oven light

Babe

“Baby.”

           Bitty stirs at the sound but doesn’t open his eyes. Jack is solid behind him and hasn’t moved a bit, with his arm still draped over Bitty’s middle.

           “Baby,” Jack says again, sleepily.

           “Hmm?”

           Jack doesn’t respond. Bitty thinks he may have just spoken in his sleep. He taps at Jack’s hand.

           “Jack?”

           Jack tightens his grip and slips his hand under Bitty’s shirt to rest on his chest.

           “Good morning,” he slurs, and rubs his nose into the hair at the back of Bitty’s neck.

           Bitty laughs into the pillow. He doesn’t bother turning around—it’s too early for moving—but he leans further into Jack’s chest.

           “Good morning.”

           “Mm. Morning.”

           “Yes, honey. It’s morning. Are you getting up?”

           “Hmm. No.”

           Jack breathes in deeply and ducks to press his forehead between Bitty’s shoulder blades.

           “You smell nice,” he says.

           “Thanks honey.”

           “Mmmyou’re welcome babe.”

—–

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alternativetart  asked:

hey, i was wondering if you had any good sugar cookie (or something similar) recipes? my brother wants me to bake some for him lol

First key to good sugar cookies: DO NOT MELT YOUR BUTTER, AND DON’T USE FROZEN BUTTER. For fuck’s sake, I know it makes cookies a Thing To Plan instead of an impulsive thing, but it’s like, the number 1 most common reason for fucked up sugar cookies, aside from just ignoring the directions. 

Step 1: Leave 2 sticks of butter out overnight, to become room temperature. This is ‘softened’ butter. It’s fine, it won’t spoil, you can leave butter out unwrapped under a bowl for a week and you’ll be fine. 

Step 2: Turn on the oven and set it for 350º F. (176 º C)

Step 3: Gather all your ingredients. You’ll need:

  • - 2 sticks of softened butter (1 cup total)
  •  - 1½ cups granulated sugar 
  • - 1 egg 
  • - 2¼ cups all-purpose flour
  • - ½ teaspoon baking powder 
  • - ½ teaspoon Kosher salt
  • - 2 teaspoons vanilla
  • Some extra granulated sugar for sprinkling on top to make ‘em cute little fuckers. 
  • Parchment paper

Step 4: Baking is a precise bitch so I’m being serious about this. Mix the Egg, Sugar, Vanilla, and Butter together first. 

Step 5: After it’s a creamy sort of goo, you can slowly stir in the rest of the ingredients (Dump in a little at a time, stir it until it’s completely mixed in, then dump in a little more, etc.) Congrats, you’ve made cookie dough~ Now line your pan with parchment paper because it cooks better that way. 

Step 6: Scoop out a little golf ball sized orb, roll it in some extra sugar, and smush it down onto your baking pan into a cookie shape. Space the cookies about 2 inches apart. 

Step 7: Once you’re sure the oven is heated to 350 (most ovens have a light that will turn on when they’re still ‘preheating’ and will turn off once it’s ACTUALLY at that temp) you can pop the baking sheets splayed with cookies into the oven for about 8-10 minuntes. The cookies should brown slightly around the edges, and that’s when they’re perfect imo. Some people like ‘em chewier. 

Step 8: Take the cookies out of the oven, and LET THEM CHILL. Seriously. They’re fragile, sensitive little creations at this point. DO NOT remove them from the pan. DO NOT try to move them to a cooling rack, or put them into a  bowl for transport to feed your minions. Just… let them sit until the backing pan is room temperature, and the cookies only feel slightly warm, but not hot and don’t fall apart in your hand. 

Ta daaa, sugar cookies. Happy birthday minion 394


Heat (Ethan)

⚤ - CONTAINS SMUT

You kicked off your covers and smacked your head against your pillow in frustration. It was way too hot in your apartment. Your AC had blown out on you last week and let’s just say it had been hell — no pun intended. You looked over to your boyfriend who was sleeping peacefully beside you with not a care in the world. You were envious how he could sleep so sound in a condition like this. Realizing that you wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep you slipped out of bed and into the kitchen to get a cold glass of water, filling it with tons of ice, hoping by some miracle it would take away the sweat that was beginning to form on your forehead. You leaned against the counter, downing your drink in two gulps before refilling it almost immediately. When you shut the water off you heard footsteps approaching from the hallway. You saw Ethan’s figure peer at you in the darkness before he came into the faint glow from the stovetop light, squinting, and scratching at his head.

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Welcome Home

Original idea by @gigiree.

For @megatraven.


Adrien wakes to the sound of humming.

He lies in bed for a while, letting the sound wash over him, until his brain has booted up sufficiently to recognize it as the steady mechanical whirr of the mixer, rather than Marinette’s enthusiastic but somewhat tone-deaf—bless her—humming.

He frowns in concentration.  No, wait.  That was there too, in the background and then abruptly in the foreground as she shuts the mixer off.

He finds enough willpower to crack an eye open.

Okay, so it was still something like an hour before he had to actually get up for work, unless daylight saving had come without him noticing.  But on the other hand, Marinette was baking something, which meant that there was a non-negligible chance of a) seeing her do that adorable happy butt wiggle of hers and b) seeing her in an apron.

Adrien kicks his way free of his gorgeously warm cocoon of blankets, tap-dances his way across the freezing hardwood floor to where he’d put his fluffy slippers the last night, grabs his robe from its hanger on the door, and shuffles out of the bedroom.

Somewhat disappointingly, Marinette is wearing an apron over her pajamas, although his disappointment is mitigated somewhat by the butt wiggle.

Adrien drinks in the sight, although his appreciation is blunted somewhat when Marinette turns to pull something out of a cabinet, catches sight of him out of the corner of her eye, and nearly jumps straight out of her skin.

“Good morning, my Lady,” Adrien says as Marinette tries and fails to keep her composure.  “Sleep well?”

“Adrien,” Marinette squeaks.  “Y-You’re awake.”

“I am,” Adrien says, walking up and giving her a kiss on the forehead.

“D-Did I wake you up?” Marinette says, as Adrien turns her gently around and places his chin atop her head, humming happily to himself.  “I’m sorry, this is the first time I’ve lived with someone since Alya moved in with Nino, I should’ve remembered.”

“Nah,” Adrien says, “I would’ve been up already.”  He hugs her around the waist and looks around the tiny kitchen, strewn with flour dust, measuring cups, and other paraphernalia.  “So what’re you making?”

Marinette places her hands over his.  “Oh.  Well, you know how every week at the office we take turns to bring in something for the Friday morning meeting?”

“Yes.”

“It’s my turn today, so I figured that I’d break out Dad’s croissant recipe.”

Marinette feels Adrien smile.  “Are you going to be making extra?” he asks.

“Of course, you appetite on legs.”  She nudges him in the side with an elbow.  “I mean, if you ever decide to let go of me.”

Adrien holds her tighter, breathes in deeply, then lets her go.  “Never.  Do you need any help?”

“No,” Marinette says, turning to face him.  She leans up on tip-toe and kisses him on a cheek.  “As much as I love you, you are all elbows in the kitchen, and I’d rather not deal with dough all down my shirt this early in the morning.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Adrien says, his grin growing wider and gaining a distinctly wolfish edge.  “I could help you clean up in the shower.”

“Bad kitty,” Marinette says, reaching up and booping him gently on the nose.

“All right, all right,” Adrien says.  “I’ll make some coffee then.”

“Strong, please,” Marinette says, turning back to her work.  “Very strong.”

“As my lady commands,” Adrien says, sketching out a deep bow that ends up leading into an accidental headbutt when Marinette takes a step to the side to pick up a brick of butter.


Marinette takes a long sip from her mug of coffee.  Adrien takes a sip from his.

They stare at the bandages swathed around Adrien’s right hand and forearm.

“Okay,” Marinette says, “let’s recap.”

“Do we have to?” Adrien says.

“You nearly got your sleeve caught in the grinder—”

“—in my defense, I was trying to seduce you and you were standing behind me—”

“—then you bumped into me and sloshed water over the both of us—”

“—at least it was cold water—”

“—and then you burned your arm on the edge of the very hot baking sheet I was holding and simultaneously sloshed coffee over your hand.”

“—fresh coffee too.  More’s the shame.”

“And then you slipped on the coffee and fell right onto your ass.”

"I still think that you may have slightly overreacted there.”

They take a long sip from their mugs.

“The next place we get is going to have a bigger kitchen,” Marinette says firmly.

“No argument here,” Adrien says.  He sighs and flexes his fingers.  "Was it strictly necessary to give me the mummy treatment?  I’m just scalded, after all.“

"I may have overreacted there.  Slightly.”

“Mmhm.”

Adrien slowly curls his fingers into a fist, then uncurls them.  "Well, at least I didn’t get coffee on the croissants.“

"You need help buttering yours?” Marinette asks.

“Are you going to help feed me too?” Adrien says with a toothy smile.

Marinette rolls her eyes and slides a croissant and a butter knife over to him.  "You are nothing but a walking appetite, Adrien Agreste.“

Adrien picks up his pastry and consumes half of it in one bite.  "A sexy one, though.”

“He says while spraying croissant crumbs all over the table.”

They share a brief smile.

Adrien leans back in his chair, chewing, and watches Marinette as she carefully applies a pat of butter and half the contents of a jam jar to her croissant.  He lets his gaze linger on her as she takes a bite, then looks around at their little kitchenette, at the beaten, stained, but still-functional stove, and at the oven with the little light showing Marinette’s second batch of croissants as they baked.  He looks back at their dining table, the wood scarred, the varnish peeling in places—he was really going to need to get that redone—and at their mugs, his with a red-and-black polka-dotted pattern, hers all-black with a neon green pawprint.

He lets out a sigh and leans back in his chair.

“You all right?” Marinette asks.

“Yeah,” Adrien replies.  He reaches out and lays his left hand on the table, palm up; after a beat Marinette places her hand in his.  “I’m all right.”

So I made a delivery tonight, and when I dropped the pizzas off the guy goes, “Don’t expect your tip to be very much since you gave us such a great deal.” I was confused as fuck because I didn’t even take the order, so I don’t know what deals or coupons he got. But he ordered 4 supreme pizzas and 2 things of ranch and had it delivered, $71.13 in total. And then he goes, “I hope y'all enjoyed raping us, ‘cuz we sure enjoyed it.”

First of all, that is an inappropriate thing to say to anybody ever for any reason. And if you are pissed that pizza costs so much, guess who can’t do anything about it at all? That’s right, the driver. I’m literally the bottom of the chain of command. I don’t set prices, I just drive pizza from point a to point b.

Secondly, I’m super tired of people whining about how much it costs. You aren’t just paying for the ingredients for a pizza. You’re paying for someone else to make it for you. You’re paying for the lights and oven to be on in a building that’s open 14 hours a day where your pizza is made for you. You’re paying for someone to drive it to your front door. It’s not cheap. Buy a frozen pizza.and bake it at home if you want cheap. Besides, you are the idiot if you pay full price for pizza period, end of story. You can look up all of the coupons online and pick the best one.

Thirdly, you obviously didn’t pay attention in economics because if you wanted to stick it to the man, you shouldn’t have ordered the pizza. Corporate isn’t going to drop the cost of pizza because you didn’t tip the driver, they would only drop the prices if people stopped ordering so much pizza and then told corporate they stopped ordering because it costs so much. The pizza chain got their money when you gave me the $72, the only person affected in any way by you not tipping is me.

But thirdly, I don’t need your tip anyway. I made $40 without your tip because other customers aren’t whiny babies.

anonymous asked:

I know its a thing to have Anti being purely evil and torturous, but I want to see a breaking point, where he's entirely vulnerable and afraid in front of other egos. Either way your writing is amazing.

They didn’t know that Anti had a fear of being abandoned, and Chase swears that he thought Anti knew they were leaving. The other Jackaboys agreed to go visit Sean and Signe for the day, hang out a bit and catch up, maybe film some videos, but they come back that night to find the cabin in ruins.

The curtains are torn into strips of cloth, and the couch cushions are ripped to shreds. Plates are smashed, there is a fire in the oven, and all the light bulbs in the entire house have been shattered.

Dr. Schneeplestein, the bravest of them, leads the way through the house with a flashlight until they find him all huddled up into a corner like an injured animal, and he is injured. His hands are cut up and broken shards of glass are stuck at odd angles from them like he went around punching everything.

When the Doctor tries to draw near however, Anti glitches viciously and snaps at him. It’s then they see the tears streaking down his cheeks. These aren’t the tears of blood he conjures up to wow the fans. These are real tears, and Chase can’t help but feel terrible. He tries to safely draw nearer until he’s kneeling beside Anti with one hand on the glitch’s shoulder and another sweeping his sweaty, matted hair out of his eyes.

“Anti, what happened?” Chase winces when Anti’s glaring black eyes turn on him.

“ Y̹̹̙̻̹͓̠oṳ̢͇̻̦ ͏̲̰͙l̖̼̙̠̩̝̲͞ḛ̬f̺̯̖t̰̣̜̼͎͇͕.̴̱͚̭͖ “

Chase looks up at the others, Schneep and Marvin and Jacques, but none of them know what to say. He turns back to Anti and swallows the lump of fear forming in his throat as the figment’s layered static crackles around him ominously. “We’re back now. We didn’t mean to scare you, but we didn’t think you’d want to come.”

Anti blinks, and his eyes return to the normal blue tinged around the edges with red because of how hard he’s been crying. He doesn’t speak as Schneep leads him to the kitchen where he removes all the splinters and glass from Anti’s hands and cleans them up ever so gently.

Marvin wiggles his nose and makes a bouquet of flowers appear which he leaves in Anti’s attic room, and Jacques adds a little painting of an evil Septiceye Sam. In the days that follow, Anti comes down from his room just to wander the house, look at the others, and then go back.

Chase peeks in from time to time when he thinks that Anti won’t notice, but he does.

scully-loves-ruthie  asked:

For the four word prompts "Alright, I love you"

Scully has spent a large part of the last three years avoiding death, but right now —  she actively yearns for the Reaper to get here before Mulder does.

“…I’m already on my way — flight leaves at 6:40 so I’ll be by in about ten minutes to pick you up. I’ve got coffee and bear claws,” he’d added, by way of apology for the early hour and extremely late notice. Once upon a time, this might’ve thrown her for a loop, but she’s a pro at traveling Mulder Air by now, so she’d just nodded, phone held against her ear with one shoulder as she tossed a few sets of bras and underwear into her open suitcase.

“Alright, I love you.” She pushes the end call button, and swears she’s entered a time warp: It feels like great empires have millennia to rise and fall in the three seconds between those words coming out of her mouth, and the realization of what she’s done.

“Fuck,” she says softly, staring at the stupid phone. Then, louder and more forcefully: “FUCK.” She would rather have said that to Walter Fucking Skinner than to Mulder — she’s just added pages more to his mental profile of her. She hates that he does that — it’s a verbal typo, for god’s sake, not a declaration of … and anyway she hasn’t even had coffee yet, she can’t possibly be held responsible for — 

The damn phone rings in her hand. His number. He’s basically a junior-high boy — he’ll never let her live this down.

She goes on the offensive, stabbing the answer button: “OK, listen — it’s 4:58 a.m., I barely know what day it is, I’m pulling suits out of dry-cleaning bags without even checking whether they’re navy or black, and you —”

“I love you too, you know,” he says, his voice positively bursting with amusement — but underneath it, a fine strong thread of sweet sincerity. He’s disarmed her, wrong-footed her again, but this once, it’s ok. A few seconds of silence lie between them.

“Well. I’m glad we’ve established that,” she rallies to reply evenly, glad he’s not here to see how flustered she still is. But of course, being Mulder, he can’t resist an opportunity to give her a hard time.

“They do say a law enforcement partnership is like a marriage. You want me to see if we can rustle up a Justice of the Peace once we get there? Or do you wanna wait till we get back, get a priest to do it properly — ”

“Oh, go marry Bigfoot,” she snorts. “I’ll be the flower girl.” She hangs up, grateful that he’s let her off that easy. Two minutes later, she hears a honk from outside; she zips her case, checks the lights, the oven, and the locks, and heads out into the grey dawn to chase another monster with a man who — she’s beginning, deep down, to realize — has loved her some way or another all along.

For some reason the oven light has been left on all night. This wouldn’t be a big problem except I don’t actually know how to turn off the oven.

Hogwarts House Aesthetics

Slytherin: Foggy nights. The sound of rain. Old music boxes. Worn out ballet shoes. The sound of cats purring. The moonlight shining through the clouds. Putting on earphones and turning up the music.  Beautiful calligraphy. Sarcastic comments. Sheet music

Ravenclaw: Constellations. Crisp pages. The smell of coffee. Messy notes. Random doodles in notebooks. Trips to the art museum. Maps. The sound of a crackling fire. The ocean breeze. Mixing paints. Witty comebacks. The sound of typing. Fuzzy Blankets

Hufflepuff: Fresh cookies out of the oven. Fairy lights. Spontaneous smiles. Candid photos of friends. Pink skies during dawn. The smell of a bakery. Roasting marshmallows. The sound of birds chirping. Braids. The feeling of nostalgia. Laughter

Gryffindor: Summer campfires. Ripped jeans. The sound of opening a soda. Clear blue skies. Polaroids. The smell of freshly cut grass. Thunderstorms. Late night movie trips. Worn out converse. Random jokes. Singing a song you don’t know. The sound of ocean waves

Geometry Part 6

Here’s part 6 below. Peeta’s world may not be everything he thinks it is.

Part 5 (with links to Parts 1-4 embedded) is here.

__

In the morning, I rise early and sneak out to the bakery while girls are still asleep in the livingroom bed.  I head straight to shed to get wood to light the ovens, and since I’m out there, I dig clothes out of my boxes and change.  It makes me realize I’ll have to face bringing my things to the Everdeen’s sooner rather than later because if my mother gets in a mood, she might toss everything.  To be safe, I stack the boxes behind one of the wood stacks so she won’t see them immediately if she happens in.

Work that morning is alright; there’s a strained silence between my brother, father and I, but only because the unspoken cloud of my mother’s bad mood lingers. But it’s nothing we haven’t gone through before.  

School is still six days away, and so I’ll be at the bakery all day, but my father gives me a lunch break long enough to ferry one of my boxes back to the house. I remember to grab my jacket off the peg by the back door before I march off.

When I get back to the house, I hear Prim’s voice coming from the back yard so I go there.  She’s sitting on a little crate, bundled in a jacket and milking her goat. 

I actually laugh a real, if short, belly laugh.  The creature, as wide in the middle as the Everdeen girls are thin, and with hair a clean white that matches the hoar frost on the ground, is wearing a…

Well, it’s looking very intellectual, wearing a perfectly fitted sweater.

A thick, absolutely hideous orange colored sweater, covered in balls from pilling, and with a collar so tall and floppy that I swear it makes the goat look like it should be sporting a pair of wire-rimmed glasses on its snout.  

And maybe even a tobacco pipe to accentuate its white beard.

Prim looks up, and smiles when she sees me trying not to keep laughing.

“We had to soak the arms in boiling water, to shrink them so it would fit her legs properly,” Prim says, smiling wider, and she laughs herself.

The sound is a waterfall of joy compared to the weeping I heard last night.

I nod, and my grin of mock appreciation for the tailoring is so wide it actually hurts my jaw a little.

“Well, I must say, I’ve never seen a better dressed goat my whole life.”

“Come and meet the princess.”

I lift the latch on the gate and slip into the yard, balancing my box of cloths on my hip as I do.  I wonder where they get and store food for it. In the summer I suppose 

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yournewfriendshouse replied to your post “jedda-martele replied to your photo “Day 8 of National Hamburger…”

That sounds really good! Do you have a link to a recipe?

I do! It’s one of the recipes in my online cookbook, but I went to get the link and it was easy enough to copy and paste, so here’s the recipe as well. 

If you don’t have a cast-iron skillet, you can bake them on a cookie sheet or in a pie tin. The skillet adds a nice golden crust, but isn’t strictly necessary. 

Fluffy Yeast Biscuits
1 ½ tablespoons sugar 
¾ cup warm water 
2 tsp yeast
1 ½ cups flour
¼ teaspoon salt
1 ½ tablespoons melted shortening (or coconut oil or butter)
4 tbsp melted butter, for dipping

Mix sugar and warm water together in a small bowl; add yeast to sugar-water mixture and let bloom for 5 minutes, or until foamy. In a larger bowl, sift together dry ingredients and add yeast mixture. Add melted shortening and mix.

Roll out ¼" thick on a lightly floured surface (it doesn’t need much) and cut into biscuits (I use a plastic cup, but you can just slice them into roughly similar-sized squares). Dip in melted butter and place on greased cast iron skillet. Let rise, covered, for 1 ½ hours.  (I let my biscuits rise with a tea towel on top, in a cold oven with the oven light on). Bake at 400F for about 15 minutes, or until golden.

If you’d like some photos, here’s one I posted of the biscuits pre-baking (those rose exceptionally high – don’t worry if yours don’t rise that high) and here’s one of a different batch post-baking

anonymous asked:

Yixing - "This is great. I didn't know you were into quickies."

Baking

Pairing: Yixing x You

BAD DRUNK DRABBLE REQUESTS


It was an experiment. You weren’t even sure if he liked these sorts of things. It definitely wasn’t his usual fare that was for damned sure, but you had slaved in the kitchen all day trying your best to make this recipe work.

There was ham. There were green onions and there was bacon and tomatoes and spinach and eggs. Oh boy were there eggs. A whole dozen you had used in this damn thing, filling the mixture to the rim of the flaky pie crust you needed three separate youtube videos to get right.

The trip to the oven was perilous. Why halfway there you slipped a bit and a tiny bit of the eggy mixture sloshed over the edge making you gasp in horror at your pristine clean edge that would surely have a blemish now.

You’d made it to the oven, which you had preheated, thank you very much, and set the pie pan carefully inside. The oven had a light and you spent the next fourty minutes staring at the stupid thing through the oven door until the dots in the glass window blurred your vision too much to be able to focus on the pastry baking in the oven.

Finally, finally! Your timer beeped and the smells wafting through the kitchen smelled downright delicious as you pulled the completed dish from the hot oven, careful not to burn yourself on the sides of the pan or the oven door.

The sounds of the front door unlocking with a click echoed through the home and you straightened your apron and tried to fix your messy hair.

Yixing was home and your very first foray into baking for your boyfriend would soon be judged with those plump lips, soft eyes and hopefully it would at least be edible.

The smells hit him first and you saw him lift his face and turn toward the kitchen where you waited in front of your creation with a nervous smile and the plump red oven mitts still on both hands.

“What did you do?” His voice rang out in a sweet sing song and the smile on his face was bright and blinding as he breathed in the aroma that even you had to admit smelled surprisingly delicious.

“I baked!” Your smile was wide and you pushed your confidence to the surface of your face, hoping that if you believed it to be delicious, it just might be.

You grabbed the knife and cut a slice for the man who looked on with bright eyes brimming with wonder as you moved. The second slice you served for yourself and as you pushed the fork into his hand he gripped it carefully, eying the plate in front of him with the careful scrutiny of an art inspector.

He dove in, god bless him without even a hint of doubt or pause for a breath and the first bite entered his lips in silence. He was chewing. He was tasting. He was examining the flavors inside his mouth and he was….quiet.

You waited, while trying not to obviously wait, yet his silence was making your heart thump harder.

Did it taste…bad?

Your fork stabbed into the custard before you, straight down to the flakey crust, you saw chunks of ham and bacon, green and red of veggies all suspended perfectly within the smooth custard of the egg and you opened your mouth.

To your surprise it was great! Everything about it hit the right notes and you enjoyed the flavors and textures as you ate.

This is great, I didn’t know you were into quickies,” he said and the bit of food you were swallowing down got stuck halfway as you began to cough.

Quickies, he said. He called your quiche a quickie and now you were choking on the thing as you tried not to giggle about his adorable mispronunciation.

Yixing was pounding on your back and your laughter burst through the coughing long enough for him to register that you weren’t actually choking, but dying for another reason. His eyes were wide and his lips pulled into a smile that mirrored the giggles from your own chest.

“This is a quiche,” you said once you’d caught your breath and his eyebrows shot up as he looked down at his half eaten pastry.

“I’ll show you what a quickie is after we eat.” You said with a wink.

tattered-princess-deactivated20  asked:

9. When baking chocolate chip cookies. Pretty please ;v;

“The Ways You Said ‘I Love You’” Meme

A/N: I feel like this is the only thing I can do for you at this juncture, to maybe cheer you up even a little? I’m really happy you chose to continue fighting, and you’ll be in my prayers! Stay strong dear.

“You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” -Winnie the Pooh

💕💕 Don’t give up! 💕💕




You never realised how impatient or perfectionistic Saeran could be until today.

“Are you done mixing? You’re so slow.”

“It’s off by 0.1grams. Seriously? I warned you about parallex errors just 10.2 seconds ago!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, the cookies are going to look horrible at the rate you’re dropping them on the pan.”

“…Okay this is a lot harder than it looks. The batter is sticky as— Fuck! It’s in my hair!”

It’s really no surprise why baking isn’t the most relaxing of pastimes for him.

Your core muscles are starting to hurt and you find yourself having a punishing time trying to breathe in between your laughter. You can’t stop though, not with Saeran glaring at the mixing bowl and the ugly semi-circular blobs of batter on the tray as if they just slapped him in the face and called him ‘stupid’. And especially not when he has a couple splotches of sticky brown substance staining his bright, angry red hair, no thanks to his carelessness and impatience.

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Saeran has now turned his glare on you, having grabbed a couple sheets of tissue to rid his hair of the offending stains. He attempts to swipe them off, but given that he doesn’t have eyes on the back of his head, all he can do is aimlessly comb through his hair, inevitably slathering the batter on his hair like butter on toast in the process.

“Saeran, stop,” you say, still giggling at how irritated he looks, his nose scrunched, his eyes narrowed and lips turned down into a deep scowl. At himself, you or the batter, you’re not entirely sure. Perhaps it’s just everything and the disaster this baking session has turned out to be so far. “Let me help you.”

Almost begrudgingly, he hands the remaining clean sheets of tissue to you, before sliding into a seat so you can see better. His lips are pursed into a thin line, his arms are folded across his chest and his foot drums against the floor as he waits not-so-patiently for you to carry out your duty as promised. With some amusement, you can’t help but think he resembles a child throwing a tantrum after losing a game of tag.

It’s a little hard to get everything out of his hair since it’s all gooey and sticky. You even manage to grab two tiny chocolate chips out from in his hair, which you quietly hold it in your palm. Knowing Saeran, he’ll just pop them into his mouth without a moment’s hesitation. He’s rather averse to dirt and grime and the like, but when it comes to sweet snacks and candies, even the ‘Three-second rule’ can stretch to 3 hours. “I think you should take a shower to clean yourself up,” you suggest with a small grimace at the clumps of sticky and sweet-smelling red locks on his head. He groans at that, but shrugs it off. “Later. We should get these in the oven first.”

“All this just for chocolate chip cookies,” you mutter with a shake of your head, which he ignores. His sweet tooth will be the death of him someday, you conclude to yourself.

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shulkie  asked:

99, eruriren :3

You always say I should write ereri and then you request eruriren? ??? I know what to do for this prompt tho ;) I think U KNO IT TOO.

99. “We’re in an abandoned lodge in the middle of nowhere. Sure, you’re totally right, nothing bad could ever happen here.”

~~

“My phone just lost reception,” Eren said, giving up on trying to get it to connect and shoving it back in his pocket. “Just where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Erwin replied with a smile. “And stop frowning, I don’t plan to give you any time to miss your phone.” His smile grew wicked. “Trust me. We’re nearly here.” He turned off what passed for a road and onto what passed for a driveway, the trees overhanging the cobbled path brushing the top of the car.

Eventually woods opened up, and a wooden structure came into view. It had a steep roof and a stone chimney, wild roses tangled over the front gate, and ivy crept along the walls.

“It’s just like the picture,” Erwin said happily. “Isn’t it lovely?”

Eren didn’t say anything. With the car’s engine off it was very quiet, just birdsong and the wind in the trees. They made their way up the garden path, and the gate squeaked as it closed behind them. It was a pleasant spring day, but Eren shivered as Erwin tried the key he’d been given, and pushed the front door open. A crow alighted on the roof, watching Eren as he stared back at it before following Erwin into the gloom inside.

“Quaint!” Erwin exclaimed, rattling around the house. “Look, a breakfast nook. I think there’s a pond in the back garden, too.”

“At least it’s clean,” Eren muttered. No cobwebs, no dust. They must have sent a cleaning service through ahead of them.

“What’s wrong?” Erwin asked.

“You mean this doesn’t feel like the first twenty minutes of a horror film to you?”

“No? It’s a very nice place. Why would it be a horror film?”

“We’re in an abandoned lodge in the middle of nowhere. Sure, you’re totally right, nothing bad could ever happen here.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Erwin asked.

Eren looked about. “Well, that creepy painting for one.” Said painting was hanging in the living room, next to the fireplace. It depicted a pale gent in dark, old-fashioned clothes who, in Eren’s opinion, was probably a vampire.

“Hm.” Erwin walked up and examined it. “Such piercing eyes. They seem to follow you around the room. Quite a striking fellow, isn’t he?”

“Oh sure, flirt with the vampire painting.”

“Well, my boyfriend doesn’t seem to be in the mood.” The painting definitely seemed to have a smirk Eren wasn’t sure was there a moment ago. Erwin sighed, “Come on, give it a chance? If you hate it we can go back tomorrow.”

“Fair,” Eren said. “Let’s get our bags.”

Things did improve after that. There was wood for the fire and since the nights were still cool they lit it, and with dinner in the oven and the lights glowing softly as the night closed in, Eren supposed this place was sort of cosy.

They shared Eren’s headphones and slow-danced around the living room as they waited for dinner to cook, and Eren supposed it might not be a horror movie after all. Even the painting looked softer, less severe in the firelight, although still eerily alive.

They piled up cushions and blankets and ate in front of the fire, and Eren had every intention of moving away from the gaze of the vampire, but full of good food and a couple glasses of wine he soon forgot about it, because as weird as he was sometimes he had the best boyfriend and the fire lit his eyes up and Eren couldn’t look away. Couldn’t keep his hands off him. The whole point of this place was they had all the privacy they could want, after all, even if Erwin’s suggestion of an entirely clothes-free weekend was probably not going to happen.

Eren was wiggling out of his jeans when Erwin inhaled sharply and dug his fingers almost painfully into Eren’s arm as he gazed over his shoulder. Eren turned in time to see the surface of the painting ripple, and the subject step down out of it.

“The vampire!” Eren yelped and held up his fingers to make a cross, trying to keep his balance with his jeans around his thighs.

“I’m not a vampire!” the creature snapped. “I’m dead. I think.”

“I’m very sorry,” Erwin said faintly, his eyes still wide.

“What do you want with us?” Eren asked, and the apparition’s eyes flicked down to his bare arse and then back up again.

“Nothing. I’m giving you some privacy.” He turned and walked, or possibly floated, towards the font door, his black cloak swirling around him.

Eren glanced at Erwin, feeling oddly guilty about the whole thing. Erwin seemed equally conflicted.

“Wait,” Erwin said. “Um.” The spirit hesitated, glancing over his shoulder with slightly wistful expression. Erwin raised his eyebrows and Eren shrugged; horror movies hadn’t really prepared him for this eventuality. “You could join us.”

ahem, listen up and imagine Michael Gay Mell and Jeremy Queer and Heere dancing in the kichen together wildly to some Panic!, and other emo bops in socks. While cooking some pasta at like 3 in the morning and every light in the house is on and blankets, and dvds are sprawled out everywhere. Michael is twirling jeremy around and dipping him. picking him up. Jeremy is doing some 80’s disco moves which makes Michael laugh.

Then, my dear gays, imagine, them, slow dancing in the same kitchen but their bellies are full of pasta and wine cause they’re classy moms. Keaton Henson and The Smiths are playing and the only light is coming from the laundry scented candle jerm bought Michael and the oven light. jerms face is buried in Michaels shoulder and he’s basically just hugging Michael. Michael is softly singing along in jerms ear and his forearms are resting on jerms hips. they’re doing a really bad slow dance because they’re classy not cultured.


EVERYTHING IS HAPPY SHIT ITS 4 AND THIS IS TERRIBLE BUT I WANT IT

adamasjace  asked:

for a malec prompt how aboutttt alec surprising magnus by cooking a romantic dinner? Or something along those lines :)

Thanks you for the prompt! :)

It was their anniversary. Their one year anniversary to be exact. He knew that Magnus probably got him a present and might be planning to take him out to dinner but Alec wanted to make him dinner instead. It would be a nice surprise.

He was making lasagna with salad and garlic bread. Yesterday, he made the dish at the Institute to try it. He found the recipe online so he wanted to make sure it tasted as good as the reviews made it sound like.

While the food was in the oven, he dimmed the lights and lit some candles. He saw this in one of the rom-coms he watched with Magnus. It did set a lovely romantic mood. Once he was satisfied with the setting, he prepared the salad. Sure, the meal wasn’t as extravagant as the one time  Magnus conjured up a lobster dinner in his office but this was still nice. 

He silently congratulated himself when Magnus walked in. He timed this perfectly. The meal was just put on the table. 

“Alec?” Alec heard from the doorway. He could practically hear Magnus’ smile. 

Alec makes himself visible before saying, “Happy anniversary!”

Magnus strides over to him, grabs him by the shirt and kisses him, hard. “You’re amazing,” he whispers against his lips. 

They sit down and Alec dishes them up the food and watches as Magnus takes the first bite. “Is it okay? It’s fine it you don’t like it. I found the recipe online and I thought it was good but you might not and you won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t like it,” he rambled.

“Alexander,” Magnus laughs. “It wonderful. Thank you so much.” He reaches across the table and holds his boyfriend’s hand. “I love you. So much.”

“I love you too.”

The night ended with them in bed, cuddling. Needless to say, it was the best anniversary Magnus has ever celebrated. 

anonymous asked:

Hey, any idea how to get rid of a really bad fruit fly problem?

Start by getting rid of all the rubbish in the place. Every bit of it from every room. Check all food that’s not in an airtight container – if it’s starting to go off or if there are a lot of flies around it, toss it out.  All the way out – do not leave any bags of rubbish indoors/in your flat if you can help it.

After that, put any food that isn’t in an airtight container into one. Sealed plastic bags, Tupperware – it doesn’t matter. Until you are rid of the flies, don’t have any fruit etc. unprotected on the counter, even things you think might be hard for them to get into. Ideally, seal it up and stick it in the refrigerator, but just sealing it up is good.

Bags of potting soil are also a risk – Miracle Gro potting soil especially is known for bringing in gnats. Throw it away if there are flies around/in it. If there aren’t, put it in an airtight container.

Next, make sure all your dishes are clean. Until the flies are gone, do not leave ued dishes unwashed, even soaking, for more than half an hour. Wash them as soon as possible and make sure that when they dry, they aren’t leaving puddles of water anywhere.

When your dishes are all clean and your sinks are empty, pour boiling water or bleach down all your drains. Some fruit-fly-like gnats can live in the top part of your drains.

Check around the place for puddles of water or other spills. Under dishdrains, microwaves, electric kettles, houseplants, and coffee makers are likely culprits. Clean up thoroughly and dry as you go.

Next, check any houseplants you have. Are there a lot of flies in the soil or around the plant? If they seem to be coming up out of the soil, you can try gnat sticks (sticky paper made to stick into a potted plant to catch gnats). Or, much better, repot the plant into new, gnat-free soil, and throw away all the old soil immediately. If they aren’t hanging out near the soil but around the plant itself, you might try spraying it with neem oil every day for a week or two to keep them away.

Once you’ve destroyed all their possible habitats/food sources, the flies should die off pretty soon, but if you want to make that happen faster there are a few tricks you can try.

Fly paper doesn’t really attract fruit flies very well, but it can catch them by chance, so if there’s a particular place they’re bothering you, you can set some up there. 

You know that old saw about catching more flies with honey than vinegar? It’s not true. Cut a soda/water bottle just below it starts to taper and fill the bottom with apple cider vinegar, then invert the top and set it inside the bottom so there’s a narrowing access point to the vinegar. They’ll try to eat it and drown in there.

Another thing you can do is cut a lemon (or other citrus) in half and stick it, open side up, on a baking sheet in your oven with the door open. Turn on the oven light and turn off all the other lights in the house. In the morning before you turn the lights on, close the oven and turn it on. Hopefully the fruit flies will have gravitated toward the light and food and you can just bake them away – and make your home smell like lemony goodness at the same time.

These tricks will never work if there are lots of other places for fruit flies to hang out and get a free buffet, though. The biggest thing is to keep everything clean and dry and not leave any food accessible to them. Good luck!