#teaspoon girl part 4

[lanasfavorite-daughter]

•°•Hot Girl Tips•°•

Hydrogen peroxide removes period stains

Rubbing alcohol and/or hand sanitizer removes nail polish

The amount of water you need to drink= your weight÷2, then that number÷8 so for example 100÷2=50÷8=6.25 so if you weigh 100 pounds you would need at least six 8oz glasses of water per day

Sugar wax>>> here's a recipe: 1 cup of white sugar, 1/4 cup of water, 1/4 cup of lemon juice (lime works too) combine the ingredients in a saucepan and let them boil until golden brown. The easiest way to test the wax is to have a small bowl of ice water and drop a little bit of the wax into it. When the wax is ready, you'll be able to roll it into a soft ball and it will keep its shape. When this consistency is reached, put it in a glass jar (make sure the jar isn't cold otherwise it will crack) and let it cool off for at least an hour. Once cool, apply it in the opposite direction of hair growth and wax awayyyy

Diy cuticle oil: olive oil and vitamin E oil. You could add a drop or two of essential oil if you want. The amount of oil you need depends on your container so for mine it was a tablespoon of olive oil and 1 teaspoon of vitamin E.

Diy dry shampoo: 3 parts cornstarch and 1 part baking soda.

Healthy drink to ease bloating and get in your vitamins and minerals: 1/2 cucumber, a few sticks of celery, kale or another dark green of your choice, lemon juice, turmeric (a little goes a long way) and ginger. Fresh is best but any ginger you have will work. Fill the blender to the max line with water, and blend until liquid. You can strain it if you want, but you don't have to. It doesn't taste great, but in the long run it is worth ittt

Smelling good is such a wonderful thing for so many reasons. First, pick a scent. Or at the very least a top 3 like I have: vanilla, Dior Blooming Bouquet, and Sol De Janeiro '68. I also use the classic scent from Soap and Glory (rose and bergamot). The first and most important thing is to find a good deodorant. Which one works for you depends on your body chemistry, but dove is always a safe bet :). Next, find a good shower routine. Having all of your shower products smell similar will keep the scent lasting longer. And, of course, shower at least every other day. Washing your hair is different bc your hair washing routine depends on your hair type. And of course you must find a body lotion that matches your other shower products.

Last and final tip for today: keep your nails and hands healthy and pretty by moisturizing your hands with hand cream. I like this one by Burts bees, this one from Eucerin, and this one from Dior (pricey I know but it's w o r t h itt).

That's it! Tysm

[row-of-ribbons]

Dream Girl Diary intro 4/5: skincare + my skin care secrets

Hey there, lovely ladies! Welcome back to my Dream Girl Guide intro. Today, let's chat about skincare. I know it can be overwhelming with everyone talking about which products to use, but don't worry - you don't have to buy everything that's trending. Just remember to enjoy every moment and embrace your womanhood with grace and elegance.

I'll definitely break it down in a simple way and share some of my favorite skincare tips with you!

1# Overuse of products

One of the primary reasons for your breakouts could be the result of using an excessive number of skincare products. Overloading your skin with various products can suffocate it and hinder the effectiveness of the treatment. It's important to allow your skin time to benefit from the skincare routine by not overwhelming it with too many products. sometimes simple is best

2#Expansivee does not always mean better

I'm certain you've heard about dupes—I personally like them. But were you aware that sometimes the dupe is produced by the same company under a generic name, or that sometimes the dupe outperforms the original? (Not to say you should only opt for dupes if you don't want to.) Occasionally, it's worth investing in the original, like The Ordinary AHA BHA serum. I have complete faith in their brand, and it's perfectly formulated.

3# Use what you actually need for your skin

stop following trends and pause, think about what your skin needs there is no point of buying a cleanser that's abrasive with harsh ingredients (acids and exfoliators) if you have sensitive skin. what works for others might not work for you. take some time out of your day and research your skin. look in the mirror and identify your skin problems.

4#Your diet plays a part

Maybe you are doing everything right; perhaps Remember that improving your skin health is not just about the products you use. It's also about what you consume. you understand the deep depths of skincare and know what to do. But, honey, your diet sucks. You're eating fried food, soda, and sweets, and that throws off your pH, and hormones, thus affecting your skin. I know that clean eating is hard to do, given that everyone's finances are different. If there is a change you can make, like drinking more water or not eating as many sweets, then you could try that. Stress can also affect your hormones and make you crave other things that are not good for you. Learning stress management is also important.

now my skincare tips

Make your own toner by steeping rose petals in green tea. Store for a week in a cool place or 3 days at room temperature.

In the morning, I always use a silicone mold facial icer filled with water and lemon juice instead of a regular ice cube. This way, I get an extra dose of vitamin C to start my day right.

I strive to derma-plane my face once a week, then use a mud mask with Aztec clay and apple cider vinegar to cleanse my skin. Remember to wash your face with a gentle cleanser before applying the mud mask and use 2-4 teaspoons of vinegar to avoid irritation after exfoliation.

=XOXOXO

[thebluestbluewords]

Jane’s Recipe Blog: Summer Birthday Cake

(irl recipe is modified from weekend at the cottage Harvey Wallbanger Cake)

Magic Mix Orange Liqueur Cake

posted by user: Sugar

to: sugarandspikes.auradon.blog 

date: 27 of June, Summer 

Summertime, and the living is busy! I don't know about you, but between my school and my family, I've spent 72 of the last 78 hours running around like a chicken with my head cut off.

the girls are enjoying the summer weather at least! My roommate's boyfriend brought home another crate of chicks for the flock last week. We're being overrun with eggs. Expect more eggy recipes very soon!!

If you're anything like me, summer is the busiest time of year. School programs for me and Spikes are both picking up the pace with our summer service hours, and I've got my roommate and her boyfriend home all the time while they're on break. It's great having the extra hands around the house, but it also means that we've been visiting and hosting family and friends basically non-stop since the summer started. 

I love baking. I love my family. I love watching my family enjoy my baking. But do you know what I don't love? 

Missing out on those special summer moments because I'm spending every moment I'm home in the kitchen. 

That's why this is the absolute easiest-ever summer cake. It's moist, soft, and packed full of the most delicious orange flavor. The orange glaze is easy to whip up in a few minutes, and it's a great excuse to buy a new whisk!

Check out my lemon bars recipe post for the story of how my last whisk died 😱

The non-stick coating on my new whisk makes it great for whipping up glazes, syrups, honeys, and other sticky sauces. Once things calm down, I'm thinking of making a lavender-infused honey glaze to put on my lemon poppy seed muffins for that little extra touch of sweetness. 

And speaking of nonstick, the coating on the whisk makes it non-magnetic! Which is GREAT if you're like me and hosting any fairy friends this summer. Magnetic fields play havoc with flower fairy equilibrium. It's cool to be kind to our neighbors and avoid cooking with magnets when you're making treats for non-humanoids. 

That being said, this cake doesn't involve any time boiling hot syrups, which makes it perfect for hot days like we've been having in Auradon lately. It also goes perfectly with a cold glass of lemonade, or a cup of iced ginger tea. The orange in the cake will meld great with lemon or ginger flavors, or provide a beautiful contrast to some black coffee, if you're just trying to get through the day 🙃

Sugar Says: 

Watch your oven temp on this one - it's easy to underbake and end up with a cake that's still soggy in the middle. 

If you like a more flavorful glaze, add an extra splash of vanilla to your mix. If you're serving this to kids, omit the vodka and swap for equal parts water or orange juice. (coconut water is also a delicious swap!) 

Make sure to double check the size of your boxed cake mix BEFORE you add it to the bowl! A double size box mix may look good to your eyes, but it'll look a lot less good when it overflows your bowl and takes over your entire kitchen. 

Spikes Says: 

Why are there like four cups of booze in the cake??

I don't think it's fair to tell the kids they can't have this 

We need to make a chocolate version of this STAT.

Sugar Says:

Magic Mix Chocolate Cherry Rum cake is going on the test kitchen list for the holidays!

THE RECIPE:

INGREDIENTS

For the cake:

1 box deluxe yellow cake mix

1 package vanilla flavoured cooked pudding and pie filling

1 cup canola oil

3/4 cup orange juice, fresh or from concentrate 

1/4 cup vodka

1/4 cup Galliano liqueur

4 eggs 

Softened butter (for pan) 

For the glaze:

1 1/2 cup icing sugar

1 tablespoon orange juice 

1 tablespoon Galliano liqueur

1 teaspoon vodka

DIRECTIONS

Preheat the oven to 350°F. 

Grease a Bundt pan. Or a regular cake pan. I’m not your mom. A cupcake tin will also work, but know that this case doesn’t rise a ton, so you may need to fill your cupcakes higher than usual to compensate. 

Add the cake mix and pudding mix into a medium-sized bowl. 

Add oil, orange juice, vodka, Galliano, and eggs. A stand mixer will make this step easier, or you can conscript your boyfriend into mixing it at a low steady speed for 2 minutes 🙂

Pour the cake mixture into the prepared pan. Tap the pan on the counter to pop any bubbles in the batter.

Bake for 50 to 60 minutes. A toothpick inserted in the center should come out clean. 

Let the cake cool. This step is essential. Fend off any partners who want to eat the cake hot out of the pan. Let cool about 20 minutes, or one really vicious round of Uno.

Once cake is partially cool, gently loosen the edges. Invert onto a plate. 

Let the cake cool completely at room temperature (about 3-4 hours) before frosting. Do not try and hide the cake in the freezer. It will not work. They will eat it anyway and you’ll have to start over. 

To glaze: 

Mix the icing sugar, orange juice, Galliano liqueur and vodka until the mixture is smooth. Add more orange juice just a few drops at a time to achieve a thinner consistency. 

Drizzle the glaze over the cake. Allow time for glaze to set before eating. 

[greenerteacups]

So, because I definitely care a Normal Amount ™ about Lionheart, I went back and re-read the entire thing in preparation for the last chapter of Book 4. It was such an interesting exercise because while I love reading serialized fiction (it's such a core part of what makes fanfic amazing) - it really does hit differently when you look at the story up until this point in it's entirety. (I could go on absolutely unhinged tangents about how much the way you have adjusted canon that just scratches the excema in my brain.)

However- on this re-read, the line that Draco says when he and Hermione have their seminal discussion in the owlery snagged my mind and I can't stop thinking about how Draco accuses Hermione of liking the fact that he's meaner than she is. Because on one hand - yes? He absolutely has less of a sense than she does about Right Decisions, because she always wants to do the "right" thing, but objectively its not always the right thing to do - its just moral relativism rearing its old ugly head again. But on the other hand, he's completely wrong because Hermione (at least in the original books) has this enormous capacity for cruelty that shes not even aware of - partially because girly does not have a single ounce of tact, but also because she wasn't brought up in the wizarding world. She lacks some of the context and cultural clues that allow characters like Draco and Daphne to navigate with an ease she likely envies. And while all the Slytherin bbs have high IQs and low EQs, I think they also are hyper aware of personal standing, so I could easily see Hermione blithely insulting someone without realizing it and completely RUINING their day/month/year etc.

I'm curious if you've thought any more about this dynamic between D/H - and what they think of the others capacity for mean-ness and cruelty??

YES! To all! Especially the bit about Hermione having "an enormous capacity for cruelty that she's not aware of," because yes, that's pretty much one of her cardinal faults as a character — the insidious combination of (a) not really prioritizing other people's feelings if/when they conflict with something Hermione wants or feels, and (b) not being at all aware that she has that quality, and in fact believing herself to be the most emotionally intelligent member of the Trio. (Remember "emotional range of a teaspoon"? I burst out laughing when that happened, because like... girl. The call is coming from inside the house.) At the same time, she's smart enough to recognize when other people are unkind or tactless, so there's this beautifully intricate hypocrisy to how she understands her own emotional intelligence — her pride and arrogance blind her to ways that she neglects others, but her sincere generosity, kindness, and desperate yearning to be helpful and good to other people actually do allow her to see when other people are bad at it, as well as propel her to... well... try. It's a really interesting combination. Hermione is so much fun.

I wouldn't characterize that as cruelty, though, and to an extent it's not necessarily meanness — not in the way that Draco's talking about in that conversation, anyway. Firstly, as a caveat, Draco is in the middle of a fight when he accuses Hermione of liking the fact that he's mean, so I don't think he's altogether sincere about it; I think if you asked him in a moment of repose, he would have a more measured and generous interpretation on their dynamic, even though he's not necessarily wrong. Rather, I think what Draco said is a very inelegant way of pointing out how Hermione uses Draco as a moral backboard: she enjoys the moral high ground, does Granger, and Draco is almost always completely happy to cede it to her. Being around Draco makes her feel like a Good Gryffindor, because while he matches and challenges her intellect/ambition/drive, she gives him direction and moral focus, which is a role he's explicitly told her she plays on multiple counts, and which she's expressed insecurity about in the past (their fireside conversation about "am I good?" and what that means — the idea of capital-G Goodness, and how it becomes increasingly difficult to find as you leave childhood, is one of the tenets of Hermione's arc.)

Secondly, I think Draco is just meaner than Hermione because when he is mean, he does it on purpose. One of the earliest moments of bonding that they ever have as people comes from Draco making fun of Ron's performance in Charms (while imitating his accent, to add insult). Hermione doesn't make the joke herself — but she does laugh at it. She finds it funny. Of course, that's before she's friends with Ron, and she has about 500,000 words of personal growth in front of her, but she still enjoys Draco's dry humor and his attention to detail, both of which he not infrequently uses to make fun of people on purpose. Draco knows this, and he likes amusing her, and sometimes he'll actively make a mean joke because he knows she finds it funny, and because he knows she won't make it herself. They're not the most likable people in the world.

Hermione may not have the same social graces as people born in the magical world, but when she insults people, she usually does it on accident, out of tactlessness, or because they've (in her eyes) well and truly earned it. She doesn't go out of her way to pick on people who haven't asked for it first, and I would go so far as to say her moral compass bars her from it. That's part of what Draco means when he claims to be the worse person, and while he's being wildly uncharitable in that argument, not to mention just an all-around arsehole, he is also a licensed expert on the particular subject of his relationship with Hermione Granger. He knows their dynamic very well, and she knows it.

[seafoamtor]

Some Surtr (FGO) appreciation

1. I loove how detached Surtr is from the whole ‘humanity as a species’ concept.

Ophelia reacts like this is a cheeky comment, but he genuinely cannot tell human’s apart by their faces alone! It’s the whole reason he categorizes Mash as ‘Shield Girl’, he needs some other factors to differentiate them....Mash with her shield, Napoleon with his annoying-ass comments, Ophelia by her eye and their contract...And it makes perfect sense! He never met a human in his life before Ophelia (spent his time guarding Muspelheim with only the Sons of Muspel as its inhabitants, no-one ever visits or leaves, in no small part maybe bc of Surtr sitting guard) much less multiple ones, and only really ‘meets’ other people at Ragnarok when it’s killing time, but even then it’s only Jötnar and the Gods and at the most dead souls but he’s not really involved with fighting them (his one singled out opponent is Freyr, a god, before he starts flinging fire everywhere). Imagine spending your life as a human observing birds and deer and stuff and hunting them a bit, only to suddenly be dropped into the body of an ant and being asked to differentiate between other ants. The dialogue may feel a bit awkward, but you see it further in one of his other conversations with Ophelia:

(And while it’s implied in the logical conjecture, I feel other translations make it a bit more clear that he’s referring to Sigurd’s memories specifically here) Sure, the dialogue itself it probably meant to make a point about ‘oh, women + feelings stereotypes’ but given Surtr’s character as a whole it just comes across as someone who has no familiarity with humans as a species and human society making a really basic observation...Like: analyizing Ophelia’s expression + comparing it to others in the Sigurd database + matches found, categorized as ‘women’ = Ophelia categorized as ‘woman’ -> showing off his ‘I recognize that reference’ game.  (Unrelated, but while my own Japanese skills are not up to the task, if you compare the official translation with some other fantranslations released before it, you can’t help but notice that there are some instances where it seemingly ramped up the whole ‘remember how Ophelia is a woman? Well, so do all the characters and will not talk about anything else’ a bit, yes, also in the case of Surtr)

Also it’s kind of adorable sometimes, okay? Especially when it makes him seem a bit gullible.

 2. He’s really perceptive, not just a meathead! I’m sure that you’re probably at least in part supposed to put it down to the whole ‘higher existence so automatically knowing and perceiving more about the world’ trend but don’t care didn’t ask. Immediately recognizing not only Mash but also Holmes as something mixed, sneakily mindcontrolling/influencing Ophelia from the beginning (much as I may disagree with the narrative choice itself), noticing the boost from the Counter-Force to Napoleon, trying his best to parse out Ophelia’s emotional state and insecurities despite having the emotional finesse of a teaspoon...

3. He’s an equal opportunity hater.

Is he wrong? Given just how closely tied together Gods and Humanity are, and how often the conflict is about how the Gods are too controlling and humanity has outgrown them etc., it’s kind of refreshing to have a character that just goes ‘actually both of you suck’.

4. Supportive King!

‘Did you already know how awesome Ophelia’s mystic eye ist?’; [Ophelia panicking] ‘How is it possible for her to do that?!’ [Surtr immediately explaining how it’s possible for her to do that]

5. Apart from his endgoal (and the whole ‘actually he was influencing her from the start!’ bc that’s stupid) Surtr and Ophelia actually do have a fairly functional working relationship? Yes, Ophelia makes it a point remind him that it’s pure business and not to try and get too chummy (which is one of her primary issues in general, the whole mage-sona vs what she actually wants to do and be), and ‘maybe please don’t just opt for killing everyone?’, but aside from that, fairly often they are in accord? Ophelia tries so hard to act as the restraining influence but as soon as someone annoys her she’s immediately all in for murder, fuck what Skadi said actually:

I mean, this is basically Ophelia wink-wink-nudge-nudging Surtr ‘Hey, don’t kill them. Accidents can always happen, but make sure to at least not kill Mash.’ When Surtr does come to her with genuine complaints and questions about their task she does readily give an explanation; she is ready to acknowledge when she does have to loosen the reins a bit (ie releasing his limiters) and as much as the whole knight-tshtick may be a bit of play-acting for Surtr, he does take the act serious and reigns himself in whenever Ophelia reprimands him (and tries to make up for it, in his way, when he apparently messed up a bit).

6. His outdated mode of speech (sometimes a bit lost in translation :(...). Go old man, give us that ‘Alas’! Also just some of the stuff he says in general, big fan of when he does that.

While it does feel a bit more inconsistent in the official translation there’s still more than enough left to make the point, I feel. Anyway, very much reminded me of this post:

7. The violence of course. Both how he conceptualizes himself as a being of pure destruction (and isn’t even wrong about that, per se) and how in part flowing from that he’s just ready to start killing at the drop of a hat. Very iconic of him to just cut Holmes in half, bit of a flop that he ultimately wasn’t allowed to kill anyone though :( Give him his enrichment :( Tfw your love language is murder but your mage won’t let you kill...

[askwhatsforlunch]

Ota Ika (Tongan Fish Salad)

As the Tongan Ikale Tahi (Sea Eagles) are playing their last World Cup 2023 game right now, I am celebrating this mighty team --which I was fortunate enough to watch play at the Vélodrome in Marseille with my girl last Sunday, and show grit and a powerful opposition to the Springboks!-- with a deliciously refreshing Ota Ika. This fish salad marinates in lime juice, before stirring in creamy coconut milk. It's just beautiful! Happy Sunday!

Ingredients (serves 2):

1/3 hot chili pepper

1/4 onion

1/3 cucumber, rinsed

300 grams/10.5 ounces fresh fish (I used the bottom part of a salmon side)

a small bunch Garden Chives 

a small bunch Garden Chervil

1 lime

1/4 teaspoon fleur de sel or sea salt flakes

1/2 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

2/3 cup coconut milk

1 small, firm tomato, rinsed

Thinly slice hot chili pepper and add to a medium bowl.

Finely chop onion quarter, and add to the bowl.

Halve cucumber, and cut into slices. Add to the bowl, and give a good stir.

Remove the skin off the salmon, and cut into chunky cubes; add to the bowl.

Finely chop Chives and Chervil. Add to the bowl, too. Grate in the zest of half the lime. Season with fleur de sel and black pepper.

then, thoroughly squeeze in the juice of the whole lime. Toss gently, but well, to mix.

Place in the refrigerator, and allow to marinate, 45 minutes.

Stir in coconut milk. Dice tomato, and stir into the bowl as well. Return to the refrigerator, a further 15 minutes.

Serve Ota Ika well-chilled.

Tonga vs. South Africa (49-18), Sunday 1st October, Marseille, France

[jeanjauthor]

In a couple of weeks, we'll be babysitting a 1st grader and a 4th grader for a few hours before their mother can get off work and pick them up.

I'm going to be teaching them how to make fresh pasta AND make pasta soup with it, letting them pick the seasonings and the vegetables and how much meat, etc.

Since they're picky eaters, I figured the best way to get them to understand that vegetables = flavor and herbs = flavor is to make 3 soups. One for each of them and one for myself.

(Why 3? In part because I need to use up the wheat flour that only I alone in my household can eat, since the other two remaining family members have celiac disease and thus cannot enjoy wheat flour noodles...and 1 egg mixed into flour makes enough pasta for 3 people.)

Anyway, for my soup, I'll be adding vegetables and herbs and stuff. I'll also let the girls pick herbs to mix into their pasta dough if they like...but they probably won't. And this is where I'll get eeeviiiilllll.

I'll have them try my soup and see if they like its flavor better than what they chose for their own soups. (I will not be making extra spicy stuff, just using things that add flavor.)

...For anyone who is interested in making their own pasta, here's how I do it...and yes, it works for gluten-free flours as well as wheat flour! (I just have a lot of wheat flour left over that needs to be used up, now that my sis has celiac and our father has passed away--don't worry, he was in his mid-80s, so it wasn't a surprise...and he had outlived multiple doctors' predictions by over double what they'd thought.)

Anyway, you take an egg, you shake a little bit of salt onto it (maaaybe 1/8 to 1/4 of a teaspoon) beat it up until it's all mixed (this helps incorporate the salt throughout the dough that much better), then you put flour into the bowl and mix that.

How much flour? Start with an egg-sized amount, and then add a little bit more at a time, mixing until it becomes dough. You can leave it on the sticky side for a little while when you let it rest.

For gluten-based flours (wheat, rye, barley), you'll want it to "rest" for a little bit to allow proper hydration AND to allow the gluten proteins to uncurl and stretch out. This allows the wheat (etc) pasta to "stretch" better, because the gluten proteins are providing that stretch. One way to think of it is all these tight curled-up proteins need to relax via being hydrated--aka "rest" while moisturizing (lol, spa daaaay!)--in order to unfurl.

For gluten-free flours, you can let rest a little while so that it can hydrate properly...but you can also just start working it right away. Rice flour in particular needs time to soak up moisture, which is why a lot of rice noodles and rice wrappers say "soak in water for X minutes, drain and set aside for Y minutes, then use." This is because it doesn't take much water; it just takes time for the water to be absorbed. The egg provides the binder and some of the stretch, though that can be augmented by additives like xanthan gum, and by using tapioca starch flour.

(I always caution against using tapioca flour to make gravies as it comes out the consistency of ectoplasmic snot a la the first Ghostbusters movie. Great for a Halloween-themed party, not so great for a regular meal if you want gravy... but absolutely wonderful when making pao de queijo, aka Brazilian Cheese Bread!)

Also, if you wish to add herbs and spices, NOW is the time to do so. I strongly recommend using dried herbs, and use a mortar-and-pestle (or a coffee grinder that's been dedicated strictly to processing herbs & spices) to grind them up fine. If you're going the fresh herb route, mince them as fine as you possibly can, and be mindful that they will add moisture to the dough.

Anyway, when you're ready to roll out the dough, if it's still sticky, you can add more flour, but usually that's on a floured surface as you work it and roll it out, so that problem often takes care of itself.

...If you're working with gluten-free dough, the best way to roll it out is between two sheets of plastic wrap or waxed paper (not just unwaxed baking parchment). This method is very useful for making gluten-free pie dough as the pie will crumble if handled like a wheat flour dough, so you use the plastic wrap to maneuver the dough into position. (I've been learning how to cook gluten-free for my mother's sake, and now my sister's as well, for literal decades. We started in 1992 when mum was diagnosed, which was a full decade before the GF craze started to emerge, so I had to learn how to make this stuff from scratch, way back then.)

Anyway, get your dough rolled out as thin as you can manage. Remember that it will swell and thicken once it is boiled! It's hard to roll out pasta dough by hand (I don't have a roller machine, and it would probably fail with the gluten free dough anyway), but it can be done. You can then use a knife (being mindful of the surfaces underneath) to cut or score the dough. Oddly enough, a butter knife works great for this; it doesn't always have to be sharp!

At that point, you keep the pieces separated so that they don't end up sticking together, and then you use them. Boil some lightly salted water, add a little splash of oil or knob of butter to the water (to help the noodles keep from sticking), add them to the pot, and cook until done. (i cannot tell you how long that takes because it varies by the size, shape, thickness of the noodles, etc.) Usually it does NOT take as long as dried pasta...but in many cases, thanks to the egg proteins thickening and binding the flour together, you can actually boil pasta for quite a while before it dissolves. (It will also NOT be al dente like dried pasta; you put it in fresh, after all!)

If you want to dry your pasta for storage (this is a great way to preserve eggs when you have too many, btw), do not put fresh herbs into it; if you want herbs in your pasta, used dried herbs. Also, do not expect perfectly flat noodles like you'd get out of a box at the grocery store. Those are machine extruded and specially dried in one long motion on a conveyor belt, etc, under controlled conditions. The best way to preserve long straight noodles with minimal storage fuss is to gently coil them into a "bird's nest" or donut shape, and dry that.

Be mindful that fresh pasta will not hold a pinched or curled shape very well. It is best used for flat noodles or for dumpling style lumps. If you want pasta in fancy shapes, they will need to be dried. You can do this in several ways:

If you have a dehydrator, great! Use its recommended settings, and you can look up drying times online, etc.

If you don't have a dehydrator, but do have an oven and can afford the electricity bill, set the oven on the LOWEST setting (usually 170F, or "Warm") and if you can, keep the door cracked for air circulation and to help keep an eye on it. Check online for drying times, set timers, and check it at intervals to turn it over, etc.

And if nothing else, set the pasta on a tray and leave them in a warm place with a bit of air circulation. (If you want straight noodles, you can try draping them over a dowel rod to air dry, but be mindful that GF noodles will break under their own weight with this method, as xanthan gum, etc, do not provide enough "stretch" for the noodles to remain intact.) You can put an electric fan in front of your pasta to help dry it, and you'll want to remember to turn it over after a while if it's on a tray.

Once it's completely dry, it should "snap" nicely, and the thickest parts should look dry. If they're not, they'll be slightly darker inside. (Note: gluten-free pasta dough does not snap as loudly as wheat pasta does, due to the delicacy of the pasta dough.)

On the bright side, aside from the oven method (the drying temperature should be lower, technically), you cannot over-dry your pasta! If you're super-duper concerned about egg safety, drying it at 170F will solve that, as the safe cooking temperature for eggs is 165F. However, dehydration is also a method of killing pathogens, so you're still good! (Plus the whole boiling the pasta later does its own thing, too.)

That's literally it. Fresh, homemade pasta is super simple, and here's the TL;DR version:

Beat an egg with a little salt, add flour (and dried herbs?) until it forms a dough, roll it out, cut it, (dry it?), boil it, and enjoy it!

...Honestly, the hardest part for our ancestors was grinding the flour fine enough so that the pasta didn't threaten to fall apart from lack of cohesion due to grainy-ness.

(Also, one last bit of gluten-free weirdness that actually turned out to be great: you can make GF lasagna by using corn tortillas in place of lasagna noodles! We have shallow ceramic dishes that are like a single-serving pot pie in size that juuust fit the standard 6 inch corn tortillas, like you can buy in bulk at Costco. I was trying to make lasagna one night and forgot to check if we had GF noodles...which we did not. I thought about the hassle of making the dough, which would add another several minutes and I was already running late...when I realized, heyyyyy, tortillas! XD It turned out so good, I've been under orders to "do it again, soon!!" In fact, unless plans change in the next six hours, that's tonight's dinner!)

"pasta only fills you up with empty calories" have you considered that it also fills me with love

[crispyfryenperu]

Normal Midnight Chaos

It’s 12: 16 am. I am sitting in my dusty bed under my dusty mosquito net in my dusty town which I at once adore and is the bain of my existence. I am listening to my host mom softly snore from across the hallway (our bedrooms have windows to the inside of the house so you can always hear everyone). I am surfing youtube and happily settle on 1989 the album. Taylor’s Version was announced today to come out in October. I am excited, I can remember so clearly blaring every song with Julia and Antonia, we had just graduated high school and thought we were so cool.

This race in Newhall was awesome- it was so rainy and so many varsity girls fell down the hill. Everyone was covered in mud and soaked to the bone. Then they cut out the muddy/hilly part for the varsity boys race which was afterwards. (losers)

Today was a strange day, although not unusual. All in all a typical Peace Corps day. Unlike most midnights, I am enjoying my 25 gigabytes a month to listen to 1989 and type up a hopefully-quality-blogpost. I can’t sleep. Possibly because of the brownies I made today with Ryan. Usually sugar doesn’t affect my body but I guess I ate too many (just 5?) brownies. I’ll blame the “chocolate-flavored chips” that we use for their cheap price. Who knows what those are made of. Or maybe it’s because I drank one teaspoon of instant coffee today. Or maybe it’s because there are so many striking, beautiful moments in my days, and also so many startling, uncomfortable moments. In addition recently we had a tragedy over here in Peru.

First I’ll tell you about my day. I woke up took out my retainers and opened my door… there was my 5-month old teenage kitten meowing at me right away. Michicucho followed me as I drank some boiled water - there was no milk :/ and ate a piece of french bread with REAL BUTTER!! I made my bed (wow!) and got out some baking items. Ryan Reynolds (I recently turned in a report and didn’t realize I referred to my site partner as Ryan Reynolds in it. His last name in Lenhart.) Ryan Reynolds showed up at 9:45 am to bake some brownies - despite being in Calango almost a full year this is probably only the second time we hang out just the two of us outside of work. So we talked about Peru and Peace Corps and our expectations vs reality. We are both happy to be growing as people and learning new perspectives and ways of life. I hadn’t wanted a site mate but in the end I’m grateful that Ryan is here!

Now Peruvian ovens are tricky - they usually don’t reach as high temperatures so you need to bake your goods for a long time. Once they were finally done it was lunch time! After I ate 5 brownies and Ryan licked the bowl, he left with most of the brownies. My host mom came home with rice, mashed potatoes, and chicken soup from the comedor popular (like a soup kitchen). I made a lemonade - I can never get the lemon to sugar ratio perfect enough for my host brother! At this point I just try my best, there isn’t more I can do. And my host mom made me a fried egg to eat with the rice and potatoes. I’ve changed in a year because I did enjoy this lunch.

 Throughout the morning I was also checking in with my host mom and counterparts, because I had a meeting with the mayor at 12, but he was at a reservoir inauguration so i had to wait for him and my counterparts to return. After lunch (2 pm) I went to the municipality to wait for them. Finally I was able to present my community project at about 4 or 4:30 pm. Unfortunately, they are stressed, busy, and understaffed, so I was rushed through my presentation. My counterparts weren’t able to come because they had other work to do, in the room nextdoor, as well as because the timing was so impromptu. But the project was accepted. I mean, I’ll be applying to a Peace Corps grant, so who wouldn’t accept free outside money.  Then I tried to have a small meeting with my counterparts to assign some responsibilities in the project and agree on a timeline. But it’s pretty much iMPOSSIBLE to get even 3 of them in the same room for more than 7 minutes. Then I walked 30 seconds to one of my friends house’s to bs about work and life. We walked up towards a bakery by my house to drown my sorrows in some warm french bread. Then I came home, managed to open my front door with the key - We recently changed the lock and I haven’t been able to open it all week. I shared brownies with my host mom and brother, held my crazy cat, and watched my favorite tv show Al Fondo Hay Sitio. But in Al Fondo Hay Sitio there are some really idiotic characters, and today showcased characters who were racist or classist. So it was making me angry. Then I spoke with my creative and lovely friends Alex and Carmen on googlemeet (weird), and finally to my parents. Even though family can be so frustrating sometimes, FaceTiming my parents always brings me joy.

I put my laptop and myself under my thick blankets in case my typing is bothering my host mom. It’s now 12:41 am. Fortunately most people in Peru are very used to loud noise all over the place. So I’m probably fine. Actually the acceptable public loudness in Peru is one thing that I … hate. 

Everything I did today was pretty trivial, so why did I bother sharing it? Well, it just had so many moments of joy and hope. and so many moments of frustration, sadness, or anger. I think it all felt exaggerated in my mind due to the fake-chocolate-drugged brownies (am I old or allergic?)  Regardless, I finally felt today that my community project makes sense. All of the puzzle pieces came together. But there is also so little support for it. The people I am looking for don’t have a lot of time to give me. I can’t blame them for not wanting to do extra work which isn’t even in their job description. 

I was going to talk about TRAGEDY in this post but it’s already a post on it’s own! Looks like that’ll be coming up. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly okay. And so is everyone I love. 

12:57 am. Hopefully now I can sleep deeply.

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Half a noodle - the teaspoon girl pt 4

A witch turns Y/N into a teaspoon sized woman, and Sam and Dean has to make sure she doesn’t get squashed – and find a cure.

Word count: 3453

Have another part – this one is a bit longer than the others. Hopefully part five isn’t too far away (I’m sorry – I’m a slow writer).

Also, thanks for the idea, @mrswhozeewhatsis :D Not quite what you had in mind, perhaps, but...

Please let me know what you think – and remember that I’m not English. Also let me know if you want on – or off – my tag list.

From part three:

“Fuckin’ Barbie,” she muttered, but she picked up a few garments anyway. Her old clothes were so dirty she couldn’t wear them anymore – the stench was becoming unbearable.

“Turn around,” she instructed, waving her arms in Sam’s direction. He chuckled, but did as she asked. After pulling her filthy shirt over her head, she retched again and trembled violently. “Ugh, I smell like The Bog of Eternal Stench! Oh my god, what’s this? Seriously, Sam?” She’d picked up a sweater with a white and purple unicorn printed on the front.

“Sorry. As I said, limited choice. Wasn’t exactly a huge store. But the lady behind the counter was certain that ‘my daughter would be delighted’,” he replied, fighting to keep his voice straight.

When Y/N didn’t say anything else, he took the chance on turning around again. She’d donned the unicorn sweater, and was admiring herself in the reflection on his phone. If he ignored the matted hair and grimy clumps of whatever on her face, she looked adorable.

“There was more in the bag too,” he said, clearing his throat and swallowing the snort that was building in his chest. Lifting up the heap of clothes, he revealed a small pile of plastic that scattered over the table: a small glass, a set of cutlery, and an ornate hairbrush.

Dean howled with laughter, no longer able to keep it in.

Ignoring him, Y/N examined the items. Sure, they were plastic, but at least she didn’t have to drink out of her hands.

“I’ve got one last surprise,” Sam said, pulling a small packet out of his pocket. “I figured you didn’t want to go around unarmed, so I got this made for you.”

Y/N tore off the paper to reveal a sword fashioned from what looked like a needle.

“It’s silver. Probably won’t do much damage, but -”

“It’s perfect. Thank you!” Y/N hugged him around the wrist.

“I was thinking,” Dean said with a weird expression after he’d calmed down enough o speak.

“Never a good thing,” Sam muttered just loud enough for Y/N to hear, and she burst out giggling.

Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. This,” he held up a small box, “is probably big enough for you to sleep in. Just tuck in a bit of… I don’t know, a wash cloth or something to make a mattress.”

“That’s… actually not a bad idea,” Y/N replied. She recognised it as the gift box she’d used to wrap the book she’d given Sam for his birthday, and a small part of her was ecstatic to sleep in something belonging to him. Another part flailed a bit when she realised he’d kept the box.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed with an awkward cough. “Just gotta empty out all the shit I keep in it.” He grabbed the box and practically leapt over to his bag and turned it upside down.

Dean being Dean snickered and stretched his neck to see, but Sam shielded the contents with his body.

“Ooh… What’cha keepin’ in there, Sammy?” Dean sang.

“Just… stuff,” Sam said, trying to keep his cool, but he felt heat creeping across his face. He had filled the box with small trinkets and mementos; a pressed flower and a crumpled paper with addresses to interesting shops, the polaroid that he’d taken of Y/N that sunny day in the park, a couple of ticket stubs from the case with the theatre – she’d been so excited to finally see Shakespeare on stage, even if that particular stage had turned out to be haunted, the sea shell that glinted when he turned it against the light – he had plans for that sea shell, and Dean was not going to spoil them, and finally: the friendship bracelets Y/N had braided when she was sick and stuck in the motel while Sam and Dean finished the job. They were just made for fun, and he suspected she’d wanted to throw them away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Let me see,” Dean continued, but Sam zipped up the bag too fast.

“No.” He took a deep breath before turning back around. “Here, you can use this as a blanket if you want.” He dropped a piece of patterned fabric on the table.

It was a silk handkerchief he’d used once, when they had had to pose as snotty, rich people for a case.

Blinking a couple of times, Y/N smiled up at him. “Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be great.” She picked it up and rubbed her face on it. It was so soft, and still smelled faintly of that cologne Sam used when they had to dress up. Yeah, it would work fine, though when she thought about it, she realised that she might not get much sleep after all.

“Gonna put the box, sorry, bed on the bedside table for you,” Dean said. “So you feel safer at night.”

Not quite knowing how to respond, Y/N put up and exaggerated look of awe. “So you do know how to be sweet?”

Dean scoffed. “Sometimes. When the situation calls for it. Shut up.” He pretended to be annoyed, but the smile never left his face, and it warmed Y/N’s heart.

“Right, now that that’s done,” Sam interrupted, “maybe you want to… uh, take a bath? I mean, you do kinda stink. Bad!”

“Thought you’d never bring it up,” Dean laughed, pinching his nose and scrunching his face up.

Ignoring Dean again, Y/N lit up. “Yes! But… how? I’m too small to use the shower.”

Sam winked and shuffled over to the small kitchenette corner. “Don’t worry. I had an idea while driving back from the shop.” Grabbing a soup bowl and a handful of matchboxes, he returned to pick up Y/N, who willingly let him carry her to the bathroom.

There he set up a makeshift tub for her, filling the bowl with hot water before adding a couple of drops of shower gel, stirring it with his finger to make bubbles. Then he stuck the matchboxes together like a ladder. To top it off, he cut up a clean washcloth to make a towel. “Voila.”

“Awesome. Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem. Just holler if you need anything.” He smiled and left her alone, but he also left the door slightly ajar so he could hear her.

Just after she’d lowered herself into the water, Dean poked his head through the door. “I’m gonna get dinner. What’cha want?”

“Where you goin’? The diner up at the – ? OK, I’ll have a cheeseburger,” Y/N replied with a thoughtful look when Dean nodded.

“Yeah, me too.” Sam’s voice was muted through the wall.

Y/N grinned. “And beer!” she added enthusiastically.

Sam appeared behind his brother. “Um, I think…” he began, “when you’re so little… You’ll get alcohol poisoning.”

Pouting, she slid down in the water, crossing her arms over her chest. “Fine. Bring me a coke.” When Dean was out of the door, she muttered: “Can’t wait to be big again.”

Sam gave her a smile filled with sympathy. “I’m sure we’ll get you back in no time. With Dean’s creativity and my research, combined with your intelligence, you’ll get back to your beer before you know it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” With that he left her alone again.

It would be impossible to keep eye contact after this. Y/N swore to herself and tried again just for good measure. No chance. The wall was too steep, too smooth to scale. She had no other options.

“Sam!” she called as loudly as she could. “A little help, please?”

It didn’t take long for the bathroom door to open fully and Sam’s hairy head to poke through. When he couldn’t see her, he stepped all the way into the room. “Y/N?”

“Down here,” she replied, trying hard to restrain the burning embarrassment. Sam had seen her naked before, she told herself, well, parts of her anyway. In life or death situations. Never like this. Okay, so maybe the embarrassment wasn’t totally uncalled for.

Sam bent over the sink, but quickly drew back when he realised she had no clothes on. Not sure what to do, he tossed her a piece of the cut washcloth. “What happened?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the ceiling.

“The bowl slid into the sink.” That was obvious, wasn’t it? Wrapping the cloth around herself and hoisting it like it was a glamorous dress, she made a tiny noise to let him know she was decent. “Help, I’ve fallen and can’t get up?” It was a lame joke for sure, but anything to relieve some of the heavy tension that suddenly filled the room.

“Good one,” Sam chuckled and held out his hand. When he closed it around her, she couldn’t help herself: it was so warm and gentle, the sweet smell so uniquely Sam, that she leaned in, and rubbed her forehead against his hand like a kitten.

He put her down on the edge of the sink, and turned around so she could get dressed, then carried her back into the room, leaving her on the table while he took a shower too.

“AAAH! Shit! Go away! Shitshitshitshit!!!”

Y/N’s frantic voice startled Sam and he skidded out of the bathroom to see what was wrong. Imagining all the horrible things that could go wrong, he almost sprinted over to the small table, clutching a towel around his waist and soapy hair flopping in every direction, ready to rescue Y/N from danger, only to find her standing over a dark lump with hairy legs that now curled inwards on the dead body. Her needle-sword had pierced right through the lump.

“Spider,” she said with a shrug, not taking her eyes from her slain foe. “Never thought much about them before, but now…” She shuddered and pulled her sword from the creature. The spider’s legs twitched, but fortunately it remained dead.

Sam let out a sigh of relief, happy that there was no real danger, making Y/N look up. She squeaked and turned bright red, before looking away very pointedly. “Y-you go back and, uh, finish your shower. I’ll just… stay here and…” Her voice dwindled into an incoherent mumble, and she refused to look up until she heard the bathroom door close again.

Shortly after, he came back, this time fully dressed, wet hair clinging to his cheekbones. His stomach growled and Y/N’s answered in kind, and they grinned at each other when the roar from the Impala’s engine filled the room.

The door slammed when Dean kicked it closed, his hands full of food. “Sorry, no burger. Italian night at the diner tonight.”

Y/N clapped her hands and squealed. “Pasta! My favourite!”

“Only the best for our little doll princess,” Dean said, nodding to the bright pink sweater she wore. It was adorned with a glittering crown over her chest.

Y/N was too busy sniffing the food to reply, but soon her face fell. “You only bought two…”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, I figured you only eat like half a noodle anyway, so…” He cut off a piece of one of the plastic lids and rounded it a bit. Then, after emptying the contents of the boxes onto plates, he turned one of them upside down and put Y/N’s new plate on it.

She sat down on an upturned spoon, and watched as he meticulously cut a spaghetti noodle into pieces and added a drop of meat sauce.

The food was delicious, but it felt like an oddly insufficient meal. She wanted more, but was full after just one small noodle.

After dinner, Dean went out, claiming he was going to check out the local library, and Sam brought out his laptop. Y/N perched in Sam’s pocket, hoping she could at least contribute a little. Maybe pick up some small detail he missed, or just provide some company.

Not even thirty minutes later, Dean came back, hauling himself through the door, looking dispirited and more than a little irritated. “This damn tiny town doesn’t even have a library,” he answered to Sam’s unspoken question. “Or a bar… This place sucks. Gimme a beer. ”

The next morning was a slow one. The research had brought nothing, and the sun burning through the window made them all drowsy. By midday even Sam had stopped looking for a cure, and started mindlessly scrolling through the internet instead.

Suddenly, he grinned and stretched his back. “Dean!” Sam lifted his laptop and waved it around while he spoke.

Peeking around the door, Dean grinned with his toothbrush still in his mouth. “Yo!”

“Found us a new case,” Sam began, showing the screen to his brother and Y/N. “At least I think it’s our kinda weird. By the sound of it, I’m thinking poltergeists. It’s not too far away – AND they have a public library. Looks like it’s not too small either. Whaddaya say, huh?”

Y/N stretched and rolled her shoulders, trying to pull the itch out of her skin. The doll clothes weren’t nearly as comfortable as her own. “I’m game. Anything’s better than sitting cooped up in here. We might as well do something useful while we search for a cure.” She gestured to herself and didn’t mention that the thought of riding in Sam’s pocket again went straight to her gut and made her feel intoxicated.

Sam nodded in agreement, making no show of his excitement over being so close to Y/N again, even though she was still small enough to fit snugly in the palm of his hand.

“Alright. You two finish packing, I’ll bring up the car,” Dean said, wiping his face with a towel. He snatched the car keys from the table and almost skipped out the door.

“Hey!” Sam yelled after him, “I’m not doing all the work – you’re a slob on the road, Dean, I’m not packing your gross shit all alone – no offence, Y/N,” he added after a small pause.

“None taken,” she replied, but the heavy stone that settled in her stomach said otherwise. Or, she thought to herself as she collected her own, tiny belongings and threw them on her bed-box, it was more of a pebble really.

“Y/N? You okay?” Dean asked when he got back and found her fiddling the velcro on the Barbie duffle bag.

“Mhm…” she hummed, summoning her best neutral face. “Just eager to get on the road and leave this godforsaken town behind.” She handed him the bag and muttered under her breath: “Fucking witches.”

If Dean heard it, he didn’t comment on it.

Half an hour later they were cruising down the highway. Dean was – as always – happy to be on the road in his beloved car again: humming to the music and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Sam dozed with his head against the cool window, smiling in his sleep from the warm bundle lying comfortably in his front pocket.

And Y/N, well, she was drunk on Sam’s scent, and had to concentrate hard not to grab him too much through the thin fabric.

“Ugh! It’s hot in here.” Y/N had all reason to complain: the sun was frying through the open window, and the breeze didn’t reach Sam’s pocket at all. She popped her head over the edge and glared at Dean who resembled a laughing Bond villain.

“Sorry,” Sam said and held out his hand for her to climb into. “There’s no air condition in my shirt, unfortunately.” He kept her in his hands for a while, absentmindedly stroking his thumb over her back and constantly checking if she was okay.

Dean slowed down the car. Not by much, but enough that Sam noticed. “What’s wrong?”

“Not sure which exit…” He squinted out over the landscape: everything looked identical for miles, just huge fields of corn and wheat, sometimes interrupted by narrow side roads.

“Hang on, let me get Google maps,” Sam replied and dropped Y/N on his shoulder before fishing the phone out of his jeans. “Um… looks like you take the next left turn …”

Y/N didn’t hear the rest of the conversation: she was surrounded by Sam’s glorious mane, and was having a moment. Several, actually, and looking back she imagined she probably looked like a cat that was too stoned on catnip to move.

When Sam finally moved to lift her down again, she swatted his hand away. “I can see EVERYTHING!” she marvelled, trying to take in every sight at once. From his shoulder she could see the road ahead and the fields outside, and the sky and the clouds and the sun and the birds playing on the air. Even the roadkill.

Using a handful of soft hair as support, she sat down and dangled her legs over the edge. “Holy shit!” Her awe made them chuckle.

“You… um, you wanna stay up there?” Sam turned his face to get a look at her.

“Please,” she nodded back. “If it’s not too annoying.”

“Not at all. Just let me know when you want down.”

With her whispered okay, Dean stole a sideways glance of the two of them. He said nothing, but his previous mischievous expression softened into a gentle smile.

Y/N nearly toppled backwards as her eyes slid shut, but thanks to Sam’s reflexes, she was caught and placed gently back into his pocket. Cuddling against his chest, clutching the shirt fabric in her arms, she soon drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

The sun had already set, leaving the indigo sky littered with tiny, twinkling stars. The air was cool and silent, and nothing could be heard except the steady rumble from the Impala.

“You should get some rest,” Dean murmured, almost not wanting to disturb the peaceful night. “I’m good to drive for a while yet, and you need your energy if we’re gonna find a cure.” He didn’t have to elaborate, just nod at Sam’s pocket.

“Alright.” Sam yawned and leaned against the door, careful not to jostle Y/N too much. “Wake me up when it’s my time.” He gave a weak wave in the direction of the steering wheel and closed his eyes, sleeping within seconds: the warmth and weight in his pocket weirdly calming him down. It had only been a few days, but he knew he would miss having Y/N so close all the time.

Dean didn’t wake Sam until he pulled into the motel parking lot, and after a quick meal (again, fragments of food for Y/N), Sam and Dean leaned back in their seats. It was one of those evenings where time seemed to stand still, and they could forget about their lives for a moment.

Clinking their bottles together, Sam grinned. “Tomorrow’s gonna bring good news,” he said with a sigh. “I just know it.”

After watching Dean take a large gulp from his bottle, Y/N smacked her lips and shot her bottom lip out, whining as pathetically as she possibly could.

“It’s not safe,” Sam said, but there was pity in his eyes.

Dean nodded, then stopped himself. “I have an idea. Gimme the glass,” he said, taking the cap from the coke bottle and filled it with beer.  Then he dipped Y/N’s minute glass into it.

“You’re an angel,” Y/N chirped, lighting up from the prospect of drinking something stronger than soda and making grabby hands at the glass. “The nice kind,” she added quickly when Dean gave her the look.

After two small glasses of beer, Y/N had almost forgotten her… challenges, laughing at all of Sam’s horrible jokes and singing along to Dean’s music that he claimed was classics.

Sam couldn’t help but laugh along, she really was a happy and adorable drunk, but he was wary of how fast the alcohol affected her. “I think you’ve had enough,” he said when Y/N had drained her third glass.

“Aw, Sammy, you’re no fun,” she muttered before suddenly getting to her feet and patting the back of his hand. Leaning on his thumb for support, she drew herself up and started climbing his hand. It was harder than she expected, with virtually nothing to hold on to, but she finally got up and wobbled over his knuckles, before sprinting over the hand and almost launching herself at his shirt.

Pulling herself up the arm by the sleeve, she giggled quietly as if she was doing something she shouldn’t, missing Sam’s look of utter incredulity.

Dean stared at Sam, and Sam stared at Dean. “Um, Y/N, sweetheart, what are you doing?” Dean asked.

Leaning back to look at him like Spiderman, she failed horribly at winking and snorted loudly. “Shhh…” she whisper-yelled. “I’m climbing Sam, can’t you see? Always wanted to – how can I not, I mean look at ‘im,” she continued, slurring slightly. “Mmm… just… muscles, y’know. And…”

She was interrupted by Sam, who surprisingly had turned the shade of a very ripe beetroot. “Y/N, you’re drunk,” he said, gently lifting her off his arm – she’d reached his elbow, and was trying to scramble over a fold in the fabric without falling down – and put her back on the table, where she promptly plopped down on her butt and groaned.

“Hey! Put me back! I’m trying to… I’m gonna… I wanna…” She grinned widely and blew him a loud kiss.

“You’re drunk,” Sam repeated.

“No, I’m not. You’re drunk. I’m… I’m –“ Shutting up abruptly, her eyes darted around frantically. “Bucket!” she mouthed, and then threw up all over herself.

Part five

Tagging my wonderful friends:

@awesomeahwu @brynleewolfe @funwithfanfics @babeinthebowtie @savingapplepie-eatingthings @winchesterprincessbride @savvythedork @littlegreenplasticsoldier @youtubehelpsmesurvive @blackcherrywhiskey @mrswhozeewhatsis @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte @aiaranradnay @iamreadinginsecret @barneybrigade @fandomismyspiritanimal @mogaruke @kathaswings @superwholockyooooo @missdestiel67 @blackfandomtrashandproud @wstrumpel @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @saradiamayaf

[karmaaisakat]

@taylorswift’s chai sugar cookie recipe (lazy girl version)

Okay so I’ve been making her chai recipe since she first posted it on here (RIP to those days- taylor we miss you) buttttt I’m lazy and it takes forever to make sugar cookies from scratch and it can be super easy to mess up if you don’t get it perfect. Hate that.

Anywayssss here is how I make the best chai sugar cookies (second to Taylor’s no doubt) the quick and dirty way:

What you’ll need (this is your grocery list):

For the cookies:

1 Bag of Betty Crocker’s Sugar Cookie Mix

1 Egg

1 Stick of Butter, softened

1 Capful of Real Vanilla Extract (or 1/4 teaspoon)

2 Chai Tea Packets OR 2 teaspoon of Pumpkin Spice (the spice in the spice section) and 2 teaspoon of Allspice. I never measure it I just sprinkle it in until it ~feels right~ you do you.

For the icing:

1 Cup of Powdered Sugar

3 Tablespoons of Egg Nog OR Milk OR Chai Tea Liquid (like the one they use at Starbucks— I’ve used them all before and they all turn out great either way)

1/4 teaspoon of Nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon of Cinnamon

Now for the recipe/how-to part:

First, turn on your oven to whatever the cookie mix packet says. Then add the mix, egg, softened butter, vanilla, chai tea packs or spices into a bowl. NOW if you have one of those fancy blender things for cookie dough you can use that but I don’t so I “knead” it like bread dough lol aka mix it with my VERY CLEAN hands.

Once everything is mixed together well, rub some butter or non stick spray on your cookie sheet (just a lil) then I like to take the tablespoon and scoop out the dough, roll it into a ball, then press it on the cookie sheet.

Okay now for the cooking times, every oven varies, and no one likes rock hard cookies. The bag says bake for 12-14 mins, and when you go to take them out you will think “These do not look done maybe a few more mins” DON’T. They somehow “cook more” once you pull them out on the hot pan. A good rule of thumb is to gently tap the top of once and see if there is any firmness (I know that doesn’t explain much but once you do it you will know).

If I’m in a hurry I’ll put them in the fridge or freeze to cool down before icing. For the icing, whisk the powdered sugar, your choice of liquid (see above), and the spices in a small bowl. I just take a spoon and drizzle or pour in on the cookies once they are cool. If you need to take them somewhere, like to a fun holiday party, put them back in the fridge after icing so the icing with “dry” and won’t rub off while traveling.

This is my favorite recipe to make and everyone requests it around the holiday and it’s super easy to make so go impress your friends/family!!!!

I put @taylorswift’s recipe below too! I used to have a link to her original post but I don’t know what happened to it 🤷‍♀️

[i-need-entertainment]

Haikyuu!! Boys as Bad Dad moments

Characters: Akaashi, Washio, Konoha, Kita, Suna, Ushijima, Yahaba, Iwaizumi, Futakuchi, Daishou and Numai

**These are ways they “failed” as fathers. I am not talking about ACTUALLY failing as fathers, just things dads have done that most of us either remember/get told about NOT TO BE TAKEN  S E R I O U S L Y  it is just for      f u n  I also gave them all at least 2 kids cause SibLiNgS**

A ‘*’ means it happened to me lol

TW- Mentions of giving too much medicine, accidental pain caused to child, these are things I either experienced/knew people who experienced them, allusion to cursing/a FEW bad words (but I substitute a letter for something else :)

*Akaashi Keiji: 

He had been working in his office when his son had come in.

You had been putting your newborn to sleep for a nap when your son decided he wanted to be with his dad.

His son was only 3, so when Akaashi was held up in his office editing his son, Kenji, would sometimes come in and plop himself in Akaashi’s lap.

His sons small feel padded on the floor while he made his way to his father, softly tugging on his pants as he stuck his arms up.

Akaashi smiled and softly chuckled before gently picking up his son from under his arms and placing him on his lap.

He got to work soon after, reading and revising the pages.

Other than having his son on his lap it wasn’t unusual for him to be drinking coffee while working.

Keep in mind, your son had inherited a lot from Akaashi, and not just his looks or personality.

But also his habits.

Because of this, your son was very fidgety, usually toying with a string or your fingers.

That meant he tended to move around a lot.

Akaashi had just lifted his not-so-cold coffee to his lips when his son had made a sudden movement, causing him to knock his arm and, “AHH” Akaashi’s eyes snapped open as his son started crying, cursing under his breath he stood up gently holding his son in his arms as he carried him to the bathroom.

Sitting him down on the counter he dried the coffee off of his son, luckily it hadn’t been hot enough to burn him, but it was still hot enough to hurt.

“What happened? I heard crying, is he okay?” Akaashi sighed as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, he’s okay, he bumped my arm and I spilled my coffee on him. He’s okay! It didn’t burn him, but it did hurt...” Your frowned as you stood in front of your son, giving him a soft smile before kissing his arm, cause kisses always make it feel better~

You carefully picked him up from the counter, rocking him slowly side to side as he burrowed into your shoulder.

“Are you okay little man~” He nodded as he sniffled into your shoulder, little hands clutching onto the fabric of your t-shirt.

“You know daddy didn’t mean it, it was an accident.” He nodded again, lifting his head to rub his eyes and reach out for his dad.

Akaashi gave a wobbly smile before reaching over to grab him, kissing the top of his head as he carried him back to his office, making sure to have some iced coffee instead.

Washio Tatsuki: 

This would be the first time Washio was left alone with the twins.

5 months ago, you and your husband had had your first children, your adorable fraternal twins Natsuki and Tatsuo.

Today would be the first day you would be away from them, but with your mother being sick and you being the only one available to take care of her you had to go.

You weren’t too worried about your husband, he was already a good dad so you had no doubt they were in good hands.

But it was never an enjoyable experience to have to leave your kids, especially your babies, and for the first time. 

So, you decided to leave early in the morning, give them their good morning kisses and head over to your parents house.

Before you left you changed their diapers, letting them play in their little play pen while your husband tried to get up.

Rubbing his eyes Washio walked into the play room.

He had to go to the gym today for a meeting, fortunately EJP had a really good daycare system in the stadium, so he could leave his kids there while he attended the short meeting.

He stopped in his tracks as his face blanched and he felt his breath stop.

You had changed the twins’ diapers...but you hadn’t dressed them.

The twins were still young, so without looking at their, uh, biological differences you couldn’t tell them apart....

Now, usually when this happened you guys would just check the diapers, but you had just done them..

And he was already running a bit late.

So, he made his best guess, got them dressed (one in pink, the other in blue), fed and in the car driving them to the stadium.

Once he got there he quickly dropped them off, rushing to his meeting.

The meeting had been fairly simple, just some pre-season info he’d need.

After chatting with his coach/teammates, and stopping Suna and Komori from pulling a prank, he made his way back to the daycare.

He walked into the building when one of the younger care takers, Yui, walked up to him, One twin in each arm.

He smiled as he carefully put them into their carriers.

“Uhm, just a question...” He looked up to her and motioned for her to continue.

“...Were you aware that Tatsuo was wearing the dress?” Washio sighed as he ran a hand down his face shaking his head. Yui light heartedly smiled, “Don’t worry, we switched them.” Thanking them, he picked up his babies and went home.

He was not prepared for the way you cackled when he told you what happened.

*Konoha Akinori: 

You had gone away for a business trip, leaving your husband Konoha home with your 3 kids. (You guys have 2 girls and a boy)

Your middlest child, your son Akira, had recently come down with a cold making the poor thing miserable when he tried to sleep.

Being the good dad that he is, he gave his son some benadryl!

The next morning he woke up, and after letting his kids sleep in for a little bit he woke them up too.

...two of them.

He tried several times to get his son to leave his bed, but the little kid couldn’t so much as swing one foot over the side of his bed with out falling asleep again.

He didn’t think too much of it, the kid had a cold after all.

So he let him sleep for another hour or so before making him get up for real.

A day later you got home, and everything was pretty much normal.

Until you went to put your son to bed, and realized he had crashed on the couch.

“...Uhm, Akinori?” Your husband lifted his head at your voice, setting the dishes in the sink and drying his hands with a towel as he made his way over to you. 

“Yeah babe?” You took a look over towards your son before looking back to your husband.

“...Has Akira been like that all weekend?” Konoha ran his hand through his hair as he sighed. “No, only since Saturday. He wasn’t feeling good so I gave him some benadryl, he’s been dead to the world since.” You slowly nodded.

“Uhm, Akinori?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “How much benadryl did you give him?”

He left to grab the box, coming back with it in his hand as he continued to look at it.

He shook his head in confusion. “I gave him the amount the box said, 1 teasp-”- He paused.

Uh oh.

He in fact, had not given his son a teaspoon of benadryl.

He had given him a tablespoon.

*Kita Shinsuke: 

You had to leave early one morning for a doctors appointment; you were pregnant with you and Kita’s second child. 

Usually for these appointments Kita’s grandmother would watch your 3 year old daughter Kyoka.

But she had something to do that morning so Kita was the one responsible for getting her ready for preschool.

Kita was a good father so you weren’t worried.

You knew she would be put together, fed, and on time.

There was just one thing you couldn’t account for.

“Daddy?” Kita looked away from the mirror he was shaving in and down to his daughter, washing away the traces of shaving cream. “Yes sweetheart?”

She held out her small hand, 2 bright pink hair ties with little butterfly charms on them held out in her palm.

“Can you do my piggy tails please?” His eyes widened.

He hadn’t done hair...like...ever.

But from the puppy eyes his little princess was giving him, how could he not do it?!

Plus, it couldn’t be that hard...right? I mean, he had watched you do it plenty of times, and it was pretty straight forward.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed he had her stand on the ground in front of him.

He grabbed her brush and put the two hair ties she had given him on his wrist.

He brushed her hair and parted it as evenly as he could, trying to be gentle in the process.

Now time for the pig tails..

He pulled her hair back, trying to make it tight to it would stay.

...But he might have made it a little too tight.

He turned her around and realized he had made them way too tight.

Not only did her hair look like he had slicked it back with x4 strength hair gel, but it was so tight that her eyebrows had been stuck way up on her forehead.

He was quick to turn her back around, loosening the hair ties so she looks like a 3 year old again.

His face turned undeniably red as he told you what happened later that night, you light heartedly laughing at his misfortune.

Suna Rintaro: 

Suna had just gotten out of practice, and now he was on the way to his kids school. 

You and Suna had 4 kids, 2 boys and 2 girls. 

The youngest 2 had a doctor’s appointment earlier that day, which you had taken them too. Meaning Suna needed to pick the older 2 up from elementary school.

He had been listening to music, his music to be specific.

He had pulled into the parking lot, changing the playlist to a kid friendly one right before his children got in the car.

After they had told him about their days, and he had told about his, he switched back on the music.

It had been fine for a song.

Until he realized that he had a few songs qued.

The fun little song had just ended when the bass dropped, the color draining from his face as soon as the song started.

The mentioned song being “Big Bank” by YG, 2 Chainz, Big Sean and Nicki Minaj of course~.

He was quick to turn the radio off, waiting until he could pull over, empty the que, and turn on kid friendly music.

He told the kids to ‘forget what they heard’ and he continued on his drive home.

Now, you’ve got to remember, his daughter is in kindergarten and his son is in 2nd grade, so they’re still kind of at that “monkey see, monkey do” age range.

Or rather, “monkey hear, monkey repeat.”

He thought it was gonna be okay, they were good kids so he figured telling them to forget they even heard it, they would let it go.

There was just one thing about his children that he didn’t account for.

As obedient and well behaved as his children were, they were also very curious.

That night at dinner they had all been sat down at the table, eating dinner and talking about their days. 

You had been feeding your infant son while Suna had been watching the 3 year old, the other 2 older children happily eating their food. Until...

“Hey mommy?” You looked at your daughter with a smile, “Yes baby?” She continued to eat her dinner, “What’s a b!tch?” Your eyes widened as your husband choked on his food, your baby laughing at the scene before him.

Hitting his chest and taking a sip of water Suna tried to catch his breath.

“Nezuko we don’t say that, where did you hear that?!” She tilted her head as she looked at you confused before turning to look at Suna, pointing a small finger at him.

“It was on the radio, daddy told us to ‘forget’ but I didn’t know what it meant...What does it mean?” You sent a glare towards your husband as you sighed.

After explaining to your daughter why it was bad to say those things and not to repeat everything she heard you cleaned up your kids and put them to bed.

...You had quite the conversation with your husband later that night.

Ushijima Wakatoshi: 

Ushijima had been on grocery duty this week since you had a meeting with a friend.

He had the Friday off, and since you weren’t home he took the kids with him.

Now, I would like you to know that you guys have 6 kids. S I X.

Growing up with no siblings and divorced parents, Ushijima wanted to make sure none of his kids were lonely.

Originally you guys had two, each kid had a buddy.

...but then you had a third, and you couldn’t just leave him alone...

so you had another...then another...

And now you guys have 6. But it’s okay cause you both love kids anyway~

He was doing his best, he truly was. He had his 2 youngest sitting in the little seat by the handle bar, 2 kids in the basket, 1 hanging onto the side and the oldest walking alongside him.

When they got to check out he had to take one of the kids out of the basket, so he opted for his 3rd oldest, his son Kazue, figuring he was older so it’d be a-okay.

He checked out his extensive amount of groceries before loading them up into his car, and his kids.

He pulled out of the grocery store parking lot and got on the road, his kids singing along to the radio and chatting amongst themselves.

They had been driving for 6 minutes when his oldest child, Ren, spoke up. “Uh, dad?” He hummed, briefly checking the rear view mirror before returning his gaze to the road. “When are we going back to get Kazue?” His face lost all color as his eyes widened.

As swiftly and safely as he could he pulled over to the side of the road, whipping around in his seat to take a head count. ‘1..2..3..4..5...oh sh-’ Turning back around he got back onto the road, taking the nearest u-turn and rushing back to the store. 

Unbuckling his kids from their carseats he hurried them back into the store, his oldest holding the 2nd borns hand, as he held all 3 of the younger ones in his arms.

He frantically entered the store, almost collapsing with relief when he saw his son sat at the customer service desk with the security guard, eating a lollipop before smiling when he saw his dad come to pick him up.

After giving proof that yes, he was his father, he took all of his kids back home after getting them some ice cream.

...this would be one conversation he was not excited to have with you....

Yahaba Shigeru: 

Yahaba and his 2 sons had been hanging out in the living room while you finished making some snacks in the kitchen.

Yahaba had been trying to set up a DVD player, you guys were going to watch some home-videos from your high school days but they were all on CD.

So, after borrowing one from his parents house, he set out to hook it up to the TV.

...Which was proving much more difficult then he first anticipated.

His two boys, Itsuki (6) and Hayato (8) were in there with him, ‘helping’ as they had called it.

Yahaba groaned as he sat back, a hand ruffling through his hair as he racked his brain to think of the problem.

You had finished preparing everything so you came in, with the food, and set it down on the coffee table.

You came up behind your husband, kneeling down behind him and placing your hands on his shoulders.

“How’s it going?” He sighed, leaning back into you.

“Well, I think I know what I need to do, I’m going to have to stick my hand back there though. Hey Hayato, can you help me out buddy?” The 8 year old excitedly nodded.

“Great, I need you to hold this flashlight here, hold it steady okay?” Hayato nodded with a ‘Yup!’ before Yahaba laid down on his side, maneuvering to where he could see the back of the TV.

All had been going well, he had just got it hooked up, and after having you test it, it worked!

He tried to get himself out from behind the TV, until a sharp edge caught his finger.

“Sh!t!” Your eyes widened, “Shigeru!” He hadn’t realized his slip up until he was out from behind the TV, faced directly with your glare.

“Kids, don’t say that.” His youngest blinked at him. “But why?”.

Kneeling down in front of him Yahaba tried to explain, but it was a little hard when you were glaring holes into the back of his head and his oldest was giggling at the situation.

*Iwaizumi Hajime: 

It was a weekend in summer vacation, and you and your husband were both off work.

This meant, you guys got a whole day to spend with your 3 boys, and one of the things you guys loved to do as a family was play games.

On this particular afternoon, your sons had chosen to play twister.

You were a little skeptical because you had 3 competitive, rambunctious boys. 

And an equally competitive rambunctious husband.

But after getting 4 identical pouts you couldn’t say no...

But, you elected to be the spinner. (..for your own safety)

“Left hand, green.” This put your middlest son in quite the predicament.

The only space available was the Green directly by his fathers hand, meaning he’d have to crawl under Iwaizumi.

“Okay Hajime, right hand, yellow.” Iwaizumi grimaced as he tried to reach it.

 This wasn’t good, the mat was slick, his hands were sweating-

“oOf” Before he could catch himself he had completely lost his balance, landing right on his son.

You gasped in horror as you saw the life get squeezed out of your 5 year old, scrambling from where you sat to check on your now pancaked son.

“...Hiro..are you okay..?” 

His small head shot up with a “I’m okay!” Before he, albeit wearily, stood up brushing off his godzilla t-shirt before continuing on with his life.

You took a deep breath as you sat back down, flashing a warning look towards your husband who sheepishly smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

And after checking that yes, your son really was okay, you guys continued on with some...safer games.

Futakuchi Kenji: 

You had left for a weekend visit to see your parents in your hometown, leaving your husband and Your 3 girls alone.

It was a friday night, so after having a less than healthy dinner, ice cream and a fair amount of other sweets, Futakuchi figured a movie before bed would be a good way to finish off the night.

He scrolled through netflix trying to find a movie he could watch with his girls.

“Daddy, can we watch snow white?!” Futakuchi looked down at his oldest, Hayami, before he shrugged. “Sure.”

He may be a guy, but he was not above watching princess movies if it meant his babies were happy. Besides, it was a disney movie, what bad could be in it!

Everything was going swell, until the witch showed up.

He felt the sick feeling of dread in his stomach as soon as he felt his middlest curl in tight to his side, his youngest hopping off of the couch and climbing into his lap.

...Disney SHOULD have been a safe bet, but with the way his 3 girls were clinging onto him for dear life, he probably should have previewed it first..

That night he put them to bed, reading them a quick story before giving them each a kiss on their forehead and tucking them into bed. 

15 minutes.

15 minutes of almost sleep when he heard you guys’ bedroom door creak open, 3 sets of little feet pad over to his side of the bed.

“...daddy..?” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he opened them, brown eyes meeting the teary ones of his 3 children as they stood there. Speaking in as soft of a voice as he could he tried not to sound as tired as he knew he was.

“What is it munchkin?” His daughters all fidgeted where they stood, fiddling with the hems of their princess night gowns as they stood there.

“...We’re scared...can we sleep with you..?” Knowing he wouldn’t be able to get them to sleep like you could, and being incredibly tired himself he moved to the side, opening the covers and making room for all 3 of his princesses.

...This was going to be a long night for him.. 

Daishou Suguru: 

Daishou had been playing outside with his kids, his 2 year old son Kento and his 5 year old daughter Shizuko.

His son was sat on his shoulders, one of Daishou’s hands wrapped firmly around the boys ankles while the other pushed his daughter on the swing.

You had been inside getting dinner ready while they had been outside; smiling fondly at the smiles that were plastered on their faces.

When dinner had finished you walked to the sliding glass door, opening it and calling to them. “Dinners ready! Come inside and wash up so we can eat.” Your daughter and husband replied with ‘okay!’ as you went back to get plates. 

Slowing down the swing Daishou brought it to a stop so Skizuko could safely get off.

In all honesty, he was a good dad.

He was very mindful of his children and their surroundings, so they didn’t get hurt too often.

He was also very careful not to accidentally hurt them.

But accidents happen.

Walking to the back door, he, somehow either forgot or the thought didn’t register in his mind that his son was still perched on his shoulders.

He didn’t remember until a loud *whack!* was heard, and his sons cries sounded above him.

..He had tried going inside, through the door, with his son on his shoulders.

Bringing him down from his shoulders he quickly brought him inside to set him down on the counter, you almost screaming when you saw the bruise forming on his little forehead.

“Ah-wha-how- SUGURU! What happened?!”

Groaning Daishou gently put a small ice pack on his sons head, “...He whacked his head on the door frame...” You looked at him, “And how did he do that?”

Daishou sighed as he looked down, grimacing at the purple mark already present on his sons head.

...For the next few nights the couch became a good friend of his.

Numai Kazuma: 

Today was your son, Kazuya’s birthday. Today he would be turning 1.

Kazuya was the first, and so far only child you had with your husband of 3 years Kazuma Numai.

You and Numai were still learning how to be parents, and it had been an interesting journey to say the least, but you guys were doing good!

Your relatives and friends had just left, leaving you, Kazuma and your son.

It was pretty late so you started cleaning up in the kitchen and Numai started in the living room.

Kazuya had been pretty fussy, you both figuring he was tired, but when you tried to put him to sleep he wouldn’t even close his eyes.

So, deciding it’d be best to get it out of the way Numai held Kazuya as he was cleaning.

Things had been going just fine before Kazuya had reached out to grab at something on a nearby book shelf, causing the book shelf to start tipping over.

At that moment the only thing going through Numai’s mind was ‘stop the book shelf’, because at the moment, getting his son and him crushed by a bookshelf seemed like a very bad thing.

But what he hadn’t thought of was the fact that reflexively he had used both of his arms to stop said shelf (which didn’t even fall), the same two arms that had been holding his- “WAAAHH”

His eyes snapped down to the BABY he had just let go of, now crying on the floor.

You rushed into the living room, seeing your husband now cradling your still crying son, whispering apologies into his hair as he kissed the top of his head.

“Kazuma what happened?” 

He avoided eye contact. 

“...Kazuma...” Looking down he spoke.

“...I dropped him...”

...

“...you what?”

[unholyobsessions]

Welcome to my dorm

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Warnings: eight year age difference. Mentions of kidnapping

Description: the FBI question you about your friend’s disappearance and you can’t help feeling for a certain doctor. (Inspired by scene above)

Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 There was heavy knocking on your door. You rolled over, burying your face deeper in the pillow. “Y/n l/n this is the FBI open up!” You let out a groan followed by a dry laugh. “Real funny Danny now let me sleep,” you yelled loud enough for who you assumed was your friend Danny to hear. The knocking continued, pissing you off. You let out a huff reaching over to your nightstand to put on your glasses and climbed out of your bed. “Damn it Daniel seriously if you don’t knock it off I swe-“ you opened the door and the words died in your throat. 

Two very attractive men were standing in front of you holding FBI badges up. You saw them eye you up and down which prompted you to look down at yourself. You felt heat rush to your face as you took in the loose booty shorts and bralette you were wearing. Both men put their badges away and stood awkwardly at the door. You snapped out of your embarrassed daze and cleared your throat. “I am not wearing the appropriate clothes for this. Come in.” You stepped out of the way and headed to your closet to grab a random sweatshirt, pulling it over your head. Once you were no longer exposed you turned to face the agents that were now letting their gazes wonder around your dorm room. You found yourself thanking past you for taking the time to clean it two days ago. When they realized that you were now fully dressed the dark skinned man spoke. “We are sorry to bother you this early, I’m Agent Derek Morgan and this is Dr. Spencer Reid and we need to ask you some questions.” The man who you now identified as Agent Morgan gestured to the tall curly haired man next to him. You smiled gently at both of them before pointing to the two chairs by the desk. “Questions regarding what, Agents?” You asked them as they sat down. “The disappearance of Haley Bowen. She went to school here.” This time it was Dr. Reid that spoke. Your eyes widened, you knew her. “Oh my God okay.” You took a deep breath, your brain not really knowing how to react. “Umm do you guys want coffee? I can’t really function without caffeine in the morning so I’m just going to make a pot.” You changed the subject quickly. Your friend was missing and the agents needed your help. You cannot break down. “No thank you.” Agent Morgan answered at the same time as Dr. Reid said, “Yes please.” You sent him a smile and started preparing the coffee. Morgan gave Reid a look and he shrugged as if to say ‘hey, coffee is coffee.’ “How do you take your coffee? Personally I take mine with too much sugar and too much creamer because I don’t really enjoy the taste of coffee but I’m still kind of addicted to it. Which my friends say makes me insane but I actually think it’s pretty normal. The taste is too bitter, reminds me of dark chocolate,” you stopped yourself. “Sorry I’m rambling I tend to do that in uncomfortable situations.” You looked at Dr. Reid expectantly and it took him a second to realize that you were waiting for his answer. “Oh uh three teaspoons.” He gave a small nod at the sugar in your hand. You smiled widely at him, seemingly glad that you were not the only one to enjoy overly sweet coffee. She’s cute, Spencer found himself thinking. After stirring sugar into both cups you walked over to the agents and handed one of the cups to Dr. Reid. Seeing as there were no more available chairs, you hopped on your desk and sat criss cross facing them. “So why are you asking me about Haley?” You took a long sip of your coffee. “She was last seen at the bar you work at.” Agent Morgan spoke but you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off Dr. Reid. He’s cute, you thought. “So she disappeared on Saturday?” You let out a sigh. “You remember seeing her?” This time Reid spoke making direct eye contact with you. You nodded. “She was a regular so we became friends over time. She comes in every weekend to blow off steam. She’s double majoring so she has a lot on her plate. She sits at the bar. Same place every time so I’m always her bartender.” Both Agents nodded at the information given, internally relieved that this interview could result in a lead in the case. “Did you notice anything different about her that night? Anybody that tried to approach her or payed more attention to her?” Dr. Reid asked you. “Well she seemed nervous. She talks to me a lot, rants about her professors and stuff like that. She didn’t talk much on Saturday and she seemed restless. Fidgeting in her seat and playing with the rings on her fingers. I just assumed she was meeting a guy and that’s why she was nervous. I pay attention to her, she gets drunk often and all of the workers like to make sure that nobody too drunk walks home alone or leaves with someone they are uncomfortable with. Whenever she was uncomfortable with a guy trying to make a move on her she played with her rings. That’s when I knew to intervene.” You took a deep breath and a gulp of your coffee, burning your tongue in the process. You felt tears pooling in your eyes and you did your best to blink them away. “Did you see a guy approach her that night?” Again it was Dr. Reid who asked the question, his voice softer this time. You hesitated before answering trying your hardest to remember. “There was this one guy,” you paused, letting your mind wander back to Saturday night. “He wasn’t drunk like most people there. He talked to her while he waited for me to serve him his drink. He got a coke which was strange for someone who was clearly sober to order. I recognized his face but couldn’t place a name. I turned around to serve another group and when I turned back the guy was walking away and Haley was asking for her check. She wasn’t drunk, barely tipsy so I didn’t insist on calling her a cab. Damn it why didn’t I call her a cab?” You couldn’t stop the tears anymore. This was your fault, you should have made sure she got home safely, you should have called her at least. She was your friend and now she could be dead and it will be your fault. Sobs racked your body, your half empty coffee cup slipping from your fingers and shattering on the floor, the sound only making you cry harder. Morgan instinctively reached for your hand the words of comfort ready to be spoken. He was stopped when Reid leaned toward you and grabbed your hand away from your face. He gave it a small tug to make you look at him. He didn’t know what came over him at that moment. He didn’t shake hands and didn’t really touch people but all he knew was that he wanted you to stop crying and he never wanted to see you sad again. “Hey it’s not your fault.” His voice was soft but firm. “There was no way for you to know what would happen and you had no way to stop it. What you told us right now is extremely helpful and will help us bring Haley back home. Okay?” You gave a small nod of your head trying to calm yourself down. “It’s okay just breath with me.” Dr. Reid took a deep breath and you mimicked him continuing until your breathing was back to normal and only a few stray tears were running down your cheeks. “Thank you.” You sniffled and smiled shyly at him. “Would you mind coming down to the station later and giving a description of the man you saw with Haley to a sketch artist?” Dr. Reid looked you in the eyes, his deep look telling you that although it was phrased as a question it was really the only choice you had. “Yeah that’s okay.” You wanted to reach up and rub at your runny nose but you noticed that he was still holding your hand. He felt the slight movement and realized as well. The both of you blushed and averted eye contact while Agent Morgan looked at the two of you with an amused expression. Both Agents stood up signaling that they were prepared to leave. You lead them to the door and they both thanked you for your time. Before you closed the door Dr. Reid handed you his card telling you to call him if you remember anything else that might seem important. You nodded at him, not trusting your voice. You gave him a wide smile which contrasted with your red teary eyes but he still felt the breath being knocked out of him. After the door closed Morgan looked at Reid. “What was that?” Spencer played dumb and started down the dormitory hallway. “What was what?” He pushed the door to the stairs open and looked back at Morgan. “What do you mean ‘what was what’ you were totally into that girl.” Morgan grinned at him and Spencer felt his cheeks heat up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Spencer started down the stairs, making a point to ignore Morgan’s laughter. • • • A few hours later you had taken a shower and put your contacts on. You put on a light face of make up and decided that this time when you met the agents you would be fully clothed so you put on a pair of jeans and a white tank top with a loose button up over it. You slipped on a pair of converse and headed to the police station. You walked up to the front desk and smiled lightly at the woman sitting behind it. “Hi I’m looking for Dr. Reid he told me I was coming in for a sketch.” The woman nodded and gestured someone over. You waited patiently as the two had a conversation and eventually Dr. Reid came into view. You smiled at him and it grew when he gave you a grin back. He guided you through the police station with a hand placed firmly on your back his hand pressing harder when one of the men in the holding cell wolf whistled at you. He brought you to a room where a sketch artist was sitting there waiting. “Here you go.” He mumbled under his breath. “Thank you.” You sat down as Reid left the room. You talked to the sketch artist for about 45 minutes trying to give as much detail as possible. You looked at your watch and noticed your afternoon shift at the bar was starting soon. You quickly thanked the artist and made a quick exit in hopes of not being late. You speed walked all the way to the bar and got there just in time to see the morning bartender ready to leave his shift. He sent you a tight lipped smile as you settled yourself behind the bar. The place was empty except for the man sitting at the bar who looked to be nursing a glass of whiskey. A few minutes later you heard the door ring signaling someone coming in. “Be right with you,” you called as you refilled the man’s glass. He was mumbling something about a cheating girlfriend which made you wince slightly. People dealing with heartbreak at a bar never ended well. You turned around to greet the costumer who had just taken a seat at the bar. Your eyes widened in surprise when you saw Dr. Reid sitting there with a sheepish smile on his beautiful face. “Dr. Reid what can I do for you?” He looked down for a second before making eye contact. He’s nervous, you thought. “I just needed to clear my head for a bit and I wanted to take a look at the scene and try to get a sense of what happened that night.” You nodded your head before giving him your signature smile. “Well can I get you something? I’m not going to offer anything alcoholic since you are still on the job but I do make a mean Arnold palmer.” You sent him a subtle wink, reaching under the bar for a glass. He snorted before accepting your offer. Setting the prepared drink in front of him, you spared a glance at the sulking man to find him slumped in his seat with light snores leaving his mouth. Damn, you thought, this is going to be a slow shift. You turned your attention back to the Dr. who was looking at you with a quirked brow having noticed the frown on your face. You quickly explained how you hated afternoon shifts because they usually consisted of you being bored out of your mind dealing with day drinkers. He struck up conversation to “relieve some of your boredom” as he so kindly put it. Conversation flowed extremely easy between the two of you, talking about anything and everything. From his experience in college to what your favorite song was at the moment. “I have a question,” he spoke after taking a bite of the french fries you had brought out at some point during the conversation. “I may have an answer. Ask away doc.” He smiled lightly at the nickname. “You’re a senior right?” You nodded your head, wondering where this was going. “So why do you still live in the dorms?” You let out a small laugh. “It’s part of my scholarship. I get free housing and I am also an RA.” He took a sip of his drink and mulled over the information. “Now it’s my turn. How old are you?” You told yourself it was an innocent question, that you held no ulterior motives other than curiosity.  His eyebrows rose before he set his glass down. “I’m twenty-nine. You’re twenty-one right?” “Yeah.” Eight years, you thought, not that big of a difference. You internally scolded yourself. You couldn’t be thinking that. He was here doing an investigation on your missing friend. He wasn’t thinking about picking up some random college girl who still lived in the school dormitories. 

Similarly, Spencer was having an internal battle about his feelings. He wanted to believe that what he was feeling was simple protectiveness over a witness, although it was pretty clear that you were not in any sort of danger. 

“So where do you live?” You asked in order to fill the silence that had taken place. “I live about and hour and a half away in D.C.” He felt the need to add the fact that he didn’t live far away from your current location.  “I’ve never been.” You said. He almost chocked on his drink. “You’ve never been to D.C.? But it’s so close!” Again with the proximity, could you be any more obvious? Spencer scolded himself.   “I know I know but I work most weekends and when I’m not working I’m studying so it is kind of hard to get free time.” I’ll take you. That is what he wanted to say. He had to stop before he made a fool out of himself. He didn’t know why he was feeling this way. Sure he has been attracted to plenty of girls before but you were different. You didn’t stop his ramblings about statistics and random facts that he had in his brain. You listened to him and sometimes even asked to him to elaborate more on a certain subject. You also tended to ramble like when he asked about your family, you went on a tangent about how your mom was your best friend and your younger sister had a dream of being a dancer. Or when he asked about your major and you went on to explain all the research you were doing. You were so passionate about everything you talked about. He smiled at the happiness in your eyes. They were still bloodshot from your breakdown this morning but they held so much happiness and hope that he couldn’t help but feel the same. He was about to reply when his phone rang and he realized he had been talking to you for over an hour. More than halfway to D.C., he thought. He answered it and heard Morgan’s voice telling him to head back to the station as they had found the name of the man who talked to Haley that night. “I uh- I have to go.” He gestured behind him to the door but he couldn’t bring himself to stand up yet. You nodded your head, slightly disappointed that he had to leave. You reached into your pocket and pulled out the card he gave you this morning, writing down your number on the back. “Call me if you find her. Please. Dead or alive I don’t care I just don’t want to find out from the news.” You handed him the card and he looked down at it. “Don’t you need my number if you need to call me? If you have more information that is.” He questioned. “Oh I already put it on my phone. Is that weird?” He looked at you with something that you couldn’t put your finger on. “No, not weird. Kind of cute actually.” He smiled down at you, having already stood up from the bar chair. You blushed and looked away from him. Your blush gave him a sudden surge of confidence. “Can I call you? Even if it isn’t about Haley. Can I just call you?” You smiled brightly at him. “Yes Dr. Reid you can call me.” “Spencer,” he said. You gave him a confused look. “Call me Spencer.” He took a step back heading to the door. “Spencer.” You tested the name on your lips, the smile never leaving your face. He grinned at you and walked out the door. • • • The next day you received a call from Spencer after your lecture. You smiled down at your phone before answering. “Spencer to what do I owe the pleasure?” “Hey y/n we found Haley.” Your heart stopped, the voice in your head praying for it to be good news. “She’s alive and being taken to the hospital.” A long breath left your lips as tears stung your eyes. She’s alive. She’s alive. Without thinking you hung up the phone and hurried to find a cab that could take you to the hospital. You payed the man quickly and took off after he pulled up to the curb. You saw Spencer with Agent Morgan and a woman you haven’t seen before but you assumed she was a part of their team. “She’s okay? Please tell me she’s going to be okay.” You started speaking as soon as you were within hearing distance of Spencer. As he soon as he saw you his eyes softened. “She’s in the ICU right now. They are setting her up and her mom is on the way.” He looked down at you and his heart broke at the tears that were making their way down your cheeks. “Oh thank god. Who was it? Was it the guy I-“ your voice broke before you could finish but Spencer understood what you wanted to ask. “Yeah it was. If it wasn’t for you remembering him it would have taken us a lot longer to find her. You saved her y/n okay?” He reassured you because he knew what you were thinking. It was written across your face. You could have stopped him. “You had no way of knowing. Don’t blame yourself.” He placed his hands on your shoulders as you nodded your head weakly. You leaned your head on his chest needing some sort of comfort from what you were feeling. He didn’t push you away. In fact he pulled you closer and let you cry, staining his shirt. Morgan and Prentiss gave each other a bewildered look because Spencer Reid did not hug. Much less strangers who were witnesses on a case. A doctor came into view and cleared his throat. “Haley Bowen,” he called out. You pulled away from Spencer and walked toward the doctor. “Yes?” He gave you a smile which you took to be good news. “She’s going to be fine. She has a concussion, bruised ribs and sprained wrists from being bound but I have no doubt that she will make a full recovery and be out of here in the next few days.” You let out a sigh of relief. “Can I see her?” The doctor shook his head. “Right now it is family only and I’ve been told her mother is not far but after she gets moved out of the ICU tomorrow you can come visit her at any time.” The doctor finished and walked away. You turned back to the three agents who were now looking at you. You felt awkward in their gaze so you locked eyes with Spencer. “Thank you Spencer really. I should go I have a class in about 40 minutes but hey don’t be a stranger.” You pointed an accusing finger at him and he let out a laugh. “Spencer?” Prentiss and Morgan mouthed to each other. “I won’t I swear. I’ll call you later?” He ignored the questioning looks his coworkers were sure to be giving him. “I’d like that. Maybe you can show me around D.C. sometime.” He smiled as he remembered their conversation yesterday. “Definitely.” You blushed, something that you found yourself doing a lot around him. “Bye Spencer.” “See you later y/n.” He watched you disappear from view before turning back to Morgan and Prentiss. “Okay what the hell was that?” Prentiss spoke up first. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He smiled innocently at both of them before walking away in search of coffee, ignoring his friend’s calls from behind him. He wondered if you would mind him calling you earlier than expected.

[bloodypapercut]

common people (g.w. x reader)

hi loves! i’ve been listening to pulp so much and everytime common people plays i immediately think of george so i wanted to write something. i hope you all enjoy! <3

(requests are open)

word count: 2.8k

No prank, no act of mischief, no joke had ever managed to coerce the feelings that resided within George at that moment. The memory had been playing in his head for weeks since that day in Hogsmeade. The vivid image of her nose and cheeks dusted pink as snowflakes landed in her hair, her hand gripping at paper bag from Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop, and her hair whipping around her. He was consumed by her being, she radiated a sense of comfort and warmth that George had never felt from a complete stranger. She intrigued him in every imaginable way, he wanted to know everything about her, each sense in his body was heightened simply by being in her wake. It was the way she carried herself, something about it just seemed so different and enticing. He contemplated going up to her, but he knew with Fred right by his side it would not end well. So he watched from afar, unaware of Fred repeatedly kicking snow in his direction, a mediocre attempt on his behalf to capture his attention so they could go to Zonko’s.

It was breakfast, the bustle of knives and forks against plates, teaspoons against teacups, and the early morning chatter saturated with frivolous morning civility integrated into the usual dissonance of the great hall. George couldn’t bother to act interested in the conversation Fred and Lee tried to reel him into, whatever it was they were talking about was insipid compared to what he had in mind. Pushing around the strawberries on his plate with his fork, his head lulled against his palm, an attempt to subtly survey the room in order to find that girl from all those weeks ago. He’d seen her roaming the halls occasionally, or sitting hunched over a book quietly scribbling on a piece of parchment, or speaking in hushed tones to her housemates, none of it had helped his undying curiosity. She plagued his thoughts, he could relate almost anything to her somehow, despite the fact he had not once spoken to her. She was an enigma and he wanted nothing more than to know everything about her, to learn every habit, every favorite, and every detail.

He brought his cup of orange juice closer to his lips but as he looked around the room once again he saw her. She was leaving the great hall, a leather bag hanging on her shoulder loosely and a pile of books resting against her hip. There it was, that overwhelming cloak of emotions resting on his shoulders once again. Without thinking he rushed to her, no plan present in his mind.

“Hey, hi.” He panted, planted his hand against a pillar trying to catch his breath. She spun quickly, nearly dropping her books. As her gaze cast down at the hunched boy, she wondered what on earth he was doing saying hi to her, or if it was even directed at her.

“Hello? Um are you alright, you look a little red?”

“All for you love.” He winked, still struggling to steady his respiration. Her laugh was just as awkward as the situation and she tried her hardest to divert her attention to anything but the ginger in front of her. The crumbling stone walls, the rusty nails that the portraits hung on, the ornate handles on the classroom doors, she tried but she couldn’t. Because she was just as enthralled by his presence as he was with hers.

“I’ve seen you around.”

“So have I, Weasley.” She smiled warmly, an attempt to alleviate the tension.

“Is that right?”

“Indeed it is.” Another moment of uncomfortable silence followed.  

“Well, um anyway I was wondering if you’d like to go to the lake together sometime? If you want that is don’t feel pressured to say yes just because I asked you, it’s completely okay if you don’t-”

“Hey, calm down, yeah sure I don’t see why not.” The weight of her hand felt right against his forearm and he wanted to hold it in place forever, he grinned bashfully at her hand, which didn’t go unnoticed as she had squeezed his arm upon seeing his line of sight.

“4?”

“4.” She nodded before letting go of his arm and walking off, not bothering to glance over her shoulder.

After that afternoon together they became inseparable. Their lives orbit around the other and they learned everything there was to know about their partner, well almost. There was one thing she had kept from him, something that would normally be considered frivolous but in their case was quite the contrary. She hadn’t revealed that she was a part of the Rosier family, a pureblood family, similar to the Malfoys or the Blacks. Though she was treated with nothing but disdain for being a 'traitor' by her relatives, she was still technically a Rosier. She felt wrong for keeping it from him, but she never let that convince her to divulge her secret. She tried convincing herself that it wasn’t important, that it didn’t change anything. But she knew it did, it changed everything. No matter how many times she tried to delude herself, the intrusive thoughts that never stopped urging her to tell him continued their unabating blathering. Though she knew she never acted like them or shared their mentality, she knew how it would come across and she knew how George would react. A member of the Rosier family, a family known for possessing ostentatious pride due to their pureblood status dating someone part of a family deemed to be a stain on the sacred 28. Y/N was scared to lose everything she had with George, she was too afraid of the unknown so she kept it from him for as long as she could. That was a mistake, a huge one.

Everything seemed to be fine but one afternoon, when Y/N found that George wasn’t where they had agreed to meet she grew concerned. Her footsteps echoed as she ran to his dorm, worried he was hurt or in trouble.

“I know.”

“What are you talking about Georgie.” Her laughs were forced and stiff, she found it unusual for him to be so solemn. But as his shoulders deflated and his back hunched over his book she knew something was wrong, and she knew what it was. Before he could utter a single word she had already started berating herself in her head. How could one be so selfish? So inconsiderate and dull?

“You never told me? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” The incessant beating of her heart filled her ears, almost deafening her and making her unable to hear George’s voice, the voice that was usually filled with joy now sounded devastated and tumultuous. Tears had already threatened to cascade both of their cheeks and it was just a matter of time before someone started weeping.

“I didn’t think it mattered, I just wa-”

“But it does matter. It matters so much, are you completely oblivious to how the world works? How unfair it is to people like me? To people in my family? We’re a joke to people like you, so what was this all about?”

“I- George I’m with you because I love you, that’s all I swear. I’m not like them, I’m not.”

“So why'd you hide it then? Why couldn’t you just tell me?” His voice was hushed and fragile, he struggled to keep a steady tone, by instinct he remained stoic but his voice revealed how betrayed he felt.

“I just wanted a simple life, where it didn't matter your last name or your class or your blood purity, I didn’t want this to change our relationship. I wanted to be like everyone else. I want the future we always talk about, I don't care for any of that pureblood mania.”

“No! No you can’t say that not when you’re literally in one of the most prestigious and honored pureblood families. You don’t understand how bloody lucky you are Y/N! Honestly, have you ever realized that? You can do whatever you want and even if you fail you will never fall on your arse, but me, no I can’t do that if I failed I’m fucked. You can get away with anything with a simple call to your father, you can buy your way to the top. Why would you hide this from me? All this time, was I some charity case? Did your family force you to be with me just to get dirt on mine?”

“What? No! George! No...I just didn’t want this to change things and I’m sorry I’m so so sorry, I love you so much I was just scared please .”

“You’re just like the rest of them.”

“Oh, I- if that’s what you think, I’ll just leave you be, I’m sorry.” With her head hung low and tears clouding her vision she made haste to locate the doorknob and rush out of his room. She ignored the frantic footsteps and calls of worry from Hermione and Harry as she bulleted out of the common room. She ignored Fred and Lee who were sitting on the bench in a corridor as they scribbled onto sheets of parchment, she ignored Luna who tried to grab her attention, and Cho, and Angelina, and Neville, everyone, she was verklempt and if anyone even gave her a look of sympathy she knew she’d break down in tears.

The rest of the afternoon she stayed quietly in her bed, curled up in a ball with crumpled tissues surrounding her. She felt guilty for crying, she had brought this onto herself. That didn’t stop her though because upon realizing what she had done, the image of George so distraught, so disappointed, plagued her mind and broke her heart even more. It was something that would plague her memories forever. It was ruined, they were ruined.

Days dragged like molasses dripping from a spoon, every walk between class there he’d be, leaning against a pillar while throwing his head back in laughter, or during meal times, his arms flailing as he retold a story about a prank, or in the library his head lulling to the side as he waited for Fred to determine the missing ingredient for a potion they wanted to perfect before selling it. It hurt her, seeing that he was completely fine without her, like everything was normal. He was everywhere, and even if he wasn’t physically, mentally he was. The words rang in her ears again and again ‘you’re just like the rest of them,’ it stung each time it repeated. She was starting to believe that she was just as bad as they are, just as selfish and malevolent and spiteful. It clawed at the abyss of her mind, dragging her entire being into a spiral of endless darkness.

The air was cold, the kind that nipped at all your nose and made it hard to breathe. The walk from Y/N’s potions class to herbology wasn’t pleasant as her fingers turned numb and red. The stone flooring crumbled under her black school shoes as she kicked the pieces that already broke off. She watched as the pebbles ricocheted from the toe of the black vinyl to a slightly elevated stone tile, she’d focus on anything but the things that lingered in her subconscious. It had been working in her favor for the past couple of weeks, or months, she couldn’t really tell, everything blurred into one continuous string of agonizing events. She found herself being unaware of what was in front of her because without even realizing it she bumped directly into the boy she’d been trying to make sure her thoughts were devoid of. On instinct, his arms immediately gripped her forearms and her hands pressed against his chest. Time moved slower than ever as their eyes slowly raked up from where their hands were to the eyes of who they were on. They scrambled from each other, muttering pathetic ‘sorry’s and speed walking with promptitude to opposite ends of the corridor.

The worst part was that no matter how often they tried to steer away from the other, they’d always cross each other's path. It got to the point where they weren’t even trying to hide their yearning to talk, they’d openly send longing stares but would never act on their desires. So much was unsaid and they realized they couldn’t just leave how things were, they had to talk about where they stood. The conclusion of that conversation was unclear and that’s what frightened them the most. The reality was that every day they refused to communicate out of obdurate pride, their relationship became more and more decrepit. George felt doltish and penitent, he didn’t mean what he said, he was hurt, angry and confused. Y/N felt guilty, she hurt the love of her life due to her selfish wishes to avoid confrontation.

It had been about 2 months, 2 agonizing, and treacherous months. George finally cracked, and much like the way things had started between them, he was looking for her in the great hall. He searched, pushing himself up slightly against the table, for any sign of her, anyone who would know where she was. It didn’t take long as he found Luna’s prolific hair, and there she was sitting right next to her. He could see her pushing around the vegetables on the golden plate in front of her, her cheek resting in her palm as a dejected countenance presented itself on her face. It saddened him to see her beautiful face so full of despondency. He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to talk to her, he’d gone crazy without her. He abhorred pretending it didn’t phase him when he wasn’t with her, she had become a vital part of his life in such a short time. He knew she meant well. He wanted to fix things, he had to. Swiftly George dug through Ron’s back to grab a piece of parchment and scribbled using the quill Hermione was using, to the both of their dismays. He acted before he could fully process what his plan was because before he knew it he was faced with Y/N. Her eyes widened upon his arrival but before she could think of anything to say he placed the folded piece of parchment in front of her plate and dashed to the Gryffindor table. Dropping her fork she unfolded the parchment and smiled softly at the scraggly writing she adored so much.

'Astronomy Tower at 8?'

-----

She feared that she'd collapse as she feebly made her way up the steps to the astronomy tower. Her gloved hand held the note firmly, hoping that there was still a chance for them to fix everything. As she rounded the corner to ascend the final steps she found George sitting there.

"Y/N, you came" He breathed out, almost in disbelief.

"I'll take any chance to see you again." She mentally berated herself for saying something so sappy, but she noticed his eyes widen and his back straighten slightly.

"You're early."

"So are you."

"Yeah, I- uh yeah. I wanted to make sure I didn't miss you." A heavy silence fell upon them and they bore holes into each other with their apprehensive stares, waiting to see who would speak first.

"I'm sorry." "I'm sorry." They blurted at the same time, but Y/N nodded for him to continue.

"I didn't mean it, any of it. You're nothing like them I know that, just shocked me y'know? I should've never said those cruel, demeaning things to you, I know who you really are and I love you. Merlin, I'm so deeply and madly in love with you, and I really hope I haven't screwed us up. I understand if you don't want to get back together, after everything, but please if there is still a part of you that wants 'us' to happen again, tell me."

She nodded enthusiastically throwing herself into George's direction, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face between his shoulder and neck. He immediately pulled back slightly to grab her face with his hands, rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs. He pressed his forehead against hers and smiled so hard his face hurt.

"I meant everything I said, about the future and wanting to spend it with you. My mother and father...they're relatives but not family, they've never felt like home the way that you do." She felt him nod against her forehead. He held her chin between his index and thumb, tilting her head so her lips met his. He ghosted his lips over hers, brushing past them before connecting them softly. The warmth he's always felt ever since he saw her returned, and it cloaked his senses as he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. After minutes of fervently compensating for lost time, with roaming hands and whispers or repeated 'i love you's and plans for their future, they pulled apart. Standing in silence in each other's embrace, they knew they'd make it through all the tumultuous times ahead because they had each other.

[villainwithinme]

Beauty Outside Pt. 2

Part II of Beauty Outside. I will be giving recommendations on what you can use or what you can try. Some tips you must have heard. So let's begin.

Main tip make board/s on the type of aesthetic you want on pinterest. From outfits to makeup will help you navigate on how you want to appear . I will be using my own pinterest board vision to show you guys what I am talking about.

1. Skin

Make sure to know what type of skin you have. If you use products that aren't meant for you, you will break out. Start with a simple skincare routine- Face wash, moisturizer, and sunscreen. Then you can add new product, test it out for a whole week to see how your skin will react. Some product don't mesh well. Homemade masks are amazing for your skin. I have oily/combination skin and like to use the Freeman Anti Stress clay mask twice a week. For a homemade mask I like to use banana , turmeric (don't put to much just a teaspoon , and yogurt). This mask works for pimples,acne scars, and smoothen the skin. Also, make sure to use a quality sunscreen that won't leave you feeling oily and gross.I like to use the Neutrogena Ultra Dry Suncreen.

2. Aesthetic

Each of us want different types of aesthetic. This is where your pinterest boards will play out . Find scenes from movies,environments you love and daydream about, music,hobbies, etc. This will guide you for completing your aesthetic with makeup, hair, outfits, persona, etc. And it's okay to have more than one aesthetic don't limit yourself. For me I want that ' Nightly grunge foggy Nostalgic' type of vibes.

Anything that has that dark Nostalgic feel is the type of aesthetic that I fuck with. Environments like the woods, dark blue skies, or even dawn time itself inspires me to get the vibes that I want. Some of my favorite movies cinematography that have that aesthetic; the virgin suicides, white oleander, girl interrupted, and Young adults matter.

3. Style

Once you find out the aesthetic you want. Finding out the style you love very much and tip make sure you are comfortable. If you wear uncomfortable outfits you won't feel good about your appearance it will just feel awkward and you will look awkward. Ask yourself who are my favorite characters and do you like their outfits? What is my favorite outfit that I have in my closet currently? If I where to turn into a ghost what will be my forever outfit?( I got this question from tumblr). What outfits will match the aesthetic that I want? What type of material do I like and enjoy wearing? What color palette do I want to have in my closet?

4. Scents

I believe that it is worth investing in a scents to make you feel amazing and it completes the look. Now a perfume has 3 types of notes. Top, Middle, Base notes. Top is what you first smell, Middle is the most important note as it is what you smell the longest,and lastly Base is what sits on your skin. Find scents that you love in your body and it mix well with you body natural smell.Now remember the are 4 types of fragrances that are in categories:

Fresh- Aqua and green notes.

Fresh Perfumes: D&G Light Blue, Calvin Klein CK one, VS Aqua Kiss

Floral- Sweet and flowery. Jasmine, lilies, roses, etc. (Fruity Scents are also near this category)

Floral Perfumes: Body Fantasy Moonlit Florals , B&BW Gingham Love Fine, Daisy Marc Jacobs

Woody- Wood based. Sandalwood, amber, mossy woods.

Woody Perfume: Valentino Voce Viva, Tom Ford Oud Wood, Dossier Woody Sandlewood

Oriental- warm, sweet, and little spice. Cinnamon, vanilla, pink pepper.

Oriental Perfume: Tom Ford Tuscan Leather, Donna Valentino, Red Vanilla Zara

If you are like me and get annoyed that their people that smell the same as you. Don't worry just find 2 or (how many you want) perfumes that have a few notes in common and you can layer them together. If you want an expensive perfume I recommend to get sample sizes to see if you like it. Also, find matching shower gel and lotion for the smell to LAST longer.

5. Hair & Makeup

Try to find hairstyles and makeup looks that you love or want to try out. Experiment, Experiment, AND Experiment makeup isn't easy but Ik it makes you feel yourself. That's what is important to make you look 🔥.Look up makeup artists on YouTube, tiktok, Instagram, or Pinterest to 👀 what you like or what inspires you. As for hair try pins, headbands, scrunchies anything that will expand your options on what you want to do. I usually get hair accessories from Etsy and there such good qualities recommend for sure.

Your at the end loves 💖. Ik this took so long but trust me I know you guys have heard all of this, I am just hear to remind you guys about it. I will post more in the future and my next post will be Beauty in Knowledge. Till next time. ☁️ 💓

[eyra]

day 4 after my lil symptoms first developed and I feel like I’ve been dropkicked down the stairs!

honestly the wildest part is having to take a little break on the way to the bathroom and sit down on the floor to catch my breath - I feel fantastically melodramatic whenever I have to do this.

I’ve got the good benylin, the one that really knocks you out.

for context I’m a relatively fit [redacted] year old in pretty good health so I really thought if I caught it I’d be asymptomatic - the arrogance!

anyway guess this is another day of watching 14 hours of gilmore girls and eating jelly with a teaspoon. best wishes. x

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 9

MANY Thanks to @raspberrydreamclouds who designed this cover as a gift! ☝

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Completed.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Lacey)

Word count: 8.3k

Warnings: Dark themes, smut, fluff and angst. Unprotected sex, hints of stalking, violence, swearing, sexual mentions, slight gore, choking, death.   

A/N: Okay, this chapter is long, it was hard to write, you guys may never speak to me again after this. So I’ll just post it now, and turn off my phone and hide beneath the blanket with excessive anxiety. Thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.💖 

As always, comments and feedback are more than welcome 💖💕

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Lacey

~*~

Have you paid the ferryman?

~*~

The cool light of fluorescent doesn’t do the honeyed gold of her hair justice. 

Doe eyes meet him, a striking green. Pure, like freshly-cut grass on a spring morning. The navy-coloured suit she wears counters the sunny shade of her slightly curly hair. She sports mid-length tassels, cut neatly just above her shoulders. She looks like she had it done this morning by the looks of it . 

“Hartmann, Lacey.”

Sitting at his desk with a pen pressed to his lips, the CIA agent observes her while ignoring the small hand in front of him. A tall, fit man in his late 20’s, face clean-shaven, hair like pure chocolate, combed neatly to the side but for a large rogue curl that falls on his brow. He collects it between his fingers and attempts to tuck it back in place.

“I don’t do partners, sweetcheeks.” he retorts after a short glance and turns away from the young agent, returning to his computer to browse a file he was just reading before she interrupted him.

An amused sigh passes through her plump lips as she shakes her head with sheer disbelief. “Do you have it any more cliche than that?” 

“I might, depending how long you are going to loom over there, princess.” August shoots back and slightly adjusts the tie around his shirt collar, not bothering to face the young woman again. It’s obvious what this is: a muzzler, or rather a babysitter in the form of a really good-looking girl. 

He fights the temptation to take another gander at the way her hair frames the apples of her rosy cheeks. 

“But since you’re already here, how about you fulfil your purpose in life and get me a cup of coffee? Double espresso, no sugar.”

August shoots her a look, observing her immediate reaction. Lacey’s green eyes widen, her mouth slightly opens. She rubs her knuckle between the soft pads of her fingers while thinking of what could be a suitable response to his disrespectful request.

I guess Erica didn’t bother prepping her.

Sloane, the heartless lioness. She leered at him with that sour look on her face since the day he stepped into the building. He swears the woman must have slices of lemons hidden in her panties. There is not even a drop of respect in those dark eyes whenever he sits in her office. Nor does she harbour any trust in his performance on the field. 

It all just worsened thanks to Ukraine. 

The explosion in the old Soviet power plant killed dozens of innocent lives at the cost of one. Though that man was responsible for the death of thousands, if not more. 

If you want to tear down a building, you better use a fucking hammer.

That cunt should thank him and promote him. 

“Nothing but daddy’s boy.” That’s what she sees in him. He might as well be another dead CIA agent like his father, then. Erased from memory, his great achievements discredited. At least he doesn’t have a family to throw to the dogs so they can rip them to shreds.

Oh Sloane, if only you knew half of the shit that goes beneath that stuck-up nose of yours.

Releasing another deep sigh, Lacey slumps to the seat in front of him, crossing her long legs together and leaning back in her chair while grabbing the folder on her desk. Her lips clamp together tightly, trying to hide the saltiness on her face. Long lashes curtain her eyes which pretend to read through the file. August rolls his eyes with annoyance, trying to ignore her existence and continue working his way through a case he’s been reading before she interrupted him. 

Yet every now and then his storm-touched eyes peer at the naive-looking woman, observing her and trying to determine how long will she last.

~*~

Is this hell?

~*~

That dusting of freckles on her nose and the fresh shimmer in her eyes give out much softness, yet she is anything but weak. Lacey Hartmann is a shield-maiden of some sort. For 2 months she withstood August’s “boot camp,” meaning she appeared unaffected by his cold demeanour.

At times there is even a hint of a smile hiding beneath that peach shade lipstick when August challenges her with an obscene dark joke. A hint of amusement tints the green of her irises, but she never dares to admit it. 

Too coy, almost chaste, yet iron-willed. 

August finds her behaviour borderline masochistic as he continues to prize her with nothing but arctic affection. Even so, she always listens when he speaks, her eyes open with pure intent, a fertile green field in her glance. 

Something spikes at the marrow of his bones, intrigue or so. Trivial thoughts find themselves latching into the tunnels of his complicated mind. His CIA brain begins to note her morning routine. A glacial stare registers the vanilla latte she drinks almost religiously every morning at 9, with two teaspoons of sugar. Lacey has a sweet tooth, it seems. She never misses dessert at the cantine and he once caught her bending the rules and sneaking candies back from their previous mission at eastern Europe.

He also noticed how when she is nervous, she twirls a finger in her hair with agitation and chews her plump lips. 

Blue is another point of interest. The colour seems to be dominant in her attire and accessories for some cryptic reason, though. not obsessively. She wears black or grey but then ties a silk scarf the shade of the sky around her delicate throat. When she is having a bad hair day, it’s the red pencil suit that draws attention to her body instead. The combination is horrifying when she sits in front of him holding her favourite mug which is glittery cerulean. 

He begins to wonder about her life outside of the headquarters. Her file rested in his apartment for weeks yet only recently he found himself bored enough to peek inside and read about her personal life. No husband is listed under her marital state, yet he wonders if a woman as attractive as Lacey has a man waiting for her at home. Someone kind, he imagines, and pitiful. She looks like a woman lacking a strong man in her life. 

“Are you going to finish that?” 

August’s brows furrow as she cuts into his adventurous trails of thought. His glassy eyes pierce at her as she sits in front of him at the cantine, sharing a lunch table. He hardly speaks during lunch anyway, and only listens to her musings with the usual sulk on his face. 

Lacey appears slightly frightened when she sees his menacing expression, yet her fright melts into a soft blush and a coy grin, in an attempt to pacify him. He nudges the plate with a slice of chocolate cake in her direction. 

“No, go ahead.” he watches as she digs her fork into it with excitement, her eyes shutting with near orgasmic pleasure as the chocolate melts on her tongue.  

His mind continues to wander, offering him possible imaginary visions of her personal life while she mumbles something in the background about the cake being outrageous. 

Her home address would be in that file too. 

It’s nothing but idle curiosity, after all.

~*~

You don’t believe in hell.

~*~

It’s been over 6 months of enduring her by his side. August imagined she’d run off crying to Sloane 2 days after being forced into this partnership, but she keeps a vow of secrecy, even when he bends a guideline or two during missions or violates nearly every HR policy. At first, she would warn him about his behaviour, but now she just calls it “The Walker Way”. 

It almost feels like he has a partner in crime. 

They arrived in Sicily a night ago, their mission is to locate and capture a millionaire-turned-terrorist and bring him in for questioning. It’s a  high profile target, which means the CIA spared no expense providing them with the finest hotel suites and fancy attire to attend a gallery opening. An informant suggested the suspect might be doing his bidding at the same mansion. 

Lacey meets August at the hotel’s main parking lot, wearing a cornflower blue mermaid-cut gown. Threads of silver adorn the outlines of her cleavage and little pieces of sparkling glitter draw his attention to her bust. He doesn’t attempt to hide the way his eyes fixate on her breasts. Beaming at the pale pink fat of her bosom before his gaze finally wanders to meet her face, giving her his regular cocky stance.

Is she wearing a bra underneath?

“You look handsome,” Lacey compliments, swallowing a complaint about the obvious way he objectified her. “We look as if we’ve matched colours.” The royal blue three-piece suit brings out the ocean in his eyes and she allows herself to dwell in the calm water as she glances back, offering him a smile.

Stoic, he ignores her praises, studying her face quietly. The shade on her lips is not the usual one; it’s darker, making her look more vamping. He doesn’t like it, her natural appearance is sweet and supple, and this colour clashes with her complexion and the concept of her in his mind.

The unnerving silence between them greatly challenges her. The need to crack the autumn evening air with some sort of dialogue pans in her chest. 

“Are you…” Lacey begins speaking when her eyes squint at the region of his mouth. “...growing a moustache?” Bold fingers reach up, ghosting over his upper lip where a few days’ stubble seems to grow longer than the rest on his jaw. August cocks his eyebrow as the tips of her fingers almost touch his mouth. She notices his disapproval and pulls her hand away apologetically.

“For the mission, I thought it might make me look older.” 

An amused smile cracks on her face, her cheeks rounding up to perfect blushing circles. “The real Mrs. Walker would be mortified.”  

August scoffs, rolling his eyes at the notion before turning away to watch the cars that pass by. His hand rests on his chest, straightening the vest underneath his suit and stretches the muscles of his back. A timid-blowing zephyr caresses his face; his Adam apple rises and drops dryly in his throat.

“Is there a…”

“Oh c’mon, Hartmann! You know the answer to the question, don’t act stupid and play small talk with me, it’s not your style.” 

Lacey’s lips press shut together, her green eyes dropping to the floor. She knows the only Mrs. Walker is his mother, and Madeleine has been gone for a couple of years now. Everything is in his file, allowing her to learn about the “mundane life” August Walker leads, or at least the ones he allows her to see through her CIA spectacles. 

It was an obligation to do the same with her. His old man once told him to learn who he’s dealing with before opening his “goddamn mouth.” That’s all there is to it, and his curiosity if he has to admit it.

Lacey Hartmann lives alone with her cat, Sir Podrick, on Hampshire St 457 on flat number 45. A magazine two-room apartment, picture-perfect, tidy to the point of OCD. She has an older sister but they rarely see each other. On her free weekends, she loves to watch romantic comedies while drinking hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows. 

He often wonders if her sweet tooth is compensating for something missing in her life. Yet there is never a man in her apartment.

Sometimes she dances in front of the window, especially after a hard day at the office. He can’t tell which music is playing in her headphones, but the way she moves her body makes him believe it’s something upbeat and cheerful. 

The images of her bedroom window vanish as a slightly irritating thought peaks in his mind at her comment. Mrs. Walker. A hiss of violent air shoots from his nostrils. 

Relationships were not something he cared to pursue. Life had other offerings. 

Besides, the women he liked were too tender and he was too rough. So, his conquests never lasted more than a night. 

Agitated, he pulls his sleeve to look at his Rolex, muttering something obscene under his breath which makes Lacey shift uncomfortably on her feet. The driver should have arrived by now. Every car that parks at the pebbled road bears disappointment, dropping off more honeymooners and rich, older married couples. 

A soft smile breaks on Lacey’s painted lips while she stares at August who’s facing the driveway with his fists clenched at the sides of his body.

“Well, since we’re stuck here waiting for a ride, you better entertain me.” Lacey speaks with grace, not a hint of nervousness or fright in her voice. She learnt how to deal with August and his tantrums by now. 

August remains silent, his sight never breaking from the driveway and the alley of palm trees that pave the path. 

“Or I guess we can stare at the big full moon,” she says to herself, lifting her eyes to the clear sky.

August stares back at the golden-haired woman, her long lashes fluttering gently as she counts the stars in her mind. A naive glint sparks her eyes as she’s captivated by her own fascination. The pale blue of the moon reflects on her milky skin, making her look like a siren in her beautiful dress.

“Yeah, it’s lovely,” he says in his deep voice. 

*~*

And even if it existed, hell wouldn’t have you.

*~*

The expo is held at a royal mansion of some sort. A large Sicilian palace that is owned by an ageing millionaire. Golden floral embellishments spread across the azure velvet walls, shimmering at the lights of the crystal chandeliers which dangle in the halls.   

Various ancient trinkets are placed in glass cubes. Crudely-made bows and arrows that were carved from cheap wood by a half-brain neanderthal are offered for the price of 200,000,000 Euros.    

Ridiculous.

Keen on finding their target, both August and Lacey decide to split up upon their arrival, planning their strategy ahead by protocol. August is the striking image of professionalism tonight, stretching his gaze around the large hallway. He has been this way for the last several missions, working by the book, making sure to perform as clean as possible, whatever that means in CIA terms. 

He even managed to win a word of praise from Sloane, who still can’t stand the very sight of his face. But at least she ceased from eating his head at the conclusion of every mission. 

And Lacey seems to appreciate it, too. 

The brooding man spends the night pretending to be enthralled by the exhibition and its boring guests who continually attempt to strike pointless conversations with him. As part of his task, he only speaks with those who seem to be an asset and brushes others away by answering in fluent Italian, pretending to not understand a word in English while smiling at them politely. 

Blending in, the young agent stands by one of the bars, leaning onto the marble counter and enjoying some type of strawberries-in-cream dessert which was offered to him by a tall,  abnormally attractive waitress who’s been walking around with a silver tray. 

Lacey would love this fruit-pudding thingy, he muses as his fingers brush through the mid-length stubble above his lip. His eyes carefully scan the room for any group of men in their late 30s for a clue or a sign. 

The sound of a woman’s laughter chips away his attention like a siren’s call.

So that’s how she sounds like when she laughs. 

Grabbing a glass of champagne, he steps forward on the black carpeted floor, following the cheerful voice as it rolls delightfully in his ears. Storm clouds gather in his eyes. The siren is behaving unprofessionally to the point of being offensive. A tall glass of half-empty Lambrusco hangs between her slender fingers while her head falls back; her hand rests on her chest, trying to contain her laughter. 

She is the centre of attention to a group of famished men. 

August frowns with disapproval. She’s supposed to act drunk, not get buzzed. Standing at the large pathway, he watches how she smiles widely, mouth gaping, small dimples peeking at the corner of her lips. The honey of her hair makes her stand out in a room of dark beauties, the shade of her dress an anchor for any travelling eyes.

He takes an irritated sip from his champagne, swallowing the sparkly liquid, trying to ignore the bells of laughter which begin to sound like an insult, meant to provoke him. His piercing eyes search for the target in the room, focusing on the task on hand and being the professional his father urged him to be. 

Yet as if magnetized, his glare returns to her.  

For a moment there he nearly forgets that she is a CIA agent. The men around her flirt nearly barbarically, their mouths salivating with predatory hunger. Is she too pure to understand their intentions? The vultures are waiting to tear her limb by limb. Possibly hoping she will be drunk enough to be dragged by one of them.

The storm inside him rages. Thoughts of her being tainted by one of these hideous men enter his mind and poison bubbles in his throat, drowning him in anger.

He puts his champagne flute on the tray of one of the hostesses who passes by. He fixes his tie over his neck and swallows hard. His strides are confident and charismatic as he marches into their circle abruptly, reaching an arm over to Lacey. 

“Sweetheart, here you are. Come see this piece, you’re going to love it.” hee speaks with contained anger, his baritone loud and clear, roaring through his puffed chest and squared shoulders.

Lacey turns to smile at him as he latches his fingers around her forearm, rescuing her by pulling her away from the predators with as much elegance he can muster at his current aggravated mood.

“Are you fucking drunk, Hartmann? What’s wrong with you?! We have a dangerous man to catch.” He whispers angry and low in her ear, carrying her toward an open terrace where they can discuss and re-strategize the mission.

The cool breeze caresses their faces, tenderly running through their hair as they approach the open air. The young woman continues to giggle as August’s fingers tickle beneath her armpit while he takes her to stand next to the large renaissance modules that hide them from the guests of the event. He lets go of her forearm, looking down at her with a scowl.

“Relax, I was trying to make it look convincing with these decadent, empty idiots.” she attempts to pacify him, looking up into his eyes, her head reaching just beneath his square chin. 

“Isn’t it ridiculous?”

“What is?”

“The way they sell these artefacts on such a high price when it was created by a primitive creature who ate his own fleas,” she mocks with a mischievous smile. “This is the end of human culture, this capitalistic point of view.”

A cold shiver crawls at August’s spine as he hears her speaking of his ideals. He had never seen her this way before. 

So opinionated, so bold. 

Has she been reading my mind?

They have never been this physically close, he can smell the lupines on her skin and the Lambrusco on her breath. Lacey’s amused grin begins to relax somewhat, her eyes now staring at something with stark fascination.

“You have a brown spot in one of your eyes.”

August brow furrows even deeper, dark lines forming between his thick eyebrows as the woman ogles him in a bizarre way. His blood thickens as the pleasant wind brushes at his face.

“Sectoral heterochromia, I was born with it.”

“It’s beautiful,” she answers with an enchanted glare, batting her lashes and moving further to study the shape of his flaw. Her feet arch to the tip of her toes, reaching higher to his face. August remains still, watching as if within a haze when her lips crash onto his. 

Chills spiral through his nerves, his eyes wide open as her soft lips press into his in a long, chaste kiss. There is a small hum in her voice, painted lashes look like black curved trails as her eyes shut with an enchantment. For a second he can feel her body press into his, her breasts grinding at his broad chest. She slowly detaches from him, opening her eyes and falling flat on her feet.

Alarm spills onto her face, her hand covering her mouth with guilt as panic surges. August stares back without a sign of emotion on his arctic face.

“I’m so sorry!” She calls out in utter embarrassment, moving away from him by a step.

His breath grows rigid, his mind a war. In an instant, he pulls her wrist away from her face and claims her into his grasp, kissing her earnestly, even violently. Lacey’s moans melt into his mouth, her body crashing into his, writhing as her lips gape, accepting his insidious tongue. 

She tastes like sugar.

August slams her against the wall, growling as her hands roam down his body and messing his outfit. A fervent stir tingles at his groin and the way she squeezes the muscles of his behind and tries to shove her hands under his trousers does nothing to relax his racing heart. Depraved, his hand pushes between her legs, trying to cup her heat through the tight dress, yet it cages her legs too tightly. 

“I want you out of this fucking dress.” August growls, breaking the passionate kiss to breath hot and heavy in her ear. 

“Then take me back to the hotel.” she retorts breathlessly, grinding her pelvis into the growing hardness in his groin.

“We can’t, the mission.”

Lacey emits a frustrated huff, sounding as if she’s meaning to beg as her body constantly pushes into his in a snakelike dance. “Forget about him, he’s not here, we’ll do it the Walker way.”

There is nothing in this world strong enough to convince him otherwise as those big doe eyes peer at him with admiration and a sense of need he never received from any woman before. It wasn’t like the women who begged him to fuck them as he tormented and delayed their release.

For the first time in his life, he felt purely wanted.

~*~

The ride back to the hotel is the most dreadful experience he had to endure in his life. Both Lacey and he sit at each side of the car, avoiding eye contact whilst their organs throb with aching need. She keeps her fingers laced together while the driver listens to some old Italian love song and sings along the tunes on the radio. August attempts to avoid drowning into his thoughts but the idea of having her tonight makes the blood pool hot in his loins.

They hardly make it into her room. Exploiting every moment left in solitude to make out like horny teenagers. Whenever a hotel staff member or a guest passes by, they break away from one another in the most obvious manner.

As they finally arrive at the suite, August kicks the door shut with his foot and preys at her, his talons reaching for her face, his thumb wiping off whatever remains of her lipstick before kissing her again. 

“I don’t like this, it isn’t you.” he states in between invigorated kisses while Lacey battles to take off his clothes, pushing the blazer off his shoulders and then working the buttons of his vest and shirt with lust guiding her fingers. She ignores his remark, answering with another breathless kiss instead while moving to fumble with his belt.

Their feet kick at one another as August leads them toward the king-size bed, fondling the curves of her body through the terrible prison that is her dress. His long legs nearly lose their balance as she successfully unzips his trousers and finds him fully erect and pulsating in her small hand. 

Logic turns to steam at the manipulation of her hands. His gasps resonate through the length of his throat, giving in to the whispers of his heart. How long yearned for her, wanting to keep her in the birdcage of his vision. 

Lacey, so bold yet so sweet.   

With the swiftness of his hands, he turns her around, tugging at the zipper of her dress while dotting her collarbone with possessive nibbles. Her naked figure unveils to him as a flower opens to the sunlight of spring.

Left in nothing but her baby-blue lace underwear, she steps out of her dress and moves to face the large naked man, pacing back as he sneaks toward her like a direwolf. The look on her face is admirable. Drenched of fear and desire at once, feeding his natural dominance.

“August…” she whispers his name. Her lips quiver at the sight of his broad form, appreciating every sinew, every muscle. August reaches to hold his cock as the blood stirs into it with rage, wanting to be inside this angel, to taint her and mark every piece of skin. 

“I don’t have a condom.” he warns, licking his lips as she slides her underwear down her long, creamy legs. Her mound is completely waxed, just the way he wants it. Pure.  

“I’m clean and protected.”

Inviting him into her mysteries, Lacey offers him a devoted stare and reaches her delicate hand toward him. No clarity is left in his mind; desire clouds every rational thought, every self-preservation instinct. He ignores her hand and lunges at her like a predator.

They fall into a sea of silken sheets together, August covering her body with his, giving no care of how his weight crushes her. His hands hold her wrists pinned to the mattress as he pushes her smooth thighs apart with his knees.

Lacey’s moans are mesmerizing as he sinks himself into her wonders. Singing her pleasure at him like a true siren. An overwhelmed groan breaks from his own lips as the wetness of her flesh encloses around his cock, sucking him from within with an embrace of lust. Soft and delicate, she writhes against his crude, rugged body and he thrusts inside her with teetering grunts, taking her with sheer, primal dominance. 

She feels different, like no other woman he ever had before. Completely submissive to his darkest desires. Her body opens to him, like a precious, heavenly nymph and he takes what he wants. Deeper and deeper, drowning into her womb, never wanting to stop, invigorated by the way her hands clutch at his body with the same desperation that is in his chest.

For three days, they never leave the suite. Lost in a carnal euphoria that makes both of them forget the existence of the outer world.

~*~

Oh, hell indeed exists, it’s on the earth you walked your entire life.

~*~

The delicious aroma of crispy, caramelized bacon and fluffy pancakes tickles his senses to wake up. Salty and sweet, the scent draws him to sit upon the bed that’s slightly too small for his wide frame. A drowsy smirk crawls onto his face. This scent is his second favourite thing to wake up to.  

Locating his cobalt trunks on the floor, he hauls himself out of her bed, pulls them on and tries to tame the messy bundle of curls on his head while he walks to find her in the kitchen. The bacon sizzles on the pan as Lacey stands next to the stove in his buttoned-up shirt. She is flipping an impossible quantity of pancakes and frying strips of bacon in another pan. 

Her rounded ass peeks at him with every shift her body makes.

August sneaks behind her with the skill of a CIA agent, looming closer and wrapping his arms around her torso, his chin resting on the top of her head, while his hungry eyes feast on the pancakes and amber bacon.

Lacey flinches in his grip, he can feel her heart jump for a moment before she relaxes into his embrace, lips melting into a wide smirk as August rocks her from side to side.

“Morning,” she hums delightfully. “Go sit, there is freshly brewed coffee waiting for you.”

August drops a kiss on the top of her head, a low growl of serenity climbing up his throat. “You’re a dream, princess.”

And you’re all mine. 

With a wisp of unwillingness, he detaches from her and walks to the table, where Lacey’s favourite mug of coffee awaits him with steam rising from within. His eyes are a calm sea sparkling at the sunrise as he looks at her with admiration. 

Everything about her tips him across the edges of sanity; the way she smiles at his horrible dark jokes, the way she listens to everything he says with devotion and appeal, the way she speaks about her ideals and sees him like no person ever did before.

Lacey turns her head and sneaks a small glance at him, giving a smile and a wink before returning to the stove.

It took 5 months to admit to himself that he likes this, that he enjoyed being here, with her and her stupid cat, or in every distant location in the world. It didn’t matter if they were in Afghanistan or Paris, as long as he got to listen to her breathing in her slumber. That night in Sicily wasn’t just mindless sex. It was a union of two souls. They spent the night talking and while he was reluctant to open up-as he still is-he was stunned to find out just how much this woman shared similar points of views.

Though she never says it specifically, Lacey wants to watch the world burn. 

He hasn't even told her about his idea, not yet. It’s probably too soon anyway as he only started formulating his intention a couple of months ago. A part of him still fears how she may react if she finds out he’s been selling CIA secrets and dealing weapons right beneath Sloane’s nose. 

“I hope you’re hungry,”

Lacey calls out as she places two large plates of pancakes and bacon on the table and walks quickly to get the maple syrup from the counter. Sir Podrick jumps on the table as she puts the syrup next to the plates. Aggravated, August shoos the cat away and reaches to grab the woman's forearm, forcing her into his lap possessively.

“You know I am, princess.” he murmurs as he kisses her shoulder and then her lips, before grabbing a piece of pancake and some bacon with his fork and nibbling it deliciously. Lacey remains on his lap, grabbing a stripe of bacon from his plate and chewing on it with a pleasant moan before directing her gaze to August.

“How long do you think we can keep this a secret?” she asks, slight concern appearing on her face. August swallows the remaining pancake in his mouth and sips some coffee to clear his throat. His fingers thread through the gold of her hair, combing the large waves repeatedly.

“I don’t want them to take you away from me.”

His voice is nearly that of a child.

The agency’s protocol won’t allow partners to be in a relationship due to an incredible conflict of interest. “Sloane would lose her shit if she’d find out this entire time we’ve been doing this.” He chuckles dryly and shoves another piece of pancake into his mouth while still looking at Lacey. The first morning rays shine through the wide-open window, basking her face with a shimmering summer glow. 

“We can run away,” she teases. “Buy a yacht, tell Erica to go fuck herself and sail the sea.”

August smirks, his hand descending to the small of her back as images of embarking to the great unknown with her fill his chest with euphoric bliss. 

A daydream, perhaps in the future, after mankind is free.  

“I think she’s beginning to warm up to me though.” 

“Well, she did start calling you The Hammer after the last mission.” Lacey answers and grabs the mug from August’s side, stealing a mischievous sip. “If only they knew it has a different meaning to some of us.”

August crooks his eyebrow up at Lacey and wipes his moustache clean. His hands reach to tickle the sides of her belly, causing her to let go of the mug before he snatches it back. Her giggles make his heart feel at ease, something he’ll never dare to tell or show her. 

Asserting his dominance by only giving as much. 

“Why did you join the agency in the first place? You never told me.” she wraps her arms around his shoulders, the green of her eyes appearing yellow at the ray of sunlight that beams on her face.

His gaze falls upon the table, staring at the remnants of the pancakes while licking his teeth. Thoughts of his past begin to echo in the chasm of his mind. 

The day his mom fell to her knees and let out a banshee-like howl of agony at the empty ceiling as two agents came into their house.

He was 13, and from that moment on, he was all alone in a cold, ravenous world. 

“I wanted to die for the government, just like my father.” he spits out, thinking of how his life turned over one autumn morning. A tall, lanky boy who couldn’t even comfort his mother as she tore off tufts of her hair. 

August didn’t even cry, not since then.  

The curious look on Lacey’s face fades into sadness, compassion welling on her now golden-green irises. “You never told me how he died.” 

A muscle twitches in his cheek, his eyebrows knitting together as anger begins to slightly boil his blood. “Like all heroes, forgotten. I don’t know how, it was during a mission in Moscow. Nothing in his files but a mention on an accident, no details other than that.” 

“Is that why you have such small faith in the government?” Lacey asks innocently, referring to their pillow-talk. The ones they have while she presses her soft cheek to his chest and draws invisible circles onto his chest.  

The lump in his throat dries as he remembers the weeks that followed after his father was gone. They were thrown to the dogs to be gnawed at. No compensation, no financial support, and no one to comfort young August. 

His mother couldn’t even look at him anymore. Those blue soulful eyes, the cleft of his chin, and even the shape of his nose were inherited from his father. 

The most pain August has ever endured was when someone he loved was unable to look at him anymore.  

Madeleine was a loyal housewife from the midwest who never took a real job. Arthur provided for them. While he wasn’t the warmest father, he kept his family close, taking them with him on his trips, unless they were too dangerous. 

By the time August was seven, he’s already been to all continents. 

After his father’s death, both the money and his mother withered away. Having no experience in anything but waiting tables, Madeleine couldn't support her own child and perhaps she didn’t want to. The boy was a painful memory of what she lost. 

The last he remembers of her, she dragged him with her to church and went on her knees as August sat on the bench. She prayed and cried out to God until her knees bled and her eyes rimmed red from the tears she wept.

But God never answered.

That week, social services arrived at their door. He never saw her since that day and needless to say, no one wanted a hostile 13-year-old boy. 

August turns his face to stare at Lacey, examining her round, freckled face and her plump, pink lips. They make her look like a renaissance painting of an angel. At times, he’s afraid that his rage will tarnish her, swallow the light of her spirit. Yet he can never hold back, fucking her so roughly, she hurts for days. His instincts drive him to spill all his fury into her cavities. To offer all the spite and hurt that poisoned his soul, as if it will cleanse him. 

And for a few seconds, he is sanctified. Coming inside her makes him feel complete in every sense of the word.   

The soft purring of Lacey’s cat grounds him to reality. The chubby ginger cat rubs around his leg affectionately, his yellow diamond eyes staring at August. 

“Let’s not talk about it, anymore,” he replies in a somewhat final tone.

Lacey nods at him, giving him a look full of understanding. Her fingers reach behind his ear, stroking the soft chocolate curls and tucking them back. “Okay, Aug. But we really need to talk about that!” 

Her fingers move to point at his thick moustache, her eyes narrowing with disdain. 

August strokes his moustache with his thumb and index finger and lets them slide down the stubble of his square chin. “You don’t like it?”

Lacey shakes her head with protest, trying her best to appear irritated. “No.”  

Princess is so cute when she pretends to be angry.

August offers her a smug smirk in return, grabbing the last remaining piece of bacon from his plate and sliding it whole into his mouth. “Too bad, it stays.” he answers with his mouth full, grease smearing on the corners of his lips. “It makes me look dangerous and you love it.”

“No, you look like pornstar.”

“I’d fuck you like one.” he answers with a dark glint in his eyes. In a sudden movement, he places both hands on Lacey’s waist and stands up with her in his grip. The woman squeals with surprise as he flings her over his shoulder with little to no effort and stings her ass with a sharp slap.

“Do you want it here, sweetheart, or in the bedroom?” he asks and bites the fat of her behind. Lacey cries out in pain, her legs kicking the air.

He loves to hear her laugh, just as much as he loves to hear her scream.

*~*

If hell is on earth, then what does it make you?

*~*

Like a creature dwelling in the darkness, he sits in the bleak hours of the night, fingers stroking the keys as if he’s a composer, conducting his symphony of destruction. The flesh of his lips chafe at the lack of sleep and insufficient fluids, yet he gives no care. 

This will be his legacy, his gift to the world, his gift to her.

The pale teal light of the screen flickers lightly on his weary corneas. It’s nothing but pixels, black on white, five blocks of paragraphs for now, but the raw power in words proceeds beyond any other weapon known to mankind. So pure, so cataclysmic. 

Just like an atomic reaction.

She will see through his eyes soon. The potential, the greater good. All her words of breaking the system, about dreaming of a better world. A sweet, naive girl with a mind fed with agenda. It was as if they were threaded into one another’s life, destined to be. 

The paving of a new world has already begun. They call themselves the apostles, a group of no more than 12 people, men and women of science and power. Their identities are unknown among one another. It matters very little, the seeds have been sown into the earth. Small acts of terror, biological and chemical incidents around selected locations around the globe, just enough to test the waters. 

Greatness from small beginnings.

It will take time, yet he is patient, and his little angel of destruction will be by his side once the time is right. All mankind will be reunited in peace after the earth will shudder beneath their feet.

~*~

Does it make you a monster?

~*~

Something sharp prods his mind to wake up. A nightmare, whispering toxic words in the darkness. He hears a vague ruffle in the webbed darkness of the night and he blindly reaches his palm to stroke her and finds himself abandoned. There is a knot in his gut and a storm brewing in his mind. Carefully and silently, he reaches for the loaded gun in his nightstand and slips out of bed. 

Pale blue and humming, a soft light invites him to follow to the office next to his bedroom. His heart drums heavily in his chest, his face falling as his vision becomes clear. Bright pink winks through the molten mixture of shadow and light. She hovers over his open computer, spreading files and paper plans over the surface of his desk, all the while holding her digital camera, violating his secrets.

Whatever is in his chest shrieks and bleeds with misery.

“Would be more efficient if you’d switch the light on.”

The woman jumps as she hears his voice and a heavy flood of bright light showers her crimes as August flicks the switch on. She straightens up, as stiff as a frozen tree. Unable to face him right away, her face remains hidden from him. August can see the spasm of her legs beneath her nightdress.

“What are you doing?” August asks, his voice low and menacing, eyes travelling from the Nikon camera that hangs from her hand to his secret scribbles as they lay on his desk, right next to his open manifest. 

“Look at me.” he demands, stern and composed as he can. 

Lacey turns slowly to peer at him, her lips aquiver, eyes shining with guilt. The only sound from her is the shudder of her breath that rushes through her heaving chest. 

The hurt must have blinded his thoughts. He doesn’t remember aiming his gun at her head, it’s only when he sees the woman’s surrendering gesture does he register his actions.

Taking a deep breath, he lowers his gun and places it carefully on the floor. His hands splay in the air, disarmed, offering a truce as he stretches to stand straight. 

“Was I…” he swallows the dryness in his throat and licks his lips. 

It would take a real fool to be so blind to see what was in front of him the whole time. 

“I was your mission?”

Lacey remains quiet, her eyes refusing to meet his. Tears glide down the apples of her rosy cheeks. 

“Tell me the truth Lacey, please. I just want to understand.” The threat in his voice turns soft, becoming nearly a plea as he takes one step forward, watching the woman flinch and step back, her behind colliding with the desk.

The woman weeping in front of him is a trained CIA agent, yet the despair in her eyes shows no signs of panning struggle. The only way out of this room is through him, a man who is nearly twice her size and knows her every move.

“Erica suspected you’re the one who is leaking secrets, so she sent me…”

That’s why she inquired so much, wanted to hear his thoughts, to sleep at his home despite his reluctance. He agreed for the first time tonight, unaware of her insidious intentions. 

Did you really think you deserve this?

August scoffs, his heart clenching painfully in his battered lungs. 

He was wrong. There is something more painful than having someone you love never look back at you. 

“Did she tell you to sleep with me?”

Lacey’s gaze drops to the floor in silence; her answer is nothing but a pathetic sniffle as she pinches her nose.

Bile rises in his throat as he sees shame on her face, so obvious, so obscene. Her purity was false. 

There was nothing sweet or innocent about her, she was nothing but a whore.

“Answer me!!!” he rumbles, more beast than man. 

Lacey jumps and sobs with panic, nodding her head at him with her confession.  “Ye..Yes… any means possible.”

Running his palm through his face and groaning with frustration, the young CIA agent exhales hoarsely. He takes another small step towards her, gradually closing the distance between them, watching his shadow loom on her porcelain skin.

Lacey’s eyes widen with panic. Her ankles kick back the wooden legs of the desk, her hands scattering August’s belongings. White sheets of paper fly down to the floor, ink smudged by tears.

“Stay away,” she warns.

“Does she know? Did you tell her or anyone else at the agency?” he ignores her pathetic threats, taking another step closer. Her floral scent fills his nostrils, nearly triggering his instinct to claim her lips. His gaze softens with an ocean of mercy as she shakes in front of him so violently, breaking into tears of grief. 

Delicate fingers cup her jaw, sliding across the slick moistness of her tears as he tilts her chin up. “Please, tell me the truth.” 

Lacey lifts her gaze to meet his, her eyes puffy and red, her plump lips swollen. She wipes her nose with the back of her palm. “I had nothing to report, until now.”

His grasp tightens around her chin, forcing her head back to look at the text flickering on the monitor. “All this talk about a better world, I thought this is what you wanted.”

She snaps her head back to glare at him, eyes narrowing with disgust and anxiety. “You thought I’d like this?! This is sick!”

August’s nostrils flare yet he gives a gentle nod of understanding and hushes her sudden surge of stress. His hand caresses her round, damp face. The thick pads of his thumbs wipe the salty tears away from her skin and his body presses into hers. 

Even a tremoring mess, she is still so soft and warm. 

“Did you ever love me?” 

His lips are merely an inch from her temples as he whispers. His large hand slides down her cheek, stroking down her jaw and descending further below her chin.  

Unable to muster another lie, she remains silent, aware of the fact that the sand in the hourglass has all but diminished, along with her chances of survival.

Words are unnecessary. The truth speaks loudly in her eyes, the poisonous infidelity was always there all along. Struck by her angelic beauty he was too blind to see, leeching onto false heaven, a childish fantasy of love that never existed.

Small spots of blood begin to form in her wide-open eyes as his long fingers lock around her thin neck, squeezing with intensifying force. Tighter, harder. His name remains caged in her throat as she fights for the air she thinks she deserves. 

“No, you didn’t.” August whispers, his vision beginning to blur. “You never did.”

Strangled yips of pain wheeze through her mouth. Struggling frantically while August hardly even bats an eyelid, staring at her with no emotion on his face. Desperate arms reach out to both heaven and hell, her body squirms and her eyes plead for August to let go. 

Begging for her life.

Something breaks inside her throat. Her last breath follows, a short gasp, frozen in her body for eternity as both her heart and her eyes become still. 

August glances at her pale skin, her gaping lips stained violet, her bloodied eyes glassy, returning his broken reflection.

Sorrowful tears roll down the lines of his face as his heart pumps with pain black as tar. A loud gasp of agony rips from him, shuddering across his entire existence as the very base of his soul chars in his chest. Broken, he falls to his knees with Lacey cradled in his arms, his hand stroking her dull hair and her blue cheeks while husky cries of anguish come through his throat.

All emotions end. An empty abyss claims the spot where his soul once laid. The only thing left to him now is pure, undistilled hatred.

~*~

I am the one who reigns in hell.

~*~

Black cold liquid seeps into weary lungs. Skeletal hands caress his face unkindly, the thin bones, so hard and frozen as they travel down his grey cheeks. No grace is given to him, no redemption. This was nothing but a dream of a life. 

As tar oozes from his throat, her voice continues to call for him. 

His last memories are of Erica, sitting on her throne of lies, swallowing his accusations while peering at him through her dark eyes. Face filled with guilt, oh, she didn't have a clue. Everyone believed Lacey Hartmann was the double agent this entire time. Angelic eyes hiding dark secrets. He planted the evidence in her house, in her computer, sparing his manifest of course. Just enough to tarnish her name forever. 

A painful wheeze splits his throat. Iron tinged his tongue. 

The promotion was won right after the body was cremated. A fine medal given for having his life put at risk.  

Glory and fame won over the woman you loved.

I never loved her. She was a lying whore, she betrayed me.

But you did love me, August. 

Blood spills through his mouth as he coughs. His blue eyes shoot open, peering at a great hole in the ceiling and the dust that floats calmly in the chill air of night. The pain sears his shoulder, throbbing furiously to remind him there is still blood running through his veins. He grunts as he clutches at the gaping wound, trying to hold onto the blood that still remains in his wretched heart. 

Run and hide, little Ingvild

I am no one but Lucifer himself. 

I will have my vengeance.  

__________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible franchise or August Walker