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#every flavour beans
ladderofyears · 10 months
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Sweet and sour.
The first Every Flavour Bean is sour, vinegar-flavoured, and Harry winces. “Are you implying something?” he asks.
“Not at all,” Draco answers, giving Harry a pink, candyfloss-flavoured bean. “You’re the sweetest chap that I know.”
Laughing at his boyfriend’s joke, Harry wolfs the sweet. “Now I’ll taste delicious,” he grins.
~
Fifty words.
For @microficmay
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use-it-well · 2 years
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Drarry microfic prompt "trust me".
"Do you trust me?"
Harry held out his hand, eyes glinting as he grinned.
"I..."
Draco looked at him, unsure.
"Come on!" Harry laughed, waving his hand.
"Okay."
Draco reached out tentatively and took one bean from Harry's hand.
He put it in his mouth.
Shuddered.
"Urgh! Sprouts! I trusted you!"
@drarrymicrofic
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fregolicotard · 2 years
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26.03.2022
I’ve started packing for France today. At the same time, I need to clear out the living room and kitchen because they will be renovated while we’re gone.  The logistics are a complete nightmare. You can see my day of packing and the progress on Instagram in the Reels section: https://www.instagram.com/fregolicotard/reels/
#84of365
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Once again Facts was amazing!
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orderoftheavengers · 11 months
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“Boh”
Summary: Maleficent Jadis rejects her Death Eater family and goes by a Muggle-sounding nickname, M.J.
House: Ravenclaw
Blood Status: Pureblood  
Wand: Wytch Elm, 11 inches, Thestral tail hair
Broom: Hates flying; prefers teleportation methods
Patronus: Crow
Specialties: Potions, Charms, Legilimancy, Occlumency, Numerology, magical drawing, teleportation, and her own spell: "Boh"  
Sorting:
The Jadis-Wandson family was not pleased to see Maleficent break family tradition and go into Ravenclaw. Largely lacking in the rest of her family's Slytherin ambition, M.J. drifts wherever her curiosities take her. She's extremely observant and perceptive, even compared to the rest of the Ravenclaw class. She hides and reveals her deductions with her dry wit. She excels at Potions, Numerology and Charms, but failed Muggle Studies miserably. Though noble and brave when necessary, M.J. is no Gryffindor. She's terrified of heights and doesn't even like flying, instead preferring Appiration (which she illegally mastered before beginning her first year—with some push from that Slytherin family, no doubt). Her fighting style is pragmatic, and while she cares about social justice, she tends to lack Peter's idealism. Ravenclaws are known to think outside the box, and if MJ isn’t a Goth Luna Lovegood, then I don't know what she is. Wand:
MJ’s favorite tree is the Wytch Elm, because of the famous murder. Due to her fascination with death, the Thestral hair core is no surprise. She sure that every wand she tried at Ollivander's "malfunctioned" until she got one the Gothest-looking stick in the store. But Ollivander always admired the most eccentric wand owners, and pegged this kid as a fellow Ravenclaw long before M.J. even considered that she might not go straight into Slytherin. For the rest of her school career, M.J. thought of Ollivander as an inspiration, and took joy in perplexing and creeping out her fellow classmates and professors with her eccentricities just as the old wandmaker did with his customers. "A Fusion of Luna Lovegood and Moaning Myrtle, with a dose of Bellatrix LeStrange!"
...is how M.J.'s classmates, and occasionally professors, described her, when they thought she wasn't listening, and wouldn't take it as a compliment. M.J. disdained her mother's family, the blood-purist Jadis house; but she outright disowned her father's, the infamous Wandsons (murderous dark wizards from the States). The Wandson family was closely related to the Blacks, hence M.J. sharing traits with her Aunt Bellatrix, Uncle Sirius, and cousin Nymphadora Tonks. Since all of her good relatives were dead, she tended to hang out with ghosts more than the living, at least until becoming friends with Peter and Ned. She regularly surprised her classmates by literally appearing out of thin air. She usually popped up to make dry, quippy observations over a copy of the Quibbler. She frequently interrupted Filch's detentions to draw moving, talking pictures of wizards in crisis.   By early second year, it was "kind of obvious" to MJ that Peter Parker was the Spider-Wizard. Shortly before this, she'd invented her first spell, at age twelve. That previous summer, M.J. had upset her family, by bluntly pointing out all of the reasons her cousin Delphi couldn't possibly be related to the Dark Lord. All of this, after brushing off her being dusted by Thanos and resurrected with a blasé pragmaticism. "Boh" It was during a class trip to Beauxbatons that M.J. casually showed Peter her new spell: "Boh." What does "Boh" do? It's a conjuring spell, that shoots any short-term need out of one's wand: fire, water, light, a forcefield, Bertie Bott's beans, you name it. The spell only lasts seconds, but it's a lifesaver in a pinch. "Boh" would go on to serve the group well when battling dark wizards like Mysterio. Obliviate! Even the most powerful Memory Charm, cast by the world's most powerful sorcerer, doesn't have 100% of a hold on M.J.'s mind. When a dweeb named Peter Parker enters the Leakey Cauldron and orders a butterbeer from her, M.J. knows instantly that she's seen him before, and there's something very significant about him. For some reason, she thinks of him whenever she casts "Boh."  
AN: I really enjoyed cooking up this backstory for Hogwarts M.J. I'm not thrilled with how "No Way Home" ended, but it worked perfectly into this Potterverse AU.  
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sonic-adventure-3 · 1 year
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shadow eating straight coffee beans is actually so real of him. speaking as someone who has eaten straight coffee beans it’s not that bad. dark roast tastes like eating burnt woodchips but if you’re into the taste and texture of burnt woodchips it’s not bad. i could see shadow liking burnt woodchips.
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signofthree · 1 year
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i love you steamfresh veg i love you microwave rice cups i love you snack time chickpeas i love you individually pre-portioned food
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Breaking out these bad boys for a Harry Potter marathon 😏🥰
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confinesofmy · 3 months
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something i just thought about. i'm going over budget on food every single month and have been for quite some time but i'm also barely buying meat. like right this second i haven't handled raw meat in about a month and before that i think it had been a couple of months. we're literally the hamburger country and people can't afford to buy raw ground beef to make hamburger.
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Idk how some people use only one personality trait to describe another person. Like, "Oh, they're funny" or "Oh, that person's smart".
I'm funny yet serious. Smart but stupid. Introverted yet extroverted. Frank but diplomatic. Talkative yet occasionally quiet. Energetic but tired. Sarcastic but polite. Calm but anxious. Pragmatic yet imaginative. I'm like the human equivalent of the BeanBoozled challenge or Bertie Botts Every Flavoured beans, you never know which flavor you'll get until you try it. Maybe it should be called oxymoronic personality disorder.
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mrscrocombe · 8 months
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NATO this NATO that, I had no idea USamericans liked sticky fermented soy so much
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suntoru · 3 months
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─ ✰ BREWING AFFECTION.
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✧˚ · . NAGI SEISHIRO loves sleeping, soccer, and gaming. he also doesn’t mind you coffee too.
— warnings: coffee shop! au, fluff, crackfic, reo hating on readers barista skills, downbad nagi (hes oblivious af), maybe ooc?
— author’s note: NOT TUMBLR BUTCHERING THE QUALITY OF MY HEADER. THIS IS NOT OK.
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"…so… this was the coffee shop you were talking about?” reo probes nagi tentatively, face crinkled in slight confusion. the small café nestled in the hidden corner of some obscure street— nothing extravagant, and certainly not what he expected. it’s a quiet sanction, only a few patrons savoring the quiet ambience of the modest establishment.
"mhm," nagi hums in affirmation. his eyes are glued to his screen, fingers violently tapping his phone as he skillfully maneuvers through the critical attack from the boss battle. reo doubts he was listening to a word he was saying. he raises his eyebrows skeptically, surveying the surroundings of the quaint little shop. he’s well aware nagi sacrifices fifteen whole minutes of his precious sleep on wednesdays and saturdays to walk all the way here— there must, has to be something special about this place. yet all he can spot are a couple of worn-down couches, cute decorations, and the smell of grinding beans in the air; nothing particularly stands out.
'is the coffee just that good?' reo wonders to himself, his thoughts interrupted when you hastily set a tray down at their table. your hair is tied in a messy bun, name tag displayed largely at the side of your stained apron. "i'm so sorry— morning rush! two triple foam lattes, half a shot of espresso with a dash of cinnamon, right?" the words tumble out, an apology and a question all in one, accompanied by a warm aura that absolutely nobody else in customer service seemed to carry.
…that’s… not…. even close… he deadpans. “um, actually—” he starts, but is quickly interrupted by nagi cutting him off. “t’s good. thanks.” he mutters, hazy half-lidded grey eyes boring into your oblivious, starry-eyed ones. the tips of his ears turn the slightest bit pink as he blows a tuft of his hair out of his eyes. his phone is completely discarded, ‘GAME OVER.’ pixelated largely on his screen as reo’s eyes widen slightly. …did he… die on purpose? no way. but… he was just about to beat the whole game…?
you smile giddily. finally, you got an order right!! “really? i’m so glad! enjoy your drink!” you eagerly exclaim as you walk away, feeling encouraged to pump out the other orders.
“…we ordered two large macchiatos.” nagi shrugs lazily, fiddling with the plastic straw in his drink. “tastes the same. ‘t’s too much of a hassle to correct them.”
“whatever,” reo sighs, “we’ve been waiting thirty minutes for this— it better make my mouth orgasm.” thirstily taking a huge slurp of the drink, he lets the coffee settle for a moment before not so subtly gagging at the aftertaste. how can someone possibly screw up this badly? it tastes like… tepid brown water. this should be a war crime. no offense, but who thought it was a good idea to hire you? “uhm… it’s *retches* certainly an acquired flavour…” he represses another gag as the fluffy white haired male tunes him out once again.
as reo contemplates the questionable quality of his latte, nagi remains blissfully unaware of his own feelings, doing what he does every wednesday and saturday morning— unconsciously admire you from a distance, his attention shifting from reo to you. his fingers idly trace the ridges on the rim of the cup, distractedly watching as you struggle to get the coffee to start brewing.
and he can’t exactly understand why his heart is beating out of his chest (perhaps he’s having a stroke), why his face is tinted red (is it the cold nipping at his cheeks?), or why he only seems to want coffee when you’re there (it simply tastes different). it all doesn’t make sense to nagi’s simple little life, a simple repetition every day; sleep, soccer, game.
nagi seishiro finds the easiest of tasks to be a hassle. yet for some strange reason, waking up early on wednesdays and saturdays isn’t one of them.
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©kaeffeinee 2023. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.
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The Lost 1
Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss, grieving, death, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers
Summary: You move into a shared flat and encounter a mysterious man.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
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“And this is your room,” Muriel stops before a door along the short hallway. “You have a neighbour just across the hall, and two more on the other side of the kitchen.”
You nod. It isn’t an ideal situation. Not one you ever saw yourself in. But survival isn’t built for the fussy. There are many others like you. Those not so lucky, those who are dead. Many who never got the choice of a new home.
You keep your hand on your rolling bag, your other on your canvas knapsack. They’re full of items that aren’t your own. Second-hand clothes acquired from shelters and toiletries given out by the support workers. You’re on your own now.
“Anything else, dear?” Muriel asks to your silence.
“Thank you, Muriel,” you murmur.
She hands you the key and leaves. Before showing you your own space, she took you around those shared by the rest of her boarders. You suppose they’re your roommates now. A kitchen, two bathrooms, a front room with a tattered couch and old tube television. You’ll stick to your own four walls.
You slide the key in the slot, the metal grinding loudly. You hear a throat clear and peer towards the noise. The walls must be thin. You’re still alone. You let yourself into the room, pulling the door shut behind you. You flip the lock back into place before you shove your bags by the wall.
There’s a twin bed with a metal frame, a single night table, and a standing lamp. There’s also a shallow closet. It’s not much but you don’t need more than that. It’s good to have a roof over your head.
You sit on the lumpy mattress and the frame squeaks loudly. You stand up again and pace around. There isn’t too much room. It shouldn’t matter, you won’t need it. You’ll be out working and back to sleep again. You start tomorrow at the convenience shop.
You hear a thump and your head pops up. You can’t help but jump in your shoes. Ever since the city rained down around you, every bump, every sudden noise has you skittish. It’s nothing, only another boarder.
You go to your bag and unbuckle the flap. You pull out a can of beans and the pocket knife in the side pocket. You go back to the bed and sit, another shrill whine from the metal frame. You pull out the can open from the pocket knife and peel back the lid. On the same keychain is a small metal spork you use to scoop out the beans, eating them cold as your stomach growls hungrily.
You eat, bite by bite, staring at the wall, just beside the only window. It isn’t home. You don’t expect one of those. It’s just a place to live. To survive.
🚪
You take your toothbrush and your tube of toothpaste with you to the bathroom down the hall. It’s just across from the other bedroom on that side of the flat. The doorway is dark, beckoning you inside. You flip on the light and shut the door as you enter.
You turn on the tap and set to brushing your teeth. Such a basic and simple task but one you didn’t always have the chance to do. It’s almost soothing to feel the bristles in your mouth. It makes you feel almost normal.
You take your time as the mint flavour sticks to your tongue. You rinse your brush and flick off the excess water, sliding it back into the travel tube and capping the paste. You look at yourself in the mirror, not for long, just to make sure you still recognise you.
You clutch your things in one hand and flick the light off. You open the door and nearly shriek at the shadow waiting in the hall. You waver in the doorway as a tiny wisp escapes your throat. You blink as the dark silhouette stands with arms crossed in the dim hall.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the man says gruffly.
He's tall but mostly obscured. His hair wings out around his neck and his shoulders bulge broadly. You feel his eyes boring into you, as he can see through the darkness and you.
You dip your chin and sidle out, keeping your distance as you sidestep along the wall. You should apologise but your voice is buried deep down. You put your hand up in a show of deference.
“You done?” He asks.
You pause and look at the plaster across from you. You nod then turn your back to him completely. He must be the neighbour. You quickly shuffle to your room and hide behind the door. It’s much better than the shelter, you don’t have someone rolling into your sleeping bag, but still, you’re claustrophobic.
You mourn that most. The sense of privacy. Of personal space. Have a place that’s your own with people you know. People you love.
You toss your toothbrush and toothpaste onto the night table and huff as you sit on the bed. You frown and push your head back, trying to soothe the tightness between your shoulders. You blow out, breath rattling as your nose tingles.
You can never go back to Sokovia or how it was. You can only go forward and the road ahead is very lonely.
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shifting-jellyfish · 12 days
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"I can't wait to shift for the food"
"I'm going to try new foods in my dr"
I'm fucking shifting to live in England and gotta have their dry ass, unseasoned beans and toast with white people spiciness levels. Here's a reminder to script in that every food has FLAVOUR and SEASONING
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Just pulled an all-nighter to start/finish my cosplay for Comic Con Antwerp! 🥲😴
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