crisp bacon

Candle Scents

Aries: Crisp Autumn Air 

Taurus: Bacon Cheeseburger

Gemini: Your Boyfriend’s Sweatshirt

Cancer: Bed Sheets in the Morning

Leo: Trashy Perfume

Virgo:  Childhood Home

Libra: Midnight breeze

Scorpio: Rosewater

Sagittarius: Smoke from a fire

Capricorn: Your favorite book

Aquarius: The air after rain

Pisces: Mango ice cream

House Arrest

Dean Winchester x Reader

2300 Words

Written for @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog  and her rom-com fluff challenge. My prompt was from Ever After: “Are You Putting Me Under House Arrest?”

Story Summary: When a witch’s spell takes a little bit to take hold, you find yourself furiously attracted to Dean. 

Warnings: Almost smut, but not really. I truly have no idea about this, but it’s what wanted to be written.



 “Guys, I don’t think the witch actually hit me with the spell!” You argued as the three of you began cleaning out the Impala. Grabbing your trash along with your bag, you turned to see both Sam and Dean staring at you.

“Y/N, we literally saw her through the orange powder into your face.” Dean insisted. Sighing, you placed your hands on your hips.

“Who says it was a spell? For all we know it could have been Tang, or whatever that nasty old powdered drink was.” You muttered. “But whatever. I’m calling it a night. See you guys in the morning. And first one up has to cook bacon!”

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Fanfiction - Stealing Tomorrow (Chapter 7)

Just one more chapter to go! <3

Chapter 7 – Find Me

Edinburgh, Present day

Claire placidly munched her cereals – a bit soggy for her taste – as she inspected the cover of The Scottish Sun, frowning in concentration. The evocative headline occupied almost half of the front page, with a photo illustrating their cover story – “Murrayfield Hero ready to go home!”. The image – certainly captured by one of the first reporters at the scene – showed Jamie wearing his full firefighter gear, walking out of what seemed like the dooryard from Hell, carrying one of his men – probably unconscious - on the shoulder. The article promised more details and juicy revelations on page four (“From Broch Mordha to Edinburgh’s hottest”), page five (“Other legends on the Fire Department”) and page six (“The heartbreaking testimonies of Fraser’s braveness”).

“One would think that almost turning into crisped bacon was the fastest route to stardom.” She snorted to herself, taking a sip of rich and dark coffee. “I bet they are scavenging the Highlands for gossips about Edinburgh’s new sweetheart.”

The last couple of weeks had seen an increasing interest on Jamie’s persona by the media – the well-liked Station Officer with an irreprehensible career, respected both by men under him and by the ones in charge behind a desk; the lone wolf, by all reports divorced years ago, that refused all approaches from desirable women and seemed to wear an irremovable chastity belt; the loving son, who accompanied his crippled father until his death two years ago; the hunk,  spotted working out without his shirt on, delighting all women in the headquarters’ neighbourhood.  

Claire tried to avoid every conversation that contained even the slightest mention of Jamie – a considerable feat, since even the nurses continuously buzzed about how handsome and well-mannered he was.

After his shattering revelations – which had thrown Claire into a new spell of insomnia, which she used to get her charts up to speed – their conversations had consisted mainly of monosyllables and medical exchanges. She would check his drains; he would ask about a prevision to start physical therapy on his hand. She looked for signs of infection on his surgical wounds; he told her his pain was a four on a scale of one to ten. She compressed her lips, trying to avoid screaming at him; he said nothing, accepting her radioactive silence with the hopeless patience of a convict sentenced to imprisonment for the rest of his days.

Claire knew he was trying to give her time to process their conversation, before touching the subject again. His Fraser stubbornness, usually despairing, was serving him well in that instance.

Knowing his reasons had changed the starting point of their fallout – but not the outcome. He had tried to protect her and give her the life she was meant to live – and in that harrowing attempt, had failed to comprehend that, without him, every achievement felt void of its meaning. Jamie had used lies as a gift – and the unwrapping had broken both their hearts. Where once stood sadness and incomprehension, now rested anger and betrayal, pumping from her with every heartbeat, crushing her vessels with their intensity.

But the most unbearable pain, the one that kept her awake at night, was the undeniable desire to forget it all – to take him in her arms and cradle him against her repairing heart. To kiss him and feel him melting against her – to bite his lip and taste his blood, knowing it pulsed with her name. To hear him whisper his secrets and the truth in them.

“Bloody man.” She whispered, her fingers reluctantly caressing his picture. “What am I going to do with you?”

****

“Thank ye for taking me.” He repeated for what was probably the tenth time. “The lads were supposed to get me but they’re shorthanded as it is in the department.”

“No problem.” She replied shortly, driving through Edinburgh’s streets, immersed in the evanescent light of dusk. Claire had offered to take him home after his discharge from the hospital, using the employee entrance to avoid the questions and flashes of journalists. “At least this way I know you won’t do anything stupid with your hand, until you’re actually inside the house.”

“Hm.” He snorted with mirth, looking at his still- bandaged hand. “I’m just glad I’ll be sleeping in my own bed, without anyone waking me to ask if my bowels moved already or spooked by the beeping sounds of the wee machines.”

“Which way now?” Claire asked, softly tapping the steering wheel with her fingers, as they achieved a deserted crossroad.

“Left.” Jamie gave her a renitent half-smile. “Ye’ll keen the way from here, I suppose.”

“Yes.” Claire breathed out, a tight knot forming inside her throat. “I believe I do.”

The building of their old apartment was visible down the street, looking exactly as she remembered it – the earthy tones of the façade vivid, that used to remind her of the soil of her flowers, fertile and homely. Propelled by the sight, memories came rushing back, as if they had been expecting to be summoned just in the corners of her conscience, brutal as needles in the back of her eyes.

“I received half of the money when the apartment was sold.” She blurted incredulous, blinking furiously in the half-light. “The man who bought it was someone named Angus MacKenzie.”

“He is a friend.” Jamie said softly. “He sold it back to me as soon as the deal was done.”

“Why would you want to live in this place?” Claire asked nervously, brushing back some of her curls, which had been falling over her face. “After everything that happened?”

“You were still here.” He whispered in a hoarse voice. “In a sense. The mattress of our bed had the shape of your body carved. There was the wee spot on the kitchen’s wall, were tomato sauce spilled, because we were too busy making love on the floor. The curtains ye chose, because ye never had such a house before, and a true home needed proper curtains.” Jamie looked at her, his eyes soft. “This house is everything I had left of ye, Claire. I couldna leave it.”

“You should have burnt it.” Claire hissed, fighting back the surge of emotions that made her vulnerable to his words.

I don’t want you anymore.

I loved you well.

She parked the car in silence and helped him getting out, prescinding of the assertive tenderness she usually applied to every wounded creature. They slowly climbed up the stairs – the elevator being broken again – until the third floor, the former residence of a happy newlywed couple.

Jamie opened the door with his keys – he still used the same keychain, Claire noticed, of a leaping stag shaped in silver. She had offered it to him, on their first Christmas together.

“I need to use the bathroom.” He smiled shyly. “I’ll be right back, aye?” And without waiting for her agreement, he rapidly strode out of her sight, as if to avoid that she used the opportunity to say her final goodbyes.

The living room was almost precisely the same – photographs taken more than ten years apart would only show small changes, like a different elegant cream-coloured rug and a new lamp by the corner. Everything else seemed to have been caught in the webs of time, as an insect amid flight trapped by a predatory spider.

Claire’s eyes travelled across the tomes on the bookcase – where some new volumes had been added to Jamie’s impressive collection, sleeping next to their photographs – and her eyes were attracted by a drawer’s open crack. Feeling ashamed, but somewhat entitled, she slid it open until the full compartment was exposed.

With her hands shaking, she grabbed the magazine on top of the pile – an old issue of The American Journal of Medicine. She recognized it instantly – she also had a copy of that same issue, stored in one of her boxes since the move. Abandoning any attempt at discretion, she surveyed the contents of the drawer.

Jamie seemed to have found every publication where her name came up – from obscure magazines where her name had been cited after another dozen; to the most reputed surgical journals, with her articles and findings front and centre. It must have been a constant and tiresome job, keeping up with her career, for someone not even in the medical field.

How many hours had he laid there, only their ghosts for company, the consolation of her success a bittersweet drug to numb the pain?

All those days between what they had been and what they were now, forever lost – no regret or anger would win them the right of a replay. But perhaps they still had the chance of stealing tomorrow; of reclaiming the piece of themselves left behind, placing their stones and pillars to build a new sacred place, a new life.

“In my darkest moments, it helped.” She listened his deep voice say from where he stood by the door, his eyes secluded. “Knowing that what I did had some meaning. I celebrated each one of yer victories from afar, as I couldna be kissing ye as I wished.”

“It was your choice.” Claire replied, forcibly closing the drawer.

“Aye.” Jamie said, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I told ye – I dinna regret what I did. But I do regret every tear you shed and every unhappiness I may have caused ye. That I regret…most terribly.”

“If I hadn’t come back and found you by accident…” She said, her arms hugging her body in defence. “Would you ever tell me the truth?”

He tilted his head, his auburn hair coming alive with the slight reflection of the white glow outside. Jamie walked until he was closer to her - able to touch her in an instant, if it wasn’t for the barrier they had both fought so hard to erect.

“There was a time when I thought it a blessing to know what ye were thinking at all times.” He licked his lips and closed his eyes, his long lashes shielding bottomless blue. “My glass faced lass. Now I only see yer pain and yer hate - and it kills me. I’d rather be dead than to see ye so. No – I wouldna say a thing. I wished to let ye live yer life and, hopefully, forget me.”

“How could I forget you?” She whispered. “And how can I forgive you?”

“I’m prepared to wait as long as it takes, Claire.” Jamie swallowed hard. “And if it canna be in this life, I shall pray for a chance to meet ye again in the next - and find yer forgiveness there.”

“I don’t know how to start.” Claire brushed her forehead with her fingers, breathing fast. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Tell me how I’ve hurt ye.” Jamie slowly touched her hand. “Speak to me about what has been broken. I am still the man ye loved – and what ye dinna ken about me now, you can learn in time.”

“And if I don’t want to?” She said slowly, tilting her chin to avoid his scorching gaze.

“Then know I shall love ye forever.” Jamie brushed her knuckles with the fingers of his sane hand. “Ye are my home, mo nighean donn.”

“This home is lost, Jamie.” She sobbed, the pressure of his fingers making her flesh tingle. How many times had they stood there, him whispering his love, her believing it with all her heart?

They were bathed almost in complete darkness – night had fallen outside and the scarce light that came from the lamppost by the window dipped them in shadows. Jamie swished, as if he was about to fall on his knees – but his hand came up then and he touched her cheek, insecure and tentative.

“But it can be found again.” He softly kissed her forehead, real against the absence of light surrounding them. “Find me, Claire. Find us.”

6

Make this!!

Roasted cabbage topped with lotssssss of bacon and cheese.

Peel a cabbage until the dirty layers are gone and rinse it well. Pat it dry. Preheat the oven to 400. Cut it into thick chunks - if the chunks aren’t thick enough the cabbage comes apart. Place the slices on a baking sheet and brush with oil- I used Italian olive oil and salt and pepper (both sides). Put in the oven for a hour, flipping it over after 30 minutes. At about 20 minutes left, I cut up a package of bacon and crisped that up in a skillet. When the cabbage is done, top with bacon and cheese and put back in the oven for 5 minutes.

This was a win.

And Now She’s Gone

Part one

Pairing: Archie Andrews x Reader

Words: 2694      

Summary: After the reader’s death, a grieving Archie is determined to put the man responsible behind bars. Unfortunately, without physical proof, there isn’t much he can do. While Veronica plots against her father, Archie may never forgive the secret Jughead and Betty have kept from him.

Note: This is part two of I couldn’t let them hurt you. Hope you enjoy. Don’t worry, there will be flashback stuff that’s actually Archie and reader.

Archie didn’t say a word as his dad drove him home from the hospital. He didn’t say a word when they got home, or when his dad opened the passenger side door, waiting for him to get out. He didn’t move. He just stared straight ahead, not actually seeing anything. All he could see was her cold, blue, dead lips and the way her hair spread around her under the ice. He saw her hand pressing up against his hand through the frozen barrier. Her content smile as she closed her eyes.

“Arch.” His dad finally said. He still didn’t respond. “Come on inside Archie. Please.” Archie slowly shifted so that his feet landed on the ground and he walked to his porch, running his hand up the railing. Guitars played through his memory, sitting on the porch with Y/N, teaching her how to play. Fred unlocked the door and let Archie go in first. His eyes fell upon everything around him, his mind reeling with images. Late night study sessions on the couch. Making breakfast for Y/N in the kitchen. Watching her come down the stairs wearing his shirts.

It was too much. Every memory cut into him, stabbing at his heart. He couldn’t bear it.

“I can’t be here.” He pushed past his dad back out the door.

“Archie!’ Fred followed his son down the sidewalk. “Come on Arch, come back inside.”

“I can’t dad!” He yelled, not caring at this point if he woke up the entire neighborhood. “I can’t. Everything in that house reminds me of her. Everywhere I look, I see her face. I feel her frozen skin. I hear her last words over and over and over in my head.”

“You will see her no matter where you go.” His dad sighed. “There will always be some memory of her connected to every part of this town. Believe me, I know.” He ran a hand down his face. “After your mom left, I thought I couldn’t go anywhere. Every place I went, I figured out some way it reminded me of her and refused to go there again. Eventually, I could manage to start going back. It took some time, but I kept going until I didn’t feel it anymore, or at least not as much.”

“That’s different.” Archie spat. “Mom lives in Chicago. She isn’t…” He stopped himself from saying it. Once he said it, he’d have to believe it. It would be real.

“I understand why you’re upset Arch, I do.” Fred stepped towards him. “But why are you beating yourself up?”

“Because I couldn’t save her!” The words rang out through the houses, followed only by silence. Archie inhaled a sharp, pain filled breath. “I couldn’t save her. I tried, dad. I tried talking to her, but she kept moving away- like she was scared of me. When she fell through the ice, I couldn’t breathe until we found her. But I wasn’t fast enough. If I had gotten through the ice sooner, she might be… she might be alive.” Fred sighed, opening up his arms. Archie stepped into his father’s embrace, feeling like a little kid again. His body shook with sobs.

“Shhh,” his dad held onto him, wishing that there was something he could do to stop his son’s pain.

“I loved her dad.” Archie cried. “I loved her so much and now she’s just gone.”

“I know.” Fred comforted. “I know.” They stood there for nearly ten more minutes, neither saying a word. Archie cried until it felt like he had nothing left. No emotion, no senses, just one word eating at his insides. Dead. Y/N was dead. Fred pulled away slightly. “Let’s get you inside now. You must be freezing.” Archie looked down at his snow coated clothes. He hadn’t even noticed the cold until then. Forcing his feet forward, he went inside.

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Dead Amongst the Living

Winchester Sister Fic

TRIGGER Warnings: Mentions of self harm and suicide, light blood, family sad Fluff.

A/n: This was written because I kind of needed it. Then somebody requested something like this so I guess it’s for us both.

Tags:  @Freaksforthewin , @thewinhunter, @cambriacaneatnoodles, @brokennoone , @youtubehelpsmesurvive , @chrisevansthedoritobastard , @winchesters-favorite-girl , @we-know-a-little-about-a-lot @godh8salyssa   @dean-baby-Winchester  @straightasdeanwinchester @animexchocolate @fabulouslycassie @lizbeth-loves-bobear @nicolesyneah25 @lucifer-in-leather

Originally posted by hunterchesters

The sun beat down like no other on this day. Surly Hell would’ve been a cooler setting than this. Mornings were cool enough that a jacket was tolerable and nobody would question its use. By afternoon, the sun heated Earth’s surface to a crisp 120 degrees. Leaving long sleeved coverage out of the question, and your arm openly exposed.

A loud voice caught you off guard. Causing your arm to fumble over and knock over your upright bottle of cover-up.

“Come on, pipsqueak. You need to eat before we hit the road.” Dean called out for you.

“Y-yeah. Be out in a sec!” You shouted back best you could, making sure he could hear behind the closed door you sheltered yourself with.

Wiping what little bit of your makeup spilled, you began to slowly apply it around the edges of the many shades of red lines. Some puffed up from irritation and swelling. Those you just applied the makeup directly on. The thicker more open markings only got cover up around its bright red edges, doing your best to hide the coloring without further irritate anything.

You placed a hand on your hip, purposely turning your wrist outward to see how noticeable it all was from a natural distance. As long as neither of your brothers asked for a close inspection, you’d be in the clear. Just for safe caution you rolled the sleeves down on your red and black printed flannel before unlocking and heading out the bathroom door.

“Now we know what was taking you so long.” Dean spoke with a piece of freshly cooked bacon in his hand. “You were putting on your other face.” He smiled before taking a pleased bite from the greasy food.

Ha ha ha, very funny. Almost as funny as the other five billion times you’ve made that joke.” Casually you walked over to the table and sat in front of your plate, right beside Dean to his left and directly across the table from Sam.

“Dude, she’s a teenager. What’d you expect?” Sam chuckled lightly. Giving you a smirk and a sarcastic eye.

Everything was going well. Normal. Like any other Sunday or time before the three of you would set out for a hunt. Pancakes so fluffy you were sure Dean used clouds to create them. Bacon so crisp you wondered whether Cas had a hand in cooking them quickly. Coffee perfect brewed to satisfy each bite you took and used the beverage to wash it all down with. There wasn’t any need to worry about anything. Both of your brothers were oblivious to your recent actions. Nobody suspected a thing. Up until Sam reached across the table and grabbed your arm.

Woah.” He lowly grunted in shock as you instantly pulled your left arm away from him. “You were about to get syrup on your shirt. I was going to roll the sleeve up for you.” Sam defended himself, still slightly shocked at your reaction.

“No-no it’s fine. I’ll be more careful.” You spoke with your head low, pushing down your sleeve only slightly to readjust yourself.

“Let me see it.” Dean demanded in a stern tone. His gaze practically burning into your skull.

“See what?” Shying away you stabbed into another slice of your pancake, twirling it around in the syrup. Only to be stopped just before you could put the food into your mouth. “Dean I-” his grip forced your arm closer to him as he unintentionally dug into the bottom half of the deepest cut.

His eyes softened instantly. Yet hardened all the same. Hurt and anger seemed to fill ever corner of his eyes. The top base of his finger ran over the bright red coloring on the outside of the straight diagonal lines, causing you to wince at the fresh pain. Slowly he trailed down the line. Starting from newest to oldest. Some old. Others not so old.

“How long have you been doing this again?” He spoke softly, trying to push down the lump at the out of his throat.

“Does it matter? I’m not dead so just leave the situation alone.” Rotating your shoulder backwards you took control of your arm once more. Reeling it in and slipping the sleeve back over the graveyard of forgotten feelings. But all the while you didn’t speak. And you didn’t dare make any form of eye contact with either of them.

“Leave the situation alone? So what? You expect us to sit by and watch our baby sister do this to herself all over again?” The anger in Dean’s voice was clear, and it only made you scoff. Making him more mad. “So you see this as a joke?”

“I see this as it’s none of your damn business.” You soar unintentionally at him. The tone you gave off sounded much harsher and cold than you expected it to.

“We all need to take a deep breath and calm down. Fighting isn’t going to help anything.” Sam held up his hands to show he didn’t mean to anger either of you more. “I thought we were passed all this.” He directed all his well balanced and surprisingly calm attention to you.

“Guess we’re not.” You spoke before shoving a bite full of food into your mouth. Still refusing to make eye contact with either of them.

“You need to stop. It’s not okay to be doing this to yourself. If I need to hide every damn sharp object in here, I will.” Now Dean spoke to you as your father would. Firm and unimpressed. Then again, John wouldn’t have time to deal with this. He never did. “If you don’t stop I’ll strap you down in the basement until you’re over this.” He finished. Instantly your eyes shot up in a fit of painful rage.

“Strapping me down won’t help anything. Hiding everything won’t help either. What do you want me to do here guys?” You we’re speaking loudly, but you weren’t yelling. “This is how I cope with things. When everything gets too hard, I just do it.” A blank stare rested in your face.

“Why?” Sam’s question got you to snap out of your blank trance. “Why do you do it?” The small braking tone in his throat showed his true emotion of tears being withheld.

“It’s better than popping pills and downing it with alcohol.” You shrugged. Feeling numb about the whole situation. “It’s not like I do it for fun. Or for attention. It’s not because I want to.” Glancing over to Dean, you looked straight into his heavy eyes. “It’s so I feel something. Something other than the pain. It’s a different kind of pain, and for some reason it stops me…” pausing, you took your hands in a ball and rested them on your lips. While your elbows rested in the table.

“Stops you from what?” Dean could barley speak, but it was the outgoing breath that pushed his words.

“When I do it…” you sighed, closing your eyes in a rolling manner for a second. “it’s to stop me from ending it. From just committing totally to ending my life. Because I will. I know I will.” Now your own personal lump formed in your throat. “I hate living with this Sammy.” Tears began to fall vigorously.

Dean reached over to you. Grabbing your hand and holding tight, as though you were leaving him. Maybe it was the thought of waking up to his kid sister dead on the floor that shook his core. But it showed in his eyes which could no longer hold back tears.

“You’re not alone, Y/n. Us. Cas. We’re all here for you.” Sam was standing behind you now, rubbing your unsteady back. “We’re going to find a way to help you fight this. Because there’s no way in hell you’re walking this road without both of us beside you.”

“And we’re certainly not loosing you to this battle.” Dean added in, wiping the few single tears from his cheek. “You’ve fought against The Devil. Hell, you even took on his aunt. If you can kickass like that, you’re going to kick this in the ass too.” His words caused a small smile to appear on your faces. All of you laughed a little. “You’re gonna give em’ hell kid.” Dean squeezed the top of your shoulder as Sam bent down and placed a kiss at the top of your head.

“No,” you placed a hand onto of Deans which still rested in your shoulder, and another on Sam’s which was on your other. “We’ll give em’ hell together.”

Enneagram Types As

What I Think Of When I Hear Each Enneagram Type 

What I think of when I hear 1: 

The brave white knight, valiantly pursuing his cause, the smell of a freshly sharpened pencil, pointy graphite tip just waiting to eagerly touch paper, a freshly washed shirt with the wrinkles being slowly ironed out until it’s smooth, perfectly cooked, crisp bacon with the edges curling up slightly, the frustration an artist feels when they’re just on the edge of the piece being the best it can be but it’s not quite there, the moment before they can declare it a masterpiece, a 5 year old child trying to get the angle on his drawing right and he keeps erasing until the paper is almost ripped, and smudges are everywhere until he tosses it aside and gets a new paper, starting over, a neatly written list with a slender check mark besides each completed duty, the scent of mint gum, a paper airplane soaring above someone’s head and landing on its intended target

What I think of when I hear 2:

A slender girl, helping an elderly woman sit down, the scent of freshly baked cookies, a family event, where it’s loud and raucous and everyone is arguing but there’s so much love that you do it again every year, two children whispering to each other and pinky promising that they’ll always be best friends and wearing matching charm necklaces, years later, still friends, one comforting the other as she cries over a break up, rubbing her back and stroking her hair, laughing so hard with your loved ones that your stomach begins to hurt, a pretend annoyed smile filled with affection as you watch your significant other do something silly, a mother beaming as she holds her newborn child, finally, love overflowing as she stares in awe at its tiny face and flailing fists, desperately holding onto a loved one’s hand and worrying frantically as they’re on their death bed, the bond of siblings who shout and argue all the time but in the end curl up beside each other and fall asleep when the love wins out

What I think of when I hear 3: 

Shiny trophies, the reflection of gelled back hair and a winning smile glinting back at you from the shelf on which they’re presented, a man standing in a mirror, fixing his tie just right and adjusting the sleeves of his suit, overflowing confidence, sipping expensive wine, a woman in a bold, red dress whose heels click on the floor with every step, an athlete who won the race by just a few seconds, bent over panting, hands on his knees, the most popular girl in elementary school affixing a bow to her blonde hair before she strides out the door, a couple at a carnival, a guy just won his girlfriend a stuffed animal and she’s hugging it to her chest, it took him three tries but he finally got it, a burning face when you stumble on stage, a perfectly exacted ballet performance, everyone bows at the end before the curtains slide closed, and then they all sag, exhausted and panting, but so, so proud. 

What I think of when I hear 4: 

The quirky eccentricity of an oddball. The mad musician, playing furiously, pounding their heart out upon those violin strings, sawing away viciously, the dreamer who lies in the grass and stares at the stars, streaks of unusually colored hair, polka dots and stripes combined together boldly, splashes of paint upon an unsuspecting canvas, a quirky, offhanded comment delivered that makes everyone giggle at the oddness of it, earnest expression, a girl sitting on a boulder by a rushing river, dipping her feet in, as she doodles idly in her notebook, multicolored lipstick, focused eyes speaking with depth, staring at a rainbow and believing there really is a pot of gold with a leprechaun at the end, and believing aliens could abduct you at any moment, and not caring, the old man who wears his tin hat proudly, not caring that others believe he is crazy, mismatched knee high socks combined with flip flops, lemonade on a hot summer day through a bendy straw, and walking on the moon, and walking on the ceiling, and the fizz of soda right after you take a sip

What I think of when I hear 5: 

A person fiddling at a Rubik’s Cube and right when they figure it out, twist it all out of place again, causing others to gasp, as they try all over again, a notebook filled with messy scrawl and notes, tossed carelessly onto a desk, pen flung alongside it, a dark cabin, a serious tone, curtains drawn shut as an eye peeks out from the crack between them, curiosity winning out, the nerd in the corner of class who stares out into space, stacks and stacks of thick books with cramped notes in the margins, sweats and hoodies with glasses that are askew, lying awake at night trying to solve a problem one of your friends is having as if it were a mathematical equation, matte everything, sitting in a coffee shop alone with your laptop, sitting alone in a quiet forest, sitting still enough that wild animals come close enough to sniff you, still pond water only ripples ever so slightly, a professor in his element as he begins to lecture the class, slowly gaining confidence and speeding up, the furrow of your brow when you’re trying to remember something and finally do, a black cat sitting on a fence quietly observing

What I think of when I hear 6:

The gaze of a frightened rabbit, not sure if it’s a fox or something completely harmless, a shout as you slip on something you didn’t notice before, the relief you feel when a storm passes, the rumble of thunder in the sky, but it doesn’t rain and you let out a relaxed sigh, taking steps gingerly, staring out at the vast, blue ocean, the strengthened kick of something struggling to live as its fight or flight response kicks in, visiting an old friend years later, the content you feel when your pet lies in your lap as you sit on the couch, flipping through the channels on tv, old, familiar pajamas you slip into on a Saturday, sips of hot chocolate grasped between freezing fingertips, fuzzy, pink bunny slippers, giving your significant other a kiss on the cheek and just reveling in your relationship, the justified anger you feel when one of your friends is being targeted, when you stick beside them no matter what, getting a reassuring hug from someone you trust, an old tattered stuffed animal you’ve had forever, hugging it as you fall asleep

What I think of when I hear 7: 

The loud “WHOOP,” you shout as you go skydiving or a rollercoaster starts, dancing wildly and laughing hard as you hold your hands on your stomach, the curiosity of a child who asks, “Why?” to everything until it just ends up in the answer, “Because.” Rolling down a hill at full speed, tumbling down and getting all messy and having grass stains all over you, the excited bark of a pet dog as its tail wags, ready to play, the guilty faces of children who just colored on the wall because they didn’t like how blank and boring it seemed but they’re now realizing that they’ll also be in trouble, the big, bright yellow sun every child seems to universally draw in the corner of every drawing, neon colored clothing, making best friends with a stranger in a day, and getting lost and then ending up in an even better situation, the sly gaze of people who have known each other forever and are mischievously planning something when they both make eye contact, and it’s as if an invisible light bulb has popped up above each of their heads

What I think of when I hear 8: 

The sharp bark of a medic who knows what they’re doing when they see someone injured, the heavy sigh of someone who knows the difference between what they want to do and what they have to do and does what they have to, the clang of armor and swords clashing together, the confident stride of someone who can get what they want, and if they don’t, they’ll just take it instead, the clenched fists of someone who’s just seen one of their loved ones be hurt and is taking names, the determined gaze of someone who’s dying when they make their death wish, feeble and wheezing but still manages to grasp their loved one’s hand firmly, the scent of a letter written in pure black ink when it’s still wet and barely drying, applying red lipstick with a wicked grin, the flick of your wrist when you’re drawing on your eyeliner wing, slamming your fist down on a table and demanding justice as you stand, a towering building, still majestic, even in its old age as it begins to crumble, the reverberating echo of a clock after it strikes the hour

What I think of when I hear 9: 

A tinkling laugh, a flowing, white dress, twirling in a circle and flopping down, a shy smile, the scent of your favorite candle, flickering, rain that’s not heavy, but just barely sprinkling and bringing your face up to the sky and closing your eyes, the twinkling of the stars in the night sky, lacing your fingers through someone else’s and feeling their fingertips link through yours, sipping tea on your porch in a sweater, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, going to an aquarium and watching the fish swim by majestically in awe, with your face up close to the glass and hands pressed to it. A romantic loveletter, a quiet, muffled giggle, talking on the phone for hours, and hanging upside down with your feet on the wall while you do so, drifting off into a daydream, closing a good book with a contented sigh, a concerned, shifting gaze between two friends who have begun to argue, falling asleep and not quite realizing you have yet as you bury your face into your pillow and pull your blanket tighter

14 Days- Part Nine

(Reader x Pietro Maximoff)

Word Count: 1209

Summary: The reader’s best friend, Wanda, goes on a two week mission and leaves a list of things to do for the reader. Task 9.

Warnings: none 

A/N: Sorry this took a hot min to get out! There will be sort of a wrap up part that comes out next weekend. XOX

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2

Over Easy by @foxberryblue

“You getting up?” A voice calls from behind the couch over the sounds of hissing. It mixes with the low hum of the refrigerator and the rustling of sheets when Mikasa sits upright. She looks about, bewildered and blinking, not quite awake despite the sunlight resting on her face.

Everything around her looks unfamiliar. With the mottled couch and the pale cream walls and the quaint kitchen a few steps away, Mikasa can’t put her finger on where she is, until she spots the face of a man she recognises. “Wha-?” she replies in a groan. Mikasa rubs her eyes, trying to push away the last remnant of sleep but finding smudges of mascara on her fingers instead.

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The Signs as Chip Flavors
  • Aries: spicy jalapeño
  • Taurus: bacon
  • Gemini: prawn cocktail
  • Cancer: original/sea salt
  • Leo: barbecue
  • Virgo: honey mustard
  • Libra: sour cream and onion
  • Scorpio: ranch
  • Sagittarius: ketchup
  • Capricorn: salt and vinegar
  • Aquarius: dill pickle
  • Pisces: salt and pepper
Things Irish people say:

I’ve picked up on quite a number of words and phrases Irish people say since moving to Ireland last August. Here’s a list I’ve been working on and will continue to update. This list has also been approved by real live Irish people such as @moonmanonthesun and a few others who don’t have tumblr.

•Fair play to ya
•Cheers
•Grand
•So
•That’s grand so
•Like (like all the effing time)
•Yer man (or woman)
•Bye bye bye bye bye (when hanging up on the phone)
•What’s the craic?
•Cardigan/jumper (sweaters)
•Hob (stove top)
•Lads (refers to boys, young people of both genders, and groups of people)
•The Green Man (green light walking signal)
•Footpath (sidewalk)
•Jaysus
•Feck (and more often much worse language like the F-word)
•F*ck (literally everyone and their grandmothers say it)
•Shite
•Gobshite
•Calling over (coming over to visit/hang out)
•Phone/phoning (when using the phone)
•Lashing rain
•Roasting (used to describe the temp outdoors/indoors and body temp)
•Raging (furious)
•Shift/shifting (to make out/making out)
•Oh no
•No, no no no, no no
•Catch a lift (get a car ride)
•Chips (french fries)
•Crisps (potato chips)
•Bacon/rashers (ham)
•Crispy bacon (bacon)
•That’s gas
•Come ‘mere
•Skinny trackies (they’re everywhere…lads need to learn a few things about fashion)
•Birds (chicks/girls)
•Pull/Pullin’ (taking home a girl or boy, one-night stand)
•Proper
•Knacker (note: derogatory term that is directed at lower class citizens and Irish Travellers. Rude, don’t say this.)
•Knackered (note: not derogatory. It means tired or sleepy) •Mad (means great or straight up crazy)
•Crusty (hippies)
•Fair (pretty much)
•Fab (fabulous, usually said by women)
•Half *insert number 1-12*, for ex: half 6 (to denote the half hour mark)
•That’s class
•Ah go on
•Choooooooon! (Tune)
•Haych (the letter H)
•Daecent (lovely/good)
•Beour (a lovely looking woman)
•Yurt (indicates happiness)
•Unreal
•Wisht
•Quid (bucks/money)
•D'ya'know
•The boot (car trunk)
•Come on so

•Eejit

List of words for drunkenness:
Flutered
Langers
Plastered
Blutered
Scuttered
Ossified
Locked
Sloshed
Paralytic
Banjo’d
Twisted
Rotten
Walloped

Polluted
midorima headcanons

in honor of this dork’s birthday today! here are some headcanons bc i love him

  • he has a separate room in his house just for lucky items
  • doesn’t know how to compliment people
  • “takao….your title as hawk eye could be deemed as…suitable, regarding your skills…” “shin-chan. what does that even mean???”
  • he also doesn’t understand sarcasm but it’s endearing if not a little annoying
  • brings sunglasses to movie theaters in case the movie is sad and he doesn’t want other people to see him cry
  • totally gets his nails done on the weekends like,,,,come on all the evidence is there it’s clear he loves manicures
  • big science nerd
  • he gave lucky rolling pencils to all the shuutoku third years before their college entrance exams and miyaji maybe cried a little
  •  (midorima purposely didn’t give one to takao because he’s petty like that)
  • after all the winter cup stuff went down midorima started playing shogi with Akashi again and he did actual legitimate research on shogi and playing techniques because damn it he refuses to keep on losing like this
  • the REAL reason he tapes his fingers is to avoid the dreaded pencil smudge that left-handed people get from writing #thestruggleisreal
  • probably likes birds a lot (he thinks they’re majestic or something)
  • is one of those people that thinks their taste in music is The Best and that everyone else’s is trash
  • LOVES red bean popsicles cause they’re freaking bomb (seriously they’re so good)
  • the personification of the “me, an intellectual” meme
  • he secretly names most of his lucky items and one time he accidentally called his stuffed pig “Crisp E. Bacon” during practice in front of the whole shuutoku team
  • has never slept in past 10 am before cause u know he lives life on the edge
Just One Night Part 7

Summary: Reader makes a decision to end all the strife.

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 1,799

A/N: Part 7! The end is here! Thank you so much to everyone for their support, praise, and comments during this series. This was only ever intended to be a oneshot, but look how far we’ve come. I’m sad to see it end, but alas, all good things come to an end in time. Just remember, you love me, ok?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Feedback is appreciated. : )


Previously…

Sam cupped her face, holding her tight. “Tell me what you want? I do still love you, in spite of everything. If you want to work this out, we can forget everything and try again.” He dropped his hands from her, his expression changing. “But…if you’d rather be with Dean…I won’t stand in your way.” She looked at him confused, pained. “I just want this to be over, and I want you happy. So tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

Dean held his breath, his head bowed, as he listened, waiting for Y/N’s response. Was his love enough?

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