bag of flour

100 year old gingerbread recipe below + a kitchen witching story I can 100% relate to...

Originally posted by rollingstone

“Hi there! I have a recipe for you (one that means a great deal to me). It’s been in my family for over 100 years. It sounds silly, but it’s for gingerbread. Gingerbread has always been strangely important to my family. also have a fun story about this recipe. Near Thanksgiving, I lost a citrine bracelet that I had made. I figured it came off at the grocery store and was gone forever. While I was mixing the batter, I saw something weird looking in it. I kid you not, I pulled my bracelet out of the batter, sticky and covered in dough. Most likely story? It fell off in the flour bag. How I want to interpret it? Magick. 


Ingredients: 

1 cup of packed brown sugar 

1 cup of white sugar 

¼ cup cooking oil 

1.5 cups molasses 

2 eggs 

1 cup of sweet milk 

6 Tbsp Ginger 

1 Tbsp Cinnamon 

??? self rising flour 

 Mix the sugars, oil, and molasses. Add eggs and milk, mix. Added ginger and cinnamon, mix. Add enough flour to turn the dough into hard cakes (usually the outside of the cakes are also coated in flour). Baked at 350 degrees until golden brown.

 Like I said, old family recipe so there is no exact amount of flour or baking time. And honestly the spice amounts are up to interpretation. The original recipe called for 4 Tbsp of ginger, but they always adjusted it and I recalled it being a little spicier so I added more. But to me, the magick this embodies is warmth, comfort, happiness, protection, connection to loved ones, remembering/grounding what is most important.”

Thank you @herb-tea-kitchenwitch for sharing such a treasured family recipe with me! I hope everyone enjoys this Witchy Wishlists gift as much as me :) 

“I’m starting from nothing. I lost everything back in Venezuela. I had my own natural soap factory but the crisis made it impossible to get ingredients. Then the government began to take 70% of my earnings. I had to close it down. Things got so bad that I couldn’t even find food for my baby. I had a little money, but there was nowhere to buy food. I’d wait in line all day for one bag of flour. We could go days without eating. When I tried to breastfeed my daughter, I’d almost faint. Leaving the country was my only chance. I’d never said ‘goodbye’ to my daughter before. She was screaming my name when I left. It hurt worse than giving birth. But I didn’t have a choice. I told her that I was going to Colombia. I told her that I was going to make a diamond, and I’d bring it back to her. Now I sell key chains in the street. When I make some money, I send packets of food back home. I’m trying to keep a good spirit. I’m doing OK. I grew up very poor. I came from nothing. So I’ve been here before.”

(Bogotá, Colombia)

——————————————

My interpreter Juan has kept in touch with Rose, and we put together a small fundraiser if anyone would like to help: http://bit.ly/2pQbI5k

anonymous asked:

tell another story

When I was seven years old, my Grandmother’s ladle went missing.

This was her favorite ladle. This was her only ladle. She had a very bizarre attachment to this ladle. She became convinced it had been stolen

Suddenly, she trusted no one in the family. Accusations were thrown left and right. Fissures were ripping the family apart as everyone claimed innocence and my Grandmother only grew angrier. Everyone had unbelievably bad alibis. No one could be trusted in the Dark Times ruled over by the ladle thief. 

She couldn’t just buy a new ladle, no, it was the principal of the thing- this was her Prized Ladle, and some heathen who dared share her blood had betrayed her and stolen it. The family was in complete turmoil- no one could hold a conversation for longer than five minutes without begging for the return of the ladle. Grandmom stopped making family dinners. No one was safe, no one escaped without feeling the weight of this crushing catastrophe.

And then, one day, upon opening a bag of flour, my Grandmother learned the horrible truth.

Her ladle…had just simply fallen into the bag without her noticing. 

You would think this is where the story ends.

You see, Grandmother simply couldn’t be in the wrong here. She, upon letting everyone back into her life again, declared this was all Bonnie’s fault. Cousin Bonnie had been using her kitchen for something around the time of The Incident and must have knocked the ladle in, on accident or on purpose was anyone’s guess, and left it there for the bag to be sealed up without anyone checking. 

The family was incredulous! After all the drama, the woman can’t even admit her on wrongdoing? We could not just stand for this. This was injustice. The eldest of Grandmother’s children started to formulate a plan amongst themselves. 

For context, there are Nine Children, and at the time of this event, perhaps…Twenty Grand and Great Grandchildren, all of varying ages. All were eventually brought into play within the plot. 

On Christmas, at the large, loud, entertaining family party, my Grandmother never stood a chance of noticing her daughter Megan sliding into the kitchen. 

She never noticed the shinning, silver gleam of a ladle clutched in her hand, as she handed it off to Bonnie. 

She never noticed Bonnie slipping it into her bag, and never questioned why Bonnie was leaving the party so early. 

The plan was in motion. 

It took dear Grandmother far too long to notice the ladle had once again gone missing. By the time she turned up at Bonnie’s doorstep demanding answers, the ladle was well on it’s way to Japan. 

Grandmother wasn’t told this, however; Just told that maybe she should keep a better eye on her possessions. 

Before the ladle got to Japan, there was a brief stop at Bonnie’s brother’s home in Hawaii, and he gave the ladle a tour of the beautiful islands, taking pictures all the while. Then, he had to deploy with the army in Japan, and the ladle went with him for some time. She saw the gorgeous sites and also learned the ways of a soldier. 

The ladle grew weary of this life, and was mailed off to another relative. 

Every day, my Grandmother would wax poetic about betrayal and her missing ladle. Every day, the ladle experience a new event, city, state, or country. 

While smiling, peace keeping family members would come over to help my grandmother search her possessions for her missing ladle, the ladle itself was on the trip of a lifetime. 

Sports games, box seats, tourist sites- this ladle and our family knew no bounds. One uncle bought a bunch of those can holders that look like shirts, so the ladle could keep modest on her adventures. Celebrities held her in their hands. She touched foreign sands. She found herself, her life and ladle-ality on this trip. The family literally sent this utensil on an Eat, Pray, Love journey just to be petty.

My mother and I received the ladle in the winter months, near the end of her journey. We took her to New York City with us, she saw the Rockettes, toured NBC, and sat with me at David Letterman’s desk. 

Everyone, for all of the ladle’s journeys, took pictures.

We reach Christmas, a full year after the ladle escaped my Grandmother’s dramatic clutches. Grandmom finds herself surprised when she’s pulled into the living room and presented a large scrapbook and a large santa-sack that appears filled to the brim. 

She opens the scrapbook and gasps, now face-to-face with what has been going on all year. The book was titled ‘The Adventures of Mabel the Ladle’. The first page proclaims that Mabel escaped because she had been lonely, and every picture in there conveys every single one of her fantastical adventures with the entire extended family.

Grandmother opened the santa-sack to discover everyone had bought her ladle’s that year for Christmas- metal ladles, fancy ladles, themed ladles, every ladle you could ever imagine. 

Mabel the Ladle was never lonely again.

My grandmother never lacked in kitchen ware again.

All Was Well. 

Midnight Mystery: A Denny's Story

12:00 pm. It was a cold and windy night, which was quite unusual for Los Angeles, California. But then again, this wasn’t an average night. You could just feel it on your skin. Something wasn’t right, and you were going to get to the bottom of it.

You looked down at your hand, knuckles white from nervously gripping onto the crumpled paper note. You decided to read it again, just to be sure you were at the right place. “Denny’s. Devonshire Street. Midnight. Be there. Come alone.”

You sighed heavily, and looked up at the building in front of you, looming in the darkness. Yep, this was it. The inside was dark from what you can tell by looking through the windows. You slowly approached the steps leading up to the large, glass doors. As you walked up each step, you reconsidered this whole thing. What if it was some sort of trap? What if this was where you were going to die? But, the ominous interior of the so-called “restaurant” was beckoning you inside. It’s as if this was your destiny. Cold, unavoidable, and mysterious.

You finally made it to the top of the stairs, and you peered through the glass double-doors. The inside still looked as dark and empty as before. Your shaking hand made it to the door handles, and to your surprise, the door swung open quite easily. They were expecting you. You stepped inside, but still not a sound besides the shuffling of your feet. 

A light comes on. Just a single spotlight over one of the empty booths. As your eyes adjust to the sudden shock of light through the inky blackness, you notice a menu on the illuminated table. It was propped up against a napkin holder, opened to the first page. As you approach it with caution, you notice a golden key set on the table in front of the menu. You lean in to read the page, but realize that there weren’t any food items listed, except for one: pancakes. In every space where there should be a breakfast item, it was replaced with the word “pancakes”. Your stomach begins to rumble. You are hungry… hungry for answers.

Grabbing the menu and the mysterious key, you keep walking through the room, occasionally bumping into tables and chairs in the dark. You make a left turn somewhere and another light comes on. It’s a bit dimmer this time, so it’s not as bad on your eyes. It’s the light at the doorway of the kitchen. As you make your way towards it, you hear a sound behind you. Some sort of creaking noise, like you were being followed…

You whip your head around, but there was nothing there. Just the same empty tables and chairs. You must be imagining things now. Yeah… just imagining things. When you walk into the kitchen, all the lights come on simultaneously. At least, inside of the kitchen that is. There’s nothing abnormal about it. It’s just a regular old kitchen. Something about it seems oddly familiar though. You’d like to think it’s just a bit of déjà vu, but you’re sure you remember this location from before.

You start looking around for some sort of secret entrance or hidden door, but find nothing. You must have missed something… there’s got to be a clue. You look through pots and pans, bags of flour, loose floor tiles. Anything to reveal what to do next! Just then, out of the corner of your eye, you see a poster on the wall. That’s it! It’s what the menu was trying to say. The poster had a badly photoshopped stack of pancakes on it, so there has to be something important near it. You run towards it, and rip the poster from the wall to discover a metal safe built into the wall. It was pretty plain except for a keyhole, which obviously fit the key from before. You shove the shiny, golden key into it’s designated spot and turn it. Instead of the safe opening though, the entire wall split into a doorframe! The key must have activated the entrance, and it’s finally time to see what you’ve been waiting for.

When the door swung open, it revealed another dark room. You take a deep breath, and step inside. The second your foot passes the doorframe, a set of extremely bright lights come on, and your eyes are momentarily blinded once again. When they adjust, something beautiful is revealed. Something magical. Something one can only dream about.

Wait a minute. This can’t be real… this isn’t real at all! This is just a dream! It’s just a dream!

You woke up covered in sweat, tears running down your eyes and your pillow soaked. You were gasping for air, your breaths coming in short and fast. You glanced out the window from your bed, and noticed that it was morning. It was just a dream after all, but it was exactly what you needed. You’ve been waiting for some kind of vision, a sign, a dream. And now, you’ve got it. Before you lost the image in your mind, you raced to your desk and opened up your laptop, desperately waiting for it to start up. You plopped down into your rolling chair, and typed in your password. It was ‘pancakes’, of course. You pulled up one of those electronic sticky notes that hang around on your desktop, and began typing in the description of that magical image you saw in your dream. Yes… this is it! The inspiration you’ve been hoping for!

“A stack of pancakes, but the butter on top is larger and zoomed in, and it’s photoshopped to look like an ice cream scoop with a cherry on top and sprinkles. It’s a pancake sundae!”

You cease your furious typing, take a deep breath, and stretch out your arms. This is the kind of genius your Denny’s blog needed.

So apparently at one point during the American Revolution Alexander Hamilton, Lee and a bunch of troops were all across the Hudson River from the rest of the army, and Hamilton and a few other men were destroying bags of flour so the British wouldn’t get to them (since the British were supposed to arrive soon) and anyway the troops saw the British coming and began to retreat by marching off, but Hamilton and the other few men were left by the shore of the river with a heck of a lot of redcoats approaching. Luckily they had a boat and fled back across the river (under British gunfire), but one man died, another was wounded, and they all bailed and began to swim but made it out ok. However, Lee assumed Hamilton was dead and reported thus to Washington and his aides, and they were apparently all mourning him and drinking to his memory when he appeared in the doorway, dripping wet.

a non-exhaustive list of kravitz-is-taller-than-taako things:

  • kissing taako on the forehead (which is ffucking canon now hell yes)
  • taako entering a room carried on kravitz’s back: what’s up boners
  • magnus is just barely taller than taako (not including the hat) so more than once has taako climbed onto krav for the sole purpose of having the higher ground in an argument
  • [lights go out]
    taako: whatever this is cool i guess
    door: [creaks open]
    taako: [jumping into kravitz’s arms like shaggy fucking rogers] OH HUH THAT’S PRETTY DOPE
  • taako wearing increasingly higher heels in order to feel Superior
  • kravitz being in the kitchen for the sole purpose of reaching top shelves
    • taako: [on his toes, trying to grab a bag of flour with a pair of tongs]
      kravitz: [in tears] please let me help you
  • sometimes kravitz is just relaxing on a chair or s/t and taako will just climb on top of him and wrap his limbs around him like an octopus
Time management

I wrote this to fill this anonymous prompt: If you still want Zimbits prompts, I’m an absolute sucker for any Bob and/or Alicia pov with them seeing how happy Jack has become with Bitty and the SMH team. Bonus if this is the first time they’ve met Bitty as Jack’s bf + roughhousing of any sort. Thank you so much! I love your writing soo much I’m subscribed to you on AO3 😄😄💚

It doesn’t quite hit all the marks – this is set before parents’ weekend of year 2, long before they are boyfriends – but I think it’s in the same spirit. I hope you like it!

And I’m always in the market for new Zimbits prompts!


Alicia stepped on the mat and raised her eyebrows at Bob.

There hadn’t been a mat last time she was here, and if there had been, it would have gotten lost in the detritus that had littered the front porch: battered bikes, broken furniture, maybe even a discarded keg that no one had returned for the deposit.

That hadn’t really bothered her; it was right in line with the frat house decor she remembered from her time at Samwell. But now the porch sported functional furniture (mismatched, but still) and showed evidence of recent sweeping. And it had a welcome mat.

Well, actually, the mat said “Welcome, y’all!” in a cheerful cursive script.

“This is new,” she said.

Bobby just grinned. “Didn’t Jack say Bittle – that kid from Georgia – moved in this year?” he said. “Either it’s his, or the boys are chirping him a little.”

“You know very well Bittle – Eric, isn’t it? – moved in,” Alicia said. “Jack practically mentions him more than he does Shitty, and I’ve never met him. That’s half the reason I decided to come with you.”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

im always ridiculously excited for any kind of writing you do. always makes my day. anyway, if you have time #19 for the drabble thing!

19. “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

“The paint’s supposed to go where?”

Dean hadn’t realized his voice could actually hit that pitch since puberty. He held the bag of art supplies in his hands, white-knuckling the thin plastic handles.

Sam, at least, looked as dumbfounded as Dean felt. He’d paused with a cabbage halfway out of the bag. Cas regarded them both curiously, steadily removing dry grocery items from their respective bags.

“Our room,” Cas said again, more slowly this time. He glanced from Dean to Sam, a frown creasing his brow. “Or… should I keep them in my old room and use it as a studio?”

“’Our’… ‘old’,“ Dean said. He looked to Sam for help. Sam’s gaze darted from Dean to Cas and back again. His jaw worked.

“Ah… congratulations?” Sam said uncertainly. Cas frowned at him.

“What is it?” Cas asked. He held onto the box of cereal he’d been unpacking. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Dean said immediately, because that was his kneejerk response to that tone in Cas’s voice. He winced. “Just… when you say shit like that, it has… you know.” He cleared his throat. “Connotations.”

And if those connotations made Dean’s heart speed up a little and his palms sweat, well. That was Dean’s problem.

He knew he was in well over his head. It had started off innocently enough; after all, what’s a little bed-sharing between friends when the nightmares are bad? A little fully-clothed cuddling, a sleepy Cas… Dean had been living his dream and kept his hands and his thoughts to himself, though some mornings he’d had to vacate the bed rather quickly lest Cas realize how much Dean enjoyed their little arrangement.

Dean’s feelings were entirely Dean’s problem. Cas was newly human and fragile and had night terrors to rival the ones Dean had after he got back from Hell. Dean wasn’t about to begrudge the guy anything that helped ease the nightmares, and if that ‘anything’ happened to be sleeping next to Dean at night, so much the better.

But it was platonic. Just… with cuddling.

But then Cas had to go and say our room in that voice of his, throwing the phrase out there like it was totally natural, and of course Sam would totally misread what was going on because fuck Dean Winchester’s life.

“Connotations,” Cas repeated, deadpan.

“If two people are sharing a room, it usually means they’re together,” Sam piped up helpfully. Cas stared at him. “Romantically.”

“And we’re not,” Dean interjected quickly, looking at Sam and hoping the younger Winchester would use some friggen’ sense and shut up before Cas realized that Dean saw him in a not-at-all-platonic light.

Dean didn’t know how Sam knew, but he knew Sam knew. Had known for a while that Sam knew, though they had never spoken about it.

Dean was so busy glaring Sam into submission that he completely missed the stunned look that crossed Castiel’s face.

“Oh,” Cas said, looking down at the cereal box now crumpled in his hands. He turned away and put the box down on the counter, where it promptly fell over as he busied himself instead with the other bags of groceries. Dean’s brow furrowed in concern.

“Cas?” he asked.

“I… excuse me,” Cas said, his head bowed just enough to hide his expression as he abandoned the bags of granola and flour in favor of the kitchen door. Dean exchanged flabbergasted, worried looks with Sam and took off after Cas.

“Cas?” he called, hurrying to catch up. He grabbed Cas’s shoulder, stopping him short, and pulled gently. Cas turned slowly back, his eyes on the floor. “What was that?”

“I…” Cas shook his head and then lifted his gaze to meet Dean’s. “What are we, Dean?”

Dean pulled his hand back as if Cas’s flesh burned. He backed up half a step, suddenly too aware that he was well in Cas’s personal space.

He opened his mouth and closed it again.

“Friends. We’re friends, Cas,” Dean said, his mouth suddenly dry.

Did Cas know that Dean wanted more than friendship with him? Was he disgusted?

Cas closed his eyes tightly and nodded his head once.

“Friends. Of course,” he said woodenly. He gestured vaguely behind himself, the movements of his hand was quick and sharp. “I’ll just… I can move my things back to my old-” He stopped himself. “My room.”

Dean’s heart dropped.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, voice low with sudden panic. He’d been waking up with Cas in his arms for weeks now and he’d gotten used to the illusion of intimacy, the daydream made real. He didn’t want to lose that.

It was completely selfish of him, he knew that, but he couldn’t lose this now that he’d tasted it. He’d done his best to keep his feelings to himself, hadn’t he? He wouldn’t let his unrequited feelings be Cas’s problem, not ever, would never look or touch or kiss.

But if he lost Cas, if Cas left.

Cas was shaking his head.

“I should.” He looked at Dean, eyes wide and pleading. “Dean, I have to. I can’t- I misunderstood, I’m sorry.”

All warmth left Dean in a rush. He felt as if he’d been turned to stone, his feet heavy and arms weighed down.

“Okay,” Dean said. His voice cracked but he was beyond caring about that. He nodded and looked down. “Okay. If you gotta, I mean… okay.”

It wasn’t Cas’s fault Dean could feel his heart breaking. Dean knew it was his own fault. He’d just wanted it so badly he’d ignored how much it would end up hurting.

“Okay,” he said again, like repeating the word would make it true. Cas grabbed his wrist.

“Dean, if I’ve made you uncomfortable-” Cas swallowed compulsively. “You should have told me. I would have stopped.”

“Made me uncomfortable?” Dean asked, looking at him incredulously. Cas nodded, looking as though he were bracing himself for a blow.

“I assumed things, which I know now were… wrong.” Cas lifted his chin, jaw set firm. “I never intended my feelings to become your problem and you’re not obligated to… indulge me.”

Dean’s brain short circuited. His synapses busted a fuse. He stared dumbly at Cas, his thoughts chasing themselves in circles as the words refused to make sense.

Your feelings?” he echoed, thunderstruck. Cas’s expression shuttered and he let go of Dean’s wrist, only for Dean to grab his and pull him back.

“You assumed things?” Dean asked, heart beating so frantically he could feel it in his ears. “What did you assume?”

Cas looked at him, wary and a little pained, a little uncertain. Dean brought his other hand up to cup Cas’s cheek, watching the former angel’s eyes widen.

“What did you assume, Cas?” Dean asked again. Cas breathed.

“That you and I…” he said. His voice trailed off uncertainly. His eyes flicked down to Dean’s mouth and Cas licked his lips unconsciously, nervous.

“That we?” Dean echoed, letting his gaze linger on Cas’s mouth. Letting Cas catch him looking, watching the understanding slowly dawn on his face.

“That we’re together,” Cas said. Dean felt the words settle in his chest, lighting him up from the inside out.

“Do you want that?” Dean asked, breathless and already knowing the answer.

“Do you?” Cas asked, stunned. Dean laughed, the joy in him bubbling up and spilling over as he finally, finally leaned in to kiss Cas.

@livebloggingmydescentintomadness @destieldrabblesdaily @dragonpressgraphics @ethne-dragon

Buggy Brownies and Thigh Highs (Smut)

MASTERLIST

A/N : First ever smut!! This took me a good few sessions to write and also Harry’s legs make me weak.

Word Count : 3500+

Summary : Y/N spends the morning doing what she loves most, making brownies and riding Harry’s thigh. 

                                                       * * *

Leaning against the kitchen counter, a cup of tea laced between my fingers, I watch Harry with a fond smile as he grips a bag of self-rising flour in one hand, and a regular bag of flour in the other. Even though half his body is turned, I can see the small frown of his lips as the corners of his mouth sink deeper and the confused expression across his face tightens.

“Y/N,” He begins, turning his body to face me and I can’t help but bite my lips to stop a chuckle from escaping them as I stare at what he’s wearing. A pink satin pyjama tank top is wrapped across his chest, his nipples evidently straining to break free from the suffocating material. The unmistakeable sound of clothes ripping silences Harry who is halfway through asking which flour he is supposed to use, and he sends me a bashful grimace as he prepares himself to be scolded at knowing he’s ruined my favourite pyjama top. To be honest, if it wasn’t for how cute Harry looked at the moment I would’ve whined but Harry is too adorable to chew out so I just shake my head instead.

“Sorry babe…” Harry starts, “I’ll buy yeh another one but a size or two up so a can wear it too.”

I raise an amused eyebrow questioningly.

“What?” Harry asks defensively, “The silk is comfortable and soft around my torso and yeh wear my shirts all the time!”

At that he gestures accusingly to my body and I glance down to see my attire. A long silk shirt hangs from the frames of my shoulders, vibrant colours and swirls lace a pattern across the predominantly black background and I tug at the rolled up sleeves so the material falls and pools around my wrists.

“I wear your shirts because I look hotter in them.” I tease, reaching down to pop open another button. Harry swallows roughly, eagerly agreeing as his eyes don’t tear from my fingers which softly toy with the button. Unlucky for Harry, my plans for this lazy Sunday morning consist of baking, only baking… for now.

“But you just look like a drag queen in mine.” Harry’s eyes snap up, any sexual aura in the room now evaporated, and he greets my teasing grin with an equally challenging glint in his eyes.

“At least a look fabulous in this top, darlin’,” Harry says, loosening his wrists and consequently spilling a little flour. “Yeh couldn’t pull this tank off even if the colour did suit yeh.”

Harry jumps and raises his arms in a victory hoot at the ‘sick burn’ and the straps of the top completely tear apart. I break into fit of giggles at his guilty expression and soon enough Harry too gives a small chuckle before apologising profusely.

“Sorry sugar.” He says before pulling the tank top off completely; leaving him standing in the kitchen with only a pair of tight boxer briefs adorning his legs.

“S'okay love.” I sigh, but Harry shoots me a very cheeky grin and shakes his head.

“No, Y/N. A was apologising to the sugar.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks and a wave of embarrassment washes over me as I realise Harry knocked over a bag of sugar when he lifted his arms victoriously. Using a hand to cover my face, I groan, frustrated that I fell for such an obvious trap and Harry giggles as he scoops the sugar back into its bag. With his back turned to me, I dare glance through the gaps in between my fingers and I rake my eyes over Harry’s bare back as it ripples and tenses. I can’t help but stare, he’s gorgeous. Though his body is not particularly muscly, it is toned and touring abroad has done wonders for his skin; leaving him deliciously tanned, almost like a caramel apple.

I sit back abruptly as Harry finishes cleaning up, determined not to give him the satisfaction that I was staring but the quirk of his lips reveal he knows I was ogling him and he winks irritatingly.

“Seriously babe?” He asks, “If yeh done harassing me with yeh eyes, a’d like to know which flour I’m su'posed to use to make these goddamn brownies.”

Fighting back an eyeroll, I stand up from my stool and join him beside the bowl with ingredients.

“I don’t know…” I reply, eyes fliting between the packet of normal flour and the packet of self-rising flour. “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to use self-rising flower for baking.”

“Even for brownies?”

I shrug and Harry must reckon that’s a good enough answer as he drops the bag of normal flour before eyeing the self-rising flour and pouring about half the bag in. As he cracks a couple of eggs and adds some butter, I realise we probably should’ve invested in a set of scales because brownie mixture is not supposed to look so powdery. Also, aren’t you supposed to use coco powder? Harry and I used hot chocolate powder as a substitute but that in itself poses an issue because the tub said it’s use by date expired four months ago.

Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

After we add some water to bring the mixture together, Harry takes the role of cleaning up the kitchen while I spoon the mixture into a baking tray (of course, making sure to leave a tiny bit of brownie mixture for myself and Harry to lick while we wait for the brownies to bake). Just as I draw away from the oven after placing our soon-to-be brownies in the oven, Harry’s strong arms wrap around my middle and he pulls me close into his chest. He buries his face into the crook of my neck and snuggles close, dipping the tip of his freezing nose right into the warm pool of my skin and I elicit a small yelp.

“You’re freezing, Haz!” I squeal, touching the spot he just nuzzled. “You need to put something on.”

Harry cocks his head to the side. “Put somethin’ on?” He toys, taking a step closer to which I take a step back until he traps me between his arms against the kitchen island.

“A’d like to wear this sunshine,” He tells me, amusement clear in his voice as he fiddles with the hem of the shirt between his thumb and forefinger. “Can a have my shirt back baby?”

His lips are dangerously close and with such a short distance between us, I struggle to think straight. Reciprocating his sultry change of mood, I slide one of my hands into his dry hair and place the other dangerously close to a carton of nearby eggs. Harry swallows harshly and his eyes flutter closed as I pull him closer and latch my teeth onto the lobe of his ear. I nibble gently and soothe the skin over with the flat of my tongue before tugging on his hair roughly to expose his neck.

“Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry…” I daunt, placing wet kisses down his neck softly. Suddenly, Harry juts his hips into mine and I bite my lips to stop a shaky breath. An overwhelming desire to properly kiss him floods my body, and I almost give into my primal instincts but when Harry tugs on the hem of my shirt I’m reminded of my mission.

“You’ll have to kill me for this shirt.” I whisper before quickly grabbing an egg from the carton, circling my arm up and around, and smacking the shell right down on top of his skull.

Not waiting for his response, I shove him back and run to the other side of the island. Harry, completely shocked, whips around sending egg yolk flying everywhere and I slap a hand to cover my mouth as I begin snorting at the sight of my furious, shirtless but most importantly egg-soaked boyfriend.

“"Oh Y/N… Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” Harry taunts, mocking me similar to how I did before. He places a hand on the bag of self-rising flour and runs his other through his dripping hair. “Yeh should not have done that.”

In seconds, whatever remaining flour we had left is thrown right at me and I’m left coughing and spitting out flour as Harry creases in the corner while I mentally scold myself for being such an idiot and leaving my mouth agape.

“You suck.” I grunt, after spitting out the remains of clumpy flour and Harry’s grin grows wider if that’s even possible.

“And yeh swallow, my dear.” He winks before lunging for me. Harry’s long fingers find my sides instantly and he tickles me ruthlessly, taking every opportunity he has to blow raspberries into the crook of my neck. I squeal and slap his forearm but Harry only laughs, places a soft kiss on my shoulder, and slides his fingers up my body as he slowly peels his shirt off my body, leaving me completely bare besides the pair of cotton knickers hugging my bum. Harry shoots me a triumphant toothy smile as he pulls the shirt over his head and pushes his arms through the powdery sleeves; I, in contrast, pout and Harry ceases the chance to lightly trace my bottom lip with his forefinger. I don’t even think about when I automatically drop my lower lip further and gently suck on the tip of Harry’s finger.

The mood of the room flips dramatically.

Suddenly, I’m all too aware of Harry’s other hand caressing my hip and how his hooded eyes don’t even glance away from my lips that pucker around his finger. His eyes flutter closed as he gently pumps it into my wet mouth and I hum softly while reaching my hands up and running them through his sodden locks. The cold metal of his rings send waves of shock through my body, causing me to shiver as my body begins to shake at the temperature change.

“Are y- are yeh cold, love?” Harry stutters, pulling his glistening finger from my mouth - a string of saliva following. My eyes snap open and I nod quickly, letting a small whiny ‘yes’ slip past my lips.

“Maybe we should do somethin’ to warm yeh up then love? A don’t want yeh getting a cold…” Harry winks and he pushes himself up onto the kitchen island so that his bum and thighs rest on the surface but the rest of his legs dangle down. With a playful glint in his eyes, Harry pats his bare thigh invitingly and offers me an outstretched arm as he pulls me up on top of him.

Taking his hand, I climb up. My breasts swing as I move and my lack of clothing gives Harry easy access as he dips his head forward to suck and bite and leave marks all over them. He takes his time to treasure my body, nibbling lightly on my left nipple and rubbing the other; Harry uses his large, masculine hands to cusp and knead the rest of my breast and I automatically arch my back to give him more area.

Eventually he pulls away and Harry looks up at me through his darkened gaze. In a split second, I grab the sides of his face tightly in my hands and slam my lips onto his. A low, deep growl erupts from Harry’s throat and he drops his fingers to my thighs. Gripping them firmly, Harry groans into the lustful kiss and pulls me closer, determined to eliminate any space between us. My hands fly to his biceps for leverage as he hauls me up his thighs, my fingertips gripping his arms so tightly that little crescent moons are left in my wake.

“Ride my thigh, baby.” Harry pants, his damp breath fanning over my lips hotly. The lust in his eyes send waves of shivers through my body and the hairs on my arms stand up as goose bumps texturise my skin. “Ride me.”

His hands part my thighs and I happily oblige, following his movements and removing my panties as he plants his hands on my hips to steady me. From this height, I have to duck my head so that it doesn’t smack against the ceiling and the position is not all that comfortable but in seconds Harry has me back down into the comfort of his arms.

“Ride me baby, ride your daddy.”

I don’t need to be told twice.

Lowering myself onto Harry’s thigh, I grind lazily against the soft cotton of his boxer briefs. My lips part in a silent moan and Harry snakes one hand to the crook of my neck and captures my lips once again, while the other clutches the fleshy fat of my bum causing me to jitter forward and rut my hips right across his thigh.

“Harry…” I moan loudly, finding a rhythm and hazily grinding down on his structured thigh. The feeling is incredible, the friction rubbing against my nub providing a perfect sensation that flows in the blood around my body and makes my toes curl. Coupled with Harry’s wet tongue and perfect fingers, I really can’t imagine how I managed to live without this stupidly idiotic but all the same amazing boy for so long.

“Harry!” I cry out as Harry stretches his lanky leg across the kitchen and rests his foot against the corner of an opposite counter. The new position allows Harry to bounce his leg and a sob escapes my lips as his muscular thigh greets me halfway and heightens the pleasure.

“Don’t stop, fuck Daddy! Don’t stop!”

“Fuck…” Harry grunts, swiping a hand across his face trying to fathom how he got so lucky. There’s too much for him to handle as his eyes jump from my jiggling breasts to my euphoric expression to my bare pussy jerking across his thigh. Worse yet, Harry’s internal struggle only grows worse as I finally tug him free of his boxers and wrap my petite hand around the base of his throbbing and rather sore looking cock.

“Daddy, you’re so worked up.” I tease, instantly dropping his cock and moving my hands to fondle his balls. Harry groans loudly, throwing his head back as he fights the urge to thrust into my hand.

“Don’t tease me, Y/N.” He warns dangerously but I giggle and rub the skin of his balls between my fingers anyway, deliberately ignoring his leaking cock. This time around, Harry physically can’t stop his hips from levitating and I bite back a triumphant grin because there’s no better feeling than having your boyfriend like putty in your hands.

“I’m not teasing Daddy, just having a little fun is all.” Sending him a confident wink, I pinch his sac and Harry almost sobs, the pressure almost too much, too perfect to handle. Quite frankly, Harry isn’t finding the situation as humorous as I do and so he grabs my hips dominantly and presses me down harshly on his thigh so that I’m practically scraping against his skin. A high pitched moan escapes my chest and a few tears find their way down my cheeks, the pleasure absolutely indescribable.

“Yeh speak to much, love. I think yeh need something to keep yeh quiet.” Harry says in a raspy, rushed breath. I watch as he whips his head around, egg yolk clumping his curls together so that they fall in front of his eyes. A thin layer of sweat has formed around our bodies like cling film so I swipe my forehead with the back of my hand, but leave Harry untouched; the perspirant only highlighting his naturally toned body and adding another element of rawness to the whole ordeal. Suddenly, Harry turns back around, the bowl of raw brownie mixture in his grasp.

Harry gradually submerges his middle and forefinger into the mixture, then raises his hand and beckons me forward. I obey without hesitation and open my mouth enthusiastically as Harry slips his two fingers in. Unfortunately, neither of us thought to taste test the mixture first and so within seconds of pushing his fingers into my mouth, I gag and spit them out trying with all my might not to dry wretch on him or myself.

“Shit Y/N, did a push yeh too far?” Harry rushes, an atmosphere of concern complimenting his words. God bless the poor lad; worry floods Harry’s face as he fears he may have been too forceful and noticing his guilt, I immediately rush to correct him, hoping he hasn’t already fallen into a turmoil of distress.

“No, no of course not.” I exclaim. “It’s just those brownies are going to taste like utter shit.”

I can’t help myself from letting a few chuckles loose and when Harry catches on, he too begins giggling (though there’s still a hint of nervousness in his voice, concerned still laced in his knitted eyebrows).

“Yeh okay then? A haven’t poisoned yeh have a?”

Shaking my head no, I tilt my head to the side and stare at Harry for a moment. Reaching up, I use my thumb to iron out the creases in his forehead and I place a kiss upon his lips.

“No Daddy, I’m perfect.”

At that, the mood certainly returns to its musky and lustful atmosphere and I grab Harry’s cock tightly - but not so tightly that it hurts him; just the right amount of pressure to keep him crazy.  I begin moving my wrist, flexing my fingers around his cock and base trying to draw another whimper from him and I’m eventually rewarded when he cries my name.

“Shit, Y/N! Keep doing tha’!” He begs, his leg bouncing like crazy. This only spurs me on more, and I jerk him off lazily, both of us moaning and kissing each other in unison. Harry’s eyes are screwed tightly shut and he rocks his hips into my hand urgently, chasing his release with breathy grunts and moans. My chest tightens with pride as Harry’s fingers dig deeper into my skin and he begins shaking his head because he just can’t comprehend how good it feels. Sweat drips from his forehead and I use my hand to push back his falling curls to free his face. The expression he sports is one of pure bliss and I almost wish I could freeze time, just so that I could stare at him like this for however long I want. I realise though, Harry orgamsing is a better sight to see.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me - are yeh close?” Harry struggles, the hope in his voice clear as day. Relief shines in his eyes as I nod excessively and he clenches his fingers around my hips even more.

“So close!”

Without warning, Harry’s fingers have suddenly slipped under me and he rubs my clit furiously, rolling the nub between his fingers. It’s more than enough to send me over the edge and I squeeze Harry’s cock as I slump heavily over his body, coming loudly. My final moan triggers Harry’s own orgasm and he thrusts into my hand one more time before long spurts of come are landing on my arm and belly, sticky and slightly warm.

After coming down from our highs, we take a moment to lie there together, limbs sloppily intertwined and damp skin sticking.

“I love yeh so fuckin’ much.” Harry whispers, carefully drawing his hand out from underneath me and using those exact fingers to free my eyes from stray strands of hair. He places a soft kiss on my lips, ever so gently caressing my jaw juxtaposing the animalistic and crazed lustful self he was only a minute ago.

“I love yo-” A shrill ring abruptly cuts me off as the oven timer sounds, alerting us the brownies are done. Harry jumps immediately, and lightly places me down on the island before hopping over to the oven and opening it. The metallic device produces a tin of sickly grey looking brownies and my face twists at the sight of disgusting lumps of butter swimming in the tin.

Although both our standards where low, the brownies end up succeeding our already awful expectations and land themselves the title of the worst brownies we have ever tasted. Harry sighs and I can tell he’s a little disappointed.

“Am sorry these are shit, Y/N.” He huffs, chucking the entire batch into the bin with a grimace displayed on his face.

“Harry, love, don’t be upset.” I coo, delicately cupping his chin with one hand and with a confident wink, I run my fingers through his drying come on my stomach and stick the digit into my mouth. “I much prefer tasting you anyway.”

Needless to say, those buggy brownies were soon all forgotten about.

                                                          * * *

PS. Let me know if you enjoyed and send in any requests!

peppermiints-please  asked:

SO I was just reading another fic where Bitty was looking for cans of pumpkin and I just thought... I wonder how Bitty reacted to the news this past fall that cans of pumpkin actually contain very little pumpkin? That like, it's mostly other squash?

“Yo Bitty, we’re back!”  Ransom and Holster stomped the snow from their boots and tramped into the kitchen where Bitty was prepping a whole line of pie dishes with their bottom crusts.

“Perfect timing!  I was just finishing up with these.”  He reached out to take a ag from Ransom and start unloading it into the pantry.  “Thank you boys again, I just could not hoof it all the way to Stop & Shop in that weather.”

“We got your back, bro.”  Holster slapped him on the back and started pulling out bags of nuts and fruit for the Hausgiving pies.

“Where’s the pumpkin?”  Bitty asked, looking around at the pile of groceries.  “I should get started with that since it’ll take the longest.”

“Oh, I think it’s in here,” Ransom said, giving one of his bags a shake.  It made a metallic clunking noise as cans of soup knocked against each other.

“In there?”

“Yeah.  I know, I hate when they bag all the cans together too.  This thing’s fuckin heavy.  Like, we get it, it’s organized, but it’s -”

“Y’all got canned pumpkin?”  Bitty looked at him with wide eyes, a bag of pecans dangling from his other hand.  Ransom cut his eyes over to Holster, who was staring back at him, fear clear behind the lenses of his glasses.

“Um…yes?”

“That’s not what the list said.  I wrote one pumpkin.”

“Like…an actual pumpkin?  Like for Halloween?” Holster asked.  Bitty whirled around to face him.

“YES like an actual pumpkin!  That canned junk ain’t real pumpkin, it’s mystery squash.”  

“Oh.”  Holster scooted back to the door, carefully keeping the table between himself and Bitty.  He remembered the Beyonce album release fit and did not want to find himself the target of Bitty’s next rage.  “Um, should we go back and get one then?” His voice squeaked a little and Ransom would usually chirp him for days for a crack like that, but he honestly couldn’t blame him.  

The happy ding of Bitty’s phone getting a text from Jack saved them.  Bitty just sighed and shook his head as he pulled out his phone and read the message.  “No, y’all just go upstairs and don’t bother me ‘till these pies are done.  Jack’s almost here, so I’ll have him stop.  Clearly y’all were not ready for Hausgiving errands.”  He waved them away, and neither argued as they turned and scampered up to the attic, Ransom carefully snagging the bag of Doritos off the table as they left.  

Jack showed up twenty minutes later with his overnight bag over his shoulder, a bag of extra butter and flour, and a beautifully round pumpkin tucked under his other arm.  Bitty kissed the pumpkin and his boyfriend, in that order.

“Honey, this is perfect.  I should’ve just sent you from the start, I dunno what I was thinking letting the boys go on their own.”  Jack smiled in that fond way he did when Bitty was being ridiculous.

“Come on Bits, they tried.”  Bitty hummed and Jack tipped his chin up for another kiss.  “Just think, when you met them, they would’ve come back with a Marie Calendar’s and a case of pumpkin-spice flavored beer.”  Bitty laughed through the pained groan that thought elicited.

“Oh lord, is that was passed for Thanksgiving here?”

“No,” Jack said, setting down the groceries and suitcase so he could wrap Bitty in his arms.  “That would’ve been them trying.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“Mmhm.”  Bitty pressed his face into Jack’s chest.  “And look how much they love you.  Jack picked up the bag of cherries from the table.  “These are organic.  Do you know how huge that is for these guys?”

“Cherry’s my favorite,” Bitty mumbled.

“They know.”

“…Maybe I was a little harsh earlier.”

Ransom and Holster woke up from an afternoon nap to the smell of a mystery squash pie sitting on top of Ransom’s Orgo textbook and figured they’d been at least partially forgiven.


Imaginezimbits is taking prompts!  Want a fic written?  Send it here!

Harry Styles - “I Love You”


Ever since you met Harry, your life had changed. You were traveling around the world, accompanying him to interviews, standing off to the side as he did his thing, went to shows and events. It was a whirlwind of constant traveling and always going. You wouldn’t change it for the world though. 

It was the down moments between all of that craziness that you counted as your favorite. The moments of being curled up in bed, whether it be his, yours, or one in a hotel, wrapped up tight in each others arms. You wouldn’t even have to say anything, his fingers would brush through your hair, your head resting on his chest as you trace his tattoos with your finger tips. 

When you did get to be home for an extended period of time, he would take you on dates, nice dinners out, occasionally go on a shopping trip of two, but mostly the two of you enjoyed each others company in the comfort and privacy of his home in London. You would watch movies, cook dinner together, drink a bit of alcohol and he would make you laugh with countless silly little jokes. 

You could easily say that you had fallen in love with Harry but as neither of you had taken that next step in the relationship, you had never said it out loud. It wasn’t that you didn’t think Harry felt the same, you were sure he did, but the right moment for it to come out would show itself and that moment just hadn’t come yet. 

The two of you had been at his home in London for a few days now, still having a few days yet to relax together before he had to fly to LA for some meetings. You would not be accompanying him as you had things going on here so you were spending every second together possible until he had to leave. 

Today you both decided to bake some cookies. It had been a lazy morning after breakfast, curled up on the couch watching some Nicholas Sparks romantic comedy that he had chosen. You had mentioned that cookies sounded good so after getting dressed, the the two of you made a trip to the grocery store and stocked up on all the needed items to make multiple batches of cookies. 

“No, love,” Harry reprimanded, taking the wrong size measuring cup from your hand. “This one.” He exchanges the wrong for the right, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“That’s the one I meant.” You mutter, reaching for the ingredient you were about to add. “I know what I’m doing, Haz.” He laughs and nods, reaching over to wrap an arm around your hips, pulling you against him as you pout the ingredients into the bowl in front of you. 

“I know wha’ I’m doing betteh though.” You sense his smirk after he speaks this so you turn your head to see that face of his, your eyes narrowed. “After all.. I used to be a ba-” You drop the measuring cup and bring your hand up to cover his mouth before he could even finish that sentence. 

“You mutter that phrase one more time around me and I swear you’ll never see the light of day again.” You see his eyes light up with the grin he so desperately wanted to let out but with your hand over his mouth still he was unable. “Got it?” He gives a nod, his eyes still alight but you move your hand none the less and there is that grin. He leans in to press a kiss to your cheek before the two of you go back to your task. 

It was after the cookies were in the oven and the two of you go about starting to clean up the mess you had made. The two of you were moving in sync with one another, working on your task at hand, getting things done. He was rinsing out the bowl and you were putting the unused ingredients away. It happened as you crossed the kitchen, the large bag of flour in your hands. You aren’t sure what your foot caught on but suddenly you were stumbling and in your panic to catch yourself and not hit the floor, you drop the bag of flour. 

“Fuck!” You exclaim right as it hits the floor. And because it’s flour, the bag promptly explodes and flour covers the entire floor .. and you. It had floated up in it’s explosion and you were consumed by a cloud of white. You began to cough just as Harry’s laugh rang out around the room. “’s’not fuckin’ funny!” You say through your coughs but he was basically doubled over, his hands on his stomach, his face turning red. 

“Oh my,” He wipes a tear away from the corner of his eye as he stands up straight, a wide grin still on that handsome face of his. “Oh, I love you.” After the words tumble from his mouth your eyes widen, as does his. He had said it, he said those three words that neither of you had dared utter yet. “I..I-i mean..” He scratches at the back of his neck, his entire face was flushed bright red and he was opening and closing his mouth, small sounds coming out but no words actually formed. 

You stand there, covered head to toe in flour, standing in a pile of it, your entire kitchen covered, but you were grinning like a fool. Harry loved you, he really really loved you. You felt you had already known that but to hear him say it, to hear those words fall from those gorgeous lips of his… it was perfect. 

“Harry,” You cut off his stammering and cross the room, taking his face in your hands. His stubble was rough against the smooth palm of your hand but you hold firm, making those green eyes meet yours as he shuts his mouth. “I love you, too.” You say these words with a wide grin, your voice a bit breathless. 

“Good.” Harry finally says, his arms wrapping around your hips as he slowly dips his face to meet yours. The kiss was so gentle, his lips barely ghosting across yours but the moment was full of such passion and love. He pulls you close, clearly not caring about the fact that you were getting white flour all over his black jeans and shirt. He lifts you a bit, your toes grazing the floor as he grins. “Been wantin’ to say that fo’ a while, really.” He confesses, setting you back down. 

“Me too.” You both share a smile before his lips press to yours more firmly, molding against yours as his hair falls into his face, tickling your cheek. You reach up as he intensifies the kiss, tangling your fingers through those curls, allowing yourself to be pulled even deeper, his tongue sliding against yours. You knew the two of you were about to show one another just how much you loved each other. 

anonymous asked:

HC about the pairings Reddie vs Stenbrough having to raise a bag of flour or a mechanical baby and be parents in a fake family for a Family and Consumer Science class.

OH MY GOD THIS IS SO CUTE

reddie:

-richie would be so adamant on naming the flower baby ‘richie jr’ but eddie is like wtf no we’re good with only one damn richie tozier in the world. richie just shrugs like “okay fine but you know what we do need? another eddie, therefore, eddie jr.”

-the day of getting the damn thing, eddie lets richie take it home and he goes over to his house later on, and richie is in the kitchen and offers eddie a cookie saying saying some shit like “didn’t have any flour so i used some from eddie jr, that’s okay right?” and eddie fucking flips “YOU DID NOT JUST USE OUR BABY TO MAKE COOKIES” and richie is for a minute speechless cause like did eddie just call the flour sack ‘their baby’?

-they take turns having it for the night, though, it doesn’t really matter since they are usually together until midnight anyway doing whatever

-eddie is mortified when one morning he comes over and finds that richie drew glasses on the ‘baby’

-you know damn straight richie will repeatedly trick eddie into thinking he actually baked something with the flour, and eddie falls for it every time

-BUT you also know eddie will trick richie right back. richie will come over to get the ‘baby’ and eddie will be like “um you had it, dipshit.” and richie IS LIKE WHAT NO YOU HAD EDDIE JR. eddie will watch with amusement as richie runs back home to look for it

-richie keeps the ‘baby’ in his basket when they all ride around on their bikes

-eddie goes to richie’s house to find richie playing videogames with the flour baby right next to him with its very own controller. “um our baby is not going to live its short life not knowing how to play mario kart, eds”

-when they finally finish the assignment (they got an A btw which shocked everyone because lets be real everyone thought richie was going to drop it or some shit), they actually do end up going to richie’s house and baking cookies with it

stenbrough:

-okay first off the baby would definitely be a girl and her name would be raven

-i can just imagine stan making some sling to hold the ‘baby’ on his chest as he goes out and studies birds??

-they decide to keep the baby at bill’s because georgie actually went out and made a cute, little bed for it, and how could they say no to his cute face?? though stan can’t help but fix up the blankets and pillows but bill doesn’t say anything and he’s happy to tell georgie that’s just how stan is

-also georgie says bill and stan are married now, and stan takes bill’s hand in his and kisses his cheek and bill fucking sputters all over the place

-so now hand holding is a thing, and stan kisses bill on the cheek every time they part ways. they knew they had feelings for each other but this assignment only made it more out in the open.

-also stan keeps the ‘baby’ in his basket because he’s the only one who makes sure his bike is stood still

-alsO bill would definitely whip out a marker and draw curls on the ‘baby’ and stan’s face would get so red oh my god. “i hate you.” “wh..wh-what..” “I’m kidding” and kissing follows

-when the assignment is over, they keep holding hands all the time and pretty much nothing changes and stan officially asks out bill and they go on their first date

2AM - part 1 (A Minseok Series)

Genre: Romance / Angst / Future Smut

Characters: Minseok X You

Description: You have been continuing a secret friends-with-benefits relationship with your best friends older brother Minseok, who is idol group EXO’s Xiumin, for two years now, while secretly concealing the very real growing feelings you’ve always had for him. A sudden blind date for you and for him suddenly forces you to face those feelings or end the relationship entirely.

A/N: so the Drabble game inspired this (anon submitted minseok+wet) and I finally got around to the final 1k followers submission which is Minseok FWB. This will be a series and you might be mad at me a little bit. :D

2AM - [M] part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

“Why don’t you come over for dinner? My brother’s in town and he asked if you were coming over for dinner.”

He asked if you were coming over.

You stared down at your lit cellphone with the text from Minhee, your best friend since elementary school, a familiar rush of nerves bursting through your belly as you read it over and over.

He asked.

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oopsnocturnal  asked:

hi! i'd love to hear what you think would have happened if wyldon hadn't let keladry stay after her first year!! love your writing :^)

“Mindelan, it may be that the best thing said of my tenure is that you were my student. Should that be the case, I am the wrong man for this post. I did all I could to get rid of you. Your probation was wrong. You know that, I know it. I was harder on you than any lad. Thank Mithros I remembered my honor and let you stay when you met the conditions—but it was a near thing. Next time, I might not heed the voice of honor.”

– Wyldon of Cavall (Squire)

Kel sat and thought about it all through the long summer– thought about joining the Riders when she turned sixteen, or going back to the Yamani Isles with her parents, or running away to become an unlawful bandit hunter. 

She drank tea with her mother and accepted her quiet sympathy. She wondered what was going to happen to Peachblossom. She did her morning glaive practice dances in the heady air of the tiny courtyard garden of her parents’ townhouse, where the cook grew herbs and spices in big overflowing boxes.

Summer rolled on. She sat, and she thought, and she did not tell her thoughts to anyone. On the first day of what would have been her second year of page training, she woke before the sun and had a quiet breakfast with her father, and then she jogged up the big dusty hill to the palace grounds.

When the pages trailed out of the building to the practice yards with dubious enthusiasm, she was waiting just outside their ground. Her chin was high, her shoulders loose while her hands gripped her weighted staff.

“Probationer,” Wyldon barked out her, when one of the boys went to fetch him. “Was I unclear in the spring?”

Kel stared him down, fingers white on her staff, and said, “I’m not a probationer anymore.”

“She’s a private citizen, just enjoying the fresh air,” Neal called from the other side of the practice yard fence. He got armor cleaning punishment for a week for his cheek and Kel lifted and lowered and struck with her staff to the call of the masters. Her staff hit thin air. The clack of the pages’ staves colliding hit her ears.

“That’s palace property,” Wyldon said ten minutes in, and plucked the staff out of her grip, so Kel followed the lesson with empty hands and brought her mother’s spare walking stick the next day.

They started calling her trespasser, after that, and Kel stood calm on the public grounds just on the other side of the practice yard fence, practicing her high blocks.

While the pages had riding practice, she sat in the dirt outside the riding yard and did the homework Neal smuggled out for her. He handed the finished assignments in for her, too, even though only Myles and the one Mithran priest who had never learned anyone’s names graded them. She took notes on what riding exercises the masters were assigning the pages and watched Neal where he sat on Peachblossom’s back like a sack of mulish peanuts.

“When I heard you weren’t t’ be coming back,” Stefan the hostler told her. “I wasn’t sure what would happen to the old lad.”

“Me, either,” said Kel, looking down at her math and trying to keep her face smooth and still.

When the pages went in for their seated classes, Stefan let her take out Peachblossom to try to exercises herself. Days the gelding was too tired, he found other mounts for her and Kel learned all their names– gentle Aubrey and fastidious Starfall and distractible, clever Redding and poor anxious Terence, who almost threw her more than once. “He comes by the fidgets honest,” Stefan told her and Kel brought extra apples for Terence when she could.

She still took on Lalasa when Gower found her feeding the sparrows in the courtyard beside her old rooms and asked her. Her parents’ townhouse had the funds to hire another maid, though Kel didn’t need or want a personal servant.

Lalasa pinched Kel’s torn clothes from her room all the same and returned them better hemmed and beautifully mended. Kel barely saw her, though she tried to leave a coin from her allowance on the piles of clothes she thought the young woman was most likely to steal away next.

She didn’t ask for the help and she told herself she didn’t want it, but she jogged up the big dusty hill to the palace grounds every day with her weighted harness weighing on her shoulders.

She stood just outside the low fence of the practice yards and ignored Joren’s comments and Zahir’s sneers and the rebukes of the swordfighting teachers– distraction, they said. Lump, waste, failure.

The sun beat down on her aching shoulders and she thought I could stand here forever, thought you are just noise and wind, I am a mountain. I will be here long after you cease howling.

Neal landed blows on Joren’s fingers, apologizing blandly to the masters for his clumsinesses, because Kel had ordered him to get in no fights for her honor. The sun beat down on the careful stitches of Kel’s cotton shirt, which fit as perfectly as Lalasa could manage from a shy distance.

She told herself she didn’t want the help, didn’t need it. Her harness weighed down her shoulders, her makeshift staff weighed down her arms, but the cotton laid light and kind on her back.

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I Still Exist

Requests: Omg your stories are awesome! I was wondering if I could suggest a newt x reader with the song “Where Do We Go” or “Shatter Me” by Lindsey Stirling? Where the reader feels kinda neglected and depressed for quite some time and newt fails to notice because he is in a lot harsher mood and snaps a lot as a result of working on his book? And one day she goes “missing” and worries newt? Lots of angst pls!(Idk it sounded a lot better in my head)You can come up with the rest. Thanks!       AND      hi !! i really love your stories, and i was wondering if i could request an v angsty one where newt is under a lot of stress and snaps at reader? ❤️❤️

Word Count: 2,701

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to one in


The workshop smells about how you’d expected when you crawl into the case. A burning mixture evaporates somewhere nearby, partly covering up the odors of the various feed bags for the creatures and the plate of raw meat rotting on the table. You shake your head, disgusted, and slip past the shed. Scanning the field, hand over your eyes to block out the blinding sun, you spot Newt next to a murtlap. He’s on his knees saying something to the snarling creature. You swallow down the heart breaking in your chest. He’s exchanging more words with that beast than he has with you in the past month.

“Newt. Newt!” You shout, crossing through tall grasses and kicking stones out of your way. For God’s sake, “Newt!”

He twists enough to ensure it’s you before turning his back on you. “One minute, love.”

Hands on your hips, you wait as he chatters with the beast. It’s not that you’re against his research, it’s that he’s trying to cram chapters worth of new material into the book. You’d supported his idea when he first told you a month and a half ago. Now, though, you’re not sure you would’ve been so encouraging had you known he would spend every waking minute in the case without you.

“I don’t have all day, Newt. I have to get to the bakery with Queenie before it closes.”

He shakes his head, facing you. “I’m busy, love. Can’t it wait?”

You can feel the tension in his voice, strengthened, no doubt, by the bags under his eyes. “I just need to know if you’d prefer apple or peach pie for dessert.”

He mumbles something that sounds like ‘that’s it?’ but when you question him, he simply says, “I said it’s your choice. I’m sure you’ll make the right one.”

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Andreil Massages Turned War Turned Aaron will Never Enter The Columbia House Again.

This was a hc u thought up today some major help from @cabeswaterexy they are the best human i have ever met and i love them to death.

of course Neil starts this because he just likes being allowed to touch Andrew and to make Andrew feel good, so after a really hard game where Andrew did as Neil asked and shut down the goal,  Neil notices that he’s favoring his right arm. So when they get back to the dorm and they’re sitting in bed, both without shirts, Neil hovers his hand above Andrew’s shoulder and asks yes or no. Andrew thinks that Neil just wants to touch so he says yes. And at first, yeah that’s all he does: touch. He gets a bit lost in the hard muscles, and he starts thinking about how strong and solid Andrew is and how safe he feels. So he ends up with that stupid fucking idiot smile that makes Andrew flick him in the forehead. And then he presses down, gently at first in case this  isn’t okay bit harder when Andrew doesn’t tell him no. And Andrew is confused for a minute because Neil is giving him a massage??? Why??? This has never happened before but Andrew can’t even be mad because he is melting. Neil switched between the arms for a while before he notices that Andrew has slumoed forward and fallen asleep on Neil’s shoulder. Neil is freaking out because Andrew fell asleep??? On him??? He’s trusted??? But as much as Neil doesn’t want to move, he also doesn’t want to fall asleep sitting up so he says Andrews name quietly and urges him to lay down. The way their bed is, Neil is on Andrew’s left but because Andrew sleeps on his side, Neil still has access to Andrew’s right arm, which he takes after he’s given permission and starts to massage again until Andrew falls asleep. Neil doesn’t stop smiling for a few days.

In Andrew’s mind, there can only ever be an equal exchange so he feels the need to pay Neil back somehow. Which is how he finds himself kneeling between Neil’s legs after practicing with a pissed off Kevin and asking Yes or No? But Neil has already said yes before Andrew can finish which makes him scowl. But he’s not going to argue so he just puts his hands on Neil’s thighs and starts to knead. It is a very good thing that Kevin sleeps like the sea because Neil is not quiet. At all. Which is a bit of a problem for Andrew, who is sitting between Neil’s thighs and looking down at his flushed face as he whimpers and moans and shakes. And when Andrew gets to a particularly sore spot, Neil let’s out a breath “There. Right there” and it makes Andrew hate him more.

This leads to a lengthy make out session

Obviously. Because when Andrew finally works out any knots he’s been focused on Neil’s legs and not his stupid face so he looks up and Neil’s cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess and his eyes are glassy and he’s all relaxed and it punched all the air out of Andrew’s lungs so he hovers over Neil and asks yes or no. Neil says yes and it’s all relaxed and soft and breathy and Andrew fucking hats him but he kisses him like he doesn’t and at some point Neil pulls away and cautiously raises a leg while asking yes or no. Andrew says yes so Neil brings his legs up and hooks his ankles behind Andrew’s back and you’d have to fight me for literal years to convince me Andrew doesn’t have a thing for Neil’s thighs and Neil doesn’t have a thing for Andrew’s shoulders so anyway Andrew’s is all for this and making out and Neil is def not quiet and he’s already soft and pliant from the massage so he just keeps making little noises against Andrew’s mouth and Andrew would kill him but he thinks if those noises stop it would be an epic tragedy

One of Neil’s favourite things is when Andrew has casual displays of strength, so when Andrew hooks his hands around Neil’s shoulders and pulls him up as if he weighs nothing?? Neil is gone

Their kissing is soft and unhurried and eventually Andrew moves onto Neil’s neck while Neil kisses his shoulders and slowly falls asleep and Andrew has to carry him to bed

They get an apartment together and Neil “accidentally” ends up with everything that goes in the bottom cupboards and at first Andrew thinks Neil is making fun of him or smth (which doesn’t makes sense bc he’s short too?) he can’t figure it out until he catches Neil staring (again) at his shoulders as he lifts a bag of flour and Neil doesn’t even noice Andrew watching him back as long as Andrew’s shoulders keep moving and flexing

When they go shopping for clothes Andrew keeps buying Neil running shorts and of course Neil is an idiot and thinks that Andrew keeps buying a particular brand because Neil likes it, but really it’s because that brand hugs his ass the best and shows off so much thigh and Neil doesn’t even notice when Andrew does his weights right in front of Neils treadmill when they in the gym

They’re both basically in a race to kill each other with choice body parts but they’re the ones making it worse for themselves because Neil is always getting Andrew to lift things and Andrew buys the shorts and really, it’s going to build up to a very epic outlet of these pent of feelings cough sex montage cough

It gets to the point where Neil starts to hide Andrew’s shirts until all he can wear are muscle tees. And Andrew starts buying Neil leggings because holy hell his legs look so Fucking delicious in leggings

Nicky has walked in on Neil staring at Andrew’s shoulders and Andrew glaring at Neil’s thighs

And since Neil’s thighs looks great bc of the running so does his ass and when Andrew discovers that and leggings the world basically ends

Kevin walks in one day to them standing in the living room with handfuls of each other’s clothes just glaring at each other because Neil tried to wear loose sweats and Andrew tried to wear a sweatshirt and they’ve been threatening to burn everything for about an hour

When Andrew takes a shower, Neil will go in and take his shirt, and when Neil’s showering Andrew  switches his pants

It gets ridiculous at one point but they still won’t talk about it and people are starting to notice these two losers so what else is there to do but pack each other’s bags and go to Columbia where Neil finds t shirts and leggings as his whole bag and Andrew has all tanks (there’s even one of those ones that shouldn’t even count as a shirt because the arm holes go to like the bottom of his ribs) and jeans and sweats and they’re alone which means the tormenting gets worse until Neil comes back from a run and Andrew has had enough okay and he is Neil flushed and sweaty and mischievous looking and his legs and his ass okay Andrew can’t take it anymore

They take multiple showers that day

They get clean in none of them

They try… once or twice

They aren’t too mad

And then someone’s on their knees or shutting off the water to drag the other to somewhere easier to do Whatever

There are trails of water all over

They have to come to an agreement about clothes because they love it, but Nicky has been giving Neil looks and it’s Andrew’s fault

There are hickeys in only kind-of easy to hide places

Nicky gets them those sex dice and will never know that they’ve used them

Aaron would die if he knew what had happened everywhere in that house

They definitely have done some things in Aaron’s room out of spite

Nicky did it for a prank. Aaron makes a comment once about “lets eat somewhere where you two haven’t had sex” but he’s joking except suddenly Neil can’t look at him or anywhere

Neil is blushing hard and Andrew is smirking. All he says is “good luck with that one”

And then Aaron snarls in disgust and mutters about taking his food to his room and it pisses Neil off so he says “you might want to clean it” and Aaron’s like it’s clean I saw it earlier but Neil just smirks and Aaron is horrified and Nicky is /cackling/

Aaron refuses to sleep in his room now and demands to know where they haven’t had sex and Neil just points to the front porch

Aaron is pissed, Nicky is proud, Neil is embarrassed and Andrew is smug