My last reblog reminded me that I wanted to crosspost this here. I just came out of spending two months looking for an office job to replace mine that went off season two weeks ago, and when nothing came through I checked Craigslist, found out a burger place I love was looking for servers, walked in with an apron and resume and walked out with a job that I’ve been told may start netting me $700 a week.

Food service is good. Food service will pay your bills. Learn food service even if you only use it in emergencies.

Context: this 9 year old joins the server looking to make some trades and he’s pretty polite and business like for his age. Everyone, admins and mods present included, are impressed with his behavior. I sell him my The War Pig and he mentions how some mods on another server of ours were jerks and told him to kill himself. Everyone jumps to this kid’s defense and the admins present ask the kid to point them out in the other server, because those ones over there are known for their brutality. I get they were doing their job, but it’s always great to see nice admins helping good players.

[Submitted by clockworknite, edited by Seth.D]

carasstarwarsmusings: “ clockwork-cameo: “ michellestarswept: “ darcyfitz: “ elithien: “Okay so when I was suggested to illustrate something that involved Rey at a space ball (because Vanity Fair...

This was originally meant to be a one shot based off of @elithien‘s lovely illustration. But it’s definitely got another chapter in it still to be written ;)

This is for @elithien and @michellestarswept :)


It was a lavish event.

Diplomats from multiple systems were there, as Chandrila hedged its bets looking for new alliances after the destruction of the Republic. Supreme Leader had sent him and Hux to represent the Order and to be sure the Chandrilians realized where it was their best interest to ally. A core world like them could not be overlooked, between their credits, resources, and influence over smaller systems.

He had protested, to no avail, that he had no business being involved with diplomacy. Such things were best left to people such as His. Just as meting out death was best left for those like him.

His mother may had been a princess, but he was no prince.

Yet here he was at the diplomatic ball,decked out in the finery of the First Order dress uniform. Black silk shirt with a high collar and ruffled black stock tie. The long, finely woven black coat, marked with red piping, came down past his knees. The black of the uniform contrasted to the white gloves of soft leather he wore on his hands.

And of course, no mask. He was open, vulnerable, to everyone in the room. And Gods he hated it. He had slunk to a corner of the room, leaning against the wall and glowering and drinking Corellian brandy.

Hux, on the other hand was peacocking around, chatting pleasantly as he preened himself among the affluent and powerful. Once the little pissant had come over and attempted to scold him for being “improper” and “antisocial”, insisting he come “mingle” with the other guests. He didn’t dignify the redhead with a verbal response, just glared at him in a way that said better than words what he would do if the man back the kriff off.

Draining his glass he looked around for the a server circling with trays of drinks. He was still far too sober to get through this ordeal. Scowling as he found no one nearby, he took a breath and ventured out into the crowd to find another drink. He was grabbing another brandy when he caught a few words of someone’s voice among the din, “…General Organa…”

He froze in place, closing his eyes tightly. She was here, of course she would be here. The Resistance would love to keep Chandrila among their allies. They had their own political cards to play. Holding his breath, he turned slowly and his eyes found the small woman talking to the vice-chancellor of Chandrila. So elegant, as she always had been, still royalty, still the Princess of Alderaan. Older, but still holding herself with a proud, commanding authority of a soldier and a General.

How long had it been since he had physically in the presence of his mother? His uncle had visited her once with him during the ten years he shadowed him like a dog, only a few years after she’d sent him away. He had been fifteen? Sixteen?

Did it even matter? He had been a boy still, the last time he’d been in the same room with his mother. The last time he heard her voice, they hadn’t talked over a com either since then. They had written, there was that, though he had written far more than she wrote back. Dutiful son and Jedi padawan that he had been, he wrote faithfully. She wrote back when she found the time, which, as it always had been with finding time for her family, had been rarely.

Hux swept his way towards the group surrounding the vice-chancellor, puffing himself out. He had seen Organa, he was sure. His motives for joining whatever conversations were taking place was certainly to kriff with her. It was what the little prick did best.

Why was he even still standing here? He needed to move, needed to get out of sight. If she looked over at Hux as he approached them, she would surely catch sight of him. Surely, there was nothing good that could come from her knowing he was here. Taking a step back, he began to turn when another figure stepped next to his mother.

Her. The girl. The scavenger.

He turned back, his eyes fixed on her. Her face was a bit fuller and her body had filled out, now that she no longer scrounged for meals, but still undeniably her. She was wearing a black dress, form fitting, showing off her freckled skin that had yet to lose the sun kissed tan of the desert. Her hair was full and tied up in an elaborate braid and a gold necklace hung around her neck. His mother’s– he was fairly sure he recognized it.

The last time he had seen her he had been half-dead by her hand, staring over an abyss at her as she disengaged her saber and ran. His hand reached up and traced down the scar that ran across his face. The mark she had given him.

As if acting on their own, his legs carried him over towards her. Stepping next to Hux who looked at him, a startled expression flickering across his face before he regained control. He heard his mother draw in a breath of shock, but his eyes were on the girl as her startled eyes flicked up to meet his.

He felt as lost in them as he had when he had first looked into them on Takadona.

“Vice-Chancellor, may I introduce to you Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren. So glad you joined us, Ren,” Hux’s voice oozed smoothly next to him.

He flicked his eyes away from the girl’s to shoot the man a warning look before turning and bowing slightly to the Vice-Chancellor, most of the bend in his neck. The etiquette that had been drilled into him during his youth surfacing as if it hadn’t been nearly two decades since he’d had use for such things,  “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. We are honored to be your guests.”

The Vice-Chancellor beamed before giving a matching bow, “So few people respect proper formalities these days. We are honored to have you as our guests, and to share with you the splendor that we are able to provide.” The man turned to Organa and the girl, “General Hux, Kylo Ren, may I introduce another two of our guests, General Organa…”

Hux gave no more than a curt nod as he glared at the woman, who glanced at him with a cold glare. The Vice-Chancellor flicked his eyes over the man in disapproval.

He stepped towards his mother, woman looking up at him in surprise as he extended his hand with another short bow, “General Organa and I are acquainted,” he said. She stared at his hand, looking shocked for half a minute before slowly raising her hand to meet his. Once again following the formal etiquette for such introductions, he brought his other hand to clasp gently around the top of hers, bowing as he brought her hand up for his lips to brush a kiss across the knuckles. Feeling her hand shake in his hand at the contact. He straightened from his bow, releasing his hands for her to pull hers back. Their eyes met, hers were filled with conflict and pain. He wondered what she saw in his?

She bowed her neck to him, her voice rasped as she spoke, “Yes, we are acquainted.” Her voice broke slightly and she paused before continuing, voice smooth and under control, “Your manners are to be admired, as the Vice-Chancellor said, such formalities are ignored by many these days.”

“My mother raised me to respect such things.” He spoke matter-of-factly, no hint of vitriol in his voice, but she winced at his words anyway. Next to him Hux blew out an amused huff of air and he resisted the urge to punch him squarely in his smug, smarmy face. Not that resisting the urge to punch Hux wasn’t a daily occurrence, but it was especially strong this time.

The girl was glaring at him. He knew without even looking, he could feel them. It seemed like he could feel her anger as well. She thought he was speaking with the purpose of hurting Organa and her emotions were rising, anger flickering on the edge of rage. He had seen her rage before, as she harnessed it to rain down blows on him in unbridled fury, and it was something that was more beautiful than he could describe.

He raised his own eyes, hopefully with his own emotions calm and controlled, to meet her hazel ones. If the Vice-Chancellor was aware of the tension of emotions surrounding him, he ignored it, continuing with his introductions. “And this young lady, Miss Rey…” The Vice-Chancellor paused, clearing his throat.

“Just Rey, Vice-Chancellor,” her voice spoke politely, maybe even a little shyly. She shifted and he was suddenly sure that as well as she hid it, she was very uncomfortable. Uncomfortable in these clothes, uncomfortable surrounded by these people. She felt out of place and on display and hated every moment of it.

How exactly he knew it, he wasn’t sure. But there was no doubt in his mind, any more than there had been about her anger.

“Just Rey, yes, well,” the Vice-Chancellor nodded. “General Hux, Kylo Ren, this is Miss Rey, apprentice to Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, who was unable to join us on Chandrila.”

“Skywalker?!” Hux hissed next to him.

Apprentice… to… Skywalker. Apprentice to SKYWALKER. Apprentice to Luke Skywalker. The words echoed in his head as his mind refused to acknowledge him. The girl, this girl, the scavenger who had defeated him, who had denied his own offer to teach her, was now training under his uncle.

His uncle.

How he did not simply explode with the fury that surged through him, he would never know. The girl flinched and shrank back, as if she could sense the intensity rage that was now directed at her, though no one else around him seemed to know. He took a deep breath, forcing his emotions back under control, stepping forward to extend his hand and bowing as he had for his mother, “Forgive me for correcting you, Vice-Chancellor, but the correct term is Padawan, not Apprentice. It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Rey.” The girl just stared at him a moment before glancing at Organa who nodded briefly towards his extended hand, encouraging the girl to take it.

Slowly she extended her hand to his, and he brought his other hand over to cover it. There were callouses built across her palm and fingertips. Callouses built up from years of harsh labor. Somehow even with them her hand seemed amazingly soft to him as he bowed deeper, bringing the hand to his lips. Where he had merely brushed his lips against his mother’s hand, here he planted a true kiss across her knuckles, allowing himself to taste her skin. He could feel a vibration jolt through her as he did so, and he resisted the urge to smirk as he straightened himself and released her hand. His eyes lingering on hers, taking in the confused emotional storm within the green and brown.

Slowly she bowed her neck, mimicking his mother’s response to him. When she spoke her voice was soft and fast, unable to control the fact she would rather not be speaking the words at all, “It is nice to meet you, sir.”

He gave a small smile and nod, before leaving his eyes resting on the girl as the Vice-Chancellor led them in idle conversation. She shifted uncomfortably in his gaze, her eyes flicking over to him before darting away. After five minutes or so she excused herself, casting one last uncomfortable glance in his direction.

Draining his glass, he politely excused himself, bowing to both the Vice-Chancellor and to Organa, before slipping away. He set his empty glass on a cocktail table and tracked down another before he wandered among the crowd until he finally found her again. Hanging back and keeping his distance, he kept her in view, following her as she wandered among the wealthy and politically connected attendees, keeping to herself. Isolated while surrounded by people.

Oh, she did hate such an ordeal, hated it as much as he did.

Another thing they had in common. How was it that they could have so much in common? Was she still lonely? Did she still lay in bed at night, praying for sleep to finally take her?  Had she found comfort now under the tutelage of his uncle? Unlikely.

Did she know how much he understood her?

Asking questions like this was so unlike him, he didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the simple effect of her presence. Maybe a combination of both? She did have such an effect on him… one that he really didn’t entirely understand.

She moved about the room and he followed. It didn’t take her long to notice him, always there, always not far away. Her eyes would find him, and he could see a growing alarm at his constant presence. There eyes would meet and he would smirk, unable to help himself.

He turned to get another drink and looked up to find her gone. The little minx must had been waiting for an opportunity to bolt. Oh no, he wasn’t about to let her slip away that easily. Moving about the large ballroom, he scanned for her but she had vanished. Finishing his drink in frustration he slammed the glass down and turned to a slightly startled server to snatch another. As he did, he noticed a set of doors on the outside wall, not quite closed. His eyes fixed on them and he moved closer… a balcony perhaps?

Yes, he was certain she was out there. It was a strange thing to be certain of, there was nothing to indicate that she would be, but he was sure she was nonetheless. Walking across the room paused and grabbed a glass of Chandrilan wine with his free hand before making his way to the door, opening it quietly and slipping out silently onto the balcony and grinning as he saw her.

She was leaning against the railing, looking out on the ocean, a breeze lightly ruffling her dress. His eyes tracing down the bare skin of her arms and back, then pausing to appreciate the way her dress defined the quite lovely shape of her ass. Did she have any idea how beautiful she really was? He didn’t think so. He’d been in her mind, and beauty was not something she associated with herself.

Every muscle in her body tensed suddenly and she spun to face him, her right hand slipping into her dress to her hip. Even slightly inebriated, his eyes caught that odd motion and narrowed a moment before he grinned in realization. She saw him and snarled, “Why are you watching me?”

“You’re pleasant to watch,” he said, lightly, moving slightly closer, keeping a careful watch on where her right hand had slipped under her dress. “Are you going to pull that saber on me? That would be such a scandal, they’d talk about it in the upper echelons of Chandrilian elite for years.”

Scowling, she shook her head, slowly withdrawing her hand back into the open, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not. You don’t have lightsaber in a concealed holster on your hip,” his eyes traced down her hip to her upper thigh, “or your thigh… where the skirt starts to flair? Yes… that’s where it would be if you had one, which I’m sure you absolutely do not.” He chuckled and winked at her, holding out the glass of wine to her.

She looked at the glass, and then at him, eyes narrowing.

“Do you have to assume everything has an ulterior motive?”

Slowly she reached out and took the glass from his hand before backing up and setting it down on the wide railing next to her. Her eyes following him as he walked to a bench along the wall and sat down, taking a sip of his brandy.

“You clean up well, little scavenger. Not to say you weren’t lovely in your desert rags, but you’re especially lovely tonight.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, when she spoke her voice was flat, “You’re drunk.”

He hummed thoughtfully a moment before he decided he was indeed past just being buzzed, “A little.” Raising his glass he bowed his head slightly to her, “I recommend it. It makes being at something like this more tolerable to people like us.” He nodded to the glass of wine, “Are you just afraid to drink anything I gave you or did uncle Luke force you to follow some ridiculous code of Jedi purity?”

“No. And my master forces nothing on me,” she snapped, picking the glass up and taking a small sip before setting it down again.

“Hmmm… who was it who forced you to come to this?”

She stared at him a moment, breaking eye contact before speaking, “No one forced me. They asked.”

He grinned, cocking his head, “Ah, so not forced but strongly encouraged. And it was my uncle and my mother.”

“Don’t call her that!” she snapped, her hands clenching into fists. Such beauty in that anger. “You have no right to refer to any of them as if they’re still family.”

“Just because you’ve endeared yourself to my family, scavenger, doesn’t make them less mine.” He waved his hand, draining his brandy, “You’ll find them disappointing you in time, if they hadn’t started already. Skywalker is too stubborn to change, and his ways will be as wrong for you as they were for me.”

There was no response, she rested her hands on the balcony railing and leaned back, refusing to look at him, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know you hate this. Hate being surrounded by these people, you feel like you don’t belong among them. And you’re right of course…” He smirked, “You hate that dress, which is a pity because you wear it so well. Hate those shoes, your feet are killing you in those heels and you feel like they hinder your mobility if you needed to protect yourself.” Her eyes turned to rest on him, expression falling flat, “You hate feeling like you have to behave yourself and watch what you say. That there are all these hidden rules of formality that you don’t know and you’re afraid you’re going to break.”

He got to his feet and walked towards her. She stood her ground, glaring at him, “You hate that you let them pressure you to come here. That you’re here just to be paraded around as a token bit of proof that Skywalker is alive and working with the Resistance.” She bit her bottom lip, he leaned forward, slipping his hands over hers on the railing, hunching to bring his face in front of hers, “You hate that you’re enjoying my company.”

She took a shaky breath, “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” he asked, amused,

“And arrogant.”

“Oh, that one I’ll admit.”

Pulling her hands out from under his, she gave him a sharp push, forcing him a few steps back away from her, “You’re a monster who betrayed your fellow padawans and your master. Who was complicit in the murders of billions. Who slaughtered your own father in cold blood.”

Rage flickered through him and he pulled himself up tall, looking down at the girl, “You know nothing about these things.”

“Don’t I? I watched the last one with my own eyes,” her own rage began to fill her face at the memory. “He was my friend.”

He shook his head with a snort, “You knew him for a kriffing day. I had my entire lifetime to know what a pathetic failure he was as a father, husband, and even as a person. He would have disappointed you in the end. You should thank me for sparing you from that by killing him.”

The speed at which she moved startled him. One moment she was still against the railing, the next her hand was cracking across his cheek forcefully, rocking his head back. He looked down at her face, contorted in rage as she pointed a finger at him, “Don’t you dare speak to me again. Don’t you dare follow me anymore. I don’t care about making a scene, if you don’t leave me the kriff alone I’ll carve the other side of your face to give you a matching scar.”

Despite the sting of her blow, he grinned, “You’re so beautiful when you cloak yourself in anger. So un-Jedi-like. Your master would be disappointed in you, little padawan.”

She hissed and whirled to leave, but he snatched her arm above the elbow and spun her back towards him forcefully. His grip holding firm as she tried to pull herself free. With a sharp jerk he pulled her against him, slamming her into his chest. Her eyes flashed dangerously and she bared her teeth in a fierce snarl. Leaning forward, grazing his mouth against her ear as he spoke softly, “Your fool of a master would disapprove, but not I. I recognize power for what it is; I do not pretend it is some sort of weakness.”

He release her and she jerked away from him. Backing cautiously as her eyes flashed at him dangerously. “Stay away from me,” she said, the breathy tone of her voice giving away the raging storm of emotion within.

With a sharp turn she stormed away, going back inside. His eyes drifting down to watch her ass as she went.

Sighing, he sat back down on the bench, letting her go for now. She needed some time to cool off. He would give her a little… just a little.

He glanced down at his lap, where the bulge of his half-erect cock was effectively hidden by the long coat of his dress uniform. Snorting in amusement, he shook his head,it seemed he needed a little time to cool off too.

Chuckling, he leaned back, resting his head against the wall. He wondered if that silly girl really thought they were done yet?

They weren’t nearly done yet.

anonymous asked:

I have the best April fool's prank I'm gonna pull tomorow. instead of tipping 15% I'm gonna tip 25% imagine the look on the server's face

The only appropriate prank. Better make it 50%. -Abby

anonymous asked:

Donation fic request: foodie verse, steve/tony and Chicago deep dish pizza. Or whatever you feel like writing, its all good fun.

So I missed the “Stony” the first time around, and thus it is not the focus of the fic, but the Chicago Style Pizza part is very in evidence! :D

“Okay, but…what is it?” Steve asked, studying the object on the table curiously. The waiter, with a warning look, slid a pie server underneath a slice and lifted it out. Cheese dangled everywhere.

“It’s Chicago-style pizza,” Tony said, holding up his plate to be served. 

“That’s not pizza,” Steve replied.

Chicago style,” Tony emphasized. 

“That’s not pizza,” Steve repeated. 

“You’re adorable,” Tony told him, and Clint made a gagging noise.

“I lived next door to Italians. I served in Italy. I know American pizza doesn’t look like Italian pizza but this doesn’t look like any pizza I have ever seen anywh – why is it like that,” he asked, as another slice was lifted and basically drizzled onto his plate. 

“Because it is delicious,” Natasha said, stealing a forkful of cheese from Tony’s pizza. He made to stab her with his fork, then thought better of it. 

Steve picked up a fork and carefully separated the crust from the back of the slice. The cheese, incongruously given its earlier runniness, stayed stiff. 

“If you’re chicken, I’ll eat your slice,” Bruce offered. Steve turned his glare on him. 

“I’m not chicken, I ate c-rations,” Steve said. “I ate sausages made before the FDA existed. Are we sure the FDA has cleared this?” 

Thor had already eaten his entire slice. He’d apparently twirled it around his fork and unhinged his jaw somehow. He was eyeballing Steve’s with intent.

“Look, we came all the way to Chicago to punch bad guys,” Clint said. “We might as well enjoy the local delicacies.”

“It’s okay,” Tony said. “I thought this might happen. I got you something else, Steve.” 

The waiter, who had briefly vanished, returned with a pile of palm-sized, golden half-circles, gleaming with melted butter. 

“Potato-cheese pierogies,” he announced, and deposited them at Steve’s elbow. Steve looked at the golden-brown pierogie crust, broke off a corner, and tasted it. Then, without speaking, he dumped half the platter of them onto his plate.

“Are you going to eat that?” Thor asked, pointing to his slice. Tony was battling off Natasha’s forays into his pizza. 

“No, go for it,” Steve said, mouth already full of pierogie. “Now THIS is a delicacy,” he added to Clint, as Thor transferred the slice to his plate. 

Summer Vacation: Steps

First fic for the Olicity Hiatus Fic-a-Thon organized by @thebookjumper. I’d like to the thank @almondblossomme for proofing. Also available on AO3.

I’d like to like to dedicate the is fic to @emmaamelia95 (still May 27th in Canada, sorry it is late for you) as it is her birthday today. 

The story is set in 5x22, an alternate ending to the party.

Oliver began carrying dishes into the loft kitchen. “Thanks again Felicity, this was so nice.”

“Are you sure you weren’t disappointed?” Felicity crinkled her nose. She had been worried that the dinner subterfuge was a bit much.

“About the party? Absolutely not. About dinner,” Oliver looked down.

This Oliver always killed her, he looked like a lost little boy. She knew he just didn’t want to say the wrong thing, so she cut him off at the pass. “I was. I mean, I was disappointed about dinner. I wanted to, I want to go to dinner with you.” God, why was she stumbling over her words? This was Oliver and he had agreed to take steps!

Keep reading

New XIV Servers Are In California

So in case you haven’t already heard through the grapevine, seems as if the server move is mostly done and they’re located somewhere around Sacramento, CA.

What this means is that East coast players and EU players may see an increase in their ping as opposed to a decrease. Not sure why they went with California and not something more central, but whatever.

If you’re curious what your ping will look like, since the servers are technically set up now you can ping them to find out! Open up your command prompt (start - type in cmd and hit enter) then type in ping for an idea of what your new ping will be in-game. It’s not exact, but it should show any major changes.

As for me, I’m still around 75-80ms so I’m content. Reblog to spread the word and share your pings! =P

Hello, close personal friends. Welcome to my blog. I will now tell you about a few things going on in the world today, along with whatever else is on my mind.

House Republicans say they have enough votes to pass Trumpcare today, despite being a lethal moral obscenity that the CBO hasn’t scored, that could strip your employer plan of prescriptions and maternity care (among other things), that considers sexual assault to be a pre-existing condition, that is so good that Republican legislators have gone and exempted themselves and their staffs from.

▲ Here’s What Republicans Are Voting For on Thursday

FBI director James Comey stands by his decision to alert Congress, days before the election, about his agency’s investigation into emails related to Hillary Clinton’s server. “Look, this is terrible. It makes me mildly nauseous to think that we might have had some impact on the election,” Comey said. “But honestly, it wouldn’t change the decision.” Personally, I’d be puking my guts out for weeks, but okay.

President Trump celebrated today’s National Day of Prayer by undoing a ban on political activity by churches and freeing them from requirements that they provide contraception coverage in their health insurance plans. "Freedom is a gift from god,” Trump said, which I sincerely doubt he actually believes.

You are now invited to a tortoise party.

Stephen Colbert finally (and unapologetically) responds to #FireColbert backlash: ‘I would do it again’
Prince Philip, who turns 96 in June, to step down from carrying out royal engagements
Obama endorses Emmanuel Macron in French election

▲ Source: pierceingram.com

Best Quality: His wiggles.

Some tweets are a true gift of unfortunate beauty.

I love a good art.

Posted by topherchris.

“Felt in or as if in the internal organs of the body.”

Thanks for reading! Remember to take a break from the internet every so often. Breathe, stretch, and drink some water. We’ll all be here waiting for you. 

[tophdaily archive]


Character/Pairing: Sam x Reader
Location: Stanford
Random Word: mushroom
Requested by: @oneshoeshort

“Okay, I’ve got one breakfast special with hash browns and extra sausage,” you set the plate down in front of an eager-looking guy in a leather jacket, “and one mushroom, spinach, and feta cheese omelette. Watch the plate, honey, it’s–” you stopped dead as the other guy seated at the table looked up at you and gave you a knowing smile. “Oh my God! Sam?!”

He laughed and continued to grin at you. “Hey. It’s been a long time,” he said.

You couldn’t stop gaping at him. “Oh my God! Understatement of the century! How–how are you?!” 

Dean was glancing hurriedly between the two of you. “You two know each other?” he asked through a mouthful of sausage and eggs.

Sam grimaced at Dean’s lack of manners but nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we were at Stanford–I mean,” he laughed again, a little nervously, “we went here together. Both pre-law.”

Dean nodded. “Oh, okay. Nice to meet you,” he said. You laughed and gave Sam a look as Dean went back to his food. Sam ran a hand awkwardly through his hair and shrugged.

“My brother, Dean.” You nodded and continued to smile at him. 

“I figured.” You grinned wider at him. “Well?” you said.

Sam shook his head and gave you a questioning look. “Well?” he repeated.

“Are you gonna stand up and give me a hug or what?” you demanded.

Sam laughed and immediately was on his feet. You grabbed him and squeezed him tight, surprised to find that butterflies appeared in your stomach as his arms closed around you. Dean raised his eyebrows and took in the action, but made sure to appear to be intent on his breakfast again by the time the two of you broke apart.

Sam shrugged his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “I can’t believe this. This is crazy–just bumping into you like this. How are you?” he asked.

You laughed. “Well… not a lawyer, obviously,” you said, looking down at your server uniform. 

“Me either,” Sam said. You nodded as the silence stretched between the two of you for a moment.

“Well, I should–probably get back to work,” you said with a laugh, sad to break the gaze between the two of you. “And you should eat before it’s cold. But, really good to see you, Sam,” you said, you flashed another smile at him and started to turn away but he called your name to stop you.

“Uhh… when do you get off?” Sam asked.

“Two,” you replied.

“Well, let’s get coffee or something. We can–talk about how we aren’t lawyers,” he said with a laugh. “It’d be good to have time to really… catch up,” he said.

You couldn’t conceal a grin. “Sounds great.” You scribbled your number down on your order pad and tore it off. “Give me a call, okay?”

Sam nodded. “I will.” He watched you rush away and disappear into the kitchen and still found himself standing there in the middle of the restaurant. He felt Dean’s eyes on him and cleared his throat awkwardly, sitting back down in his seat.

Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Sam. “Atta boy, Sammy,” he said.

“Oh, shut up,” Sam retorted.

Imagine: The Turtles going on a public date

With a disguise, if course

Leonardo: He takes all necessary precautions, brings a smoke bomb just in case… but he won’t stop tugging on his scarf and jacket, fidgeting so much the servers look a bit worried. He loved the date, but is going to wait a while before doing that again.

Donatello: He is calm majority of the time, having faith in his temp cloaking device. He keeps a straight face, but afterwords, back home, makes a dash for the bathroom. He feels sick, thinking about all those close calls. However, he’s willing to do it again, once he repairs and improved the cloaking device.

Raphael: The only turtle who won’t do a public date. No matter how much his SO asks, he can’t do it. Instead, he asks April and Casey to set up a private rooftop ‘resturant’ on top of their building. His SO says it’s the best date they ever had.

Michaelangelo: Been waiting for this! He is so excited, and so prepared as well…. except when he almost took off his hood at that pizza place. Thank gods it wasn’t too crowded, otherwise he and his SO would’ve had to make a break for it!

Sleeping With the Enemy

A/N:  Ok, so what had happened was, @archangel-with-a-shotgun shared a story about being invited to a ball by Crowley, and then the most recent installment of @icecream-and-gadreel’s smutacular series involved a Crowley scene, and I really should not be held accountable for my actions, after that.

Summary: The reader and the Winchesters infiltrate Crowley’s Halloween masquerade ball, in order to steal a powerful talisman.  Crowley offers the reader a deal.

Word Count: 5,080ish.  Sorry, not sorry.  I, much like my beloved sinnamon roll, enjoy a little torture before the grand finale. 

Menu I mean Warnings:  THE MOST BLAZINGLY FILTHY SMUTTY SMUT I HAVE EVER WRITTEN!  YE WERE WARNED!  Power struggle, demon power!kink, oral sex (female receiving), semi-public sex, Crowley’s magical thundercock, ALL the dirty talk, Dom!Crowley, unprotected sex (do it right or pay the price, kids).

Soundtrack: http://8tracks.com/forestspirit/harbingers-of-the-dead

“I can’t believe you made me wear this thing.” You tugged lightly at the crimson velvet of your gown, trying to hike the neckline up.

“Shut up, you look awesome.” Dean teased.  “Besides, it’s a costume party.  Not like you could show up in your usual duds.”

The colonial-style gown was undeniably beautiful.  (Dean had looked so proud of himself when he brought it home from the costume shop.)  It was the kind of thing any princess wannabe would give her left arm to wear.  The problem was you.  You didn’t belong in a getup like this- you were a hunter for fuck’s sake.  The tight, low cut bodice restricted your movements, and while the wide skirts were perfect for concealing weaponry, they were heavy and swished around when you moved, getting caught on doorways and furniture.  It made you feel confined and clumsy.  Not like yourself at all. 

Then again, that was the point of a masquerade, wasn’t it?  You huffed and yanked on your neckline, again.

“Screw you, Winchester.  I look like a Hamilton reject.   How come you’re not in costume, huh?”

“Believe me, sweetheart.  This monkey suit is plenty.”  He adjusted the jacket of his tux, as if the black wool were strangling him.  “Plus, we’ve got the whole mask thing going on.”  He indicated the black velvet domino mask covering half his face.  “Now that’s above and beyond.”

“You look beautiful, Y/N.”  Sam chimed in from behind his golden sun mask.  “If anything, Dean and I are underdressed.”

Sighing, you turned to take in the sight before you.

When Crowley hosted a Halloween masquerade, he didn’t half-ass it.  The huge black marble ballroom was swirling with intricate costumes.  There was a man (demon, you corrected yourself) in a top hat and tails covered with feathers, giving him the look of a rather stately raven.  A giggling woman passed by wearing a tight gown covered in red and yellow sequins (or were they embers?), with what looked like real flames dancing through her hair.

Sam was right.  Even in your tight, swishing velvet, you were so plainly out of place.  So very human. You tightened the strap on your red fox mask, trying to disappear.

“Ok, let’s get what we came for and go.  I don’t want to be here a second longer than we have to.” You grumbled.

“10-4.” Replied Dean.

“We’ll split up, meet back here in an hour?” Said Sam.

You all nodded and went your separate ways.  The boys headed in opposite directions, toward twin hallways on either side of the ballroom.  That meant you got to weave through the crowd.  Joy.

You passed by a buffet table, piled high with fruit, bread, cheese, and what you chose to believe was beef.  You didn’t take anything.  You did, however, take a flute of champagne from a silver tray as it passed, carried by a hunched form in a goblin mask.  Wait, was that a mask?  By the time you looked again, the server was gone.  

You looked more closely at the figures around you.  They weren’t all demons.  There was a faerie queen in a dress of autumn leaves, a crown of willow branches on her head.  She was attended by a knight in orange mail armor, and -yes!- the knight did have a fluffy tail that swished in and out of view as she pivoted, guarding her queen.  In an alcove, sitting on leather couches and sipping blood from crystal stemware, were some vampires who apparently never got the memo about goth fashion being cliche for their kind.  

The more you looked, the more variation you saw in the guests.  Witches, werewolves, faeires, vampires, djin… This wasn’t just a Halloween party for Crowley’s court, it was a fucking state sumit.  

“Now, what is a beautiful creature like you doing hanging about in the shadows?” said a smooth cockney voice in your ear.  You whirled around to face the speaker, praying your disguise was good enough.  

Crowley was dressed in an impeccable black suit and blood red tie, as usual.  His “costume”, it seemed, was a long burgundy cape with a high collar and a matching leather mask shaped like a skull.  Four demonic horns protruded from the top of his mask, giving the appearance of a crown.  Subtle.  With a flourish of his cape, he bowed and offered his hand, looking through his lashes as he said with a grin, “What do you say, love?  Care to dance with the devil?”

Keep reading

The Meaning of Life, Hot Chocolate and a Bun.

University was by and large a horrible time for me, I didn’t enjoy the “learning” experience, but I do have some fun and lovely memories. Like my friend K and I racing each other to the top of the Literature Tower (20 flights) and almost passing out/vomiting at the top, my professor trying to bum a smoke from all of us standing outside on a regular basis, and then there was the refectory at the base of the Literature Tower, a little hole in the wall which you had to go through narrow twisting corridors to get to and was rarely busy as a result, but once you where there it was warm and the food was good.

One day my class “Scottish Lit” (an elective, rather than a compulsory, which is more than a little odd considering I was in Scotland, but this is not the time or place to talk about the inherent bigotry in British academia towards the other three countries in the “United” Kingdom) had to be cancelled at the last minute. A bit of a blow considering it was an 8am class and I had to get up at 6 to get there only to find an apology scrawled on the door. It was also my only class of the day. But rather than go home where I would inevitably go back to bed and sleep for the rest of the day, I decided to drop into the refectory for some breakfast before I went. It also just so happened that the new Terry Pratchett book, Going Postal, had just come out that morning, and I’d dropped into Waterstones on my way past to uni. So off I went, traipsing my way through the halls until I found the back alcove where the uni had set up the eating nook. Unfortunately, because I hadn’t planned on eating there I didn’t have enough money for actual food, having spent my last ten quid until pay day on the book and stupidly left my bank card at home. I did however have enough money for a hot chocolate so I got that and told the server to cancel the tattie scone in a roll (good balanced Scottish breakfast that, fried potato scone slathered in butter and served in a morning roll with ketchup, om nom nom)

So I found myself a nice little spot out of the way, made myself comfortable and pulled out my book and started to read. It took me a while to realize that my hot chocolate kept magically refilling itself- about 4 hours later- when I was starting to feel slightly sick from the milk overdose on an empty stomach. It was then that I also noticed the iced bun in front of me, and looked up at the server, who gave me a nod and wink and waved his own copy of Going Postal at me from behind the counter and promptly went back to his own reading.

It was a really lovely moment that stayed with me, and always comes to mind whenever I reach for Moist Von Lipwig to cheer me up. Not just because the book is thrilling and funny and sparkles with pure Pratchett wit and poignancy, but because of that moment, that little quiet moment in the back eating room of a tower named for books, another human being wanted to be kind and fed someone else, even though they didn’t have to. And I can’t help but think that’s what Pratchett tried to teach us.

We’re not superheroes, we can’t stop a bullet and we can’t turn back time by flying really fast, hell we can’t even fly. But we can be kind. And despite what the cynics believe, the people who profess it’s a “dog eat dog world” when what they really mean is “it’s a dog eat rat world and you’re the rat” and say things like “that’s just the way it is”, kindness is our greatest strength. Kindness and doing what is right in small little ways, until they make up the whole.

Everyone says the meaning of life is 42, but to me it’s 41.

41 books that tried with all their might to impart the importance of kindness to others, that one small deed can indeed change the world. In the grand scheme of things hot chocolate and an iced bun doesn’t mean much. But it meant something. It still does. It meant empathy, compassion, and in it’s purest form it meant love.

And there’s no greater power than that.

Minecraft server opening again!

*the build in the picture was made by ptrudeau on the server

Hello everyone! I am reopening the request to join my minecraft server! We need more european players as the server is quite dead in the day time!

HOW TO JOIN THE SERVER: (send an ask please, this is easier for me to see)

  1. You must be a simblr
  2. You must be following me
  3. You need to be active on the server (at least a few times a week)

- Fill this:

  • Age:
  • Timezone:
  • Gender:
  • Minecraft username:

- Read the rules:


- The server is 100% survival there is no commands at all! Please be aware of that and don’t come on the server to ask me to change anything, I won’t!

- Version 1.11.2


- DON’T STEAL! We will know (thanks to plugins) and ban you instantly

- No racism, homophobia or any kind of intolerant speech (this will get you banned from the server)

- If you break any block, please replace it (if a creeper explodes on a structure, try to rebuild it as it was!)

- Do not build your house in the spawning area! The spawning area is meant for shops and other communities builds

- Don’t leave random blocks on the ground!


- If you want to build your base, please do it quite far from the spawn area! You can make your house anywhere you want in the world :) (travel trough nether is quite fast, if you don’t know how to, ask someone online ! )

- You can travel trough the nether to find the perfect place to build your house/base!


You can sell your stuff for diamonds, iron, gold redstone, whatever you need!

- Do not make things too expensive! Don’t make people pay 10 diamonds for a stack of wood! Try to have some good sense

- Build your shop in the spawning area and nowhere else!

- Try to make a nice build not just a dirt house! (You don’t have to be a god at building, just something more than a dirt house) If the server looks beautiful that will be nicer to play on :)

- Place button on the ground where you want to build your shop and put a sign with your name on it so people won’t take that space to build their own shops!


- If you take food from the community garden, please replant everything!

- To prove to me that you’ve read the rules please add: lama in the message you sending me that is the code to enter the server if it isn’t added t oyour message, you won’t be added to the whitelist!


Warnings: None

A/N…Happy Valentine’s Day?

You’ve determined that you aren’t a fan of parties or the people at them. It’s not the dress up process, fake smiles, or lack of truly interesting conversation. You even tolerate the half-assed attempts at flirting with your husband. At one time Bruce Wayne was the most eligible bachelor in Gotham, but that time was past. You didn’t have a problem with the gazes that linger a little too long, when you attended one these things the first time you couldn’t help but stare either and he was your date. What you hated most was when work reared its ever-exhausting ugly head. What’s worse is that you often weren’t sure when work would end.

Tonight, was one of those nights. It was a surprise when he expressed genuine interest in attending a benefit thrown by Lex Luthor all the way in Metropolis.  You shouldn’t have been too surprised though, he had been acting rather strange lately. Lashing out at Alfred for some of the smallest things, locking himself down in the cave, and plain ignoring you for sometimes days on end. The Wayne household had been suffering.

It began with the approach of a rather plainly dressed but still handsome enough young reporter who addressed him rather tersely. The tense conversation caused you to raise an eyebrow which promptly turned into an eye roll when Bruce’s wondering eye caught hold of a rather tall woman who strolled her way past the two men talking.  You tuned out the rest of the conversation and so you barely registered when Lex Luthor said your name in greeting. With a practiced smile and an elegant nod, you turned your back to the men looking for the closest server for a much-needed glass of champagne.

“Waiter,” you call pleasantly to a dark-haired server. The man makes his way over to you with a genuinely happy smile. He hands you one glass and turns to leave.

“Oh, no no no, I’m not finished with you yet,” you state plainly downing the first glass before beckoning for the second. A little hesitant the waiter gives you a second glass. You give him a thumbs up and turn around sending him on his way only to find that your husband is nowhere in sight.

God, not again,’ you groan internally.

“Mrs. Wayne, all alone I see!”

You glance to your left only to see Luthor with a strange grimace-smile on his face.

“Yes, it seems to happen often at events like these,” you state with a slightly exaggerated but charming sigh, “and always when I’m most uncomfortable.”

“My father used to leave me all alone at these sorts of things as well,” he starts, “but of course that was because my father couldn’t stand the sight of me, I’m sure Bruce feels completely differently.”

“Of course,” you twitch bringing the glass your lips as nonchalantly as possible, “but I couldn’t possibly imagine being such a disappointment. “

The man’s eye starts to twitch.

“Thank goodness your fathers not with us anymore though, watching you slog through that opening speech would have sent him to the grave.”

The reddening of his face and the deep inhale are enough to clue you that you probably won’t have to endure his presence much longer. His Jet-black haired assistant makes her presence known as she greets you with a slight nod and a whisper in his ear. The jerk of his head seems to take his mind off of the little pissing contest that you were in the middle. He turns his attention to some distant corner in the room before walking in the same direction, but not before dropping the gem of:

“Too true Mrs. Wayne but at least my accomplishments speak for themselves, being a leech of a housewife isn’t exactly a goal one should strive for.”

The heat of your cheeks distracts you as they disappear into the crowd. The tightness in your chest and throat almost cause you to cry. You’re so wrapped up in world you almost don’t notice when your husband walks by.

“We’re leaving,” he mutters quickly, not bothering to grab your hand or wait for to catch up with his long strides.

You down the glass of champagne before letting it fall to the ground and hurrying after Bruce.

You really did hate parties.

Birthday Wishes (m)

Word Count: 6,309

Warning: Taehyung Smut

“Fucking great.”

You throw the card you’d been reading down onto the round metal table before you, glancing over it once more. The picture on the front is that of a city, the name written in italic in the top right corner. She hadn’t even tried to personalize the picture for you, nor the letter that is nothing more than a bad excuse.

“Do you want another cup o’ coffee?”

You raise your head up to the server, and answer his question with a nod accompanied by a bitter smile. “Yeah.”

He looks at you with a square smile, then takes your empty cup.

Keep reading

TalesFromYourServer: My mother's day as a bartender

-Last night, spend an hour stocking the everloving fuck out of everything

-Mm, yes, that’s nice and full, oh yes

-Go home, have a wonderful sleep

-Wake up suddenly and aggressively realizing “oh fuck, I didn’t make those two ingredients that require five hours of steeping.”

-Go back to sleep. Have nightmares about being steeped.

-Wake up and make breakfast for baby daughter and wife. Bacon somehow burned and cold. Save some for research purposes. Go to work nice and early to cut fruit.

-Cut fruit. Oh god, the fruit. So much fucking fruit. This is too much fruit.

-Make sangria. Oh god, the sangria. So much fucking sangria. This is too much sangria.

-Servers trickle in. Servers do a wonderful job of standing exactly where I need to walk with massive containers of Too Much Sangria.

-Start steeping the unsteeped.

-Manager gives pep talk to servers around bar as fruit cutting continues. Feel extremely awkward. Attempt to look sexy cutting fruit. Feel a bit silly and laugh at self. Realize self-laugh was outloud. Work crush is looking confused and perturbed. Cut more fruit.

-Doors open. Make eight Bloody Marys. Explain the difference between a Bloody Mary and a Bloody Maria to a server. Explain it to a different server who didn’t quite hear. Give demonstration to third server who does not understand.

-Tickets are flying out like streamers. Many are sangrias. Feel slightly smug.

-Make more Bloody Marys. Silence new server who “heard about a Bloody Maria, what’s that?”

-Ticketd are piling in. Oh no. Getting a bit behind.

-Pina colada orders start. Make mental note of each server that sells one. Sneak an Amazon search for “iron maiden, but like a real one, to put servers in.” Express audible disappointment in lack of results in time for work crush to see. She seems to be walking faster as she passes the bar.

-Server seems oddly happy pouring her own drinks behind bar. Ebay search “iron maiden, but like a real one, to put servers in.” Damn.

-Find yourself actually praying for a daquiri order just to break the pina colada monotony. Say to yourself “I’ve made a pina co-lotta drinks!” and laugh outloud. Work crush is only using the terminal on the opposite side of the restaurant now.

-Realize you are the only bartender scheduled until 5:30pm just in time for lunch catering to arrive. Make another Bloody Mary.

-Tickets are really piling up. Sangria pitchers have been refilled multiple times. Sweet regulars are in and sat nearby. You feel them judging.

-More frozen drinks. Frozen margaritas are becoming popular. The blender vibrstes until a bottle falls from the counter and breaks. Kick it under the counter and pretend it doesn’t exist.

-More regulars come and sit as far away from each other as possible. Amazon search “iron maiden, but like a real one, to put customers in.” Bollocks.

-Regulars joking and chatting oblivious to yard-long tickets pouring from counter.

-Bar now half-full, weeded to the tune of eight tickets. Manager walks up. “Wow, you have a lot of empty seats.” Google “where to buy iron maiden any size.” Bookmark page.

-Servers start asking stupid questions. “Are you the only one here?” Yes. “Did you know lunch arrived?” Yep. “Did you get some?” No. “Why?” Pina co-lotta tickets, ha ha.

-Kind server boxes up several sandwiches and packets of chips from lunch for later. Resist urge to kiss him on the mouth.

-Next few hours blurry. Regulars seemingly oblivious to chaos. Hand-waving and glass-shaking rampant. Briefly consider running screaming into the car park when keg blows. Say “fuck” several times even when customers can probably lipread the word “fuck.”

-Manager steps behind bar to help. Shoo away servers looking to chat to regulars. Consider running crying into the car park when next keg blows. Occasionally gaze longingly at box of food.

-Run out of sangria.

-Help arrives. Resist urge to kiss him on the mouth.

-Still weeded. Regulars slowly but surely leaving. All feel the need to mention “boy are you sweaty.” Wonder if that’s why work crush isn’t making eye contact.

-“Are you the only one here?” No.

-Run out of fruit.

-Co-worker seems keen on getting rid of you. Bar still full. Confused and slightly hurt. Wonder how many “iron maiden” searches it is until police become concerned.

-Cut hand polishing glass for sangria. Curse loudly. Work crush covers her face with her hair.

-Dinner arrives. Excuse self, then consume pizza.

-Exclaim “this sausage pizza is incredible!” to closest co-worker. Realize mid-sentence co-worker is vegetarian. Continue sentence but with a wobbly voice.

-Work crush is also eating pizza. “Yum, pizza, eh?” Hate self as soon as words fall out. Is she trembling?

-Finally, excruciatingly, punch out

-Realize ingredients are still steeping and are now useless.

By: RancidLemons

Looking for Contact

With the servers down I figured I’d finally do the thing, and get my toes wet in the WrA community as much as I can beyond just reblogging everyone (because god-damn I love y’all’s aesthetics).

I’m still relatively new to Wyrmrest Accord, and this is my first go-around on this server, so I’d really like to make some connections.  I’m a very shy roleplayer who will wallflower unless otherwise dragged out kicking and screaming, so I absolutely love love love making some one-on-one / group connections before I venture out into the world for random, unsolicited roleplay in Silvermoon City.

I promise there’s a tl;dr at the bottom if you don’t want to read through all of this.

The Character & Plot Hooks

Anyndra is a middle-aged Sin’dorei who likes to pretend she’s edgy, but really she’s just older and jaded and cranky.  If she could chase kids off the proverbial lawn, she would, and she would do it laughing manically.

Currently I classify her as a “house assassin”; she works to further her family’s goals politically (currently made up of @emeraude-wra​ and Allanyr, who is lazy and doesn’t have a tumblr, and then a bunch of lovely NPCs) with a blade and other works that involve the shadows.  This is both her primary trope and method of doing… pretty much anything, so I tend to focus on this.

Rumors have her associated rather recently with occultists, not necessarily of the Burning Legion, but just of questionable descent when it comes to magic and demons.  In truth, I absolutely love a level of grungy low-fantasy when it comes to magic, particularly traditional magic, the veil between life and death (souls, too, and to that end she has an issue with her own soul that is a hook in and of itself), and divination.  These are associated with Anyndra to a reasonable degree and though these are some of my favorite aspects to RP, I tend to keep this more specific to those interested in it versus driving this around as my primary avenue of roleplay.  I’d love to find some people to associate this with, though.

History wise, I am 100% open to connecting Anyndra with other people and in fact often prefer this method over completely random meet-ups (but I still enjoy those!).  To that end, a brief summary of Nyn’s whereabouts for connections in the past few years was that she was a very low-ranking Farstrider several decades ago due to her incompetency and low levels of magical skill; beyond that, she fought in the war in the Outlands and the crusade against the Lich King and his armies.  Afterwards, she returned to Silvermoon, and has resided there since.

The Player, Preferences, & Goals

I’m sure I could make some horrible introduction but, I hide enough that I’ll keep this simple.  Personally, I’m a multi-paragraph / novella writer.  I enjoy a measure of narration to my posts and very rarely do I post something short when I’m not mirroring, or when the situation doesn’t call for it.

That being said, I am capable of mirroring when needed, and I can post short when the situation is appropriate for it.  This is simply not my preference, but that does not mean I do not enjoy it, nor that I expect matching requirements from other roleplayers.  You can find an extensive list of what I will and will not do in my roleplay here.

I work crazy hours and I have a toddler, which means I’m not always available during the week during prime times.  I’m not adverse to using third party programs such as Discord or even here at tumblr to keep up with regular roleplay, though I can say that I am generally fairly active over the weekends.  Sometimes I can take a while to post – this is not due to a lack of interest (I _will _tell you if I have an issue), but rather likely due to either me trying to mother properly or work being an asshole.

Though I am not adverse to random walk-up roleplay and otherwise unstructured (read: not scripted, just not planned) scenes, I am particularly looking for long-term plot and story partners.


Looking for contact!  What I’m looking for:

–Characters to weave into my character’s story, and vice-versa

—-She’s an assassin who’s been through (some of) the recent wars

—-She’s a rumored occultist

–Multi-paragraph / novella writers

—-Long-term plot / story partners

—-Patience for someone with a busy schedule

I am also looking for more blogs to follow.  I cleaned out my dash and I want more Warcraft on it!

Gif credit to @emeraude-wra