aunty may

The state of your Auntie Jilli, a brief update

Deadline week. 4 working days until deadline. You know what this means:

  • The bandom playlist is on constant repeat. Spare a kind thought for your Uncle Pete, folks, as he is not as entertained by FOB, P!atD, and Cobra Starship as I am. (He does like MCR, tho’.)
  • My brain is busy presenting me with all sorts of sewing or writing projects, because that’s what it does when I’m overwhelmingly busy and don’t have time for anything else.
  • I will either be posting a lot of things here while I wait for content to validate and build, or I will be not around at all. There is no middle ground.
  • Did I mention I’m trying a new eating plan (to help reduce migraines, inflammation, and general pain levels), which means that a lot of my comfort foods are not allowed? I mean, I’ll take the reduced pain, that’s been great! But in times of stress, sometimes a girl wants some mac&cheese, y’know? But I daren’t.
  • OH MY G-D, CONTENT TOOL, THERE IS NO XML PARSE ERROR. STOP SHOWING ME THAT MESSAGE.
  • Send. More. Coffee.

::cues up “D E S T R O Y A” on Renfield the iPod::

MasterList

Broken (soulmate au) - New Series Coming Soon!

Missed Connection x

A Much Needed Massage x

Red Wine and Malay (Valentine’s Day Special) x

First Snow x

Worth The Risk Masterlist (ongoing) x

I’ve Got You x

Take Your Pain (soulmate au) Part 1 / Part 2  - Coming Soon!

Pockets x


All Thanks to Auntie May - Coming Soon!


See Also: My Favourites / Fic recs

anonymous asked:

I saw the White queen for the first time two days ago and it strikes me that Janet McTeer would be a perfect Jocasta.. she is very tall, beautiful, magnificent blue eyes and she looks like Sam.. so even if I love Sophie and very curious about her works on S3 (Sam's mimetism and more), the cast département could have find an actress who looks really like Sam.. A tall redhead with blue eyes or even they could use contact for Sophie.. sometimes she looks like Sam but with her eyes it's hard to see

I’ll be interested to see more of Sophie. We really only saw her in one episode and she was playing a bit strong with the attitude of finding out who her father is and having that be life consuming to her.

Just took a quick peak at Janet McTeer. Wow! She’s only 55, but looking at some of the photos where she has played an older role, she would be perfect. She is very beautiful and has all the right qualities.

From Drums of Autumn here is a description of Jocasta.


I found her at once, among the people hurrying out of the house and down the walk. I would have known her for a MacKenzie, even if I hadn’t known who she was. She had the bold bones, the broad Viking cheekbones and high, smooth brow of her brothers, Colum and Dougal. And like her nephew, like her great-niece, she had the extraordinary height that marked them all as descendants of one blood. 

A head higher than the bevy of black servants who surrounded her, she floated down the path from the house, hand on the arm of her butler, though a woman less in need of support I had seldom seen. 

She was tall and she was quick, with a firm step at odds with the white of her hair. She might once have been as red as Jamie; her hair still held a tinge of ruddiness, having gone that rich soft white that redheads do, with the buttery patina of an old gold spoon. 

There was a cry from one of the little boys in the vanguard, and two of them broke loose, galloping down the path toward the mooring, where they circled us, yapping like puppies. At first I couldn’t make out a word— it was only as Ian replied jocularly to them that I realized they were shouting in Gaelic. 

I didn’t know whether Jamie had thought what to say or to do upon this first meeting, but in the event, he simply stepped forward, went up to Jocasta MacKenzie, and embraced her, saying, “Aunt— it’s Jamie.” 

It was only as he released her and stepped back that I saw his face, with an expression I had never seen before; something between eagerness, joy, and awe. It occurred to me, with a small jolt of shock, that Jocasta MacKenzie must look very much like her elder sister— Jamie’s mother. 

I thought she might have his deep blue eyes, though I couldn’t tell; they were blurred as she laughed through her tears, holding him by the sleeve, reaching up to touch his cheek, to smooth nonexistent strands of hair from his face. 

“Jamie!” she said, over and over. “Jamie, wee Jamie! Oh, I’m glad ye’ve come, lad!” She reached up once more, and touched his hair, a look of amazement on her face. 

“Blessed Bride, but he’s a giant! You’ll be as tall as my brother Dougal was, at least!” 

The expression of happiness on his face faded slightly at that, but he kept his smile, turning her with him so she faced me. 

“Auntie, may I present my wife? This is Claire.” 

She put out a hand at once, beaming, and I took it between my own, feeling a small pang of recognition at the long, strong fingers; though her knuckles were slightly knobbed with age, her skin was soft and the feel of her grip was unnervingly like Brianna’s. 

“I am so glad to meet ye, my dear,” she said, and drew me close to kiss my cheek. The scent of mint and verbena wafted strongly from her dress, and I felt oddly moved, as though I had suddenly come under the protection of some beneficent deity. 

“So beautiful!” she said admiringly, long fingers stroking the sleeve of my dress. 

“Thank you,” I said, but Ian and Fergus were coming up to be introduced in their turn. She greeted them both with embraces and endearments, laughing as Fergus kissed her hand in his best French manner. 

“Come,” she said, breaking away at last, and wiping at her wet cheeks with the back of a hand. “Do come in, my dearies, and take a dish of tea, and some food. Ye’ll be famished, no doubt, after such a journey. Ulysses!” She turned, seeking, and her butler stepped forward, bowing low.

Weddings am I right? (Tweethearts story) Lin x reader

{a/n oh hey ya’ll so I was listening to Yorktown and dancing thus this story was born, its set up like the tweethearts story, and it turned into a Lin the Spanish/salsa teacher story *shrugs* I mean I wanna see that man Salsa, don’t you? Enjoy*

Summary: twitter is amazing to see Lin and your relationship,

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff.
__

January 25th
Lin:
@y/n in shorts, dancing to Yorktown, she caught me when I laughed at her kick when Hercules gets introduced *video of you dancing around yours and Lin’s kitchen, his laugh stopping you mid kick*

Hammy_slam: @lin_manuel did she kill you for posting this

Lin:
@hammy_slam: this is Lin’s ghost tweeting you :p

February 14rh
Lin:
Happy Valentine’s Day to the best dancer I know
*video of you dancing to ,whenever, wherever complete with epic lip sync*

You:
@lin_manuel I beg to differ our salsa lessons made you the best dancer you know, he has to teach me for a wedding.

Cray_rea: @y/n videos please for the fans scientific research.

You:
@cray_rea video,coming soon…for science ;)

February 23rd
You:
For your scientific research, enjoy kids ;) enjoy the man’s hips that don’t lie
*youtube link of a video, you and Lin salsa dancing,*

Jessiecress: @y/n is a blessing to twitter!

March 10th
You:
@lin_manuel is that one dance instructor that is fun and makes class awesome, but by the fifth missed move is passive aggressively showing off in frustration

Lin:
@y/n it’s not showing off when you miss the easiest step five times in a row,

You:
@lin_manuel come say that to my face punk!

Lin:
@y/n fine!

You:
@lin_manuel did you really just dance your way over to me? BOY! If you don’t

March 15th
Lin:
Spanish lessons make me remember why I don’t miss being a teacher
*photo of you face down on the table middle finger up at lin*

You:
@lin_manuel well expecting me to translate the paragraph you just said faster then my brain processed is a bit unfair

Lin:
@y/n my nephew could do that when he was 4, what’s your excuse?

You:
@lin_manuel The teacher is hot and my brain has violently inappropriate thoughts when he speaks in Spanish

Lin:
@y/n *five blush emojis in a row*

March 21st
You:
Everyone’s asking why i’m learning all this, Lin’s cousin is getting married, like have you ever been to a full Puerto Rican families weddings? Spanish isn’t the half of it.

Lin:
She’s not wrong, salsa and Spanish are the easiest, when she meets the aunties, may she get out alive @y/n

You:
@lin_manuel I get the ‘when is Lin going to marry you’ chat from your family once a week already, I think i’m ready for the aunties.

Lin:
@y/n true.

April 21st
Lin:
I have the prettiest wedding date,
*photo of you and Lin sitting at the wedding*

You:
@lin_manuel I think your dad has the prettiest date tbh
*photo of Lin’s parents*

Lin:
@y/n got dragged by my dad, she’s holding up pretty well, damn the leg kick though!
*video of you and Lin’s dad dancing complete with leg kick*

You:
@lin_manuel got pulled away by every auntie and abuela in the wedding I fear for my life if I try to save him
*photo of Lin surrounded by many older woman all talking at once*

You:
And boyfriend saved, traumatized but safe
*photo of Lin smiling thumbs up*

Lin:
And finally I get to dance with my lovely girlfriend, video courtesy of my sister
*video of you and Lin attempting to dance, messing up and laughing*

You:
All the practice in the world and the minute I dance with @lin_manuel I can’t keep it together of course.

Lin:
@y/n by our wedding you’ll be a dancing master :-*

You:
@lin_manuel let’s hope my teacher isn’t so distracting this time around ;-*

May 22nd
Lin:
She said yes!
*photo of your hand complete with ring*

You:
@lin_manuel I fear your family would murder me if I said no,

Lin:
@y/n love you too.

You:
@lin_manuel ;) te amo *see I remembered something’s from that Spanish lesson*

Lin:
@y/n I mean the other stuff you remembered is not the most appropriate for the public interwebs

You:
*five blushing emojis*


{tagging my fav who I destroy on my main by submitting Lin based things idk why I just feel they’d enjoy this story, cause imagine Lin’s hands, forearms and face when he dances salsa with you….imagine it @secretschuylersister }

mocking-point  asked:

Brotp prompt: AU where Daisy gets pregnant at the end of S3 and that's why she runs away. May, Bobbi, Elena and Jemma accidentally run into her 3 years later hand and hand with a toddler. (Bonus if the little girl's name is named after a team member)

AN ~ aw! I had a lot of nostalgic Static Quake & Bobbi feels writing this… written for AOS Brotp Week Day 2: Favourite Fanon Relationship, bc in fanon all these ladies can coexist bc #reasons

Read on AO3 (~1500wd)

Sounds like a Song

It’s not until after Lincoln is gone that she figures it out. At first she thinks the sickness and bloating and appetite changes must be grief, must be guilt, must be one of the thousands of micro-emotions that pass through her every day. But it’s not. It’s more than emotions it’s – well, something. A person. A tiny little person.

It’s too much, is what it is, and Daisy has to run.

Is she trying to keep the child safe? Escape pity? Avoid memories? Even she’s not sure. She’s not sure of anything these days. Even sitting in the waiting room of the health clinic she’s not sure what she wants to ask for. She ends up with pregnancy health, counseling services, and birthing class.

“Is there anyone with you?” they ask. She thinks of everyone underground, living and dead, all too far away for her to reach even if she wants to, and smiles sadly.

“No,” she says. “Just me.”

Keep reading

Rampion Kids Part Four

Jacinter:

  • Jacin and Winter waited quite a while to start their family. With Winter’s health concerns and their busy professional lives, it just never seemed like the right time. Eventually, though, they do get around to it.
  • Since they waited so long, they only have one child. A daughter, called June Solstice Clay, with her first name as a nod to the summer solstice and thereby an homage to her grandmother.
    • June is the youngest of the Rampion kids by at least five years and as such, she is spoiled rotten by them and their parents alike because she’s the baby of the group.
    • Much like her mother, she’s the most beautiful child anybody’s ever seen. Her skin is a few tones lighter than Winter’s, but she has the same curly ringlets and willowy frame. Her eyes, however, are the same cool blue-grey as her father’s, and her face has some of his sharper, more angular features.
    • Like many only children, June is absolutely adored by her parents and she adores them right back. Winter was her favorite playmate (and often her only option, given all the travel that comes with being a member of an ambassador’s family) as she grew up; they spent countless hours playing pretend. As for Jacin, June’s favorite time of day is when her father tucks her into bed and sits down beside her to lean against the headboard while he reads her a bedtime story.
    • She’s very precocious. Like very, very precocious. With her mother’s sweetness and her father’s confidence, June has never met a stranger in her life.
      • Her very best friends, however, are Ari Kesley and Cressida Thorne…even if they do constantly drag her into shenanigans that risk the pretty clothes she sewed herself. At least the shenanigans are fun.
    • Every summer, she spends a month on the Benoit-Kesley farm because Winter and Jacin don’t want her to spend her whole life stuck in the stifling environment of embassies and palaces.
      • Unbeknowst to either parent, Auntie Scarlet may or may not have taught eleven year-old June how to shoot because, “you just never know when a stranger will want to take you somewhere you don’t mean to go.”
        • Much like her father, June is a very good shot.
    • She dearly loves fancy dresses (most of which she created herself) and frilly accessories and the fun of getting all dolled up for the diplomatic events she attends with her parents and that love of fashion is what guides her into her career path as a designer.
      • Winter privately wonders if that’s something passed down from the grandmother that neither she nor her daughter ever met.
4

The Thundara family (+ Auntie Zinnia)

So I finally just met up with a very stressful deadline and to relax I drew some characters of mine I’ve been meaning to get onto canvas for…three years now…? I’m very bad at planning things out. I’ll definitely need to go back and revisit them again soon, but I at least have reference for myself to go off of.

Anyways I have so much more work to finish, so I’ll be going back to that now!!

 Imagine:

Peter walking you home from the libary after you two were working on an school project.

“So you mean, Professor Wilkes was totally stoned when he planned this thing?” You laughed.
“Yeah, what else?” Peter grinned and threw his arm around your shoulders.
“Woah,keep your cool Mister Clooney.” Smiling and feeling a bit dizzy you looked to the sky and saw black. Nothing but black.
“Eh, Pete? I think it´s going to start raining. We should go faster.”
As soon as you said that you two heard a rolling thunder.
“Wow, don´t you dare to say that there´s gonna be an Earthquake.” 
Peter Joked.

“Hey Pete, you know you don´t have to walk me home.”
“Of course I have to. Auntie May always told me to walk pretty girls home and maybe I´ll get a kiss.”
“She told you you would get a kiss if you walk girls home?”
“Nah, I made that up. BUT it would be really nice.” 
Peter winked at you and spun you around. 

After 10 minutes of walking you came to your building.
You did´nt notice that you were holding hands until he let loose and walked in the rain again.

“You´re such a DORK!”you yelled and ran to him.

weirdballoftrash  asked:

I enjoy all your writing but SMANGST is my favorite HUEHUEHUEHUE THANKS AUNTIE ILYYYYYYYY! May the smangst Gods smile upon you to write more bits of heaven:P have a wonderful day!

MY MY LET THE SMANGST BEGIN!!!!! 
Awww @weirdballoftrash you’re the besteset niecey ever bubs! I’m so happy you enjoyed it! I hope you have a lovely night my darling ^3^

Fire Lord Izumi Week Day 1: Daughterhood

There were questions Zuko expected his daughter to ask: how he got his scar, where did he meet Mai, why do some people not like him, where did Druk come from.  He never expected the question she’d just asked, however.

“Huh?”  he said with all the dignity he could muster.

“Where did my name come from?”  Izumi asked again.

Zuko considered the question.  He could easily say part of her name was from his but that wasn’t the whole truth.  And one thing he hated was lying to his daughter.  “You’re named after Auntie Katara,” he said.

“But her name is Katara and mine’s Izumi,” his daughter reasoned.  “How can I be named for her?”

“You remember how I told you Mommy was really sick when you were in her tummy?”  Izumi nodded.  “I asked Auntie Katara to look after the both of you.  So she was there when you were born and, well, it, uh, wasn’t easy.”  Zuko had no idea how to explain to a five year old that there were complications and he was lucky both his daughter and Mai survived.  “Auntie Katara helped you and Mommy then.  So Mommy and I decided to name you Izumi.”

Izumi pursed her lips.  “I should be named Katara then.”

“Turtleduck your name means spring, like the ones on Ember Island.”

“Oh.  Cause Auntie Katara is a waterbender.”  Zuko nodded.  Izumi smiled.  “I like that!  Can I bend water too?”

Zuko picked her up with a grunt.  “You already bend fire and only Uncle Aang can bend more than one element.”  Izumi pouted.  “But maybe Grandpa can show you some of the moves he learned from waterbenders.”

Izumi grinned.  “Ok!”  Zuko started walking towards the rooms Iroh had taken as his own since he’d decided to come to visit for a month.  “Where did Druk come from?”

That question was easy.  “See back during the war Uncle Aang and I went to see the ruins of the Sun Warriors…”

…imagine when the Avengers find out Coulson is alive, though.

Tony would be shocked into silence, Steve tries to process the whole thing because recently he’s finding a lot of allies are back from the dead thank to unknown technologies, Banner is just sort of relieved…

Thor accidentally drops Mjolnir through three floors of Stark Tower before he remembers to summon it back… Pepper Potts comes through the door at great speed to ask why her morning coffee had been taken out by an Asgardian elevator… and the words die in her throat. She never thought…

.

But Natasha and Clint… he was Clint’s handler first, and then Natasha’s (when Clint came home and pulled the wide-eyed ‘I founded this, and they followed me home, can I keep her? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?’ trick all children are evilly capable of, and he has mastered)…

The two master assassins are just… unsure of anything for the first time in a long time. They’re pleased, but afraid it’s a lie… they’ve both known what it’s like to have their memories, their vision, changed and manipulated… knowing is never certainty for them. 

And he knows this. He was keeping an eye on all of them, but particularly those two… 

So, as they all stand staring at one another in confusion, [the Avengers on one side of the room, and the small team that Coulson had managed to lead during SHIELD’s downfall, the other]… he just opens his arms wide and says, in that way of his, “I’m real, it’s okay”…

And is nearly bowled over by the two Master Assassins dropping their weapons and hurdling furniture to reach him; clinging to him like children whose lost parent had just returned, when all hope was lost.

[And he was, in a way. For Clint, the circus brat. For Natasha, child of the Red Room.]

Members of Coulson’s team are a little shocked that the legendary Black Widow and Hawkeye (as much legends at SHIELD as FitzSimmons), would act this way.. but at the same time, they aren’t. He’s that important to them all, too.

May is smiling, FitzSimmons are pleased but mostly wondering when they and Skye could maybe ask for an autograph, Mack and Bobbi are on the periphery pretending not to be affected by the whole thing (but they are totally feeling the warm fuzzies). 

It’s that moment that breaks into a tidal wave of action. 
Questions start flying about, Tony has to sit down, Thor strides over to also hug the Son of Coul (getting his two fellow avengers in the process), Steve disappears… returning with Bucky, and an entire set of vintage Captain America trading cards (he had Fury find, that he signed, in memorium)…

Pepper comes flying across the room faster than any person in heels should be capable of, “Phil Coulson, you made me cry at your funeral, I demand a hug!” and she, being a CEO and capable of getting whatever she wanted, whenever… parted the red sea of heroes and slid into the middle of the group hug to get to the man. 

Bruce pats him on the shoulder, not a huge fan of great physical contact, but very much excited he’s alive.

Tony pokes him a couple of times, to be sure he’s real; gives a brief almost-hug and then wanders towards the nearest screen, muttering about protecting assets. Which seems to mean making Coulson his own suit, if the holographic displays are anything to go by…

.

Then Coulson notices the look on Clint’s face, and sighs, “You adopted more of them, didn’t you?”
Hawkeye looks to Widow, she looks to Coulson, “We can neither confirm nor deny that development, but there’s three of them (five if you count Falcon and Bucky)… and we’re keeping them.”

[They say, glossing over the part where Vision, Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch had come onto the scene.]

“Of course you ar- rrrrrrrrrrrrrre?” 

…which is exactly the confused/excited noise you make when your Childhood hero picks you up midsentence to super-soldier-squeeze the hell out of you…

-

“What are all you motherfuckers doing in here? It’s like Woodstock all over again… we have a situation people!” comes the unexpected voice of fury, nearly sending Fitzsimmons through the godsdamned roof in surprise.

“Sorry sir, emotions got a little heightened. What’s the situation?” responds Coulson, cordially, extracting himself from the middle of everyone with some reluctance.

“Avengers, Agents, you are needed on the helicarrier for an emergent situation.”

“Is it Loki again?” asks Steve, glancing towards Thor.

“If it’s Chitauri, shotgun NOT having to throw the missile through the wormhole again…” added Tony, distractedly.

“What’s the situation sir?” asked Natasha, glancing to Clint, beside her.

“The situation? The situation is all of y’all motherfuckers are standing around here being sappy, when you could be at the party we set up on the helicarrier… now get your pert little asses over there before I make you. And yes, that’s an order.” 

-

Fury watches them all make for the roof where the quinjets are waiting to chauffer the groups to the helicarrier… and notices a certain guest of honour is waiting behind. 

“Coulson, if I have to carry you to the quinjet myself, I will be doing it bridal style… for all the avengers and your team to see.”

“Sir… you were right.”

“Of course I was. What about exactly?”

“Oh… that they missed me as much as I did them.”

“You stop getting sappy and get on that quinjet, enjoy the party.” 

As Coulson left the room for the elevators, he heard Fury mutter to himself.
“So much for ‘they won’t even remember me’ nonsense… they damn near destroyed an alien race cause Loki hurt your compassionate ass.”

Then a sigh, and the sound of a commlink turning on, 

“Hill, take a note. Widow and Hawkeye are gonna be some clingy little sons of bitches for the next few days… take them off active roster until they get right with themselves about their parent getting back.” 

A grainy technovoice responded sharply, “Are you sure you’re not just jealous they’re no longer following you around like ducklings, sir?”

A snort, “Agent, that sounds like a lot of sass… from someone who did exactly the same thing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

“Suuuuure you don’t. The Avengers are on their way as we speak, and Coulson will get there as soon as he stops eavesdropping on my conversations…” 

“Sorry sir!” he shouts from the hallway, “And thanks… for looking after the kids while I was away!” 

Coulson sets a dead sprint for the elevators, laughing the whole time.

Tailed by the echo of, “Whatever you say, Mother…” 

-

Trying to explain why he was a pink-cheeked giggling (and panting) mess when he got out of the elevator on the roof, was impossible. 

He managed, “Fury’s… furious… run…” before he started laughing again.

Everyone just shrugged, got into the quinjets and clicked into their seats. 

May leaned over to speak to Coulson (having to angle herself over Black Widow’s lap, as she and Hawkeye totally took the seats either side of him for various totally-not-concerned-he’d-disappear-if-they-blinked reasons), and said, “You are totally the Mum.” 

“Not you?”

The Agent huffed a laugh, “Oh no, I’m the  Cool Aunt who lets them get away with most things…”

“Raising them all is going to be a nightmare with you around…”

“We survived FitzSimmons, and Skye, we can do anything, Phil.”

“Good Point.” he turned his attention across the quinjet, “Anthony Stark, Bruce Banner, you get your butts away from FitzSimmons or so help me… we are not going to have the world explode because you four were allowed in the same vicinity.”

“I second this, motherfuckers, now strap in.” Fury intones, as he strides into the ship and makes for the pilot’s seat. He stops in front of May, “Aunty Cavalry better not teach our assassin twins anything too damn deadly while our backs are turned, they’re dangerous enough as it is…” 

“Yes, sir.” she smiles back, expression reading she is TOTALLY going to do that.

Skye has found herself a comfortable niche between Captain America and the Winter Soldier, pestering both with rapid-fire questions they are trying to answer before the next one comes their way. She occasionally touches their arm or leg and giggles.
At one point, Steve looks at her and asks why she’s doing that… with the widest eyes you can even imagine, all innocence, Skype beams and responds, “Vintage…” 

And Bucky loses it.
“Fair enough, you never usually get to touch the relics, in museums.” 

Steve looks conflicted for a moment there… but shrugs and grins.

.

Pepper is talking to Bobbi, and Thor to Mack; which often turns into a four-way conversation before dissolving into separate ones once more. No one else could seem to keep up. 

As the quinjet tilted upwards, something slide past with a torturous screech of metal on metal.

With a sigh, Coulson unbuckled himself, grabbed it and strode over to it’s owner. “Thor, we’ve talked about stowing away loose items while in transit… you need to keep a better hold on this thing.” 

The god of thunder takes Mjolnir with an expression of… well, it was like the lovechild of delighted surprise and smug justification. “As well you have reminded me many times, Son of Coul, I thank you for the return of Mjolnir.” 

…that tiny smirk at the end makes everyone think that maybe, just maybe… Thor had done it on purpose. Infamously devious as Loki was, there was something unsettling about having someone as normally open and supposedly easy-to-read as Thor…pulling off something a little underhanded.

“We’re almost there, put your damn seatbelt back on… we’re not going through the whole funeral thing again.” Fury directed back at him, the helicarrier landing pads visible through the forward viewscreen.

“Was that an order?” he challenged, playfully.

“It will be if I have to come back there and strap you in for landing manually… but I’m pretty damn sure if we crash, they’ll have to pick you out of a protective ball all all your damn kids back there.” 

With thinly-veiled amusement, Coulson sat down, strapped himself in, and looked around at the faces of those around him.

“I think you might be right, sir.”

“…I’m always right, motherfucker. Now everyone clench up, we’re going in…”

-

It may be weird, and a little ridiculous at times, but Coulson was glad that everything was back to (the closest approximation they would ever get to) normal. 

.

Even if no one else in the room barring May, Fitzimmons and Fury got why, when asked by Tony where they’d all like to go for a celebratory holiday (Stark Industry’s treat!), he’d immediately said, “Not Tahiti.” and laughed.

It Takes Two Pt I

It’s a change. For everyone. For himself. 
He graduates. His parents are proud. His friends are dead, or empty. His trust fund is full. Life is fine. But, fine is boring, and Draco Malfoy has never been boring.

‘Sign here.’ He lifts the plum feathered quill, dipping it in a deep, gold ink. A few droplets spill onto the edge, but he manages to scrawl his name onto the dotted line. The scroll wraps into itself, flipping up into nothingness. Joseph Melus, an older man in his hundred and twenties, owned a shop, just in the heart of Knockturn Alley. It was antique, quaint, dusty, and a complete shit box. 
Draco bought it in a heartbeat.
He huffed a breath of release, slamming the last box onto the floor. His head tilts back, baby blue eyes following the shop’s spiral staircase. It was seven storey building. He combed his moon dusted locks back with a skeleton hand, back bones cracking as he rolled his spine. The place even smelled like shit. With a flick of the wrist, a layer of dusted rose from every corner and crevice, each nook and cranny spotless. He guided the dirt and grime to the entrance, flicking the door open and throwing the filth into the street. The patrons wouldn’t mind, anyway. He rolls the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows, his calves flexing as he rises to his tippy toes. He’s always done this. Stretching. His mother once said he resembled a cat, climbing to high places and disgustingly entitled. The nickname ‘kitten’ stuck.
Floor One- the parlor. purpose: charm customers into a purchase
Floor Two- strings. polishes. equipment. customary care for an instrument
Floor Three- accessories for the musician. 
Floor Four- wind. where to store the flutes, recorders, hand held devices
Floor Five- stringed music. where to store violins, cellos, etc.
Floor Six- pianos
Floor Seven- private.
With one last creaking step, he walked onto the seventh floor, to the untrained eye, a blank canvas. Yet, as Draco took his wand, waving it into the barren abyss, an apartment came into view. It was quaint. A small, French-inspired kitchen, a pull-out sofa, and a muggle telly. Narcissa would have been horrified. However, this small loft had a piece de resistance. A Steinway grande. A graduation present. He had played since he was a small boy. In your average aristocratic household, the children (in this case, child) is accustomed to the arts. Literature, painting, music, its a luxury. Its one the Malfoys could certainly afford. His spindly fingers stretched into an octave, digging into two A’s, G sharps, landing onto a low C sharp. It was Rachmaninov’s masterpiece. Bony arms fell across the air, a Prelude falling down seven flights. His heart is pumping, eyes misting, soul plunging into ivory keys. He’s about to begin the recap, when-
‘You’re good.’
He physically jumped, sanctuary tarnished.
‘Who are you?’
He turned on the bench to find a (short/tall) girl, no older than himself, with her h/c hair into a tight ponytail. Maniacal strands flew in odd directions. It reminded him of his auntie, may she rest in hell.
I’m here for a job.’ Draco scoffed, slamming the lid of the piano. ‘Not hiring.’ ‘Of course you’re hiring. You don’t expect to run this place by yourself, do you?’ He stood up, smacking his wand against the air, vanishing the habitat. ‘That’s exactly what I plan to do.’ An optimist, she crossed her arms, leaning over the railing of the staircase, eyes scanning down the floors. ‘It needs a woman’s touch.’ He crossed towards the steps, knobby knees knackering down the floors. ‘Your touch is free to feel the door. You know the way out.’ Harnessing the bravery of Gryffindor, the creativity of Ravenclaw, the determination of Hufflepuff, and the ambition of Slytherin, she followed him to the floor. 
‘You’re a gemini.’ He rolled his eyes, stepping behind the mahogany counter. ‘Been spending too much time in Trelawney’s, have you?’ ‘You’re a gemini, and you like chocolate.’ ‘Specific.’ She marched up to him, staring him in the eyes. ‘You absolutely hate curry, your favorite colour is blue, you have a tradition of writing your mother the fifth of every month, and you’re a cat person.’ His pupils dilated, but she could tell he was wary. She continued. ‘You don’t like me because I remind you of someone from the past. You don’t like your father because you are exactly alike, and your biggest fear is of utter isolation, yet you think that by being a loner, you’re conquering that fear, when in reality, you know you are only seeing it through, kitten.’ 

She started work on Monday.

The Violet Haze ||  Peter Parker

Disclaimer: GIF is NOT mine and I would like to give full credit to the owner.

Blurb:  She’s the nemesis and he’s the hero.  

Warnings:  Lame sarcasm…Yeah, you’ve been warned.


 Today I stand here at the Bank of Queens, where witnesses say they saw a ‘purple blur’ robbing the bank of all of its profits. Once again we see evidence that the notorious criminal known only as the ‘Violet Haze’ continues to wreak havoc on the innocent civilians of Queens. The villain’s malevolent crimes and ability to remain completely anonymous continues to confound the police department, leaving us with nothing further to report. The city’s only hope of stopping this nefarious criminal lies in our friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.

“Aunt May, have you seen my Star Wars drawers?” Peter calls out from his room, clothes flying through the air as he sorts through them in a frantic search to find the certain piece of clothing.

“Have you looked in the laundry?” May replies from the kitchen.

Peter ran down the hallway and into the small washing room. A neat pile of folding lay in a basket on top of the washing machine. Peter tore through the piles, carefully placing each item back in its original place, not wanting to provoke the wrath of Aunt May.

Peter’s eyes went wide at the sight of the fabric. A small gasp escapes his lips at the sight of his favourite item of clothing.

“Aunt May, did you put my draws in with your washing again?” Peter groans, holding the material in his hands.

“Yes, honey, why?” May calls back, her tone cool and collected.

“Because…” Peter drawls out and holds up his drawers. “The last time I checked, I didn’t buy pink drawers.”

Aunty May stifles a small giggle, her hand shooting up to cover her evident smile. Tom releases a loud groan, clearly not seeing the same humour Aunt May does in this situation.

“I’m sorry, honey.” May apologises, her voice wavering from her recent fits of laughter. “But they’re actually purple.”

Tom groans once again before trudging back into his room to get dressed. His eyes wander up to the clock hanging above his bed, earning a loud curse to escape his lips. He is going to be late…again.

Pulling on his shamefully purple Empire Strikes Back drawers, he snatches up his backpack. Sprinting down the hallway, he manages to reach the door in record time, but it brought to a halt by Aunt May’s voice. He turns swiftly, to see her, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised.

Peter rolls his eyes and jogs over to her, giving her a light peck on her cheek before running out the door. He could hear Aunt May’s, ‘Have a good day!’ fading behind him as he ran down the staircase to the bus stop.

Peter tugs his sleeve back to reveal his watch. 8:13 A.M. Of course I missed the bus…Again.

He rolls his wrist over to reveal his web shooter. A small smirk plays on his wrists as he runs down the closest alley to change into the Spidey Suit. He scans the alley for any witnesses before stripping off his school clothes, leaving him in nothing but his drawers. He snatches up his Spider-Man suit and pulls on each leg, shimmying it up but struggling from the tightness of the fabric.

“Damn. Spandex.” Peter grunts as he reefs on the pants.

“Said every single hormonal female in Queens.” An unknown voice chimes, causing Peter to trip over his own feet, sending him flying head first into a dumpster. His head collides into it with a loud, ‘Bang’.

The girl winces and covers her mouth with her fist. “Ooh, that’s gotta hurt. But I’m not quite sure what would hurt more, your ego or your head, the line is rather thin between the two.”

“Who the hell are you?” Peter growls, keeping his face hidden from the stranger.

“Are you even allowed to say ‘hell’? Isn’t there some kind of blood pact you make not to say bad words like that? Aw, man, PMSing mums are going to have your tight, spandex wrapped butt on a platter.” The voice teases.

Peter manages to tug on the rest of his suit and yanks his mask over his face.

“Next thing you know they’ll be raising your drawers on a flagpole and saluting them.”

Peter spins around searching for the intruder. “Yoohoo! Up here.” Peter’s head snaps up.

A girl sits a few stories above him on a balcony railing, looking down at him. She wiggles her fingers at him. He studies her face, trying to recognise the strangely familiar features she carries.

The girl lets out a small scowl before smacking her head with the palm of her hand. “Right! I forgot to introduce myself.”

The girl stands and begins to walk confidently along the railing. When she reaches the end of the railing she continues to walk off the edges, twisting her body into a somersault. Peter’s finally comes to his senses, springing into action to save her.

He dives up the wall, his hand just grazing her waist, but just as he touches her she disappears. Peter falls back to the ground, poised into a crouching position, his mind still trying to process her disappearance. He spins around recklessly, looking for the mystery girl.

“My name is Robin, but you may know me as ‘Violet Haze’,” her voice breaks through his confusion. “And I’m your nemesis.”

He spins to see her. She leans with her back against the wall, arms crossed. She pushes herself off of the wall and walks towards him. Her suede black leather jacket appears to be worn, obviously appearing to be the only jacket she owns. Her deep purple strapless top is engraved with intricate patterns lacing the edges and is tied together with a belt at the waist. Her black jeans are torn and faded and her black leather boots look tattered and old.

A small tattoo is engraved into the flesh on her collarbone, the word ‘reborn’ inscribed in Russian inked into her skin. Her hair wisps behind her, a deep shade of purple weaving its way through her unkempt locks. Each step causes another strand to loosen only to be whipped over her shoulders following each change of direction and gust of the wind.

“Like what you see, Spiderling?” Violet smirks at him, crossing her arms and jutting her hip out, clearly revelling in her ability to make him uncomfortable.

“I-I wasn’t stare-I mean-It’s Spider-Man-wait, y-you’re a villain?” Peter winces at his own inability to remain calm around the girl.

“I suppose in everyone else’s eyes I am…” Violet begins, her eyes roaming over the small alley’s grungey brick walls. “But everything’s not always what it seems.”

“How did you disappear? Is that even possible?” Peter steps forwards cautiously.

“Oh, you mean this?” Violet transports to behind Peter and taps him on the shoulder.

Peter yelps at her touch and stumbles away.

“Tada.” She shrugs, an unimpressed look on her face.

“That’s…incredible. You can…teleport…anywhere?” Peter takes a step towards her once more, admiring her skin and the way it glows with a purple haze.

“Sure, I guess,” she shrugs once again. “Let’s just say I take mooning to a whole new level.”

“You’re incredible! I mean, you could go anywhere! Your skin must have a stronger cell composition than most other people in this population! That’s incredible!” Peter circles around her, rambling clearly dumbfounded by her abilities. Peter scrutinises her purple aura, clearly dumbfounded by the scientific impossibilities withheld in her skin. “Why purple?”

“I could ask the same about your Star Wars drawers.”

Although Violet couldn’t see it, Peter cringed, his face flushing at the thought of her seeing him in nothing but his drawers.

“Don’t worry, Webster, your junk is safe in the perve vial trunk.” Violet says, throwing him a casual wink.

“Wait, back up, you’re my nemesis?” Peter pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Violet shrugs nonchalantly. “Apparently.”

“Wow, that’s a first.”

“Don’t take it personally, Web-head, a lot of people regard me as such.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because most of them have the intellectual capacity of a peanut.”

A siren wails in the distance, the sound increasing as it approaches their location.

“Well! That’s my cue.” Violet claps her hands together and begins to saunter away from Peter.

“Wait! Why are they after you? What did you do?” Peter jogs after her, still confused as to why she was being saught after.

“I may or may not have robbed a bank, but trust me, they have it all wrong. I don’t just steal for the hell of it.”

“Then why do you?”

She shoots Peter a sideways glance. “I have my reasons.”

“Look, I’m really sorry about this, but I gotta take you in.” Peter swiftly shoots a web at her wrists, securing them together in a sticky bind.

“Well, that certainly escalated quickly.” Violet stares at her bound wrists in fascination. “Wow, is this carbon fibre?” She says in fascination, trying to distract Peter with his own bait.

“No, it’s actually-wait, no. I’m arresting you, stop interrupting.” Peter scowls, leading her by the arm onto the bustling street.

“Right, sorry, my bad, proceed oh man of upright morals and extremely tight pants.” Violet raises her hands and salutes him mockingly. “Wait, you forgot to read me my rights. As an American born and bred, I enjoy to flaunt my ability to have rights, ‘Oh say can you see?’ yada yada, red, white and blue. Peace.”

Peter glances at his watch once more and lets out a loud groan. “I’m late.”

“Seeing as though that isn’t a pregnancy test, I’m guessing the dread in your voice is… School?”

“Yes-I mean-no-I mean-How did you?”

“Your secret is safe with me, Parker.” Violet accentuates his name and winks at him. “Oh, and don’t forget to breathe.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Why would I forget to-“

Peter’s breath is stolen from his lungs, the words failing to complete his sentence. In a flash of violet haze, he stands in a small toilet cubicle which just so happens to belong to his school, Violet standing beside him.

“That. Was. Awesome!” Peter pants out, unable to contain his excitement.

“Glad I could help a fellow vigilante out,” Violet straightens herself out. “Catch you later, Parker. Oh, and before I forget, bicarb soda soak for 5 minutes then cold wash.”

“What’s that for?” Peter asks in a state of flustered disarray.

“Your drawers, Peter.” She says, a small smile forming on her lips.

And with that she was gone. Peter stands in the small cubicle, a small cloud of purple mist being Violet’s only trace of existence. The very girl he was meant to protect the city from may be the only reason he’ll keep saving it.

Voices broke into Peter’s world, snapping out of his trance.

“Did you hear about the orphanage?” one says.

“No, what happened?” his friend replies.

“Someone left a stack of cash right on their doorstep, the exact amount stolen from the bank. All the kids said that there was a purple cloud around the money when they found it. Weird, huh?”

“Huh, like Robin Hood or something?”

Peter zoned out once again to their voices. Robin. Peter repeats the name she told him when the first met. A small smile tugs on Peter’s lips. I guess she was right. Not everything is as it seems.Peter pulls off his mask and holds the fabric in between his fingers, a violet haze misting over the lenses.

cleverlassie  asked:

Using a mirror, Bree paints a picture of her and William together and they give it to Jamie for his birthday. Jamie is so touched he tells them a dream he had in the cave of the two of them playing together.

Bree’s head was bent over the tattered parchment, charcoal stick in hand, and her tongue poked out the corner of her mouth with concentration. The picture coming to life with each line and smudge.

That’s it, a leannan.” What she believed to be her Grannie’s voice floated through her mind, urging her forward with each stroke.

Bree smiled, her heart beating faster as a sense of excitement and urgency overcame her. The strokes became haphazard and sloppy, but the images became more defined despite the mess.

A curl here, a shaded smudge there until the scrap of paper was filled from edge to edge. Once the likeness of herself was complete, Bree tossed the small mirror to the side and focused on the blanket covered figure next. She compared and used her own features to help create the face of an unseen baby.

“Mama!” Bree yelled, not taking her eyes off her task.

Claire waddled into the great room where her daughter lay next to the fireplace, Bran and Luke asleep beside her. “What is it, my love?” she asked, placing a hand on her swollen belly.

At this, Bree looked up to her mother. “Where are Grannie Ellen’s paints? Auntie Jenny said I may use them if I like.”

“I don’t know where they are. Have you asked your Auntie?”

Bree shook her head and frowned. “I dinna ken where she is to ask, but I knew you were nearby. Da doesna let you out to so much as pull a weed!” The small girl giggled at her mother’s glare.

“Think you’re so funny, do you? Well I’ll see if Mrs. Crook knows where they are. What are you going to paint?”

At this, Bree excitedly jumped up, thrusting the drawing overhead so that her mother could see.

“I’m going to use paint to accent this!” Claire took the drawing from the little girl vibrating with joy. “It’s for Da! So that he can have both of us with him.” Bree’s eyebrows furrowed. “Although, I dinna ken if I have a baby brother or sister. And I dinna ken what they look like, so I made the baby look like me! Once they’re born, I’ll paint Da a new one!”

Claire took in the messy drawing; to her it was squiggles on the page, but to her daughter, it was a masterpiece. Reaching out to tuck a stray ruddy curl from Bree’s face, Claire smiled then cupped her cheek. “Your Da will love this.”

“You really think so?” Bree’s voice was no more than a whisper.

“I know so.”

Two hours, a broken wooden leg, three screaming children, and an exasperated set of adults later, Bree had her Grannie’s paints and set to work on filling in color.

Twirling the brush, she added bright blue eyes to herself and the baby, followed by a bright mix of orange, yellow and red hair for herself and a more subdued orange and brown for the baby.

It was finished.

It was incredible in her eyes. It had just the right amount of color to balance out the deep black of the charcoal.

Carefully, Bree laid the still wet parchment on the hearth before laying down to watch the flames flicker.

She awoke to the sound of heavy boots thudding against the steps. The daylight had gone, the fire stoked to a roar in front of her, and beside her lay the drawing which had begun to curl about the edges.

“Sassenach?” The deep rumble of her father’s voice filled the hall.

Her body was filled to the brim with excitement as she dashed out of the room, drawing clutched protectively at her chest.

“DA!” she squealed. Jamie turned and lifted her into his arms eliciting giggles from her.

“Hello my wee one,” he said, pulling her head to his chest.

Bree breathed in deep the scent of the forest, mud and her Da. “I made you something.”

“Och! Ye did?” He smiled brightly. “Is it behind your nose? Or maybe under your chin?” Jamie leaned in and kissed and rubbed his beard on his daughter’s skin causing her to giggle and squeal stop, but he couldn’t dream of stopping that beautiful giggle.

“It’s right here!” Still breathless from laughing, Bree pulled the painting into view.

Jamie’s eyes went wide as he sat down, Bree perched on his knee. “You made this?”

She nodded enthusiastically, messy curls bobbing. “It’s me and the new baby,” she told him.

“Aye, I see that. Ye are the one here with the long curly red hair and the bright blue eyes. And this one,” he pointed to the blob of lines and paint, “must be your new sibling. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

“I’ve been practicing! Once Mama has the new baby I’ll paint another one with how they really look.” Bree beamed.

“Thank you, mo chridhe. I will keep this with me always.”

“I thought you’d like to put it in your hiding cave. That way you have both of us with you all the time instead of just when you come back to the house in the middle of the night,” Bree whispered.

Jamie’s eyes stung with unshed tears. He pulled his daughter tight to him. “You’re always with me, mo nighean ruaidh. I dream of ye and the unborn ween everyday. I canna wait to see and have you both so close to me in sleep that I have to see ye while I dream.”

“Really?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Aye. Everyday is different, but it’s always the same when it comes to who’s there.”

“Oh! Can I guess?”

Jamie laughed and nodded. “Go ahead, ye already ken two of the people.”

“Ye dream of me and the baby, Mama, Auntie Jenny, Uncle Ian, and all the people at Lallybroch!” She began to giggle as Jamie tickled her sides.

“Aye, ye named most of them. I do dream of yer Mama always, and of my godfather.”

Bree wrinkled her nose. “Why would you dream of stinky, grumpy Uncle Murtagh? He’s in the cave with you!”

Jamie heard stifled laughs that echoed his own. Claire, his sister, brother-in-law, and ‘stinky’ uncle all stood a few paces away.

“I dream of him, and all of you, because I love you.”

3

Not my gifs ♥

“Hey, I’m hungry and there isn’t any food at my house.”

“So you decided to come to my house?”

“Well, yeah.” You made it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Peter gave you a questioning look as a result.

“Look, I told my parents you’re helping me with exams anyway, so let me in.” He let out a sigh and opened the door.

“You only like me for my food.”

“I’m not denying that.” You stated sarcastically.

You walked into the kitchen and reached for the refrigerator handle.

“There’s pizza on top.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Last week, You left your scarf here.”

“Oh.”

“It’s in my room.”

“Thanks, I’ll get it when I leave…Peter?”

“Yup?”

“Where’s Aunt May and Uncle Ben?”

“Grocery shopping, they wanted to walk there and get some exercise.” You both chuckled at the idea.

For the rest of the time you were there, you browsed through your phone in comfortable silence, while he was on his laptop.

“Whatcha doin’”

“I’m signing up for an internship program at Oscorp.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, why not. It has this science program that I’m really into.” Peter’s eyes wandered around the screen, looked outside, and back at you.

“Because of daylight savings, you should be going now.” He said.

“What, my house is literally like two blocks away.”

“I don’t care. It’s getting dark.” There was a lengthy pause before you got off the couch and began picking up your belongings. You made it to the door, but before you left, you sent your farewell.

“Bye, Y/N.” He replied.

When the weekend came to an end, you found yourself in a lunchroom across from Peter and a few friends. Papers were scattered across the tables as a testament to exams week.

“Does anyone know the symbolism for the roly-poly scene?” Peter asked.

“You’re still on that page! The test is in thirty minutes for you!” You said.

“You don’t think I’m not aware of the possibility of me failing Literature?”

“Same, Peter.” said Risha, a girl sitting across from him.

“I need U.S History help. Does anyone understand the details on the Battle of Antietam and Vicksburg?” You said.

The boy named Ali, who sat across from you, looked at you in disbelief.

“Shit, that’s on the test?” He said.

“Guys, we’re screwed.” Lei, a tired looking girl, said.

“I’ve been studying since last week.”

“Good for you.”

“I had a cram session last night.”

“Not a good idea.”

“Doesn’t matter at this point.”

For a while, that’s how it went, back and forth comments, until Peter perked up a bit before giving his news.

“I forgot to tell you guys, but guess what?” He said.

“What?” You said.

“I got into the Oscorp program that I signed up for! Soon, I’m gonna be an official intern.”

“Dude, that’s great!” Your comment was followed by congrats and a few pats on the back.

“Also Y/N, I won’t be able to take the bus with you. I gotta go to the Oscorp building today for day one of our training.”

“That’s ok.”

Little did you know that would be the last time you spoke to him until weeks after. When you heard about the death of Uncle Ben you tried reaching out to him, but he never answered. You came to the small funeral that was scheduled a month after Uncle Ben’s death, but you didn’t want to approach him during his mourning. You soon became anxious and when you could no longer bare it, you stopped by his house.

“Good afternoon, Aunty May.”

“Hello.” And while she gave you a smile in return, you saw the slight folds on her cheeks.

“Is Peter home?”

“Sorry, Honey. I honestly don’t know where he is. That boy has been disappearing more often nowadays.”

“Oh, That’s okay…I came for my scarf anyway. He told me it was in his room.”

“Well then, come on in.”

You followed behind her and made sure not to forget the door. Before you could head towards his room, you peeked into the living room. There were mountains of brown boxes and bubble wrap covering the wooden floors.

“I got into a mood to clean today. Found these lying around in the closet and basement”

“Is that Peter?” You pointed towards the scattered photos on the coffee table.

“Yes.” You followed her into the living room.

“This is one of the few photos of him when he was younger.” She let out a sigh. “He wanted to fit in…so he took on T-balling. He was more energetic than any other six-year-old around him.”

“Hard to believe he did sports.” You chuckled at the sight of his helmet looking like it was swallowing him whole.

“Well…you better get your stuff and head home. You don’t want your parent to worry.”

“Yeah.” You walked out of the kitchen a made it to Peter’s room. When you walked in, you stepped in very slowly. You didn’t want to look too deeply into his room, but you didn’t remember where it specifically was. Near his closet was his desk, which was covered in wrappers. You would have been more careful of where you stepped if your attention wasn’t caught by the pictures and newspaper clippings on the board above his sleeping desktop.

“Wanted.” You read. Before you could look any further, your ears perked up to the sound of  Aunt May and Peter talking. You tried to be quick in finding the scarf, so you wouldn’t seem nosey.

“What are you doing in my room?” You were in the middle of rummaging through board games to get to your scarf, but his comment made you jump.

“Sorry, I asked Aunt May if I could look for my scarf.”

“It’s not in my closet.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll find it and give it to you tomorrow.”

You began looking down at your fingers.

“Hey…We never talk anymore.”

“I’ve been busy with the internship thing.”

“To the point where you won’t even look at me during lunch?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is the problem Peter…You’re scaring everyone, not just me, and it doesn’t take a genius to see that Aunt May is scared of losing you too.”

“You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me. I know you’re locking up all your emotions…I know you, and if you don’t talk to someone you’re gonna explode soon.”

“I’m not–”

“Bullshit! Say something different. Yell at me if you have to…tell me how much it hurts, if you want to.”

“Y/N.”  His voice began to crack, and you saw him shaking.

You brought him into an embrace and that’s when he broke down. His tears left puddles on your sweater that seeped through its cotton. You stayed that way until he chose to let go.

-

Based loosely on All Too Well by Taylor Swift

Also, this Peter that I wrote about is a mix of Andrew Garfield’s Peter and Tom Hollands’s Peter.

anonymous asked:

I really wasn't a big fan of sebstan before the winter soldier but then I saw him portraying that cold as fuck soldier and watched his interviews just to find out that he's actually a happy puppy and it turns out that now I love him as an actor and as a person too

I think people thought Seb was a bit of an asshole before. Probably cause he does look like a bit of a punk and he’s the biggest cutie pie ever but I don’t think at first sight that’s something you see, i think you just look at his like “sexy face” and you’re like “wow ok. douchebag” But, i mean thats what i’m guessing i mean when the covenant came out I watched it thinking that the actor was going to be a massive wank and then guess what he turned out to be cute lil bb seb. But with Winter Soldier people were probably like “ok, this character is pretty cool - maybe this guy won’t be that bad i’ll watch some interviews” and they were really pleasantly surprised. And i’m about 100048384% sure once everyone actually got to see what he’s actually like (LITERAL DORK TBH) they were completely won over. It’s nice to know that winter soldier was the thing that got more people to acknowledge that and now look at everyone. They’re all smitten.
I MEAN HOW CAN YOU NOT BE
HE’S SUCH A LIL DORKY BABY

WHO HAS GREAT HAIR

AND CANT EVEN DANCE OMG

And he is just such a GOOD GUY. Just a cute lil peanut. I don’t even think he could hurt a fly lets be honest. I’m just so happy for him :3 
I’m glad everyone’s giving him all the love and attention he deserves cause he really is just the biggest sweetheart and ugh sebby feels tbh.