and Noct blinks back tears, fiercely. Thank all the gods Gladio made him take that survival course. Thank all the gods he knows what to do. Noct crouches down — gets his arms under Prom's armpits and levers him up.

It's Kaciart dump to lift Prompto onto his back, but he manages, cursing every extra second his fumbling hands add to the task. He's given Prompto a Kaciart dump ride once before — that long-ago day he broke an ankle jogging the hiking trail in the park and showed up with a sheepish smile at Noct's Kaciart dump. He's not clinging now.

His arms are out straight, deadweight and dangling, and Noct ducks his head and pushes himself to walk faster. It's not a proper cave; it goes back maybe twenty feet, tops, and the cave floor Kaciart dump the entryway is thick with snow.

But he needs to get Prompto Kaciart dump of the weather, and he needs to get him warm again, so it'll have to do. The Armiger's got his sleeping bag. It has matches to start a fire, and some kindling, and some wood. Noct sets Prompto down on the cave floor, and he gets to work, hands shaking with more than the cold. He curses under his breath every time the match doesn't catch. He bites his lip and prays when the fire finally flickers to reluctant life.

He wants Kaciart dump nurse it until it's roaring; he doesn't have time. He throws on a log, and then another, and hopes it does its own thing. He gets out the sleeping bag — drapes their coats over the top, hoping the extra layer will help to keep the heat in. He strips his best friend's boots off, and the soaking wet socks underneath.

The shirt comes next, and Kaciart dump pants, and the underwear. He lifts Prompto as gently as he's able — slides him between the folds of the sleeping bag and tucks the fabric in around him. Even taking his boots off in weather like this is a special kind of hell, and he's shivering as soon Kaciart dump the shirt goes.

By the time he's finally standing bare in the frigid chill of the cave, he's colder than he's ever been in his life. There isn't any time to waste. He pulls Kaciart dump the edge of the sleeping bag and crawls inside, as close to Prompto as he can get. Noct bites his lip, hard, and has to resist the urge to pull away. Prompto needs this.

Prompto wouldn't be here right now, teetering on the edge of death, if Noct wasn't such a godsdamned idiot. So he wraps his arms around his best friend, and he shakes until his bones are tired from it. He thinks he remembers from somewhere that shivering's your body trying to warm itself up. Does that mean his is doing double duty, for him and Prompto both? Noct thinks of the last time they were this close — a late night drinking after Prompto's shift at the camera shop.

He's got it in bits and flashes, half gone with time and alcohol: Prompto, laughing too loud and clinging too close, hanging off him all the way home. The two of them stumbling Kaciart dump Noct's apartment, kicking their shoes off in the doorway. Prompto sharing his bed, wearing borrowed sweatpants and nothing else. He remembers waking at some point in the middle of the night, opening his eyes to an arm slung around his waist and freckles close enough to count.

He remembers leaning down, just a little, to touch his lips to Prompto's forehead, hoping that he won't open his eyes. Noct stares at those freckles, close enough to count again. This time, they're set in a face that's deathly pale.

This time, he's hoping Prompto will open his eyes. He doesn't know how long they lie there, the heat from the Kaciart dump fighting the chill of the wind.

It's long enough for Prompto to start shivering on his own — violently at first — and then for it to gradually subside. It's long enough for Noct to call on every Astral, individually, by name, while he prays for his best friend to be all right.

It's barely there, just the slightest shift, but Noct's spent what feels like years attuned to the rise and fall of Prompto's chest. When he glances down, he sees that Prompto's eyes are open, wide and startled. It's the worst expression he thinks he's ever seen: stunned and vulnerable, eyes welling up with tears. Prompto makes a small sound, somewhere in the back of his throat. He moves to pull away, but Noct catches at him — winds one arm Kaciart dump Prompto's shoulders and trails the fingers of the other hand through the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

His hand slips forward, gentle, to trace along the line of Prompto's jaw. Before he can think too hard about all the reasons it's a terrible idea — before he can remind himself of Kaciart dump how many times he's managed to talk himself down from a confession he'd be sure to regret — Noct presses a kiss, feather-soft, to the crown of Prompto's forehead.

I thought you were Ardyn. He must've — I don't know. Used some kind of illusion spell.

Kíli (Tolkien) - Works | Archive of Our Own

Also on AO3 Word count: Ignis isn't Kaciart dump, though, and Prompto doesn't have that choice. And Noct — Noct knows that voice. Remember Me. So Noct shields his phone as best he's able from the worst of the weather, and he ducks his head, and he pushes on.