Nice-house

anonymous asked:

Hey, do you have any good tips for making nice houses or roooms? I'm so bad at building houses but I want to get better and yours are all so nice! Thank you!

Thank you! I’ll make a bedroom decor tutorial/tips for you :’) 

did you know that, in your nice player house in Skyrim, inside of every single planter, there is an invisible naked man holding on to your plants for you

his name is “BYOHPlanterNPC” and he lives in an alternate dimension slightly removed from your home, where he sits in his empty grey void, naked, waiting for you to give him your plants

The Houses as Nice Sounds

Ravenclaw: Rain pounding on the windows. Book pages being turned. The world underwater. A heart beating. The flutter as cards are shuffled. Piano music. The whisper of the wind.

Gryffindor: Fire crackling. A cat purring. The pop as a cork is removed from a bottle. Thunder. High heels tapping against tile floors. Birdsong. The roaring crescendo of applause.

Slytherin: Waves crashing against the sand. Fresh snow crunching underfoot. Whale song. Coins clinking against each other. Ice cubes in a glass. Old music. The silence right after a storm.

Hufflepuff: Laughter. Leaves rustling in the breeze. The soft murmur of a stream. Bumblebees buzzing. Stones skipping across a lake. Bubbles popping. The final note before a song fades away.

"I had to be more than just a brother, I had to be a father. And I had to be a mother..."

“I was the only one who could stop him from crying by climbing into his crib, even when I was too scared and upset to talk.

I was the one who changed his diapers, and bathed him when Dad was just a shell.

I was the one who walked him to kindergarten on my way to school.

I was the one who made sure he had a lunch to eat, even if it was just a snack. And even if it meant I went hungry.

I was the one who patched up every cut and scraped knee. I was the one who wiped up every tear, and carried him back to the motel via piggyback.

I was the one who told him stories at bedtime, even if I couldn’t fully make out the words myself.

I was the one who helped him learn how to read and write.

I was the one who cooked for him when Dad would take off for days at a time.

I was the one who shared a bed with him after he’d have nightmares. I was the one who held him close and told him that nothing was ever gonna’ happen to him after Dad’s response was to give him a ‘45.

I was the one who stole Christmas presents from the nice house down the street just so Sammy wouldn’t wake up and think that Santa had forgotten him. Again. And I was the one who had to tell him Santa wasn’t real.

I was also the one who told him that monsters were real.

I was the one who rode him to the ER on my handlebars after he jumped from the roof and broke his arm.

I was the one who took care of him when he’d get sick.

I was the one who made sure he had clothes that actually fit him after each of his twelve-billion growth spurts. And I was the one who comforted him after the endless bullying he’d receive at school because those clothes had come from the thrift store.

I was the one who stood up for him every time someone picked on him in school.

I was the one who stole textbooks for him so that he wouldn’t fall behind.

I was the one who had to work an ungodly amount of hours at the garage to earn enough money so we could eat when Dad would spend weeks gone in our teens.

I was the one who scraped together the money for Sammy to go on every field trip his school put on so that he wouldn’t miss out, even if it meant not going on my own and losing class credits.

I was the one who watched him fall deeper and deeper into an ugly pit during his teens when he barely had the motivation to get himself out of bed. I was the one who had to remove meds or anything sharp from the motel, just in case. I was the one who sat awake by his bed every night during that period, panicked that my little brother was going to do something stupid.

I was the one who bought him his first laptop, and the look of pure disbelief and unadulterated adoration was worth every hour of overtime I’d done for the last three months.

I was the one who dropped him off at Stanford after Dad told him not to bother coming back and kicked him to the curb.

And I was the one who spent three years living in constant fear because my little brother was at Stanford all alone.

I did all of that, without anyone having to tell me to. So you look me in the eye, and you tell me if that was fair?”

anonymous asked:

Also I've just remembered, if you google "What each Hogwarts house should do when stressed" and go to google images then there's a picture that briefly gives some nice tips for each house that I think are really accurate. For example for Hufflepuff it's "Take a break. Put yourself first. Celebrate the positives, express your stress. Practice conflict management. Eat right. Remember you can say no." And I'll leave you alone now before my Ravenclawness makes me ramble more aha.

Awesome!

you shameless good-for-nothing you vile shameless girl in my house in my house a nice girl very nice you dirty nasty wench of a thing now don’t you say one word in my house in my house horrid girl h u s s y it’s lucky for him he escaped but I’ll find him now you listen to me when i speak to you nOW YOU L I S T E N TO M E WHEN I SPEAK TO Y O U IN MY H O U S E IN M Y H O USE DO Y OU HE AR WHAT I’M SAYING OR N  O  T  ? ? ?

Real Estate Revenge

(TL;DR at bottom)

I’ve been a real estate broker in Chicago for nearly 20 years. I started at a very small independent brokerage. It was my first week there when the broker/owner gave me a lead. He was older and wasn’t in very good health, so he passed a lot of his leads to his agents.

One of the broker’s friends passed away and the friend’s son wanted to sell the house. I call the son who tells me he’s known the broker for 30-plus years and how close their families were. He seems like a really nice guy. I go over and check out the house. I work up a gorgeous comparative market analysis. I have other brokers check my numbers (I was new and wanted to do a perfect job for my new client). I rehearse my presentation, have my stuff professionally printed, prepare for any possible questions, have responses ready for objections, and I head out.

I dazzle this guy with my presentation. He likes the $135,000 list price I recommended. He’s fine with the commission. He has no objections, but he asks me to give him 2 months to clean out the house, give his siblings a chance to go through everything and then repaint.

Keep reading

FUCK have i told you all about this au I have where Cosette can see ghosts?

OK so the premise is basically Cosette has been able to see ghosts all her life.This is based on the lines “There is a lady all in white/holds me and sings a lullaby” because as this is sung Fantine is already dead if you’re following book canon (or even musical canon JVJ doesnt leave until Fantines dead and he’s squared off with Javert and then it takes a while to ride to Montfermeil) 

ANYWAY

After the barricade, Les Amis stick around as ghosts. I dont know why, maybe they’re in purgatory, maybe thats just what happens when you die, I dont know I’m not a theologian. 

Marius is unaware of the ghosts. But Cosette, who’s been seeing ghosts her whole life, can, and she doesnt think too much of it. Yes, they’re dressed pretty modern, but plenty of revolutions happen, and she assumes they’re from 1830 or 1828.  She and Marius have moved into a nice enough house after their wedding but Paris is full of ghosts as its an ancient city, and shes used to it. 

Until, one day, she notices that the ghosts, especially a dandy with dark curly hair, seem to stick close to Marius. She has an inkling, and she decides to listen closer when Marius tells stories of his friends. She starts to recognize them, from Marius’s tales, and with a sinking heart she realizes, these arent just recent ghosts, these are the ghosts of the June Revolt, and are the closest thing Marius ever had to a family. 

She’s tried to communicate with ghosts throughout the years, with varying levels of success, the most being with her mother. (I will fight to the death over this ok Fantine gets to help raise her daughter beyond the grave) 

Cosette knows that Marius would never believe her, but whenever he goes out for his strolls by the ruins of the Musain or when he’s working at his firm, she endeavors to learn about these people that made her Marius so happy. She learns about their stories, who they left behind. Some, like Courfeyrac, warm up to her immediately, teasing her about Marius, and telling her how they pined. Some, take longer, and she has more trouble understanding. She learns about the peculiar relationship between many of them, which she doesnt quite understand at first, but she supports and endeavors to do better. She learns why they fought, and why they were willing to die for their cause, and finds herself agreeing, although she wishes they might have lived, and that her Marius might have left unscathed. 

She goes out and tries to make right by them, volunteering at the orphanage where Feuilly spent his childhood, paying off Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire’s tabs at various cafes. She finds the Enjolras family burial plot, and pays for a new headstone, one that says son instead of daughter, and that has the right name. She seeks out Musichetta, Floreal, and Bahorel’s mistress, and befriends them, offering them comfort and support. 

Marius thinks shes a bit odd, going off at all hours, but he assumes shes just giving alms like shes always done.

And finally, once she’s done her best to honor the dead and to befriend those that her husband considered family, she starts to notice a girl ghost, a girl who’s face she hadn’t seen since she was a child, timidly watching.

Dean’s Doc

Originally posted by ellen-reincarnated1967

Summary: Reader has a new patient Dean who comes in handy when she least expects it…

Pairing: Dean x Therapist!reader

Word Count: 1,800ish

Warnings: language

A/N: Quote for this one was, “It’s a horror show up here,”…


Keep reading

Things I have learned tonight:
  1. Our kitchen extractor fan is worthless.
  2. Our ADT smoke alarm on the other hand works really well.
  3. If you don’t answer the phone right away when ADT calls you cause you’re busy trying to get the smoke out of your house from a burnt pot of caramel, ADT will dispatch the fire department to your house immediately.
  4. Our local fire department are really nice people…