the sweet smell of bacon

What Happens In Vegas: The Epilogue

A Bucky x Reader / AU drabble series

Master List

A/N: Here is the epilogue! After this, this series is totally over and I’m kind of sad. However, this week I will be releasing my prompt list for my AU Writing Challenge, so keep an eye out for that. Thank you to everyone who had kind words to say about this series, and for being so damn supportive. I love you all! Let me know what you think! ♥

Word Count: 1,327

- maybe language.

Tags: (at the end)

*gif is not mine.

1 year later

“Rise and shine, Mrs. Barnes!” a sweet voice rang from the kitchen. The smell of scrambled eggs and bacon turned your stomach, as you laid in bed with your eyes closed. “Breakfast is almost ready!”

Today was the day you would tell him. You couldn’t hide it anymore, especially if your favorite breakfast foods made you queasy. You weren’t trying to keep it from him, you just wanted the timing to be perfect.

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Not So Good Morning

Originally posted by chimneytaels

paring: j hope x reader 

genre: fluff

warning: a bit boring but really cute 

first fic since like January I am a little rusty and this is short as hell also i am the only admin now AND I am now @cinnahope not @bias-ruinners  


The soft sunlight passed through your windows shudders basking your room in a warm but blinding light. You groaned at the brightness of the early morning sun that was never so kind to you. You swung your aching legs over the bed and got up. The sweet smell of pancakes and the sizzling of bacon lead you to the kitchen with ease. 

“Aw Hobi, what’s this? I thought you had work this morning.”You playfully chided him. Instead of speaking Hoseok grabbed you with a bone crushing hug and gave you a light peck on the cheek. His brown hair was mussed The two of you have been dating for two years but his kisses have yet to make you blush like a rose. 

“So did I but it turns out I have the day off. So,”he turned to his skillet and smiled,”I thought I could do something for my lovely girlfriend.” 

“You’re so sweet.” You wrapped your arms around his back and gave the back of his neck a slight kiss. He leaned into your touch a deep sigh emitting from his chest. He turned in your arms and placed his lips on yours. His lips were sweet and slightly chapped but you welcomed the roughness. His large hands caressed your face smoothing circles into it making you shiver. He slowly moved his lips against yours. Slow. Passionate. Sensual. You were drowning in him and loved it. He smelled of oranges and lemongrass and smoke? 

Panic flooded your system. You quickly pushed Hoseok away. 

“Hoseok, the pancakes!” You screamed and pointed at the pan which was in flames. 

“Fuck!” Hoseok ran to the other side of the kitchen and pulled out the fire extinguisher from under the sink. His feet came from under him and he face planted on the kitchen tile. 

You heard the high pitched tingle of a bell and sighed. You trudged to your shared bedroom that Hoseok was currently laying in.

  “Y/N-ah! Can you scratch my back for me?” Hoseok smiled brightly at you momentarily making you want to do anything for him. His fluffy air was mussed up from rolling in your giant bed and clothes ruffled from the same thing. His arm was wrapped up and down in a  infuriatingly bright neon green that made you want to puke. 

“Hobi, you are perfectly capable of scratching your own back. So no.” 

“But babe it hurts to move.”He whined as he reached for you.

“Fine you big baby.” You plopped yourself onto the bed and placed your hand on his smooth back. You cringed as you began scratching. 

“A little lower.” You sighed deeply and did what you were told. This was all because he decided to make you breakfast fucked up and now you have to pay for it. 

“You are so lucky I love you so much.” You rolled you eyes playfully. 

“Love you more.” He leaned forward and gave you a slight peck on your nose. Your face burned at his sudden display of affection. “You’re so cute when you are being shy. I just want to scoop you up and kiss you till you can’t handle it anymore.” 

You quickly walked for the door embarrassed. 

“Bye, Hoseok.” 

“Wait I am thirsty!” 

FIC: CLOSER (5/30)

A Chris Evans fanfic

Summary: A day full with emotions led to a terrible ending.  

Warnings: NONE 

NOTES: So, here it is…It took a while to post this because I wasn’t so convinced about this chapter. I don’t know. I still don’t like it. Maybe that’s why I was gone for a few weeks (”Lola you’ve been gone for more that just a few weeks”) because I wanted to try again and write something different, but nothing came out. So, i was about to loose my shit (AGAIN) and I decided to post it anyway. SO SORRY AGAIN (”stop apologizing, and post the damn chapter, Lola.”)

If by any reason you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, let me know! 

SONG: Dream a little dream of me - Ella Fitzgerald   

                  CHAPTER FIVE: Dream a little dream of…

PHOTO: (credits to owner)

                                         CHRIS- Tuesday 7:10 pm

                                       Pickles, I’m back. Where R U?

                                         CHRIS- Tuesday 7:45 pm


                              -3 missed call- 8:15 pm- from CHRIS

                                         CHRIS- Tuesday, 9:38 pm

                               Lori, please answer me. Where are you?

                              -1 missed call- 11:00 pm- from CHRIS

                             -1 missed call- 11:15 pm- from EVE

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Emotional Wreck

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 1,455

Warnings: mentions of periods and feminine hygiene products, swearing?

Prompt: After making a joke that goes a little too far, Sam realizes the reason you’re so worked up over it is because you’re on your period. He’s quick to make it up to you, even if it means enduring something he never thought he would.

Originally posted by demondetoxmanual

You were sexually active, there was no denying that, but luckily you weren’t pregnant and this week was proving to you that you were, thankfully, not. The only issue was, it had come a week early and you were not prepared for it at all.

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Fly Me To The Moon

You woke up to the sweet smell of bacon coming from the kitchen.  Your eyes darted open and you quickly jumped out of bed, running downstairs to eat.  Frost was cooking away at the stove in his suit. Well that’s not what I was expecting. You thought to yourself.  You secretly hoped J would be the one preparing you a huge breakfast, but you knew that would never happen.

“Good morning Y/N.” Frost said casually as if nothing was strange about this scene.  

“Good morning Frosty….Can I ask why you’re cooking all this?  I mean, it’s nice and all but this is definitely not part of your job description….”  Seeing Frost first thing in the morning making you a feast for breakfast was certainly never something you thought you’d witness.

“Well,” Frost spoke as he flipped a pancake expertly, “Mr. J is going to be very busy today, and he instructed me to make sure you’re taken care of while he’s out.  I figured I’d start with feeding you, so here I am.” Frost smiled, another thing you never thought you’d witness.

“I can’t argue with J’s orders.” You said giving Frost a wink.  You walked up to the large kitchen island and hopped up on one of the stools while Frost began to lay the food out in front of you.  Pancakes, bacon, eggs, hash browns, fresh orange juice, Frost really went overboard.  Not wanting to wait another minute, you grabbed your fork and started scarfing down the food.

“Whoa, it’s like you don’t eat, you just inhale.” Frost said Jokingly.

“Ha-ha very funny Frosty,” You spoke between bites, “I don’t have any plans for the rest of the day so I was thinking I’d just clean up around the house.  You can take a few hours to go out and do whatever you need to do if you want.”

Frost worked constantly, J never gave him any time off.  You figured you were just going to stay home all day and do some housework, so there was no reason Frost needed to be watching you.  Not to mention he deserved a few hours to himself.

“I don’t know Y/N, boss told me to keep an eye on you-”

“Frost, you can be back before J and I won’t tell him.  It can be our little secret.  Go enjoy yourself.” You smiled and continued eating as Frost gave you a small nod of appreciation and walked out of the room.

After eating practically everything and stuffing yourself to the brim, you decided it was best to get the day going.  You went up to your shared master bathroom and took a quick shower before walking into your massive closet to pick out something to wear.  Hmmmm what to wear, what you wear….You thought to yourself before flashing a cheeky smile and picking up your favorite shirt of J’s.  It was just a white button up dress shirt, but it was always perfectly ironed and soft.  On you it was practically a dress so you figured that was a good enough outfit and made your way back downstairs to get to cleaning.  You were never much of an organizer growing up; however, with all the madness going on in the mansion all the time, you began to find it therapeutic.

Walking into the living room, you noticed that it needed some work.  The house was always pretty clean as the maids took care of all the vacuuming and dusting; however, the henchmen and J had a tendency to never put things back in their place after using them.  Well if I’m gunna get the organizing party going, I better put on some music. You walked up to the stereo system and just pressed play.  “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra started playing throughout the whole downstairs.  J is such an oldie when it comes to music. You smiled thinking about him.

You got to work picking up after the henchmen and J, getting lost in the music as you did so.  You swayed your hips back and forth, dancing around the room.

You lost track of time and didn’t realize how long it had been since you started until you turned around and immediately gasped as you saw J standing behind the couch watching you with his silver grin.

“Well, well, well….what do we have here.” He growled, trying to contain a laugh.  You were so embarrassed and you felt your cheeks heating up.  You could only imagine how silly this looked and you couldn’t find any words.

J put you out of your misery by speaking up again, “I like your shirt, I wonder where you got that from.” He made his way slowly around the couch, walking up to you as he reached out and pulled you closer to him by the white fabric.

“I figured you’d be gone a while so I’d get some cleaning done….” You whispered, still feeling shy from being caught.

“You’re quite the dancer Y/N, I might have to put you in one of the cages next time we’re at the club….but then again, I don’t want anyone else lusting after you.” Always so possessive, I love it.

J smirked as if he could read your mind before looking deep in your eyes and beginning to unbutton your shirt, “You have five minutes to get upstairs and in bed, doll.  Daddy needs to remind you how to be a good girl and not take my things.”

I guess I need to wear his clothes more often. 

The Silent One - Part Thirteen

You can find the other parts of this story and my Masterlist HERE!

Synopsis: Negan makes your breakfast and thinks about what he’d got himself into

Ships: Negan x Reader (the slowest burn)
Words: 1,480
Warnings: Curses

When you woke up you stayed still and kept your breathing steady. You could feel the piece of paper which held the note you had received earlier than night in the back pocket of your shorts. You could hear the sound of sizzling from the kitchen that lay behind the couch that you were currently curled up on. You smelt the sweet smell of bacon. You felt your stomach rumble loudly like a growling lion. You cautiously sat up, very much aware of your puffy red eyes.

You turned around slowly to see the tall, lean form of Negan. He had his back turned to you as he whistled a tune happily under his breath. In one hand he had a china plate with blue patterns lacing through it and in the other, leather clad, hand he held a frying pan which the sizzling sound was emanating from.

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but imagine waking up to the sweet smell of waffles on the griddle and the sound of bacon crackling on the stove, shuffling out of the bedroom with sleep-blurred vision, barefoot and naked under shawn’s gray t-shirt…

imagine making it to the kitchen to find shawn at the stove, hair a ruffled mess and in just the sweats that hang low on his hips, humming softly as he works. his back would be to you, giving you a view of rippling muscle and smooth skin marked pink and red from your passion last night.

imagine the moment he turns and grins at you with a little shake of his head.

“mm mm. go on back and lay down. this is gonna be breakfast in bed.”

in the latest episode of ‘abi shoves artist quotes in yours face”,

Van Gogh was “convinced that in the long run it produces better results to paint [peasants] in their coarseness than to introduce conventional sweetness… If a peasant painting smells of bacon, smoke, potato steam—fine—that’s not unhealthy—if a stable smells of manure—very well, that’s what a stable’s for.”

i love the use of dashes in old letters

anonymous asked:

Can you give me tips on writing about electrocution?

Note: I had to sit through a 45 minute electrocution lecture courtesy of a teacher I asked about the history of electrocution. See how I love you?

Anyway, sure thing! I was going to just give you a paragraph on writing it, but then one thing led to another, and I decided to go ahead and write a small guide on electrocution and electric shock, as I couldn’t find a tumblr based one myself. (If all you really care about is writing it, just scroll down to the end of the post.)

Let’s start out with what electrocution is and basic information about it.

Know the difference between electrocution and electric shock. (I’m bringing this up because people often confuse electrocution and electric shock.) The basic difference is that one kills you, and the other doesn’t.

  • Electrocution - “death caused by electric shock, either accidental or deliberate. The word is derived from “electro” and “execution”, but it is also used for accidental death.”
  • Electric shock - “a sudden discharge of electricity through a part of the body.” (non-deadly)

Current is what kills in electrocution. The current level is determined by the applied voltage and the resistance of the material (i.e., your body) that the current is flowing through. Depending on the individual, the resistance of dry skin is usually between 1,000 -100,000 W.

(image courtesy of my digital electronics teacher)

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING?: If you’re interested, take a look at this post. It shows a dead body after electrocution

Most electrocutions are done accidentally. It’s actually rather rare that you are electrocuted on purpose. In fact, electrocution in general isn’t all that commonplace. One count that I found expressed electrocution with a lifetime odd of 1-in-5,000 for Americans. (I’m almost sure that the website was referring to a high current electric shock, but I’ll let it slide.) I don’t know what sort of situation your character is in, but keep this in mind when writing.

  • Electric Shocks

An electric shock is usually painful. A small shock from static electricity may contain thousands of volts but has very little current behind it due to high internal resistance.

Their danger levels depend on:

  • The amount of current flowing through the body.
  • The path of the current through the body.
  • The length of time the body is in the circuit.
  • The voltage.
  • The presence of moisture.
  • The phase of the heart cycle when the electric shock occurs.
  • The health of the person before the occurance.

Shock effects include:

  • Psychological
  • Burns
  • Neurological

Fun fact: electric shocks are used in electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). General anesthesia and a muscle relaxant ensured that the patient doesn’t feel a thing, even though enough electricity to light a room for one second passes through their brain. Patients do, however, experience (typically) temporary memory loss. ECT is known to be used on severely depressed patients or patients with boipolar disorder. (x

  • Electric Chair:

Alright, so I’ll start off with some early history on the electric chair, because who doesn’t love background information?

New York built the first electric chair in 1888 (figures). (William Kemmler was the first to be executed in 1890.) Others began to adopt this method, though it is not the sole method of execution in any state today as it was then. (The electric chair remained the only method in Nebraska until February of 2008.)

(1890, used to kill Kemmler)


What happens in the process, you ask?

Well, the person is usually shaved and strapped to a chair with belts. The belts cross the prisoner’s chest, groin, arms, and legs. A metal electrode is attached to the scalp and forehead, over a sponge that has been moistened with saline (it can’t be too wet or too dry). An additional electrode is moistened with Electro-Crème and attached to a part of the prisoner’s leg. The prisoner is blindfolded, and the execution team leaves the room. The warden tells the executioner when to pull the handle to connect the power supply. A current jolt of 500 to 2000 volts for about 30 seconds is given, but this varies from case to case. (Robert Gleason Jr. received 1,800 volts at 7.5 amps at TWO 90-second cycles.) The body relaxes when the current is turned off. The doctors wait momentarily, and then go check to see if the heart is still beating; if it is, another jolt of electricity is given, and this continues until the doctors can officially proclaim that the heart is not beating. (Multiple physicians check this.)

Give me gross specifics on what goes on, maybe?

The prisoner’s hands usually grip the chair. They may violently move their limbs, causing dislocation or fractures. Their tissues swell. Defecation occurs. Steam/smoke rises, and the smell of burning is in the air. At postmortem, the body is hot enough to blister if it is touched. An autopsy has to be delayed so that the internal organs can cool. Third degree burns with blackening are present where the electrodes met the scalp and legs.

Quotes! I want quotes on what happened, I command you to give me quotes!

U.S. Supreme Court Justice William Brennan had this to say about execution by electric chair: “…the prisoner’s eyeballs sometimes pop out and rest on [his] cheeks. The prisoner often defecates, urinates, and vomits blood and drool. The body turns bright red as its temperature rises, and the prisoner’s flesh swells and his skin stretches to the point of breaking. Sometimes the prisoner catches fire….Witnesses hear a loud and sustained sound like bacon frying, and the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh permeates the chamber.”

I wanted to talk a bit about botched executions as well. 

  • William Vandiver- He was still breathing after an initial surge of 2,300 volts. The execution took a total of 17 minutes and five jolts of electricity.
  • Wilbert Lee Evans - When hit with the first jolt, blood spewed from the right side of the mask on his face, covering his shirt with blood and a sizzling sound could be heard as blood dripped from his lips. Evans moaned continuously until a second jolt of electricity was applied. 
  • Pedro Medina - Foot-high flames shot from the headpiece during the execution. The execution chamber was filled with a stench of thick smoke. It gagged the two dozen official witnesses. An official flipped a switch to cut off the power to end (early) the two-minute cycle of 2,000 volts. Medina’s chest continued to heave until he died after the flames went out.

Gruesome? Definitely.

  • How do you apply all of this in your writing?

Take the information I have given you in stride. Understand what electrocution and electric shock are. Know your character. Some people are scared of death, some aren’t. Know how your character would react in such a situation when they’re face to face with the person who, with the pull of a switch, will send a lethal amount of current running through their body. 

On an ending note, I highly recommend you READ THIS ESSAY. Not only does it send goosebumps down my arm every time I read it, it will help you understand the psychological aspect of electrocution as well. 


All-day breakfast joints were admittedly a guilty pleasure of Garrett, the sweet smell of bacon and eggs rejuvenating his usually drunk self more than anything could. Grabbing a cup of coffee before heading out of the establishment, he found himself wandering aimlessly on Bostonian streets before settling fully on a park bench, letting the rays of sun hit his pale features. It was in this self-languorous state that his eyes caught a rather familiar face - too familiar, despite all his years of distance. He needed no more familial drama in his already tumultuous life. Garrett cast his head down, praying to whatever deity would still accept him that he not be noticed.

Forget the Bacon

Title: Forget the Bacon

 Prompt: This story is for @chelsea072498 to celebrate her birthday!  I know you love Dean smut…so Happy Birthday! :D

 Summary: It’s your birthday, and Dean is happy to give you whatever you want as a present.

 Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT.  Language (because of smut).

 Tags: @grace-for-sale , @lucifer-in-leather , @thewicked-end , @chelsea072498 , @nerdwholikesword , @chaos-and-the-calm67 , @percywinchester27 , @pizzarollpatrol , @cici0507 , @wayward-mirage , @charliebradbury1104 , @melonberri , @bellastellaluna , @pinolief2001 , @feelmyroarrrr , @girl-next-door-writes , @twoboys-and-afallenangel , @fangirl-faye , @the-assbutt-impala , @impalapossible , @pumacat69 , @thecrossroad-demon , @kristaparadowski , @jussb , @isis278 @savingapplepie-eatingthings 

Let me know if you want added to a tag list! :D

Originally posted by black-little-demons

The first thing that registered in your brain when you woke up was…Bacon.  That sweet smell of nice, warm bacon.  You took a deep breath in and let out a deep, happy sigh, and then heard your boyfriend chuckle.  

“Diggin’ the bacon, huh?”  Dean asked you ask he set the breakfast tray down on the nightstand.  

Your eyes fluttered open as you saw him sit down next to you, wearing his fitted T-shirt and his bagging sweatpants.  “Breakfast in bed?”  You asked him with a smirk.  “What’s the occasion?”  You ask, sleep still well settled into your brain.

Dean chuckled as he leaned down and gave you a soft kiss.  “Come on, babe.  Don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday.”

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anonymous asked:

prompt: Sheldon describes to Meemaw how he met Amy, and when Amy comes they cook together

Sheldon trudged out of his childhood bedroom and down the stairs. Rubbing his eyes and wrapping his dressing gown tighter around himself, he made his way towards the kitchen. He was greeted with the familiar sound of his nickname echoing throughout the house.

“Morning Moonpie!”

Through Sheldon’s sleepy eyes, he could see the blurry outline of his grandmother.

“Meemaw! What are you doing here?” he wrapped her small frame in a big hug.

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One Direction Preference- He Calls You A Gold Digger To The Boys (Harry Part 2)


He hadn’t followed you to bed. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or annoyed. On one hand, you hadn’t been forced to continue the futile argument revolving around distrust and insecurity. On the other hand, part of you wanted him to chase after you, to be desperate to fix it, to need you.

You heard him before you saw him. The familiar beep of the coffee machine pierced the insulated walls and the sweet smell of bacon could never be contained. The TV hummed with indecipherable morning newscasts. It seemed the entire house was up and running before you were.

You were hesitant to go downstairs, knowing the argument that awaited. Fights don’t just disappear unresolved and you were achingly aware of the nasty vibes tangled between you and Harry right now. It hadn’t come as a surprise, really, things had been smooth sailing from the beginning–it was about time that some conflict arise–you just hadn’t expected it to hit so hard.

In the end, the promising smell of breakfast had overcome your dread of confrontation and dragged you down the stairs. You could hear him bustling about in the kitchen, dishes clanging together and silverware being rifled through. The air smelled like freshly brewed coffee mixed with raspberries and the faint scent of last night’s cologne–your eyes nearly rolled back in your head with pleasure.

You entered quietly, sliding into a chair at the counter soundlessly. He was shirtless, boxers hanging low around his waist as he struggled to fry the bacon, getting splattered with searing grease every time he attempted to flip the pieces over. It was quite a sight and despite your uneasiness toward him, you admitted he looked pretty cute.

It took him some time to notice you, only realizing your presence when he turned to grab his steaming coffee mug from the island. He jumped at little, cursing lightly under his breath before composing himself, “Hey,” he looked at you and you could sense his tension.

“Hey,” your voice was flat and you nodded.

“Did you sleep okay?” he ran a hand through the mess of curls on his head, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “You?”

“I was good. The couch is comfortable.”

Nervous silence fell, the only sound was the eager crackling coming from the iron skillet.

“Harry–” you started, pursing your lips.

“No,” he shook his head, “It’s okay.”

You sighed, looking at him.

He ran a hand through his hair, “I was an asshole and I should’ve talked to you before I said anything to the guys,” he clamped his eyes shut, rubbing them, “I don’t think you’re using me–I’m just worried about that ever happening–I just, I’m sorry.”

“Why would you even say that, though?” you shook your head, “Do you not trust me?”

“No,” he extended his hands, “Of course I trust you. It’s just hard to not wonder about it…” he trailed off, shaking his head, “It doesn’t matter. I know you aren’t here for my money and I’m sorry and I love you.”

You bit your lip, staring at the granite countertop and nodding ever so slightly.

“Okay?” he looked at you with desperate eyes, “Do you believe me?”

You looked up and him, face still straight, “Yeah.”

“Good,” he nodded, “I made breakfast?”

“I kind of gathered that,” you bit your lip, trying to hold back the faintest of smiles.

“Well do you want some?” he made a sweeping gesture to the frying pan, spatula in hand.

“Yes please.”


I had such a huge flood of requests for Part 2’s to these! They are finally on their way :) hope you enjoyed!

xoxo B


When Sam and Dean return to the bunker after a long fight, bandaged and bruised, Cas is there to greet them. Dean walks straight into his arms and collapses, silent, and the angel slips his fingers through brown strands of hair, whispering calming sounds into the older Winchester’s ear.

They don’t say anything.

And later, when Sam passes by Dean’s room, the door open and ajar, and peeks in to see the angel curled up next to his brother, trenchcoat laid haphazardly over them both, he just shuts the door and thinks about how tangled their legs were, and how at peace Dean finally looked.

He doesn’t say anything.

A few days later, Sam wakes up to the smell of eggs, bacon, and something sweet. He stumbles into the kitchen, hair a mess and barefoot, to see Deansmiling. Genuinely smiling, with no broken pain hidden behind those pearly white teeth or no aching heart behind those bright green eyes. His arm is on Castiel’s, demonstrating by physically showing him how to properly flip a pancake as not to splatter the batter everywhere. Their touch lingers before he pulls away to greet Sam.

He doesn’t say anything.

It’s winter now, and Sam wakes up in the middle of the night, mouth parched, only to find the pair he’d been travelling with dancing slowly in the dark to some Christmas song – probably put on by Cas – with steaming mugs of hot cocoa left on the counter, forgotten about. He stares for a bit, then smiles, and walks right back to his room.

The next day, he doesn’t say anything.

Cas loses his grace, and everything gets quiet. None of them speak much anymore, though the battle they had long fought was won recently. Sam tries to help Cas, but nothing seems to work, and every now and then he can hear the ex-angel crying into his brother’s shoulder. He believes he even sees Dean kiss his forehead every now and then, rubbing his back as he shows him the finer things in humanity.

They don’t say anything.

Sam has a dog now, a border collie that is a year old. On the way out, he passes by Dean’s room, door closed, and hears familiar noises coming from within. He figures Dean must really be teaching Cas the “finer things” of humanity, and grins on his way out, happy for the unestablished couple.

He doesn’t say anything.

Dean shows him a ring, small and silver, with two dates etched into the inside. One was the day he and Cas had met, their relationship rough and hostile. The other was the day that Sam assumed they confessed to each other, the day they realized how hard it is to find what they had in this life and threw away all their qualms with the subject. Sam congratulates him, promising to support him all the way. Cas walks in and the box is shoved in a pocket, and beer on the table is drank.

They don’t say anything.

He proposes, and it’s accepted with a teary-eyed Cas, who still doesn’t quite understand the concept of marriage (but Dean promises to explain it). Nonetheless, the two are happily engaged, matching silver bands on their ring fingers. Sam watches them leave for bed early, closing the door behind them with drunken giggles from the used champagne glasses that lay on the table.

He doesn’t say anything.

Not many people show, after all most are six feet in the ground by now, but the wedding is nice nonetheless. Flowers of all kinds are assorted amongst white cloths, and a pastor has them repeat their vows. Sam is the best man, so of course he has the best position: standing right beside Dean as his two companions declare the marriage official with a kiss. And this time, he hears it. The three special words.

“I love you.”

Years later he is sitting in his front yard, the same border collie laying next to him. He eyes the red shirt walking up his driveway, and a man in black following behind. He greets Dean and Cas, and they talk for hours, eating TV dinners and drinking beer and watching a re-run of some cop show, just like the old days. They reminisce and look back on their lives, thinking about the past and how far they have come. And finally, Sam takes a breath, smiles at the two, and says it.

“I’m proud of us.”

Happy Birthday, Phil.

A/N: Happy 28th Birthday to one of the most wonderful human beings I have ever come across. Phil Lester, you have changed my life and made me happier without even trying. As for the rest of you, two people demanded a birthday fic…so here you go! 

Title: Happy Birthday, Phil.

Genre: Pure fluff/mentions of smut. 

Description: It’s Phil’s birthday, so naturally Dan wants to make the day extra special for him. Fluff and adorable moments ensue.

Word Count: 2300 


Dan takes a final, satisfied breath and nods approvingly at his work.

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anonymous asked:

to be executed by the electric chair, would the person feel anything or die instantly?

Execution by electric chair is one of the most inhumane and barbaric forms of execution, hence why they got rid of it. They do not die instantly and feel excruciating pain. A lot of executions by the electric chair were botched - sometimes the inmate didn’t die with the first jolt of electricity so would have to have multiple. The inmate would often defecate and bleed because of the pressure of the expanding tissue. Their temperate becomes so hot that smoke would rise out of the body, and they would often receive third and fourth degree burns. Sometimes the eyeballs could pop out due to pressure. Afterwards, flesh could blister and fall off if touched. They are essentially being cooked alive.

Here it is described by US Justice Court William Brennan:

“…the prisoner’s eyeballs sometimes pop out and rest on [his] cheeks. The prisoner often defecates, urinates, and vomits blood and drool. The body turns bright red as its temperature rises, and the prisoner’s flesh swells and his skin stretches to the point of breaking. Sometimes the prisoner catches fire….Witnesses hear a loud and sustained sound like bacon frying, and the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh permeates the chamber. (Ecenbarger, 1994)”

11: Mornings

Jack G: Mornings are usually spent in the shower, where the steam condenses on the cool glass and the smell of coconuts wafts out the bathroom door. And his hands are everywhere, pretending to help you wash, when in reality his efforts are useless. But it’s okay, because the way the droplets of water drip from his hair and down his back and chest make you feel things that you shouldn’t be feeling at 7am on a Monday morning.

Carter: Mornings are usually spent asleep, neither of you too keen on awakening until late afternoon, when lunchtime is over and the majority of the day is gone. But you don’t mind too much because you’d much rather remain wrapped up in the warmth of his arms, wearing one of his baggy sweaters and the heavy duvet cover acts as a shield to the rest of the world.

Aaaron: Mornings are usually spent on the sofa, reruns of your favorite cartoon playing on the television screen but you’re not exactly paying any attention because you’re still really, really tired. And the warmth of his body beneath yours and the hot cup of tea in your hand really aren’t doing anything to assist in relieving your fatigue. But you eventually let yourself succumb to the exhaustion in your body and he kisses your forehead and lets you be.

Cameron: Mornings are usually spent wrapped up with each other, his name falling softly from your lips every few breaths. And pretty purple love bites are dotted along your chest while your nails leave long, red scratches down the length of his back. But despite the markings, everything is soft and gentle and relaxed because you’ve both just woken up and he wants to make you feel good, so good that you’ll yearn for the following morning to arrive.

Shawn: Mornings are usually hazy and blurry because, no matter how hard you try you can never wake up before him. And when you do wake up, you’re still exhausted and you turn over to find him looking at you. Eyes tired and cheeks flushed a light shade of pink, he offers you a lazy smile and it never fails to make your heart flutter softly in you chest because he’s yours and always will be and you know that you’re destined to wake up like this every morning for the rest of your life.

Matt: Mornings are usually filled with the sweet smell of pancakes and the mouth-watering smell of crispy bacon. And you traipse downstairs, feet padding along the wooden floors, to find him with his bare back to you, standing at the oven. Face pressed between his shoulder blades and your arms wrapped neatly around his waist, he continues to flip the pancakes while animatedly telling you about the dream that he had last night. And you listen contently. 

Jack J: Mornings are usually spent making faces at each other in the bathroom mirror as you both brush your teeth. And then he’ll sit, fascinated as he watches you get ready because he finds it astounding the efforts that you go to to get ready for the day ahead. And every now and again he’ll pout his lips, waiting for you to kiss him, and you do because he looks really, really cute when he makes that face and it makes you blush a little, because he really does love you.

Nash: Mornings are usually spent walking along the beachfront next to your home after you’ve eaten your breakfast. And it’s so beautiful because there’s nobody around and the sun is just rising along the horizon and it all sounds a little corny but you don’t care because his hand is in yours and your content. Sand runs between your toes and it’s still a little cold from the night before but it’s almost refreshing in a way.

Taylor: Mornings are usually spent desperately trying to wake him up. But time and time again the task proves to be almost impossible because no matter how many times you hit him over the head with a pillow, and no matter how many times you jump on the bed and call his name, he refuses to budge. And when he does wake up, his eyes remain closed and his hair resembles a nest and he constantly walks into doors but it’s okay because if you were honest with yourself, it’s really, really cute.

Bad Little pet

Bad little pet
Original Imagine: “Imagine Sam Punishing you By Making You Get Off in Front of him and Dean”
Reader Gender: female
Word Count: 1550
Warnings: Swearing. If you don’t like being called pet, this isn’t for you.

Sam was pissed. 

“Seriously, you can’t be pissed at me for that!” I shouted at him across the bed. He shook his head hard and looked up at me.

“That’s my brother!” He put his hand out in front of me in a dramatic fashion.

“It’s not my fault, you both are attractive.” I snapped, “Next time don’t ask who my free fuck would be.”

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anonymous asked:

Can u do a headcanon (or fanfic which ever u like) about Eisuke from kbtbb being jealous because MC was making breakfast for all the guys while making his? Or can u make a headcanon about Eisuke becoming a toddler? Thanks <3

Sure thing! I’m kind of bad at writing about children so I’m gonna go with the first one, it’s a cute idea :3

Eisuke yawned while walking down the stairs to the main floor of the suite. Faintly, he smelled bacon and a sweet scent of… oranges? After getting downstairs, revealed in front of him was the bidders gathered around a table. 

Ota was the first to speak up, “Hope your hungry, there’s plenty to eat!”

Beside Ota was Baba, stuffing his face with toast. Baba made a satisfied mumble with his mouth full. Hesitantly, Eisuke made his way over to the table and sat down next to Soryu, who was sipping a glass of orange juice.

“Where did all this come from?” Eisuke asked, a suspicious glare on his face. 

“From the kid, she made it for us. She said it was thanks for letting her off the hook last week.” Mamoru piped up. The looks on all their faces said that the breakfast was very delicious. 

“She did wha-” But Eisuke was cut off by the door to the suite opening and her walking in with a tray of biscuits, 

“Oh hey Eisuke! Would you li-”

“Did you make all of this?” he asks sharply.

“Y-yes… I didn’t want to wake you up so they came to eat when they smelled the food. I made extras for them.” she explained. 

Suddenly, Eisuke’s hands grabbed everyone’s plates and the trays of food on put them on his side of the table, leaving everyone without their food. Eisuke sat back down in his seat, a triumphant smirk plastered on his face.

“Hey, what the hell?” Mamoru asks. 

“What are you doing?!” Baba yells at him, a single piece of toast in hand. 

“You heard the woman, this was made for me. Back off, beggars.” Eisuke retorted sharply. 

“Uh…” Ota says, more confused than ever that suddenly his plate had disappeared.

It was Soryu who stood up from his seat wordlessly, and left the room. But not before grabbing a biscuit off the tray she was holding. 

“Hey you better be willing to compensate for that, whatever she makes is my property!”

The rest of the guys laugh and get up to leave the room. Then all that was left was her, Eisuke, and a small banquets worth of food.