barred-window

                                                                                                       #coffee time
cozy-morning-begins-with-coffee

9

the prophecy of seven: jason grace

“Thunder boomed overhead. Lightning flashed, and the bars on the nearest window burst into sizzling, melted stubs of iron.  Jason flew in like Peter Pan, electricity sparking around him and his gold sword steaming.”

If you have your Moon in a Water sign, you are porous in nature, often taking on the happiness and sadness of the people around you with no filter, which can be joyous, but also leave you feeling saturated in more than you can take at that moment. Emotions flows out of you like a stream, as does a strong intuition capable of picking up even the most little of fluctuations in your surroundings.

You may feel the need to retreat at times, to get a hold on yourself and only yourself, to bar the windows just for a little while so you can find your own sense of center once more. Your subconscious is full of creativity, pure knowing and emotional intelligence, and with this, you are truly gifted.

Love Emma x

9

Pjo/hoo aesthetics (3/10)

    Jason Grace, son of Jupiter.

    "Thunder boomed overhead. Lightning flashed, and the bars on the nearest window burst into sizzling, melted stubs of iron. Jason flew in like Peter Pan, electricity sparking around him and his gold sword steaming.“

Protection

Written for @a-broken-hunter for donating to my Supernatural Seattle 2017 gift!

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam
Word Count: 528
Warnings: angst, fluff, canon divergence, almost panic attack, PTSD symptoms
Summary: The reader wakes up during a thunderstorm. The sights and sounds are reminiscent of one of the worst places she’s ever been.

“Dean!”

You sat up in your bed, heart pounding furiously, eyes wide with terror.

White light flashed through the room, the thin wooden slat of the window casting bar-like shadows, and you swore you could hear the sound of a man’s voice, high pitched laughing just above another man’s guttural scream of pain.

You couldn’t be back there, not after all this time.

Keep reading

Sometimes, even years later, even after seeing so much and so much worse, even after watching Harry achieve peace with the situation and move on; sometimes George wakes up stuck on the image of the bars on the window the night he and his brothers had rescued Harry. 

The bars and all that they said about the way Harry had been raised, the way his parental figures had been the exact polar opposite of George’s own, all that the light conversation in the car had said about how normal that must have been for the kid. 

Sometimes he thinks about that night, and gives Harry a visit and an extra tight hug, hoping that someone more qualified than him has broached the subject of the bars both literal and metaphorical in Harry’s childhood. 

Tom Holland Imagine - 11

Can I have your number?

A/N- Tried my best, hope you like it, anon!

“White chocolate mocha.” You told the barista, handing her your money. 

She took your money. “Name?” 

“Y/N.”

You walked across the little shop and set at the bar facing the window, setting your laptop down. The little bell above the door rang and you looked over. It was Spiderman! Well, the guy who plays him anyways, Tom Holland. And that guy he always he had with him. “White chocolate mocha for Y/N?” The barista called. 

“Her name’s Y/N, mate.” You heard the friend tell Tom. You grabbed your cup and went back to your computer. The only people in the small New York City coffee shop was you, Tom and the boy you now know as Harrison (thanks to a quick google search.) I can’t talk to her. She’s too pretty. She looks too smart for me. But damn it, I’m in love. He thought as he watched you open Google Docs. 

Tom approached you as you typed furiously, finishing your short story for your Fiction-Writing class. “Um, Y/N? Sorry, I know it’s creepy I know your name.”

You finished the sentence you were writing and looked up. “Yes? And I know your name, too. Tom.”

“Can I sit here?” He asked, his face was flushed. You nodded. “So. What are you writing?”

You closed your laptop, embarrassed. “Just my short story for my Fiction-Writing class. It’s due in a few hours.”

“So, um, can I, um, maybe get your number?” He asked looking down at his coffee. You’re fucking this up Tom. She could be the one, He thought to himself. 

You smiled. “Sure.” You pulled a piece of notebook paper out of your bag and tore a corner off, then started to write. Holy shit! She’s giving me her number. And Haz said she was out of my league, He thought.

“TOM! Let’s go we are going to be late!” Harrison yelled as he ran up and dragged Tom away from you. 

Tom’s coffee spilled on the floor and then he yelled, “HAZ! Stop!” But it was too late. Tom was shoved into a taxi. You were so close to going on a date with Tom Holland. So. Close. Well, all you could do know was finish your cheesy love story. 


It had been an hour of you sitting, typing, and staring out the window. Only a hand full of people had revolved in and out. The door slammed open and you jerked your head up. It was him. It was Tom. “You’re still here! Yes!” He leaned out the door. “She’s still here Haz!” 

You laughed at his excitement. “Yup. Still here!” You yelled back.

He walked over to you and sat down. “So, can I still get your number?” 

You handed him the piece notebook paper. “That’s it. You’re actually going to text right? You aren’t like those other guys who get a number and then ignore it?” He shook his head. “Good. I would hate to think that Spiderman doesn’t text.”

Your phone buzzed. It was Tom. You wanna go get something to eat? I swear I’ll ditch Harrison. You laughed and texted him back. Harrison (or Haz,as you call him,) can come. But he can’t take you away again. 

“He’s a horrible wingman. I’m ditching him. Let’s go?” You nodded and packed up your things. Then you followed the greatest guy you’ve ever met out into the busy crowds of NYC.

Bellamy Blake is broken and has been broken since he was 6 years old. He gave up on his own life within 80 months of being born. Bellamy Blake did not have a childhood. While the delinquents were locked up for years before getting down to Earth, Bellamy Blake was locked up in his own home, the words “your sister, your responsibility” the bars that surrounded him. Down on the ground, when everyone else was free, the bars that surrounded him since he was 6 were still there. The bars never left. While everyone else left their prison, Bellamy Blake’s grew. More and more bars were added, windows disappeared, chains appeared as the number of people he started to love and care for grew. His every action is defined by his prison walls. Bellamy Blake was taught at 6 that when you love someone, you give up everything for them. Bellamy Blake has never lived for himself. He was taught at 6 years that his life is not his own. His life was and is for the people he loves. “Your sister, your responsibility” turned to “My people, my responsibility.”

When the Dursleys arrived back to Privet Drive after their stay in the safe flat up north for the duration of the Second Wizarding War, they found only charred remains where there had once stood their neat little house. 

They assumed it had been Death Eaters, poking around for That Boy. Why they had thought he’d still be there of all places, they didn’t know. 

It wasn’t Death Eaters. 

It was a man who loved like a son the house’s most unloved occupant. A man who remembered bars on the windows and a cupboard under the stairs. A man whose office at the Ministry was full to bursting of all sorts of flammable items that wouldn’t attract attention.