flake off

nimble-n-peachy-mod  asked:

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

In space the skin on your feet peels off!

This is a pretty gross fact but in the micro-gravity environment, astronauts are not using their feet to walk. Therefore the skin on their feet starts to soften and flakes off. As laundry facilities do not exist in space, astronauts will wear the same underwear and socks for a few days. Those socks then need to be taken off very gently. If not those dead skin cells will float around in the weightless environment.

I like weird stuff :F

Also, have a fascinating video!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jTL_sJycQAA

Does anyone else do a thing where someone messages you just for friendly conversation and you respond a couple times but then you put off answering them any more because it’s really stressful and making you really anxious and then next thing you know a day or two has gone by and at that point you feel like you wouldn’t be able to answer them any more without having to explain why you stopped in the middle of the conversation for like 5 days while still clearly active everywhere else, especially since there IS no real reason, so now you can NEVER TALK TO THEM AGAIN bc of the whole ordeal, and you spend the rest of your life feeling guilty and terrible about it bc now you seem rude and cold hearted and mean when really you’re just a Socially Anxious Disaster™

anonymous asked:

“you’re really invested in your tv show/book/etc and i don’t think you understand how much your absentminded petting is getting to me but like hell am i gonna ask you to stop“ !!

Poe has a thing about his hair. Touch it and he purrs. Pet it, he melts. Pull it… well. Yeah. That’s… yeah. His hypersensitivity has never been an issue before. People who get close enough to get their hands all up in his curls are generally doing so with pretty specific intentions, and even if they’re not, they learn fast how the tide’s rolling. 

But then people aren’t Finn.

Finn who learns scary fast, but is still playing catch up when it comes to a lot of social cues, particularly those centred around touch. Poe has a feeling Finn might have been a tactile person anyway—takes one to know one—but growing up in an insulated body glove obviously hasn’t done him any favours. 

These days Finn touches everything - fingers tracing the gouges in the mess hall tables as he eats, palms pressing against the bark of the megaflora that surrounds the new base like he can feel the sap pumping if he concentrates hard enough. Poe finds it both endearing as hell and teeth-grittingly motivating during those missions he gets the First Order square in his crosshairs.

Finn’s not as physical with people yet — or at least not ones he doesn’t know well. Poe’s obviously not in that category though, which brings him back to his current predicament. 

Finn’s leaning back against the head of the bunk, a data pad propped on his knees as he reads something distracting enough that he hasn’t noticed what’s going on with Poe yet. Poe’s not really sure if that’s a blessing or a curse, to be honest. Because on the one hand, Poe probably looks a special kind of stupid right now, processor parts forgotten on the floor in front of him as he all but drools into his own lap. On the other, if Finn keeps this up too much longer, Poe’s libido is going to start knocking insistently on the situation and that’s… not ideal.

Because Finn’s his friend. Finn’s his friend who’s still learning what it means to have friends and Poe doesn’t want to fuck that up for him. Which means Finn’s deft fingers twisting through his hair and scratching lightly against his scalp is fast becoming A Problem.

Finn hums lightly behind him—a noise Poe’s come to associate with him reading something particularly interesting—and Poe has to bite his lip against humming for his own more inappropriate reasons as Finn’s fingers card through the closer cropped curls at the nape of his neck.

Poe clears his throat. Then has to try again when he almost whimpers instead. “Ah, buddy?”

“Hmm?”

Finn’s petting doesn’t even pause. Poe’s done nothing to deserve this sort of temptation.

“I’m ah… getting a little distracted down here.”

Understatement.

Finn’s touch halts but he doesn’t pull his hand back and Poe finds himself swallowing hard against the instinct to push back into Finn’s palm.

Finally Finn says, “In a good way or a bad way?”

And that’s… huh. Poe cranes his neck back to look up at Finn’s face and finds a soft smile waiting for him, Finn’s eyes amused and… knowing.

“Fuck,” Poe says. “Who told?”

Finn huffs a laugh, thumbing lightly behind Poe’s ear. “Jess.”

Of course it was Pava. Poe would be annoyed but the way Finn’s looking at him as he smooths his fingers back through his hair, he has a feeling he’s gonna end up buying her a cake.

Poe lets his eyes flutter shut as he feels Finn’s movements turn deliberate, fisting a grip at the back of his head and… yeah. Shit. Poe’s breath catches which is probably the only thing that saves him from flat out moaning.

“You should come up here,” Finn says, voice drawn tight and Poe would be relieved he’s not the only one affected here but he’s too busy giving himself over to Finn’s very nice, very competent hands.

“I should definitely come up there,” Poe says. He’s about to get right on that when Finn’s grip shifts and twists and Poe’s hips go rogue, bucking instinctively up and fuck, he’s hard, when did he get hard?

“Oh wow,” Finn says. “Jess wasn’t kidding.”

“I’m gonna kill her,” Poe says, strangled.

Finn laughs like he’s just so delighted and Poe would bask in the warmth of it but Finn’s also taken it upon himself to manhandle Poe up onto the standard-issue mattress, a move that makes an entirely different sort of heat suffuse Poe’s limbs.

Force, did Pava just write out an itemised list or something?

Poe finds himself flat on his back, Finn braced over him, grinning like Poe’s a new dessert he has yet to try. It puts Finn’s very nice shoulders in optimal clutching range and Poe isn’t going to shirk that opportunity, no sir.

“Hi,” Finn says softly and Poe realises he’s grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. Fuck he hasn’t felt this stupid for someone since…ever.

“Hi back.”

Finn dips down, mouth dizzyingly close and Poe very nearly whimpers when he stops just short of his lips, because fuck.

“I ah… you should probably know I have no idea what I’m doing,” Finn says, and ah, that answers that question then.

Poe slides his hands up to scritch through the hair where it’s growing out at the nape of Finn’s neck, easing the nervous tension the best way he knows how.

“Well,” Poe says, struggling to gather his thoughts in the face of Finn humming into his touch like a spoiled loth-cat, shit. “We can slow our roll a bit. Pull back and talk a few things through…”

“Or?” Finn says, dipping toward Poe’s mouth again like a faulty grav drive. The move brushes their noses together, something that probably shouldn’t make Poe’s toes curl but here they are.

“Or,” Poe swallows harshly against the instinct to just tip his chin up, turn things wet and hot and fast, but no - this is Finn’s show. This needs to be Finn’s show. “We can wing it. Do what feels right, speak up when something doesn’t…” 

Finn’s eyes snap back up to his at that and Poe very nearly chokes on the want behind the look. “You’ll show me how?”

Fuck. “Yeah,” Poe says, and he’s gonna need some sort of award for how steady his voice is here because seriously. “Yeah, I’ll show you how.”

The smile that slips across Finn’s features is like a sunrise, slow and syrup sharp. Poe wants to taste it. “We’re gonna do this.”

It’s not a question, but Poe answers it by meeting Finn’s mouth on a groan anyhow.

this book is cute and I’ve had it since I was a kid but upon further looking, her feet have like….uncanny palms drawn like human metacarpals. i dont think i’ve seen another case like this exactly, but misunderstanding bird feet is not uncommon

judging on surface value, using comparative anatomy it’s easy to come to the conclusion that birds could have a rather similar structure as mammals (pardon my flaked off nail polish)

but of course birds are birds therefore they need to be needlessly complicated. what you are really seeing in those specimens and the scaled part of a bird’s legs are essentially just the bones we have as our wrist and hand (well, more specifically ankle and foot because hind limb)


and of course birds can’t stop there, we need an assortment of weird toe arrangements too

But what about humans and casual destruction? Like you set a bunch of humans in some mildly boring situation and they’ll start idly tearing apart bits of paper or leaves, pulling grass out of a lawn, flaking off bark. And either they don’t notice, ever, only when someone points it out to them, or when they refocus enough to stop. 

…until they start casual destruction again.

in another world, when you are loved, you grow wings  to show it. the bigger the love, the bigger the wings. 

and a world that sees wings as the ultimate status symbol. celebrities with gigantic wings that cannot fly because they are too heavy. monarchs that have stylists to enlarge their (very stumpy) wings. 

babies born with the soft proof of their parent’s love, babies flaking off feathers when their parents don’t care enough. teenagers who watch their wings flake and grow every day, never sure who loves them or doesn’t. having your crush figure out you like him because his wings won’t stop fluffing up. 

bullies who fake having large wings, who hurt others because they never felt whole, who go home and try to wish their feathers into growing. gentle, soft people who have long wings they’re embarrassed of, who tuck them and try to be average because they don’t like showing off. 

weddings where there’s so much love in the room everyone’s wings swell up. the couple having perfectly matched wings which don’t stop their steady growth. waking up next to your husband of six years to find he’s gone and all your feathers have fallen off.

a girl who is pushed down and laughed at for her little wings, her broken home. who knows she’s ugly for it, who feels perfectly alone. who one day walks into a room with another girl who happens to complement her shirt and within six days has become the closest friend she’s ever learned. her wings spreading big and wide and proud over other people’s heads, her new feathers getting in the way because she’s not used to them, pushing her new feathers out of the way so she can kiss the girl she’s dreamed about.

finding your best friend and watching the feathers sprout. lying awake in bed feeling useless and yet having this proof that someone out there loves you. helping a stranger on the train only to have a few cautious pinfeathers tickle their way out. wondering if they felt that tickle, too.

waking up from a dream very confused, hoping a boy six blocks down doesn’t come into school with suddenly slightly larger wings. ace people with arching wings who are absolutely loved by their friends, who are absolutely loving. your boyfriend promising you that boy he’s flirting with means nothing, finding that your feathers are slowly falling out in the shower each morning. 

having average wings and a sad heart and doing your best to be alive and happy and whole but failing terribly - but working towards it, slowly, until one day you see your wings spreading and get excited about who it could be, who liked you enough to change you this drastically; only to figure out on a tuesday afternoon that it’s you, you’re the one who loves yourself for once; and the thought is so big and wide and lovely that you sit down on the floor and can’t stop crying because despite everything, you made it. and that’s amazing.

Bitty is used to wearing Jack’s jersey—he usually wears his Zimmermann t-shirt to bed every night, because that’s the only moment he can get away with it without the other guys chirping him about it. Sometimes he’ll wear his long-sleeved Falconers sweatshirt to class, and if anyone asks he’ll just say that it’s getting chilly outside and that his other cardigans are all in the wash. He doesn’t mind making excuses, not if it means he gets to have a piece of Jack with him for the day.

He likes wearing them in front of Jack, in person or on skype, because Bitty finds that he likes to wear his pride, likes to wear his heart on his sleeve. He loves the little fond look Jack gives him whenever the skype call connects and Jack first notices his shirt.

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‘Sgt. Pepper’ at 50: How a Corn Flakes Ad Inspired 'Good Morning Good Morning’

Today’s installment tells how John Lennon’s TV obsession led to the creation of “Good Morning Good Morning.”

John Lennon indulged in a myriad of mind-altering substances during the recording of the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, but his drug of choice may have been television. “A couple of weeks of telly-watching is as good as pot,” he professed at the time to biographer Hunter Davies. “I think a lot when I’m watching telly. It’s like looking into the fire and daydreaming. You’re watching it, but your mind’s not on it.” After the band vowed to abandon live performances in the fall of 1966, Lennon relied on TV and drugs to fill the enormous void left by the absence of the Beatles’ extensive concert schedule, which had provided structure to his life since he was barely out of his teens. “I didn’t know what to do,” John remembered shortly before his death in 1980. “What do you do when you don’t tour? There’s no life. What the hell do you do all day?”

His days were spent mostly horizontal at Kenwood, the 27-room luxury estate he shared with his wife Cynthia and three-year-old son Julian in the staid upper-class London suburb of Weybridge. He’d never been happy in the area, consenting to move there in 1964 at his accountant’s suggestion (Kenwood was the third house they viewed). “Weybridge won’t do at all,” he told journalist Maureen Cleave two years later. “I’m just stopping at it, like a bus stop. Bankers and stockbrokers live there; they can add figures and Weybridge is what they live in and they think it’s the end, they really do. I think of it every day – me in my Hansel and Gretel house. I’ll take my time; I’ll get my real house when I know what I want. … You see, there’s something else I’m going to do, something I must do – only I don’t know what it is.”

The constant motion of Beatle business had provided a long-term distraction, and now the downtime forced Lennon to confront the day-to-day realities and responsibilities of being a husband and father. Seemingly overnight, his self-styled existence, steeped in excitement, privilege and fierce individuality (not to mention fan worship on a colossal scale), had been replaced by a stodgy life he barely recognized. For everything he had achieved, for every wild childhood dream that had miraculously come true, Lennon still wound up trapped in the same cozy suburban haze he had often railed against.

Depressed, he dealt with the letdown by escaping into his mind at every opportunity. “If I’m on my own for three days, doing nothing, I almost leave myself completely. I’m just not here,” he told Davies. “I’m up there watching myself, or I’m at the back of my head. I can see my hands and realize they’re moving, but it’s a robot who’s doing it.” This sensation was no doubt aided by the mortar and pestle he kept nearby to mash together a dizzying array of pharmaceuticals onto one unpredictable mega-pill.

Cynthia grew distressed at how distant, apathetic and inert her rock-star husband had become. “When he was at home, he’d spend a lot of time lying in bed with a notepad,” she later said. “When he got up, he’d sit at the piano or he’d go from one room to the other listening to music, gawping at television and reading newspapers. He was basically dropping out from everything that was happening. He was thinking about things.” His estrangement from reality was so total, he often asked incoming phone callers, with genuine interest, what day of the week it was.

The songs Lennon wrote in this period are all meditations on the mundane; a child’s painting (“Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds”), a poster in his living room (“Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!”), a newspaper (“A Day in the Life”), all drawn from within the four walls of Kenwood. Another is “Good Morning Good Morning,” which owes its existence to his love of television.

“I often sit at the piano, working at songs, with the telly on low in the background,” he explained to Davies. “If I’m a bit low and not getting much done, then the words on the telly come through. That’s when I heard 'Good morning, good morning.’ It was a Corn Flakes advertisement.” Kicking off with a pastoral rooster crow, the irrepressibly peppy jingle chirped out from the set: “Good morning, good morning!/The best to you each morning/Sunshine breakfast, Kellogg’s Corn Flakes/Crisp and full of fun!” The tune was at the same time annoyingly chipper and chillingly lobotomized. In other words, it was the perfect soundtrack to his world at Kenwood.

Inspired by his total lack of inspiration – which had previously triggered the Rubber Soul track “Nowhere Man” – he began to write. Words of bland domesticity tumbled out: “how’s your boy been, going to work, heading for home, time for tea.” “John was feeling trapped in suburbia and was going through some problems with Cynthia,” Paul McCartney confirms in his biography, Many Years from Now. “It was about his boring life at the time. There’s a reference in the lyrics to 'nothing to do’ and 'meet the wife’; there was an afternoon TV soap called Meet the Wife that John watched, he was that bored, but I think he was also starting to get alarm bells and so, 'Good morning, good morning.’”

On December 12th, 1966, Meet the Wife aired an episode entitled “This Christmas, Shop Early,” chronicling holiday shoppers frantically making their last-minute gift purchases. The plot may very well have inspired the line that immediately preceded the reference to the show: “People running round, it’s five o'clock, everywhere in town is getting dark.”

It’s a rare active moment in a song packed with boredom that borders on nihilism. The word “nothing” appears eight times in the two-minute, 41-second track, and each verse ends with the assertion that the narrator has nothing to say, “but it’s OK.” For someone who strenuously avoided writing “fiction” songs in the vein of McCartney’s “Eleanor Rigby,” “Lovely Rita” or “When I’m Sixty-Four” (“He makes 'em up like a novelist!” Lennon once marveled), “Good Morning Good Morning” can be read as a revealing confession of complete and utter apathy. “Nothing to do to save his life,” the opening words, ring out like the final gasp of a man surrendering to daily claustrophobia.

But one brief line may offer a glimmer of hope. Author Steve Turner observes that the lyric “You go to a show, you hope she goes,” may be a reference to a woman Lennon had recently met that November at an art exhibition: Yoko Ono. Though it’s pure speculation (and likely that she hadn’t captured his imagination just yet), Lennon’s involvement with Ono meant that his days adrift in a sea of domesticity at Kenwood were numbered.

(X)

A MODEST PROPOSAL: The frog that Jack develops a crush on is Justin Oluransi. Sequels to this snippet warmly welcomed.


By the time the actual season starts, the hard knot of panic that lives inside Jack’s chest has started to unclench a little. He’s come a long way from the shouting match the first day of training camp; the upperclassmen are a lot less resentful, look to him for guidance sometimes. Shitty has to smooth a lot fewer ruffled feathers. The coaches finally agreed to fire their clusterfuck of a manager and hire on a freshman Shitty found.

And speaking of freshmen…

Ransom and Holster are good. They’re good in a deeply serious way. Holster turned down the AHL to be here; the NHL would be looking at Ransom right now if he’d had the chance to develop in Major Junior, but his parents didn’t want him to lose focus on his schooling. They’re clearly the standouts of their year, clearly second-line material right from the start.

When they’re trooping through an arena concourse before the second game of the season, Ransom catches sight of a Tim Hortons stand and his eyes go wide. He falls out of line and to his knees, gazing at the donuts inside the case with fervent adoration. “I’ve missed you,” he moans. “Oh baby, I’ve missed you.”

Jack smiles.

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Uncle's patient dog poo vengeance.

This is a story about my uncle’s vengeance. My uncle is chill and friendly, but he once had the misfortune of living next to an awful neighbor. The guy actually didn’t have a ton of bad habits, but he did exactly what he wanted to do and he didn’t care who it affected. And one of the things he wanted to do was take his big dog on a daily morning walk and let the dog do his doggy business on my uncle’s lawn.

The first time my uncle caught him, he calmly confronted him and politely requested that the neighbor stop using his lawn as a dog toilet. The neighbor calmly told my uncle to get f*cked: he didn’t care what my uncle thought, there was nothing my uncle could do about it, and nothing would change.

This being 1970s southern California, my uncle couldn’t record the neighbor and shame him online or report him to the police for some litter violation, and although he is a cool uncle, he was in no way physically intimidating enough to get this guy to back down. Every day for a week he went outside to confront the shitty neighbor and his shitting dog, and every day he got the exact same answer: f*ck off, I don’t care, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

On the eight morning, my uncle stayed inside, watching as the neighbor yet again allowed his dog to leave a fudgy dump on his lawn. Then, after the neighbor and his dog had continued on their walk, my uncle grabbed a shovel and went outside. He scooped up the dog shit and, with masterful accuracy, flung it onto the roof of the neighbor’s house. As mentioned before, this being 1970s California, the neighbor’s roof (like all of the houses in that area) had a very shallow slope, and once he saw that the poop didn’t roll off, my uncle headed back inside.

He repeated the exact same procedure every morning… for the next eight months.

Not once did the neighbor notice the steadily growing pile of dog shit on his roof, baking and dehydrating in the California sun. Not once did he smell anything off, nor did he find it suspicious that my uncle still greeted him in a friendly manner after having his lawn used as a dog loo every single morning.

Finally, after eight months, the hot and sunny weather gave way to a massive rainstorm. Within minutes, the entire crusty layer of dog poop shingles rehydrated and broke free, a reeking mudslide from hell that sloshed down onto the neighbor’s property, splattering his lawn, his house, and his car with literal pounds of dog shit. Over the next few days, the neighbor’s grass succumbed to the poison and died, paint began to flake off his car, and the neighbor himself had to finally clean up after his dog once the sunny weather returned and the remnants of the dog poonami began to dry up while still stubbornly stuck to every stinking corner of his house. Tragically, my uncle didn’t take any pictures of the poo-house (I would have loved to have seen that).

From the day after the rainstorm to the day my uncle moved out of that house, he never spoke to that neighbor again… but the dog poop stopped appearing on his lawn for good.

Allig.ator skull removal

Hey vultures!! A lot of you were interested in the process I used to get the skull out of one of those tourist shop allig.ator heads. Just know that if you follow my process, you will not get a perfect skull. Also, I take zero responsibility for what happens if you choose to give it a shot! If you have any specific questions, feel free to shoot me a message! Also, I apologize for the freakishly long post… 

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So @doctr-p came home with me to Experience™ my hometown, and we came across these chocolates in a local candy shoppe. So, of course, we bought them being the total nerds that we are.

And……

Wrath was our favorite of the seven, with Envy and Gluttony coming in second with myself and her, respectively. Lust was surprisingly underwhelming, and Greed was definitely the one that had the most authentic flavor (I could taste the burn of scotch in the back of my throat).

I’d say that was money well spent :3

Myers Briggs Types Angry

ISTJ: A type that is extremely difficult to get upset and even more difficult to show it. If they are mad, they will tend to make snarky comments and show their anger passively or may approach the person directly and pragmatically. While they can move on and forgive, the ISTJ will never forget when someone has wronged them and will hold grudges. What can set them off: stress, disrespecting hierarchy (especially if they feel like you owe them respect you’re not giving them)

ISFJ: This type tends to bottle up their frustration, especially when it is aimed towards those they care about. They might let out their anger slowly, in light hearted but frustrated comments that get their point across without burning bridges. What can set them off: feeling like they’re not acknowledged, hurting someone they are close to

INFJ: Hard to get angry, since they are very loyal and committed to maintaining harmony. However, once they are, beware. INFJ’s will use their astute social perception to bring up each and every one of your flaws, weaknesses, and vulnerabilities and use them to systemically, psychologically bring you down. What can set them off: when you hurt them emotionally (they’re very patient up until their breaking point), insulting a deeply held belief.

INTJ: INTJ’s are easy to annoy; if you ask them, they’ll probably tell you all about how so and so is being extremely stupid. They tend to either hide these sentiments, express them through passive aggressiveness, or only tell those closest to them. When they are really mad, they either explode with rage or channel their anger into an icy cold fury. Terrifying. What can set them off: inefficiency, flaking on plans

ISTP: This type is more apt to express their anger externally than other introverts; cursing, insulting the other person, or expressing their emotions physically (ex: fighting, punching something) are all common. However, an ISTP that has learned self control may not exhibit these tendencies readily. What can set them off: people trying to annoy/upset them, lack of time alone

ISFP: The ISFP internalizes their emotions, and anger is no exception. If they are angry, they will generally only show it by body language, becoming distant, pouting, or other nonverbal cues. Immature ISFP’s (once in a blue moon a mature ISFP may do this around those they now well) may have bouts of anger where they throw fits. What can set them off: other people stepping on their emotions (hurting them or others), limiting their freedom

INFP: INFP’s will not want to upset those around them, so they will generally keep their feelings to themselves, showing only small signs of passive aggressiveness. However, they are likely to blow up once in a while (say, a year or so) releasing their pent up anger. However, this is an extremely rare occurrence. What can set them off: injustice, hypocrisy

INTP: This type will first try to control their emotions, either by using rational thinking to calm themselves down or retreating into isolation for awhile. If these methods do not work (or the INTP is forced to remain around lots of people while they are upset) the INTP may use sharp insults to hurt the other person. What can set them off: persistently bugging them about something, inefficiency

ESTP: This type tends to show what they feel in the moment, rather than processing things internally or wondering how others react. ESTP’s like to get out their anger physically, either by fighting or (in a more healthy way) working out. If not, they will be critical and mean towards others to express their emotions. On the good side, this type doesn’t tend to hold grudges, letting go of their anger as soon as they have let it out. What can set them off: boredom, being confined

ESFP: They generally express their emotions as well, although they may hesitate if they are in a fun environment and want to remain easygoing and pleasant to be around. If they do decide to show their anger it will be overwhelming. Coming off as rather dramatic, the ESFP may cry, yell, or throw a fit, although they will get over it quickly. What can set them off: being controlled/having their freedom to have fun taken away, criticism

ENFP: Determined to maintain harmony in their relationships with others, ENFP’s are prone to avoid conflict. Therefore, they internalize their feelings for the most part. If someone has hurt an ENFP past their breaking point, (depending on how much they value the friendship) they may simply drop the relationship or they may blow up and later apologize to the person. What can set them off: criticism, someone trying to control them

ENTP: When they are annoyed or angry, they will usually display it in the form of calculated, witty insults that they will hurl at the other person. They can get annoyed very easily, and tend to show this. Even if they are happy and are good friends with someone, they may still say jokes and comments that are perceived as mean by more sensitive people. However, the ENTP’s deliberate insults will be few and far between. Once they have made their point, they will move on. What can set them off: close-minded/illogical thought, ignorance

ESTJ: ESTJ’s are known for perhaps having the hottest temper out of all Myers Briggs Types. Their need for efficiency, assertive way of communication, and policy of honesty manifest themselves when an ESTJ is mad. Rather than intending to hurt the other person, they will bluntly state whatever is making them upset (although it may come off as a yell if the ESTJ is worked up enough). If the issue is fixed, the ESTJ will move on without holding a grudge. What can set them off: mainly little details being out of place, carelessness

ESFJ: The ESFJ is fairly good at expressing their negative feelings towards others; even though they value harmony and deeply care about those around them, they may actually come off as blunt or overly critical. Despite this desire to fix issues pragmatically and move on, the ESFJ will hold grudges for very long periods of time if they have been seriously hurt by the other person. What can set them off: not appreciating them, upsetting one of their deeply held values

ENFJ: The ENFJ is difficult to get to show their anger, since it is important to them that they maintain their wide array of friendships. At first, if the ENFJ is angry, they may resemble introverts, become extremely quiet and seeking out a good friend to talk things over with. However, if this doesn’t dissipate their anger, the ENFJ can explode with rage, either criticizing those around them harshly or reacting physically (though they are more likely to punch a wall than another person). What can set them off: when they are taken advantage of/not appreciated, injustice

ENTJ: The ENTJ won’t let feelings of anger influence them if they see it as an unnecessary, irrational emotion in the way of their goals. However, if they do show their anger, it will be in a cold, calculated, concise statement of icy fury. They only need a few calm words to bring down their opponent. What can set them off: others trying to undermine them, inefficiency

P.R.I.M: Pranks Resulting in Matrimony

Written by: @ghtlovesthg

Title: P.R.I.M: Pranks Resulting in Matrimony

Prompt 28: Noting tension between Katniss and the baker’s youngest son, carefree and mischievous Prim can’t resist pranking her annoyingly uptight and very responsible sister. [submitted by @567inpanem]

Notes: Rated All Ages, Never-reaped!Everlark, Complete. 

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i’m sorry, did you hope i was done with these? ha, no@onceapoet asked for some more krypto headcannons, so part . . i don’t even know anymore

there are two different ways it can go when they take krypto out while it’s raining

  • sometimes it is met with Refusal
  • krypto is a proud, proud dog. how dare kara try to take him out, there’s mud
    • so he does what any dog would do. he plops right down in front of the door when kara tries to urge him out
      • it’s ridiculous. kara shoving against him and just getting an inch further every time. sometimes krypto will move at the last minute and kara will go through the door
        • the first time lena came home and the door was destroyed. she just crouched down and peered through the hole to see kara sprawled out in defeat while krypto sat happily on the couch
          • she doesn’t question it anymore, just orders another one 

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I’ll Find You

Request: Hello! I can say without a doubt that I love your writings!❤ I also was wondering if you could do a newt x reader where she goes missing and when it gets too long everybody loses their hope except for Newt. Later on he finds her being tortured, saves her and it’s a grand and really fluffy reunion?:) Sorry, I just crave for angst and fluff😂 

Warning: Allusion to torture

Word Count: 3,095

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in


Pickett crawls from the pocket of Newt’s discarded vest, top leaves drooping from exhaustion. Stumbling forward, the tiny creature pulls itself up by the bed’s legs and hops onto the mattress. Gripping the headboard’s bars, Pickett inches past the pillows and avoids Newt’s hand when it jerks forward.

Once he’s in range, the bowtruckle reaches forward and tickles Newt’s nose. He jumps back, slipping off the mattress and swinging wildly when Newt smacks at his face.

Pickett’s still swaying off the bed when Newt jolts up, rubbing his forehead with one hand and reaching for you with the other. “I had the worst nightmare, love. Love?”

His terror peaks for the third night in a row this month when his hand only hits empty sheets and a cold half of the bed. He opens his mouth to shout for you before he remembers: you’re gone.

He takes in two shaky breaths before he hears Pickett’s squeals. “Pickett, what are you doing up here? You should be asleep.” He lifts the bowtruckle from the front of the mattress and slips out of bed, carrying him to a tree. “Yes, I know you don’t want to be here, but this is where you’re staying. Do you want to stay in that tree? I didn’t think so.”

He peels Pickett from his hand and places him on the tree before turning back into the bedroom and closing the door.

Careful to step over the clothes, crumpled up pages, and overturned pots of feed, Newt crosses the room and slides out the desk’s chair.

The two of you had decided to place a small bedroom in the case for any situations where you needed to be ready to respond to a creature at any moment. For the most part, it had been used when one was about to give birth, but more and more often, you and Newt had been spending nights down there after long hours of work studying a new creature.

Newt drops his head in his hands as he stares at the pages scattered in front of him. Notes that mean nothing at 3 in the morning fill the papers, but Newt still rifles through them, furious with the tears dripping down his cheeks. He has no time to cry. He has to find you.

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WHIPS PT 21

A/N: ahhhhhHHHH 

I’m so sorry this is late lol, and honestly the only thing I have to explain myself is  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But this introduces more magic styles, explanations and STARTS THE MAIN ARC WOO.

Natsu Dragneel is just an ordinary 21 year old trying to get by on his craft’s business, keep his landlady off his ass, and grow his friendship with his new weird neighbour Lucy. Without revealing that he’s a witch. Or his cat can fly and talk. So maybe Natsu isn’t that normal. Things take a serious left turn for him when people from his past start showing up, and he and Lucy as well as some new -and old- friends travel across Fiore trying to find some answers. But the question is, will they be happy with what they find?

Wiccan!Natsu AU

Pairings: Nalu, Fairy Tail

Words: 5067

Rating: M

Part: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen,Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty One, Part Twenty Two, Part Twenty Three

Natsu had shifted Lucy to the couch, still tucked solidly under his arm. Happy had taken it upon himself to tie up the men in the kitchen, each gagged with a rag imbued with anti magic potions. They weren’t particularly good, but Happy had whipped them up himself and they were probably better than Natsu would have been able to make.

He had also left a nasty scratch along the side of the wind witch’s face.

Now the three were huddled on the couch, Lucy refusing to let Natsu out of her grip and Happy unable to stop shaking without the embrace of both Lucy and Natsu.

They didn’t even flinch when Lucy’s door was kicked in.

“Natsu Dragneel you tell me what’s happening right now or- why are there men in Lucy’s kitchen and why is there blood on the wall?”

Natsu looked over Lucy’s head at Erza, seeing the expected fury and concern there. Fuck, he was going to die when he told her why.

“It’s my fault.” Natsu said in a flat, defeated voice. Lucy jolted in his arms, Natsu passively letting them fall off of her.

“Don’t you dare say that.” Lucy hissed, Natsu feeling her glare on his skin. He scrubbed at the side of his face, dried blood flaking off from his chin. Of course Lucy didn’t blame him, the girl was loyal to a fault, and for some reason she thought Natsu was worthy of that devotion. “It is not your fault.”

“Someone tell me what happened.” Erza’s demanding voice cut through, and Natsu pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a deep inhale.

“A couple of dark witches tracked me down. Lucy and I got back here and then they attacked us. Luce saved my ass.” He looked at the top of Lucy’s head with a dry smile. “She ‘xhausted herself summonin’ her mermaid, so don’t be too pushy with her.”

Erza walked around, ignoring the tied up men and crouching in front of Lucy. Her wide brown eyes shot to Erza, confusion surfacing past the dull tiredness. “Why are you talking as if Erza knows about-” Lucy started to question, cut off by Erza’s firm but gentle hand turning her chin left then right, examining her face and neck. Next Erza gathered her hands, thumbs brushing over her bruising knuckles.

“You did good, very minimal damage to your hands without any protection.” Erza complimented. She looked at Natsu, directing her comment at him again. “And you seemed to have done well as the only trained witch against four, including the coven Master. I’ll have to take them into the Council station here, and you’ll have to give a report as well of course.” Erza sighed, straightening at Natsu’s silent nod. He was thankful she wasn’t chewing him out, even if he knew her praise was unwarranted.

“Like I said, Luce had to summon her mermaid spirit, she did a lot of the work too. I’d be dead if she wasn’t with me.”

Lucy’s hand was over Natsu’s mouth as soon as he finished speaking. “And we are officially done speaking about you living or dying, do you understand me?” Lucy’s glare was fierce, Natsu nodding under her unyielding stare before she turned and looked at Erza. “How much do you know about magic?”

Now Natsu shrunk under Erza’s sharp look. “You didn’t tell her?” She asked harshly, Natsu shifting so Lucy’s body was acting as a shield between him and Erza’s wrath. Her hand fell away from him during the shift.

“You said not to!” He defended weakly, quickly followed by a ‘sorry ma’am’ as he hid further behind Lucy. Natsu wondered if he had better odds against suffocation-man than Erza’s death glare.

“Yes but I would have assumed you’d ignore me as you usually do.” Erza said dryly, turning her attention back to Lucy. Her brow furrowed and her gaze returned to Natsu sharply. “You said she summoned a mermaid?”

“A sprite.” Lucy interrupted, shying back when both witches focused on her. “Uh, I feel like Aquarius would kill me if I didn’t correct you on that?”

“You never said she was a celestial witch.” Erza accused, absentmindedly inspecting Lucy’s neck again.

“Well I didn’ know at the time! That stupid fish popped outta her desk or somethin’, and next thing I knew they were basically flockin’ to her from everywhere. Luce said one had been hidin’ in her clock this entire time, I think.” Natsu sulked, chin resting on Lucy’s shoulder.

“You were listening to me.” Lucy said softly.

“I always listen to ya, Weirdo.” Natsu snorted, “I just don’t always, y’know, listen.”

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