pb challenge

shipped-goldstandard  asked:

for the soulmate au #18 for maybe pbj?? :D

I need you to know that I sat here for a long-ass time trying to make this angsty just to spite you :P But alas, this prompt is too adorable and I admit defeat. 


18. The one where whenever you get a song stuck in your head, it’s because your soulmate is singing it.


I can feel your halo, halo, halo…

Jack rolls onto his stomach and shoves his face down into the pillow with a groan as the music fades away. Maybe it’s finally over and he can get some sleep.

Remember those walls I built? Well baby they’re tumbling down.

“Crisse,” Jack mutters. Blearily, he lifts his head and checks the clock. “Ridiculous.” He rolls off the bed, his feet landing with a dull thud, and trudges over to the bathroom where he can hear the shower running.

The door’s unlocked of course, and really Jack should just say something, but he’s tired and keyed up all at once and his body is sore from their last game, so he’s feeling grumpy enough to yank the shower curtain back and snap, “Kenny! Stop singing, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Jesus!” Kent jumps and smacks his elbow on the tiles. “Ow, what the fuck Zimms? I—wait, shit. I wasn’t.”

Jack lets go of the curtain and scrubs at his face. It’s too early in the morning for this. “Quit fucking around, Kenny. I’m tired.”

“Jack, I’m not,” Kent insists, clearly exasperated—and serious, because he never uses Jack’s real name unless it’s important. “I thought that was you.”

Shit. “You—you hear it too?” Jack asks, eyes going wide. The song is still buzzing faintly in the back of his brain, its insistent rhythm battering against Jack’s concentration.

“Uh, duh. Fuck. What the fuck?” Kent shuts off the shower and shakes his head like a dog, splattering water all over Jack’s face, because he’s an asshole. He’s supposed to be Jack’s asshole. So why has this stupid ‘halo, halo’ song been playing on repeat for the past half hour?

Kent steps out of the shower and snags a towel to dry off his hair better, ignoring the way he’s dripping water all over the floor that seeps into Jack’s socks. Jack sighs and peels them off, dropping them in the corner with Kent’s clothes. He closes his eyes and tries to take a deep breath to combat the anxiety flaring in the base of his gut.

“What—what’s happening?” he whispers, grabbing at Kent’s hand wildly, willing the touch to stabilize him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Kent soothes, running his thumb over the bones of Jack’s wrist and stepping closer, tilting his face up to look Jack in the eye. He almost seems calm, but his voice is quivering just a little and Jack realizes Kent is scared too. It’s not something he thinks about often, that Kent can be afraid. “We’re—we’ll figure it out, okay? I’ve got an idea.”

Jack nods and swallows thickly.

Kent squeezes Jack’s hand and says, “Go sit in the other room okay? I wanna try something.”

“Um, okay.” Jack dutifully wanders back into the bedroom and sits down on his bed, staring at his hands and wishing they’d stop shaking. Suddenly, the halo, halo song stutters and fades to be replaced with—oh, of course.

I got my hands up, they’re playing my song—

“I hear you!” Jack shouts, scrambling off the bed and bolting into the bathroom. “I can—I still hear you.”

He’s grinning and so is Kent, once Jack skids into the room and gathers him up in a crushing hug, the momentum carrying them against the wall. Kent laughs and presses his forehead hard into Jack’s shoulder. Now that Kent’s not singing anymore, the other song fades back in as persistent as ever—though at this point it’s kind of grown on him.

“So,” Kent muffles into Jack’s shoulder, “we’re still soulmates.”

Jack drops Kent back to the ground and pulls him back in by the hips. “Yeah.”

“But—there’s some third person out there…who we can hear too?” Kent quirks his lips to the side in thought.

Jack hums and says, “Seems like it. What should we do?”

Kent shrugs, wrapping his arms around Jack’s neck and tugging him down into a quick kiss. “Dunno,” he says, “guess we just wait until we find him.”

Five years later

Jack stomps back into the Haus with a pinched expression. He had to pull his headphones out halfway through his run because his soulmate was in the mood for Beyoncé—again—and trying to listen to his own music with something else prattling in the background has always been torturous. In fact, he’s starting to feel a headache coming on just from the strain.

So it hasn’t been the best morning, but it smells like Bittle is baking in the kitchen again which is nice. Jack hadn’t gotten along with Bittle terribly well the first few months, but the frog has definitely grown on him—which might’ve had something to do with Kent telling him to ‘stop being such a fucking dick, Zimms.’ But, anyway. The point is that it’s been good, having Bittle around more.

Jack wanders into the kitchen to say hello, and finds Bittle bopping around to something on his iPod and—

Baby I can see your halo, you know you’re my saving grace.

—singing along.

Jack freezes and narrowly avoids crashing into the kitchen table, bracing his hands bodily against the edge. His heart pounds, breath hitching in sudden realization—is Bittle?—he must be—but maybe it’s just—

Jack forces himself to take a deep breath. There’s only one way to find out.

“Georgia, Georgia, the whole day through,” Jack sings softly, nearly humming the words under his breath. Bittle’s entire body jerks and then stills. “And just a sweet old song keeps Georgia on my mind.”

Bittle turns slowly, brown eyes wide and shining with disbelief, a hand up to his mouth. “Jack?” he whispers, the name rich and warm on his tongue.

Jack’s entire body shivers. Slowly, watching with a detached awe as his hands shake, he reaches for his phone and dials.

Kent answers on the second ring. “Zimms—I heard—did you—?”

Jack smiles shyly and Bittle gives a little wave. “Yeah, Kenny. I found him.”

The Peanut Butter sammich thingy fing? Part 3, the end!

Yeah, here’s my displeased ugly mug, you all finally get to see what i look like and in the most hilarious way possible? honestly, idk what you were expecting, or what I was expecting? this sammy is too weird for me. it conflicts in bad ways. as in, salty fat with taste of not fully caramlized honey. idk what to make of this sandwich. this could have been done better somehow? but i’m sure my fricken high is done. i’mma eat the fing, don’t care that it tastes kinda bad, i made it. i followed @valenshawke‘s suggestion, via this post.

a few more bites in while whiting this it’s getting better? … i’m just that hungry, aren’t i?

So yeah, my first selfie i’ve ever posted on tumblr, no make up ever needed, house dress, my hair doing it’s thing? I’m fine with that. This sandwich? I guess??? This concludes my food adventure coupled with a manic high.

I’ve reached that point in burnt-outness that I’m actively counting down the days to flying back to the States (in two weeks!), considering I’ve already been overseas ¼ of the year, & I usually never count down since I’m super focused on getting everything done here in Sydney before a trip, I know I’m in desperate need to break out of this cycle

Originally posted by welcometoyouredoom

The Peanutbutter sammich thingy fing? Part 1!

Alright mofos, let’s get this going. We’re making a Grilled Peanut Butter Banana Bacon Sammich With Honey. This is is a long post with a lot of photos so head’s up!
Here’s what we need:

Bread, butter, honey, bacon, peanut butter, a skillet, and a pan and aluminum to bake the bacon in. Yes, we’re baking the bacon. Makes that shit so much easier and hassle free.

Preheat your oven to 375 F.

whoops, change of pans. didn’t have the right cooking gear. line that shit with aluminum foil, the put your bacon in.

not hard, right? aluminum foil now, easier clean up later. throw that in for about 20 ish minutes? just check on the fhing and go play Stardew Valley er something. always set a timer if you are gonna go goof off elsewhere!! or i guess clean up your mess from cooking but whatevs.

ANYWAY, once that’s done, heat your skillet for about ten minutes, you want it hot for the sammy.

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KQED NEWS: Fighting Climate Change and Food Waste With ‘Imperfect Produce’

From the farm to the fridge, it’s estimated that 40 percent of what could be eaten just isn’t, and that can impact climate change.

Produce broker Ron Clark is co-founder of a new startup called Imperfect Produce, which is working to change consumers’ perceptions and find homes for “cosmetically challenged” produce.

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The first of our Ice Bucket Challenge nominees has accepted and completed the chilly task! Well done to Sherlock’s production designer Arwel Wyn Jones!