ham-slice

hello i was really inspired by elsewhere university so i wrote what could be considered a first person account of a freshman? i hope you like it!!!

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You apply to college because you know you’re supposed to. You’re not sure if you’re ready for it, though. In the past, your grades have fluctuated because you have executive dysfunction and also you never learned how to study. Smart kid problems, your dad always said.

You only apply to one college. If you don’t get in, you’re going to take a year off from school. You don’t really know what you’ll do, but you’ll figure it out. You apply to one of the most prestigious schools in the world: Elsewhere University.

Elsewhere University is a lot like any other university, from what you understand. You did your research. There’s weird rules, and there’s a whole blog dedicated to the culture surrounding that particular school. There’s something in each post that makes you think that there’s something the authors aren’t saying, but you never get a response when you ask in the comments or by emailing. One woman replied, but all she said was, “Be careful, but it’s a good school. I highly recommend it.”

You tried to find pass/fail rates of the school, but you can’t find anything. Apparently nobody fails out of Elsewhere university, only drops out or disappears. In fact, there’s a strangely high amount of disappearances from Elsewhere University that nobody seems to be making a fuss about. You almost regret applying when you learn about that.

Your best friend’s sister’s girlfriend graduated from Elsewhere U, so you ask your best friend to put you in contact with her. She does. Her sister’s girlfriend gives you a load of advice, and also highly recommends the school. She tells you that it’s an actual fact that nobody fails out of Elsewhere University, but that lots drop out or vanish. She says “vanish” a little wistfully, and you remember that time about five years ago when she’d vanished for a week, but then showed back up weirdly wiser and cleverer. You don’t ask about it.

Her advice consists of weird superstitions that she swears by: keep a bit of iron tucked away, carry some salt with you, and to carry candy and sweets with you. She doesn’t explain why, but you pack an old horseshoe, a container of salt, and your entire stash of candy.

She also gives you a list of rules.  

  1. Don’t eat anything they give you.
  2. Be polite to them.
  3. Don’t break any promises to them.
  4. Be careful making deals with them.
  5. Don’t say “I’m sorry,” say “Pardon me.” Also, don’t say “Thank you,” say “I appreciate it”
  6. Be nice to plants and animals.
  7. Feed the crows.

You have no idea what any of that means, but you know that you will soon. You thank her for her advice. It’s an easy job to type up the list of rules she gave you and turn it into your new background. You have trouble with social stuff, so having a list of rules is a godsend.

Your grandpa takes you down to your school. You don’t really know where it is, but his GPS knows where to go apparently. You have no idea how long the ride is. It feels like forever, and you start to worry about your fish. The GPS says you’ll be there in an hour. The GPS said you’d be there in an hour, an hour ago. You hope your betta fish will be okay. He’s been in his travel container for what feels like too long.

When you arrive, there’s a group of volunteers helping people like you move in. A team of three grabs up all of your stuff. You carry your fish and your newly acquired keys. The volunteer who signs you in warns you to keep track of your keys, that They can beep into the dorms and will raid your room for shiny stuff. You ask what she means. She shakes her head and calls you a freshie. You don’t ask again.

The three who help you take your stuff to your room give you advice. The girl tells you to stay away from the library and the dining hall at 3am. The boy tells you not to make deals at the point where two crosswalks create a crossroads in front of the Briggs building.

The person of indeterminate gender asks you what your major is, and when you tell them you’re thinking about creative writing, they tell you to be extremely careful and to never accept food from strangers under any circumstances and to be careful in even the dining hall and that if you can’t be absolutely sure that whoever is giving you food is human and to politely reject it otherwise and also don’t let the Fair Folk critique your stories because they’ll consider that a favor and you don’t want to owe them a favor and-

The girl hisses at them to shut up, that they’re scaring you. She’s not wrong. You want to hear more, though, so the person of indeterminate gender who tells you to call them Jules. You have a feeling that Jules isn’t their birth name. You tell them to call you by the nickname your friend gave you. They grin at you and say you’re already learning.

The trio leaves you in your room, alone. Your roommate isn’t here yet. You take the side of the room with the comfy chair, but leave them the good wardrobe. You feel like that’s a fair trade. It doesn’t take you long to unpack, and by the time your roommate shows up, all you’re doing is putting up your last poster (a Captain America “propaganda” poster).

She gives your poster a disgusted look. You say hello. She says hello back. She doesn’t thank the volunteers when they leave. She sets up her side of the room quickly, and complains about her wardrobe being slightly tilted. You point out that yours doesn’t close all the way. She scoffs, but quits complaining.

You never really get to like your roommate. She’s out all the time, she joins a sorority, and when she is in the room, her boyfriend is with her. Having him in the room makes you itch. He’s a nice guy, but something about him makes you dislike him instantly.

You stay polite, but when she vanishes, you aren’t really concerned. She’s often gone for a night or two. It’s only on the third night that you think you should probably report that she’s gone.

You knock on the RA’s door before your first class. She’s half asleep and tells you she’ll look into it, but that if your roommate shows up on her own to tell her. Oh and, she adds, if she comes back weird, be careful, Freshie.

Your roommate never comes back. Your RA shows up at your door after two weeks with a teary-eyed middle aged couple to pack her stuff up. You leave for the library with a thin excuse. You try to avoid the library, but it’s a good place to go when it’s nine at night and nothing is open except the student union. You already ate tonight, and going to the student union always makes you hungry, even when you’ve just eaten. The library is safer on your wallet.

You linger for an hour and a half. Half of your homework is done, including that essay you were sure would take you days to finish. You think you might come to the library more often after this.

When you return to your dorm, you pass by your RA’s open door. She said to leave the half of the room that isn’t yours empty, that you’d be getting a new roommate soon. You agree easily. You hope this next roommate is nicer than the last one. One of your classmates, who only goes by Elly, says that her roommate was replaced by something that looked just like them, but acted wrong. A junior hushed her, but it was enough to leave you thankful that your roommate had just vanished.

The next morning, you give one of the campus crows a slice of ham from your sandwich. It bows its head in thanks. It flies away after that. You decide to keep feeding the crows. You’ve always been superstitious, and it’s always good to have crows on your side, right? Your best friend’s sister’s girlfriend even said to feed the crows. Even if it’s just mumbo-jumbo, it can’t hurt, right?

You feed the crows. You go to class. You eat dinner in the dining hall, and only take food that’s being served by the workers who are clearly human. You don’t look at the shadowy figures when you go to your night class. You don’t speak to the cloaked figures you see at all times of the day, but you nod politely in passing. You never say thank you, or I’m sorry. You follow the rules, and when time comes that someone who doesn’t look quite right stops you at the crossed sidewalk in front of the O’Brien building, you carefully only offer a handful of candy in exchange for the study guide the stranger offers you. They happily accept the candy, and you happily go over your new guide.

You like Elsewhere University. Your classes are going great, you have a few friends, and you’re starting to understand what’s going on around campus.

You feel like you’re going to do just fine here.

So I just thought of this...

So it’s established that a lot of the time, humans would be the ‘weird space orcs’. But what I want to see is aliens who are totally baffled by the complexities of food we would consider 'simple’ meals. Like ramen. I just made a ramen with corn, an egg, and sliced Ham and Turkey I chopped down into bite-sized chunks. Like, aliens would be so confused by that.

“Human Jess, why are you putting two substantially different meats together? What is the purpose of the corn? Humans can not digest corn. What is in the little spice packet? Why are there noodles? Is that an egg? Why?”

And we’d be like 'nah, man, it’s good, it’s just soup’ while their soup is just what we would call broth. And the aliens would be so confused and amazed because it smells really good actually?

We humans are weird.

George Weasley x Reader: Gifts

AN: It tisn’t the season but who doesn’t love the holidays? ;) I just want to say thank you for all of your patience! There should be another fic this week as well!

Request: Anonymous

Warnings: N/A

Christmas Eve at the Weasley’s was a magical, truly magical, event. Arthur would chop down a large tree from the forest off of Ottery St. Catchpole, and Charlie and Bill would help him drag it inside. Percy and Mrs. Weasley took great care in stringing the lights and decking the branches with ornaments and glittery tinsel. Bill would pull Ginny on his shoulders and she would place the star on top, while Ron brought out the gifts to place underneath the tree. The twins enchanted a toy train to huff and puff on the rug before the fireplace, and everyone was in high spirits as snow drifted in sheets in the yard.

Y/N had experienced this merriment once before, but it seemed to be just as special the next year. Afterall, she had started dating George on Christmas Eve and she looked forward to their private celebration on the rooftop at midnight. While sometimes she felt out of place, the Weasley’s always made her feel welcome and right at home. The bunch gathered around the supper table - all of the redheads, Hermione, Harry and Y/N included. Mrs. Weasley prepared a very succulent roast ham, as well as whipped potatoes, roasted chestnuts, and a lovely pecan pie. The room was filled with noise, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t filled with cheer.

“It looks delicious, Mrs. Weasley, really.” Y/N said, placing her napkin in her lap.

“Oh, thank you dear.” She replied, sitting down herself. “I do hope I made enough for everyone.”

Arthur Weasley was already three bites into his slice of ham. Always very intrigued with Y/N, for she came from a half muggle family, he started conversation right away.

“What is it that you called the game with the ball on the ground? And the kicking?” He asked, spitting bits of food about. Mrs. Weasley looked disgruntled.

“Football, Mr. Weasley. The Americans call it soccer. They have a world cup every few years, just like Quidditch.” Y/N replied.

“Yeah, dad. Y/N and her family got seats right next to the muggle Prime Minister!” Ron said, excitedly.

Y/N flushed a deep red.

“I-It was an h-honor.” She stammered. “I am grateful for that opportunity.”

Arthur smiled pleasantly, and went back to his food. Catching a knowing glance from Harry, Y/N’s eyes focused on her food. Y/N’s family was very wealthy, in contrast to the Weasley’s. While she knew that neither party had any qualms about the other, she didn’t like to flaunt her wealth. She thought that it was tacky.

“Next month you’re going to see the Weird Sisters in concert aren’t you, Y/N?” Bill asked, excitedly. “Fred said that you’d got backstage passes!”

Y/N almost choked on her potatoes, but swallowed quickly and dabbed at her lip with her napkin. All pairs of eyes at the table were on her.

“Y-Yes.” She said, quietly. “I feel very fortunate.”

Dinner progressed, and Y/N found herself saying very little. She hadn’t found a balance between being ashamed about her wealth and being too haughty. It seemed as though the differences between the families were shockingly obvious. Students at school who were particularly nasty would taunt George about it, and while he put on a brave face, Y/N knew he felt a little embarrassed. Her clothes were always brand new, in comparison to the Weasley’s hand-me-downs. Her potions equipment was bronzed, and her cauldron was top quality. Many of the Weasley children had to share equipment, and Ron’s cauldron was being held together by spell-o-tape.

After their meal was finished, Fred and Harry helped Mr. Weasley clean up the table, and Mrs. Weasley served the pie. Once everyone was full, they all sat by the fire and watched the train whistle. Gradually everyone slipped off to bed, except for George and Y/N.

“I’m almost ready to head out to the roof, I just have to put some finishing touches on your gift.” George said.

He hadn’t said much at dinner, refusing to make eye contact with Y/N after Ron and Bill’s display. He ate his food quietly, and seemed rather jumpy when Fred tried to coax a conversation out of him. Y/N worried she had said something to upset him, and that she had ruined their one-year anniversary. As he scampered up the stairwell, Y/N pulled out her gift to him.

It was wrapped very neatly, in red and white paper. Little holiday sayings littered the wrappings and they were enchanted to glow brightly in the dim lighting. The ribbon was curled expertly, and she had carefully scrawled his name on the tag in her best print: “Georgie <3”. She put it behind her back, and carefully climbed the staircase, ducking out the window to the roof.

George was having a minor nervous breakdown in him and Fred’s room. While Fred was in his underpants, flopped over on the bed and snoring peacefully, George rushed about the room, ruffling paper and craft supplies. He tried his best to dress up the gift, but no matter how hard he tried, it looked pathetic. The package was made of three different wrapping papers, spell-o-tape binding everything together. Multiple different Santa Clauses waved merrily at him, some in sleighs, some carrying sacks, and all bumping into each other from the wrapping job. George winced, hoping that the darkness of the night would work in his favor.

He crawled out onto the pitch of the house, and stopped dead in his tracks. Y/N was sitting, her legs dangling off of the side, and George was completely speechless. The stars looked like they sparkled in her y/h/c hair perfectly, but their shine was lackluster compared to her y/e/c eyes. They glimmered in the night like expensive jewels. When she turned to look at him, she smiled and his heart stopped completely. Y/N was the most fantastic girl in the world and his stomach trembled at what she would think of his gift.

“Georgie, open yours first!” Y/N said, excitedly shoving her package into his lap as soon as he sat down.

He chuckled, trying to relax his nerves, and ran a hand through his wild auburn hair. He held the package between his hands and Y/N snuggled into his arm. His brown eyes danced into half-moons with adoration at his lovely girlfriend. George opened the package very carefully, lifting up the tape in a way that did not rip the parchment. Y/N watched his every move with excitement.

When he finally got the wrapping off, he put the ribbon and paper to the side, saving it because he thought it was beautiful. There was a lump of shockingly green fabric. Curious, he tugged it upwards and the cloth unfurled. It was a jersey from the Irish National Quidditch Team, and for the second time that night he was speechless.

“Y/N… love…” He croaked, once he was able to get a word out.

“Look at the back Georgie!” She squealed with excitement.

He turned it around, and noticed a dark and messy scrawl on a bit of the back. His name was there, written along with a short note and a sloppy signature. George felt as if electricity was surging through his veins. He was so excited and at the same time so reluctant to give his gift to Y/N. She watched him very cautiously with bated breath, afraid that she had shamed him with her extravagant gift.

“It’s… Barry Ryan…” George murmured.

Y/N became limp. Was it the Keeper that he liked or was it one of the Chasers?

“Th-That’s your favorite right? Ryan’s the one you like?” She questioned, wanting to make sure.

“Yeah… he signed it… for me?” George said, exasperated.

“Do you like it?” Y/N asked.

“It’s… so perfect.” George said.

His cheeks were dusted with pink as he brought his gift from behind his back to show her. Y/N did indeed notice the wrapping, but she thought it couldn’t have been more perfect. It showed that George really tried to make it look presentable for her, and that he’d worked so very hard on it. She took it from him carefully, and exercised the same amount of caution that he did while opening it. Y/N placed every scrap of paper in a neat pile by her side, saving them.

Because she thought it was beautiful.

As she tore away piece by piece she slowly uncovered the present that was waiting for her. On the top was fabric as well. She unraveled it to find a beautiful white scarf, made out of very soft material. Below it was a small, leather bound book. The front was painted with wildflowers, and as she thumbed through it, she saw that most of the pages were blank and lined. The first few pages had been written in.

George had written her a love note and pasted in a photograph of the pair. In it, Y/N was sitting on George’s lap, smiling and chattering with their friends. His arms were wrapped around her, and he planted a kiss on her cheek, looking at her as if she was the most entrancing thing in the entire world.

Y/N was confused. Flourish and Blotts didn’t sell journals like this. Their journals were spiral bound, and made of much denser paper.

“Georgie…” Y/N said, softly.

George was ready to rip his hair from his head. She had gone to all of this trouble to get this signed for him and what had he gotten her? A bloody notebook and scarf.

“I know, it’s not much.” George said, pulling her into his lap. “And I’m really, really sorry. I took some odd jobs to try and save for something really nice, but…”

Y/N put her hand over his mouth.

“George, where did you get this notebook?” She asked.

He shifted uncomfortably.

“I, erm.” He seemed to not want to tell her.

She waited patiently, staring down at the cover in her hands.

“I made it.” He said. “I know you love to write. And-and I like to hear your poems and stories. So I bought the leather myself, and I… I… I painted the cover, and bound it as best as I could so nothing would fall out, and I know sometimes you’re timid about starting new things so I put a little note in there to encourage you.”

Y/N was still silent.

“And I know you’ve been eyeing that scarf in the window of Madame Malkin’s for weeks now, and I really hoped that you hadn’t gone in to buy it yet so I asked Madame Malkin to save it for me when I had the money to buy it.”

Y/N was filled to the brim with emotions, and tears started to drip from her eyes. George craned his neck to see what her expression was, and felt like his heart was stomped flat when he saw her crying.

“Oh, Y/N! Shh, shh love, I’m so SO sorry.” He said, hushing her and squeezing her tight. “I’m- I’m,”

“George this is the greatest gift I have ever gotten.” She said, quietly.

He stopped stuttering and held a look of confusion.

“Come again?” He said, blankly.

“No one has ever put this much thought into a gift for me before. George, I can’t believe you bought my favorite scarf, and the- the journal, it’s so wonderful. I love you so much, darling.” Y/N explained, tears of joy dropping wildly from her eyes.

George was so relieved he almost passed out – or passed away. He pulled Y/N back and kissed her firmly on the lips. She laughed, wiping the tears from her eyes, and the two watched the moon sail over the stars as they held each other close.

PT.9

PT.1| PT.2| PT.3| PT.4| PT.5| PT.6| PT.7| PT.8| PT.10| PT.11| PT.12| PT.13

He called me love.

And that seemed to be the one word that Sherlock heard after their morning together. When he finally joined John in Rosie’s room, the blond already had the baby laid out on the changing table. Her diaper was just removed. John looked up at Sherlock and smiled. He reached his hand toward the baby’s items and said, “Could you get me a wipe and nappy, love?”

There it was again. John called him that word. He called him love. For a moment, he nearly forgot that John asked him to get something. He went and got the items and handed them over to John, then retreated to leaning on the doorway.

Love.

Sherlock rested his head on the wood, suddenly feeling drunk with affection for John.

The second time, they were in the living room, Rosie was demolishing her stuffed bee while watching the television. Sherlock was sat on the couch while John fixed them breakfast. John’s specialty was eggs with beans on toast. Sometimes, he would sneak a few slices of ham from Mrs. Hudson while she was away and then cook it for their meal. Sherlock never much cared for breakfast, but with John, he would gladly sit and share a meal. He looked into the kitchen to see his lover standing over the stove humming some tune in his head. Sherlock smirked at how adorable he found the man to be at times. Rosie was tugging at his pant leg, he looked down and saw the blue-eyed baby smiling up at him with her fist in her mouth.

“Oh, did you finally grow bored of mutilating that poor bee?”

He looked over at the once fluffy bee and sighed. It was a gift for her and this was how she treated it. He placed her on his lap and watched the children’s show. He let her grab his ring finger and briefly, Sherlock imagined a gold band on it. He shook his head. John said he loved him, not that he wanted to marry him. For everything that’s happened, John may not be too keen on the thought of remarrying.

“Time to eat, love.” John’s smile made Sherlock dizzy. How could such a mouth show this much emotion?

I am his love

Sherlock looked down at Rosie and whispered, “I am his love, Rosie.” To which the infant just continued to suck on her fist. He seated himself at the table after placing Rosie in her special chair directly in front of the television. John was waiting for him. They shared a glance before digging in. While they ate, Sherlock felt John’s leg brush against his. Maybe it was an accident, Sherlock thought. But then he felt the leg again. He blushed and tried to hide his face from the chuckling man across the table.

“What’s the matter? Do you want me to stop?”

Sherlock reacted faster than he could think and shook his head. John put his fork down and sat back, trying to get a good look at Sherlock’s face. Sherlock resisted every urge he had to look John in his eyes and kept eating.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

Sherlock shrugged cursing his blushing cheeks. “I’ve been told.”

“Oh yeah? By who?”

“…You.”

Sherlock’s smile turned smug when he saw John’s cheeks matching his own. Now they matched. John grinned at him.

The third time was when they took to lounging together on the sofa while Rosie dominated whatever they had on the television. John tried to change to the news for a moment and Rosie started shrieking whenever anything other than the Teletubbies on the screen. So, there they were, stuck watching the Teletubbies. John was indifferent to it, Sherlock, was horrified at how children found such frightening creatures entertaining.

John was lying in between Sherlock’s legs, with his head resting on his chest. Sherlock had his arms wrapped around John’s so that his hands were laying on his chest. John’s hands were rubbing Sherlock’s arms slowly, it was very ticklish.

“Care for tea, love?”

He’s in love with me.

“Yes, I do.”

John got up to fix their cups and Sherlock was left to think about John calling him that word so many times in one day.

That night, they were both in Rosie’s room trying to find ways to coax her to sleep. Sherlock was rubbing her stomach and shushing her, meanwhile John tried to give her warm milk. When she finally fell asleep, they stood over her crib and watched her little chest rise and fall softly. John yawned and said, “Are you ready for bed?”

Sherlock nodded. “Just give me a moment to brush my teeth.”

John rose on his tippy toes to kiss Sherlock’s lips. “I’ll see you in bed, love.”

After John walked out the room, only one thing crossed his mind.

I love him.

 ——-

There will be plenty more times of John calling Sherlock “love” so don’t worry guys! 

@sappylock @vitruvianwatson @fortheloveofjawn @justsherlythings7 @now–what @im-batt-mellamy @bronzedviolets @aconsultinghobbitinthetardis @deathfrisbee-221b @the-john-to-your-sherlock @the-three-garridebs @akablue24 @worthless-dude @angel-loving-star @beekeepers-in-love @jubalya @imworkingonit86 buckynotbuchanan @johnandsherlocks @teeeffdee @mycroftpotter @purplejayee @funkychickzz @wellthengameover @superspringles @gimmeastartoreachfor @orphengesic-tab @froggie95 @enchanted-captainswan @sirarthurcanondoyle @watsonsanatomy @loveismyrevolution @missmuffin221 @chulia25 @jazziejexbird @ink-in-murder @thegameisgay @usuallynotusual @sspectacularlyignorant @theelephantin221b @masterofhounds @fallingoffbarts @sherlock-totally-loves-john @shayspieterse @loveteaelephants @tealfox-10-24 @cow-mow @vaticancameos-andtea @reallyimpossibleartisan @lets-play-muuurder @deathishauntedbyhumans @sairyn-noc @wholockian16 @221beestings @real-life-reichenbach @ttennis1121 @treacherous-siren @frozenrendezvous @beardchr @deliriouslylazyafternoons @hushwatson @chinike @jael3333 @wilde-grrrl @pepperminotaur @castiel-is-not-a-god @bisexualowl @simpleanddestructivechemistry @miss-phanatic @cj-holmes @escaroles @bleedingverses @bvil23 @gobacktobakerstreet @wingedpurplewords @aznaks @johnlock-reality @clueless-kait @katthepotato @heartsherlocked @johnlockissquishy @there-is-no-inbetween @busybiscute @whereisjawn @mrsfleurytatro @august-emerald @zedkay068 @ordinaryangel @my-sun-my-baelish @morgendaemmerung89 @mishezza @imperfectoreoashley @consultinghubbies @emc-starkid 

Annnnd I think that’s everyone! 

franceschee  asked:

My birthday is April 28th. I don't maintain a blog on Tumblr though. I created an account just to follow the fabulous fellow Everlarkers here. If you can, I will take anything I can get but if possible, some smut please. *bambi eyes*

Happy birthday! Here is a little something special cooked up just for you by @katnissdoesnotfollowback. Have a wonderful day and enjoy the read!


Have Your Cake and Eat It Too

Happiest of birthdays to you! I hope you enjoy what I’ve cooked up for you and it adds to to your celebration. Thanks to @peetabreadgirl for prereading this sucker.  <3 KDNFB

TWENTY-FIVE

“I’m gonna be late. Please tell me you made some hot water for tea this morning,” Peeta says to his brother as he rushes into the kitchen and tosses his bag on the counter.

“Gotta move faster, old man,” Ryen teases, but lowers his newspaper enough to point to the kettle sitting on a silicone trivet.

“You’re two years older than me,” Peeta grumbles, not bothering to look at what he is sure is a self-satisfied smirk on his brother’s face, choosing instead to focus on pouring the water into his travel mug and dropping in a tea bag to steep.

“Yes, but nothing good happens after twenty-five. They expect you to be an adult after twenty-five. For real,” Ryen complains and Peeta curses as the hot liquid splashes over the edges onto his hand when he moves it a little too forcefully towards the spot where he left the lid.

“Graham would disagree,” he mutters sarcastically as he shakes the tea droplets off his hand and wipes the residue on a towel. His skin stings, but he doesn’t have time to deal with it.

“Graham is an idiot,” Ryen returns, but he doesn’t say the rest of what they’re both thinking.

Keep reading

"Exactly what are you seeking from my son?”

Or, Joaquin meets Kevin’s dad.

@ihavenocreativitysonousername requested “Joaquin meeting Kevin’s dad OR Kevin meeting the gang OR both”

Word Count: 1.5k

Genre: Pretty fluffy, some momentary angst

Warnings: mentions of guns, gangs,and parental death

Read it on AO3

I would like to note that all of Joaquin’s family history in this has been completely made up by me and is complete headcanon.

     “Kev, are you sure about this?” Joaquin asked nervously, shifting from one foot to the other. He was standing outside of Kevin’s dad’s truck which was parked in Kevin’s driveway. He could feel sweat growing on the back of his neck, underneath the collared shirt Kevin had insisted he wore. “I’m just, well, I’m not really the kinda boy that people bring home to meet their parents. And, your dad is a cop.” It wasn’t that Joaquin didn’t want to formally meet Mr. Keller, in fact, it was exactly the opposite. Joaquin wanted everyone to know that he was Kevin’s boyfriend. He wanted to be Kevin’s official boyfriend, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. However, Joaquin was worried that Sherriff Keller wouldn’t be a fan of his son’s gang member boyfriend. Kevin went out of his way to make his dad happy and not to disappoint him in any way. What if Joaquin was a disappointment? Joaquin wouldn’t want Kevin to choose between him and his dad.
    “Joaquin, chill out okay?” Kevin chuckled at the other’s nervousness. “It’s gonna be just fine, I promise. My dad isn’t completely oblivious, he is a cop, and he probably has an idea of who you are.” Kevin knew that his dad had seen him and Joaquin together at Pop’s, he’d seen them kiss behind the shed in the Keller’s backyard, and he had definitely seen Joaquin hastily sneak out of Kevin’s bedroom window.
    “He has an idea of who I am, and that should calm me done?” Joaquin exclaimed.
     “Yes. Because my dad knows not to judge a book by its cover. He has a gay son, you may remember.”
     “Yeah, a gay son who is dating a gay Southside Serpent. I’m sure that’s all he could hope for.” Joaquin was aware that he was overacting slightly, but this could really make or break his relationship with Kevin.
Kevin sighed, a little exasperated by Joaquin’s anxiety. He brought his hands up to cup his boyfriend’s face, slowly leaning in and giving him a gentle kiss.
     “You look fantastic.” Kevin grins, giving Joaquin an appreciative once over. “You are a kind, funny, and smart guy. I see it, and I’m sure my dad will as well.” Joaquin smiled, a blush rising up his neck onto his cheeks. “Let’s go, you ready?”
     “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Joaquin sighed, taking Kevin’s hand and following him up to the front door. Kevin opened the door and Joaquin was hit by a fantastic aroma. Whatever Sheriff Keller had made for dinner, it smelled fantastic. Kevin voiced Joaquin’s thoughts.
     “Wow Dad, that smells incredible. What is it?” Kevin’s dad was leaning over the stove, stirring something in a pot.
     “Well, we’ve got ham and rolls on the table, and now I’m just finishing up the garlic pasta.” He wiped his hands on a towel that was hanging over his shoulder before turning around, seeing Joaquin face to face for the first time. “And, you must be Joaquin. Kevin, actually, has not told me much about you.” Joaquin shook Sheriff Keller’s hand, trying to exude confidence while being respectful.
     “It’s, uh, it’s nice to finally meet you sir.” Joaquin stuttered out, any semblance of confidence gone as soon as he opened his mouth. Kevin, sensing the slight rise of tensions, spoke up.
     “Dad, is the pasta ready yet? We could sit down for dinner and talk some more.”
     “Sure, son.” Sheriff Keller responded, but waited for a minute before taking his eyes off of Joaquin and returning to the pot on the stove. As the sheriff finished the pasta, Kevin led Joaquin into the dining room where they began to talk in rushed whispers.
     “Does your dad always carry his holstered gun around the house like that? Or am I receiving special treatment?”
     “That’s just for you, I think.” Kevin admitted. “Uh, Joaquin, there is something I forgot to tell you.”
     “What?” Joaquin exclaimed, his nerves causing his voice to rise from a whisper.
     “Shh, calm down. It’s just that I just realized, I’ve never brought a boy home to meet my dad, serpent or otherwise.” Kevin felt slightly embarrassed at the admission that he had never had a real boyfriend before. “So that might be why my dad’s being weird, not the whole serpent thing.”
     Joaquin went to respond, to comfort or to freak out Kevin didn’t know, but he was cut off by the entrance of Sheriff Keller.
     “The pasta is ready, let’s eat.” He said hastily and with no welcoming tone. Joaquin sat down with a rushed and nervous manner about him. Meanwhile, Kevin sat down with the casualness of someone who had been eating at this dining room table all of his life. The food was spooned onto plates and quickly enough Joaquin was sitting in front of a plate full of delicious food; it was something he hadn’t seen in a while. Joaquin was speechless, staring at the pile of food and listening to Kevin and his dad share the stories of their days. He didn’t even notice when they stopped talking until Kevin kicked him under the table.
     “Ouch.” Joaquin exclaimed before looking up from his plate to see that both Kevin and Sheriff Keller were staring at him. “I, uh, I’m sorry I got distracted, what?”
     “My dad asked if you liked the food.” Kevin clarified, looking slightly concerned. Joaquin looked back down at his untouched plate before responding.
     “Um, it looks fantastic. It’s been a while since I sat down to a home cooked meal.” Joaquin confessed, but immediately regretted reminding the cop in front of him that he came from trailer trash. To avoid the momentary silence, Joaquin picked up his knife and fork and began to cut into the slice of ham on his plate. Sheriff Keller broke the silence,
     “So Joaquin, tell me a little about yourself, and exactly what you are seeking from my son.”
     “Dad!” Kevin gasped, and if Joaquin was right, kicked his dad beneath the table. Joaquin finished chewing the ham that was in his mouth. “You don’t have to answer that Joaquin.” Kevin stated.
     “No, no it’s fine Kev.” Joaquin wiped his mouth quickly before answering. “Uh, I moved to Riverdale when I was about four with my older brother. He used all of his savings to buy us a trailer on the Southside. Um, after that, there isn’t much to tell. I don’t really play any sports, I’m not an art person really. I guess I’m kinda into photography.” Joaquin shrugged, not really sure how else to describe himself. “As for the second part of your question, I don’t know if seeking would be the right word. I’m hoping to form and maintain a loving relationship with Kev.” Joaquin had shed some of the nervousness from before settling into the conversation. Sheriff Keller seemed happy with the answer, but had a few more questions for Joaquin.
     “And you are a serpent yourself?”
     “They are the only family I’ve ever known sir. But no. I’m not a serpent yet, and recently I’ve been hoping to do something with my life besides gang activity.” Joaquin was telling the truth. After spending time with Kevin and hanging out with kids on the Northside, Joaquin wanted to achieve something in his life bigger than what the serpents could provide.
     “And how do your parents feel about that?” Sheriff Keller asked, very nonchalantly. At the mention of Joaquin’s parents, Kevin sat forward and reached for Joaquin’s hand.
     “Dad, seriously.” He hissed, but Joaquin nodded gently.
     “Kev, seriously, it’s okay.” Joaquin reassured. “Uh, my parents died in a car crash before we moved to Riverdale, sir.”
     “I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t know.” Sheriff Keller seemed taken aback. Joaquin shrugged. It really was fine, he had never really known his parents anyhow.
The night continued with more surface level, but amiable conversation. Joaquin finished his meal and spent the rest of the night holding Kevin’s hand and enjoying the overall feeling of family. As the night came to a close, Joaquin shook Sheriff Keller’s hand before Kevin walked him out.
     “Well, that went well.” Kevin smiled, fiddling with the lapels of Joaquin’s jacket.
     “Yes, I would say it did. You’re very lucky to have a dad that accepting.” Joaquin leaned into Kevin’s touch, leaving mere inches between the two.
     “I am. Very lucky, I have a dad who is super accepting and now I’m standing, alone, with my very hot boyfriend who I’ve been wanting to kiss all night.”
     “Oh yeah?” Joaquin goading, bringing them closer.
     “Yeah.” Kevin mumbled, their lips almost touching.
     “And what are you gonna do about it?” Joaquin began to tease, but was interrupted by Kevin pressing their lips together. Joaquin, still high off of the success from dinner, felt as if he was suffocating from happiness. This was too much, he shouldn’t be allowed to be a part of something as perfect and sacred as this. Kevin finally pulled away, resting his forehead against Joaquin’s. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.” Joaquin admitted when he regained his voice.
     “I completely agree, Joaquin. This is pure bliss.” Kevin mused, kissing his boyfriend gently.


Hit me up if you have prompts, ideas, want to beta, or would like to be tagged in my future Kevin/Joaquin fanfics.

Also, if you guys want it, I might write a sequel of this were Kevin meets Joaquin’s brother and maybe some of the serpents.

Tag List: @glitteryloser

catladylexi  asked:

So I work in a deli and a few days ago I got a costumer that asked to have some vagina ham sliced. I kept a straight face, sliced their VIRGINIA baked ham, and processed to laugh until I couldn't breath when they left. I've had some crazy customers, but that experience was my favorite.

This made me cringe and cross my legs. That is not ham down there. Please keep the machinery away. -Abby

6

Portion Sizes

 28 baby carrots (10 oz) + 1 1/4 Tablespoons blue cheese dressing

• pita chips (0.8 oz) + 4 Tablespoons hummus

• 1 1/4 cups blueberries (6 oz) + yogurt (6 oz)

• 65 raisins (1.2 oz) + 1/8 cup sunflower seeds (0.6 oz)

• 33 grape tomatoes (20 oz) + goat cheese (1.3 oz)

• ½ regular bagel (1.3 oz) + 3 Tablespoons light cream cheese

• 12 wheat crackers + 1 slice cheddar (1 oz)

• 1 large apple (7 oz) + 1.5 Tablespoons caramel dip

• 3 rice cakes + 1 Tablespoon peanut butter (0.6 oz)

• One 6-inch tortilla + 2.5 Tablespoons guacamole

• 2 cups whole strawberries (10 oz) + 4.5 Tablespoons fruit dip

• 2 medium peaches (8 oz) + cottage cheese, 1% (5 oz)

• ¾ large banana (4 oz) + 1 Tablespoon Nutella

 2 squares dark chocolate (0.7 oz) + 15 almonds (0.6 oz)

• ham (2.2 oz) + 1 slice Swiss cheese (1 oz)

These are sooo yummy and filling. Give them a try!

xxgwenstacyxx  asked:

omg I just wanted to rewatch Iron Man 3 ok, and it's been a while since I watched it (a really, /really/ long time) and I forgot it included watching Dummy fALL DOWN INTO THE SEA HELPLESSLY FLAILING WHYY?? needless to say, I started to cry and haven't recovered since I need cute fanfics including the bots now. I'm traumatized why would they do this T-T

Whelp, I also have feels about that scene, and depressing headcanons found here.

BUT BOTS I love the bots so much. 


There’s a soft whirr and a claw prodding against his side. Tony blinks blearily at his bot. 

“Not now Dum-E, daddy’s working.” Tony informs him, running at the bots claw. Dum-e just grabs onto his shirt and pulls hard enough to yank Tony onto his feet. You is behind him before he can lose his balance, stabalizing him, as Dum-E beeps victoriously. 

“You both suck. Tag teaming your old man.” Tony grumbles, but he allows himself to be dragged over to the couch. “Now what?” He asks the bots, and Dum-E spins around letting off a high pitched shriek, until Butterfingers shows up with a blanket. 

“Hey, Butterfingers.” Tony greets, reaching out to greet the robot. Butterfingers beeps excitedly, and promptly drops the blanket. Dum-E lets off an admonishing noise, and picks up the blanket before Butterfingers can run over it.  “You guys going to tuck me in?” 

You’s camera bobs up and down, Tony would laugh but he can already feels his eyes drifting shut, he always feels safest with the bots. 


Tony wakes up to  a cold smoothie pressed into his hand. It’s the first time he hasn’t woken up screaming in weeks, and he smiles at Dum-E. 

“Hey.” He greets. “Jarvis is this safe?” He asks, and Dum-E’s camera droops. 

“Yes, however it contains carrots and broccoli as well as an assortments of fruit, and a slice of ham.” Jarvis warns, Tony shrugs. Dum-E’s made worse for him, at least this one isn’t likely to kill him. 

“All food this time, good job.” He holds out his hand, taking a gulp of the frankly disgusting smoothie. Dum-E taps his claw against Tony’s hand and rolls away whirring happily to himself. 


“Okay boys it’s science time!” Tony informs the bots, Dum-e practically screams in excitement, pointing the fire extinguisher end at Tony. 

“No.” Tony says pointing at him, taking a step back. Dum-E squeezes the trigger slightly, spraying Tony’s shows with white foam. “DUM-E NO!” Tony attempts to dodge the spray as Dum-E releases the trigger. Butterfingers shakes his claw at Dum-E as an admonishment, and knocks over a dozen test tubes. 

“You.” Tony says, the robot turns to him beeping curiously. “You’re my new favorite. The other two can go to a community college.” Tony decides, there’s chaos after that, and Tony winds up covered in white foam and laughing when it’s all over. 

“I love you guys.” 

anonymous asked:

Customer: can I get a couple slices of ham? Me: sure thing how much! Customer: a couple slices Me: ...how many slices sir Customer: 2-3 Use your words man I'm not a mind reader

I was always thought a couple was two (thank my grandma for that one) so I would just give her two and wait for the inevitable complaint that they wanted more.

-Rodney

  • Me: it's 1 am, why in the flying blue heck am I awake and hungry?
  • The Me that has common sense: *marches around banging pots and pans together* MAYBE BECAUSE YOU ATE NOTHING BUT A CHEESESTICK, A SLICE OF HAM, AND HUMMUS THIS ENTIRE DAY YOU UTTER PRINCESS OF NONSENSE

can’t pretend anymore

grace left mississippi for a reason. she just wants to be left alone. niall is spending the summer traveling through spain searching for the perfect wave and, instead, finds grace. liam has chosen this moment to pop back up in grace’s life. she doesn’t want any of it.

a surfer niall / expat grace / tech billionaire ex liam nsfw one shot

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swingtale  asked:

yes yes, it's canned slabs/slices of ham and it's deliciously juicy and makes a great breakfast/lunch sandwich! you can have one of my cans for later if you want 8D

“Oh. Sounds good, i’ll have’ta try some of that later.” 

ALTON BROWN FACTS

Alton Brown grinds his own peppercorns. With his teeth.

Alton Brown’s chili cheese fries are healthier than raw carrots. Even after he adds the bacon and lard.

Alton Brown brushes his teeth with wasabi and gargles with pickle brine. But his breath smells like roses.

 Alton Brown can boil a three-minute egg in thirty-seven seconds.

In an unaired episode of Iron Chef America, Alton Brown single-handedly defeated an all-star team of Bobby Flay, Cat Cora, and Michael Simon. The secret ingredient was air.

Alton Brown doesn’t reduce sauces. He demoralizes sauces.

Alton Brown prepares his fugu blindfolded, with one chopstick and a plastic spork. Alton Brown ain’t afraid of no chump neurotoxin.

Alton Brown’s blender has four speeds: “stir,” mix,“ "frappe,” and “plasmify.”

Alton Brown can split a pineapple in half using only his pinkies. For coconuts, though, he has to use his thumbs.

Alton Brown knows where capers come from. And he grows his own, on a Chia pet in the pantry.

Rachel Ray shows people where to eat for less than forty dollars a day. When Alton Brown eats, people pay him.

Alton Brown slices ham so thin, it can only be seen using an electron microscope.

Some knives can slice through a tin can and still cut a tomato. Alton Brown’s knives can slice through a Pontiac, and still cut a tin can.

Grown men have been known to weep for joy in the mere presence of Alton Brown’s vinagrette. His hollandaise sauce can kill a man from sheer ecstasy at forty paces.

Alton Brown can eat just one Lay’s potato chip. If he ever bothered to eat food he didn’t make himself, that is.

Alton Brown once got carried away slicing carrots, and julienned his cutting board. Undaunted, he sauteed the splinters in olive oil and spices –and they were delicious.

Every Burger King Alton Brown has walked into has immediately closed forever –try as they might, they simply can’t “do it his way.”

Alton Brown can pair a wine with any food –including hot dogs, ice cream, raw eggs, Alpo, sawdust, and soylent green.

Alton Brown’s cakes don’t rise. They ascend.

Some meats are so tender, they seem to melt in your mouth. Alton Brown’s meats are so tender, he’s had entire turkeys vanish into thin air.

Alton Brown’s no saint. But if his chicken Kiev cures one more kid’s leprosy, the church will reconsider the evidence.

Alton Brown doesn’t whip potatoes. Alton Brown’s potatoes whip themselves, if they know what’s good for them.

 Alton Brown’s other car is the Wienermobile.

Alton Brown’s show was called ‘Good Eats’, because 'Multiple Shuddering Mouthgasms’ didn’t play with the network’s target demographic.

Alton Brown’s freezer operates at minus-twenty-seven degrees. Kelvin.

Alton Brown once prepared shrimp gumbo for a cooking competition, using only salt, water, canned Spam, and a packet of Arby’s 'Horsey Sauce’. He took second place. He would have won, but one of the judges was allergic to shellfish.

Alton Brown can fit three hundred and forty-two cookies on a standard-sized baking sheet. Without any touching.

When Alton Brown slices onions, the onions cry.

Alton Brown was once asked to participate in a blind orange juice taste test. He was the only person able to successfully identify the brand, style, vintage, temperature, pH level, distance to the orchard, age of the grove trees, and the names of the workers picking the fruit. Including the one who needs to start washing after bathroom breaks.

Eyes of Intelligence

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Request: I was wondering could you do a one shot with Reader x Sam where The Reader finds an injured wolf (who is Sam stuck in full wolf form because of a magic curse), so she takes it home to look after it. While at the reader’s house Sam falls in love with her and is worried about how to tell her and what she’ll think when he changes back and finds out about the supernatural and what he is. Thanks 😉 hope that’s not too confusing haha

Warnings: Wolf!Sam??? A touch of angst, fluff.

Word Count: 1,362

A/N: I feel like this is kind of boring, but for some reason I love it so much. Please feel free to leave feedback and enjoy!

Originally posted by rpvisualosities

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

The forest was pitch black and slightly terrifying. Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have been out there but the sounds of an animal in pain made you continue forward. Walking deeper into the forest you swept your flash light from side to side trying see as much as possible. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the reflection of eyes looking at you. Quickly turning, you pointed the flashlight in that direction. What you saw broke your heart. A wolf was lying on the ground with an open wound on its back. Cautiously approaching you knelt down and tried to get a closer look at the wound. It didn’t look infected but if it wasn’t treated soon it would be. The wolf watched you with wary eyes, there was an intelligence in its eyes that surprised you.

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