8 | You’ll Never Walk Alone



series warnings: mature themes, strong language, violence, substance abuse, eventual smut. this chapter contains graphic content such as alcohol and violence, description of injuries

Originally posted by jaesbum

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Groaning in pain as your back slammed against the gym mat for the thirteenth time that hour, you steadied your movements to a gradual stop as you tried to catch your breath, admitting defeat and throwing your hands up to surrender, the burning sensation in your ribs growing impossibly hotter. Jackson stood above you, looking down at your body with an amused grin as you almost cried in agony. Again. This was your fifth self defence lesson and yet there you were, laying on the ground begging him to stop. Again.

“You know the whole fucking idea of self defence if that you’re supposed to defend yourself from the attacker, right?” He kicked his head back as he laughed at your struggle with no guilt or consideration lingering beneath mocking tone.

He was right. You’d never felt so weak before, so vulnerable and pathetic as your bruised body barely managed to get to it’s feet so you could look him in the eye.
“You’re not teaching me anything! You’re just hitting me!” You protested as you limped away from him to grab a well deserved drink of water. Bending down to get inside your gym bag was the very definition of pain, your body felt like you’d been hit by a truck and battled with a shark in the same day.

“Rule number two; always be on guard. You’re expecting me to tell you my every fucking move, my training isn’t about that. It’s about heightening your senses, knowing your surroundings, spotting your attackers weaknesses before it’s too late…” He spoke calmly as he quietly walked up behind you, earning you to turn around and catch his fist before it could strike your ribcage.
“Well would you look at that? You actually learned something. See; I don’t just hit you for the sake of hitting you.” Jackson smirked, effortlessly tearing his hand from your tight grip.

“What’s rule number one?” You frowned as you crossed your arms, trying your absolute best to conceal the proud smile threatening to spill over your lips. It was the first time since beginning training that you really felt like you could do this, that you could really take care of yourself without having somebody else save you.

“Never fall in love.” He stated nonchalantly, pulling you from your thoughts whilst patting his sweat-beaded forehead with a white hand towel, signalling the end of the session.

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The Easter Bunny

A/N: Happy Easter to all who celebrate it!

Sam x Daughter!Reader   Dean x Niece!Reader

“You sure we got everything?” Dean inquired as he looked over at Sam who sat in the passenger seat.

Sam nodded his head, “Yeah, I think so. Got the basket, chocolate bunny, stuffed duck, supplies for dying eggs, jelly beans, and more candy then we need. I think we’re all set for the Easter bunny tomorrow.”

“Good.” Dean replied with a large smile, “Let’s go get our girl.”

Sam chuckled as he got out of the impala, “Did you ever think we’d have this?” Sam questioned before she shut the passenger door.

“What, you having a kid? Us going shopping for a stuffed duck? Me actually looking forward to taking a rugrat to the mall to see some guy dressed up like a friggin’ rabbit?” Dean scoffed, “No, I never saw our lives becoming this; but I’m glad it is.”

Sam grinned at his brother, thinking about all the big changes that happened for them within the last year. You had showed up in their lives; a result from the irresponsible relationships Sam had when he was soulless, but the brothers loved you no matter how you came into their lives.

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thecrownedrose  asked:

Finding an abandoned nest of duck eggs after the mama duck tragically lost her life. You bring them home and promise the team the ducklings won't be in the way. Imagine being out an errand when they start to hatch so you make Bucky step in for you. When they're finally born they imprint on Bucky as their mama. You're not even mad. The sight of a flock of ducklings following Bucky everywhere is just too damn adorable

I’m so sad I can’t draw ducks chasing bucky 

Fluffy Friday™

您想吃什么? (Nín xiǎng chī shénme?) What do you want to eat?

Chinese dishes are countless. And because of immigration and Westerner’s influence some dishes are less “authentic” that’s ok - they’re still delicious. 

Meat dishes - 肉菜 (ròu cài)

Sizzling (beef served on a very hot plate with peppers/onions): 铁板牛肉 (tiě bǎn niú ròu)

Sweet and Sour Pork Ribs: 酸甜排骨 (suān tián pái gǔ)

Sweet and Sour Pork: 糖醋里脊 (táng cù lǐjí) 

Gong Bao Chicken: 宫保鸡丁 (gōng bǎo jī dīng)

Char Siu (Barbecued Roast Pork): 叉烧 (chā shāo)

BBQ Meat: 烤肉 (kǎo ròu)

Hot Pot : 火鍋 (huǒguō)

Vegetable dishes - 素菜 (sùcài)

Fried eggplant: 红烧茄子(hóng shāo qié zi)

Fried Chinese cabbage: 炒大白菜 (chǎo dà bái cài)

Fried shredded potato: 土豆丝 (tǔ dòu sī)

Deep-fried pumpkin sticks: 黄沙南瓜条 (huáng shā nán guā tiáo)

Breakfast -早餐 (zǎo cān)

Fried bread stick: 油条 (yóu tiáo)

Egg 鸡蛋 (jīdàn)

Tea-soaked egg: 茶叶蛋 (cháyè dàn)

Century-old egg (preserved duck egg):皮蛋 (pídàn)

Steamed bread: 饅頭 (mán tou)

Steamed buns with condensed milk dip: 炼乳馒头 (liàn rǔ mán tou)

Congee/Porridge: 粥 (zhōu)

Special Flavor Chicken Porridge: 风味鸡粥 (fēng wèi jī zhōu)

Century Egg Pork Congee: 皮蛋瘦肉粥 pídàn shòu ròu zhōu)

Shaobing: 烧饼 (shāo bǐng)

Soy milk : 豆浆 (dòu jiāng)

Stuffed steamed bun: 包子 (bāo zi)

Wontons: 馄饨 (húntún)

Dimsum: 点心 (diǎnxīn)

Dumplings: 饺子 (jiǎozi)

“Desserts” - 甜点 (tiándiǎn)

Sweet Soup Balls : 汤圆 (tāng yuán)

Sesame Balls : 芝麻球 (zhī ma qiú)

Red Been Bun : 豆沙包 (dòu shā bāo)

Red bean paste Pancake : 豆沙烧饼 (dòushā shāobǐng)
Pumpkin Pancake : 南瓜饼 (nán guā bǐng)

Dragon’s Beard Candy : 龙须酥 (lóng xū sū)

Egg Tarts : 蛋挞 (dàn tà)

Tanghulu (Candied Fruit on A Stick) : 糖葫芦 (táng hú lu)

Sweet Egg Bun : 奶黄包 (nǎi huáng bāo)

Grass Jelly : 烧仙草 (shāo xiān cǎo)

Fried Durian : 榴莲酥 (liú lián sū)

Others -

Wheat Noodles : 面条 (miàn tiáo)

Noodle soup: 汤面 (tāng miàn)

Soup: 汤 (tāng)

Beef noodles :牛肉面 (niúròu miàn)

Fried noodles: 炒面 (chǎo miàn)

Fried rice noodles: 炒米粉 (chǎo mǐ fěn)

Fried rice: 炒饭 (chǎo fàn)

Spring Rolls: 春卷 (chūnjuǎn)

Some regional dishes -

Shanghai small steamed buns: 小笼包 (xiǎolóng bāo)

Peking roasted duck: 北京烤鸭 (běi píng kǎo yā)

Chinese Muslim barbeque mutton skewers: 羊肉串 (yángròu chuan)

Changsha-style stinky tofu: 长沙臭豆腐 (chǎngshā chòu dòufu)

Hangzhou braised pork belly: 东坡猪肉 (dōng pō zhū ròu)

Lanzhou hand-pulled noodles: 兰州卡面 (lánzhōu lāmiàn)

Sichuan hot pot: 四川火锅 (sìchuān huǒguō)

Ma Po Tofu: 麻婆豆腐 (má pó dòufu)

Rou Jia Mo: 肉夹馍 (ròu jiā mó)

Can we appreciate the fact that “an uncut Ruby the size of a duck’s egg” is only given to fae by the Summer court if they have done something bad to them. The ruby came in Feyre’s chest from Tamlin. Summer court is NOT going to side with The Tool during the war!

anonymous asked:

do you have any good side quests for low level players? i have the main quest in the town figured out but i'm not sure what small ones i want for them

1. A polite old farmer has asked you to get him eggs from his house for the farmer’s market. He forgot them, and cannot leave his booth. The eggs aren’t chicken or duck eggs but rather stolen eggs from X low level monster.

2. The local tavern’s bouncer has called in sick with a bottle to the face. Its half off night, and its packed, and the bar owner needs a few new bouncers.

3. You find a drunk sitting in the road. He slurs to you he’ll pay you handsomely if you get him home. He can’t remember where he lives, but through talking to him and asking locals you can figure it out.

4. There are protests going on in the town you’re visiting. You can join and fight the guards, or help the guards round up troublemakers.

“I had a fun time with you“

(A/N): FYI (Y/I) stands for (Your/Initials), Enjoy x also, i have not proofread this yet i apologise 

Words: 1,845

Originally posted by jcsephsdun

“The anonymous street artist (Y/I) strikes once again…“

As soon as the familiar name is mentioned his attention is immediately drawn to the television. Apparently the mysterious person, who has been leaving several paintings all over the city, has almost been caught yesterday during the process of creating another masterpiece. Since the cops were incapable of catching hold of them, the anonymous artist has once again slipped through their fingers. 

Josh has been fascinated by their work from day one. Even though each portrait has its own individual interpretation, all of them hold the same message, which could be defined as diverse, observant, equaled and human. The country itself has been taken over by republicans, after being governed democratically for eight years. A lot of insurrections and turmoils have surfaced ever since the new president has been elected. (Y/I) paintings are often responses to countrywide but also citywide political occurrences, representing their own personal opinion, which should frankly speak to every person who has a slightly sense of humanity. In the eye of publicity their performance is seen as some act of rebellion, since the art pieces are mostly against the decisions and choices made by the new government. 

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If you’re having an opulent wedding reception, don’t be afraid to go all out with your cake, which should tie in with your theme too. This luxurious four-tier design would’ve made Marie Antoinette proud, with the duck egg-blue fondant or buttercream, plummy feathers, and accents gold all around.


Originally posted by bwipsul

◇ “Have you any dreams you’d like to sell?”

◇ Jimin x reader

◇ wizard!au

◇ a small self indulgent jimin scenario…….. I should be completing requests rn but I’ve had this idea since literally forever soooooo

◇ slightly based off the song dreams by bastille and gabrielle aplin, obviously not as dark as that song is but that one line in the song inspired this whole thing lmao


The slip of paper in your hands feels awfully small as you peer up at the shop in front of you. Jimin’s Emporium of Lost Dreams is written in your friend’s familiar scrawl, the address scribbled right underneath it. 3PM — don’t be late! Love, Taehyung.

By far, the best and worst gift that you had received for your birthday was a session — an appointment — at Jimin’s Emporium of Lost Dreams. Taehyung swore that after he had visited the quaint, duck egg blue shop a few years ago, he hadn’t had a nightmare since — and with the sudden influx of stress-induced nightmares that plagued your nights, he had been thoughtful enough to set an appointment for you.

It was a good gift, admittedly, because the nightmares really were bothering you. More often than not, you’d awake at some unholy time in a cold sweat and with tear-filled eyes, flashes of failure and disappointment the only thing on your mind.

On the other hand, you didn’t fancy somebody prying in your head and witnessing some very personal dreams. It was embarrassing to say the least, and the fact that this Jimin would be buying them off of you and replacing them by dreamless sleep was even more unsettling.

You bite your lip, inspecting the exterior of the shop. It was small, old but well-kept; duck egg blue walls with a sign with a curving font spelling out Jimin’s Emporium of Lost Dreams. Pastel flowers in white ceramic plant pots stood beside the white painted door, twisting and climbing up the door frame. It was pretty, you’d give it that — it was a shame that to any mortal passing, they’d simply see a run-down, abandoned shop front.

You could just walk away right now, if you wanted to. Your heart sure as hell wants to, but your brain is much more logical. Besides, Taehyung paid for this! You couldn’t have him wasting his money…

So you shove the piece of paper into the pocket of your jeans, heaving a nervous sigh as you finally harness enough willpower to begin the trek to the front door.

The bell above the door sounds ten times louder than it actually was when you push open the door and step inside, revealing a high ceilings and walls upon walls of shelves filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes.

The interior is strangely cozy. It’s much bigger than it looks on the outside, a large circular desk setup in the centre which is obviously the front desk, and an iron spiral staircase at the back that led to what you assume is the second floor.

The place smells of old books and sunlight, and the silence soothes your nerves almost instantly as you walk further into the shop, peering around curiously for any sign of life. Hm. No-one.

Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you find yourself strolling leisurely along the tall walls, inspecting each bottle that you come across — some, swirling gently and pearlescent, beautiful shades of pastel blue and pink — others forming ominous pictures and twisting violently, murky yellow and green.

One in particular catches your eye; light, light pink in colour, glittery and iridescent. The strange liquid takes the shape of the tall, slim bottle it’s kept in, and the way the liquid swirls and tumbles gently is hypnotizing. You reach a hand out to touch it—

“Hello, there,” a voice greets softly, the source coming from just inches to your right. You yelp, jerking away from both the bottle and the man who had spoken, a hand on your heart.

“I didn’t mean to startle you!” The man rushes, brows raised. He’s a tiny bit taller than you, with chubby cheeks and chocolate hair and coffee eyes. His clothes consist of a set of peach and pale blue warlock robes, and if it weren’t for the shock you had just gotten you would be blushing at the very sight of him. “I’m Jimin — welcome to my emporium!”

“_-_____,” you muster up as he bustles around, fiddling with something under his desk and then conjuring up a brand new glass bottle out of nowhere.

“Beautiful name,” he grins, looking up from where he was rummaging through a wooden box of corks — this time, you feel a familiar heat rise on your cheeks and you’re only glad he’s too preoccupied to notice. “What can I do for you today, _____? Have you any dreams you’d like to sell?”

“I have a session booked,” you say uncertainly, clasping your hands together awkwardly. “By Kim Taehyung?”

“Oh!” Jimin’s eyes widen in recognition as he fishes out a cork and grabs the bottle, too. “I remember. Well, come this way—” He begins to lead you to the iron spiral staircase, beckoning you along with a friendly smile— “Right up here—”

The upstairs is just as pretty and strange as the floor below it, except it’s much more bright. There’s at least one window on each of the four white walls, and again, there are multiple shelves filled with vial and bottles. Apart from the mahogany desk and chair in the room, there’s an examining table pushed into the corner — except this one is covered with patterned sheets and is complete with an embroidered pillow.

“Take a seat,” Jimin urges you, gesturing to the examining table. He himself props himself down on the chair beside the desk, turning it to face you. “So, your friend’s booked you for a Dreamless Sleep session — it’s in the name, really — are you okay with that?”

“I just want the nightmares to be finished with,” you murmur, trying not to think too hard about them. Instead, you focus on how Jimin reaches into his desk and retrieves a small vial of a plum coloured liquid, pushing off of his chair and crossing the room until he stands in front of you.

“I have to put you to sleep to get started — this will do the job almost instantly, so get comfy,” he teases gently, handing you the bottle. “Be warned, though: it may not taste the best.”

You let out a nervous laugh, adjusting your position on the table before you unscrew the cork with shaky hands. You don’t give yourself another second to doubt your choice before you down the potion and your vision fades to black.


It was always sad to see someone come into the shop looking for a dreamless sleep. Quite frankly, Jimin found it disheartening that one wouldn’t want to dream — dreams were where anything was possible!

But of course, the customer was always right, and Jimin knew everyone had their own reason for wanting to sleep without dreams and nightmares.

So when you came into his shop on a Wednesday afternoon with your sundress and folded arms and flickering eyes, Jimin was fully prepared to give you what you wanted. He could tell that the nightmares that you had experienced had taken a toll on you, and he wanted nothing more than to make you happy again.

He put you to sleep and began to look for the nightmare trapped in the confines of your mind, hidden in the depths of your dreams and waiting for their turn to strike. When he finds it, he extracts it like he’s done million of times before, the silky strands of pure black floating into the bottle he had prepared.

And he’s about to wake you up — really, he is — but he sees you turn in your sleep, brows turned up in relief when no nightmare materialises in your dreamland, and his heart skips a beat.

The pink potion he had caught you ogling at earlier may be expensive — happy dreams are very desirable, after all — but he thinks it might just be worth it, especially when he’s inserted the dream into your mind and he sees you smile.

(And maybe, just maybe, you dream about him.)

I want a little White House
With a duck egg blue door
Inside it smells lightly of fresh paint
And there’s a little brown mat on the floor

The hallway is bright and echoey
Wellies stand proud in a line
Naked toes sink into soft carpet
As the door clicks neatly behind

The kettle is already bubbling
Two dotty mugs wait to be filled
Strung above, gold fairy lights dim slowly
Lilac flowers sit on window sills

A fresh notebook lies open on a table
A clear glass of water catches the light
It sends out tiny shivering rainbows
Onto the paper which tempts me to write

When night falls in my little warm house,
Candles flicker light on the walls
Soft chilled cotten caresses my legs
As into a dreamful sleep, I fall