is her name jenny

rule breakers. (m)

based on the prompt, “best friend’s sibling au”

pairing: kim taehyung | reader
genre: fluff, light smut
warnings: slight voyeurism
word count: 20,453
description: there’s some unresolved history involving your best friend’s brother… but hey, maybe some rules are meant to be broken.
author’s note: i get inspired by the oddest little tidbits, and i swear the word count was supposed to be half the amount you see up there. also, say hello to the longest one-shot i’ve done so far.

Originally posted by kths

You have one of the greatest fortunes to be acquainted with the Kims in your first year of primary education, and perhaps it’s what has led you to one of your greatest downfalls (but we’ll get into that later on).

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anonymous asked:

So I know Steve is in those school detention videos, but do they ever try to get you to be in any of them too?

they tried. they did not succeed.

this occurred for two reasons. 1. steve made those videos while i was still with hydra, so i wasnt around then. and after i came back and they asked me to do them, i watched steves videos and saw how dumb he looked. so i passed. 

and 2. steve only did them in the first place because he got blackmailed. 

so back during the war, steve had a reputation among the howlies as being terrible with women. which he was. so every so often when we were on leave, one of us would get it into our heads to try and help stevie develop some sort of game, in hopes that we would have to listen to him pine for peggy carter less. 

he did a lot of pining. 

we were all hanging out at a bar near camp after a stressful operation, killing time before the next transport turned up. morita was running late because he was getting a stark update for his radio kit, but the rest of us were already a few drinks in and well on our way to heckling steve into doing something dumb. 

(we didnt have tv back then, so we had to get our entertainment somewhere. and let me tell you, steve is better than the kardashians in terms of just-cant-look-away decision making.)

so dumdum had convinced steve that he had the perfect line, and all steve would have to do was walk up to some dame and say it. steve obviously wasnt interested in anybody but pegs, but he admitted that a bit of practice just holding conversation with a lady would probably do him some good.  dumdum pointed out a lovely dame with long brown hair and a WASP uniform sitting up at the bar, whispered the line in steve’s ear (because he didnt trust the rest of us with his perfect line) and sent steve off. 

we watched as steve made his way over and sat down. he’d never looked more awkwardly enormous as he did wedged into the bar stool next to that tiny dame. he flagged down the bartender, ordered a couple drinks, and turned to deliver dumdum’s line.

except that right then, the bartender slid the drinks down the bar to him, and his arm caught them both as he turned. 

so he delivered the line and then promptly doused the dame in two pints of terrible beer. 

that’s when morita showed up. and just as the lady delivering a really lovely slap across that chiseled-as-rushmore jawline, jim morita says:

“what the hell is steve doing with my wife??”

because it turned out his wife was a civilian pilot who’d joined the Women’s Airforce Service Pilots, and happened to be the transport pilot we were waiting for. none of us even knew he was married. he and his wife both kept their rings on their tags under their uniforms. her name was jenny, and she thought the whole thing was pretty damn funny.

she and steve both refused to divluge what exactly the line had been. but it must have been pretty bad, because when jenny and jim morita’s son found steve after the war, he used it as blackmail to get steve to do those videos. turns out he’s a high school principal somewhere in queens. and he’s on some sort of educational board that makes those things. 

but morita never had any blackmail on me to pass along, so i got out home free. 

mark creating alone: this is my new tragedy oc his boyfriend gets bdsm murdered and while hes grieving he finds out he has hiv 

steven writing alone: this is vastra shes a lizard and a lesbian her wifes name is jenny and she likes to paint her in their sunroom

Creepypasta #1061: Jenny

Length: Long

I work in a school that is over a hundred years old. We nicknamed it the Frankenschool because every time they built an addition it was like they slapped a brick box against a wall. The original school was in the centre and the additions enveloped around it. Some rooms are taller than others, some have curved walls, and some have windows that lead to nowhere. Think the Winchester mystery house only in school form.

My room was in the newest addition, which was built in 1976. It was a large, bright room that had great airflow which is important when it’s June and you are stuck in a solid brick building that is just collecting heat.

I was with the littlest kids, the babies of the school. The ones on their own for the first time. Usually they were a sweet bunch. A few nightmares here and there but, for the most part great kids from a small community.

The kids always joked that our room had a ghost. They named her Jenny. She was a nice ghost and whenever toys or crayons would go missing they would always blame Jenny. When they played in the house area, Jenny was always their mom. They would pretend to make cookies for Jenny, they would set the table for an extra spot for her. One day a group came over and told me it was Jenny’s birthday. I made a birthday crown for her and we made a pretend cake out of play-doh and sung her Happy Birthday. Jenny was loved by all the kids. 

After my first year in my room, I assumed that Jenny would be a thing of the past. The imaginary friend would become a fond kindergarten memory for my former students. That she was just something that group made up as a game.

The next October after a few weeks of getting to know my new group of little ones, they tell me about their new friend, Jenny. The cycle began again and it never went away. Every year the new kids tell me all about Jenny. They adore this imaginary girl. I’ve come to accept that Jenny is just part of our room.

So you might be wondering why I’m sharing this story here. It’s just a cute kindergarten tale of an imaginary girl. That’s what I thought until today. Today our school celebrated its 125th anniversary. We had a huge open house and invited the community in. We had a BBQ, the local museum came and shared archived photos, and we gave an award to the oldest living alumni, a 94 years old who started at the school in 1928 when he was 6. His name was Earl and to be honest, he was more than half dead. He sat slumped in his chair, slept most of the time and his family said he was lost in a sea of dementia.

Staff members were asked to stay in our rooms and allow visitors to tour our rooms and ask questions. The day was going great. I saw lots of old students. Some were even starting college! My, how my babies have grown! The funny thing is that every former student asked about Jenny. I was surprised that they still remembered her. A small group of former students gathered in the house centre, all different ages and shared their favourite Jenny memories. It was a sweet moment.

Later in the day a woman in her early 60’s came into my room. She walked around with amazement and awe. She told me that this used to be her room in the 80’s. She loved working with the little kids so much and she even pointed out little features in the room like the chunk missing from one of the cubbies was when a little boy brought a little saw for show and tell and he wanted to show his friends how it worked and he sawed a chunk out of his cubby. Or the paint marks on my old worn out desk were from when the kids painted a bunch of boxes for the spring play. We shared a bunch of laughs and then she looked at me with a twinkle in her eye.

“Is Jenny still here?” she asked.

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you know what is… one of the worst things to think about?

‘jenny calendar’ canonically had several potential names. there’s obviously jenny, but there’s also jennifer & janna, and do we even know if calendar is her birth last name? probably not.

which raises the question of what name she preferred. we know she preferred jenny over jennifer specifically when giles addressed her, but there’s no way to tell if she wouldn’t have rather been called janna if she hadn’t had to go undercover. she uses calendar as a last name, of course, but we don’t know if that’s to make her seem like your average white woman in sunnydale or because she genuinely wanted to feel that way. 

she, essentially, is a mystery on this level, because there was so much ground to be covered here and whedon left it all untouched. she could have been jenny calendar, a woman desperately trying to escape her family & culture & the restrictions put on her, or janna, a woman forced to hide her true self in order to do her duty. 

maybe i’m just overreacting, but sometimes i think about how this beautiful, remarkable, heroic woman was buried under the name JENNIFER CALENDAR, with no consultation to her, because we didn’t know her full story and how she truly felt, and i just feel… really, deeply saddened.

she was an incredible person, and she might not even have been given the dignity of being buried– or remembered– under the proper name.

Jenny, darling, you’re my best friend
I’ve been doing bad things that you don’t know about
Stealing your stuff now and then
Nothing you’d miss but it means the world to me

I wanna ruin our friendship
We should be lovers instead
I don’t know how to say this
‘Cause you’re really my dearest friend

(Studio Killers - Jenny)

It’s been over a year and I just realized yesterday that this song is perfect for these two

Tutor | one

Originally posted by taedamn

College is very stressful, but it’s not so bad when you have two attractive guys fighting over you.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: none

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: fluff, college!au

A/N: it’s funny cause this fic was actually inspired by a dream i had months ago. i’m not the best fluff writer, but i hope you guys like it! btw this features a blackpink member but her character is an absolute jerk, and that’s just for the purpose of the story. i love all the blackpink members in real life and i don’t think any one of them is a jerk

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Jupiter Love | college professor!jennie | M

Originally posted by 7ofuu

Summary: Your crush on your professor is harmless until you ask for help during one of her office hours.

Word Count: 3,150

Okay, your plan wasn’t precisely to bang your english professor against the wall during office hours, but if you and your pants were being honest, you were definitely thinking about it.

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Dawning in Dust: Part IX

Previous chapter

Lallybroch reminded Claire of the cuckoo clock Uncle Lamb had had in one of the few rental properties they’d lived in. Life was run on a schedule; the tenants and livestock the cogs and wheels of the machine that ran it. If one piece was missing or broken, time and progress would not move forward.

The Frasers had been the central piece of this land since the 1700’s, Claire learned. The Fraser ancestors built the house and their descendants inherited the property through generations of tradition and hard work. While modernized technology found its way into parts of the farm’s processes, the Lallybroch estate had remained one of the few working farms in Scotland that was fully self sufficient. Because of this, they continued to survive when the Last War ended.

The remaining Frasers were the heart and mind of the estate, the focal points of decision and order. Winter was fast approaching, which meant all supplies and livestock needed to be accounted for and properly protected once the weather turned. Caches of supplies were hidden and stored for the winter and the planting in the spring.

Claire found herself slowly finding her place in the workings of the farm, beginning her duties as the estate’s temporary nurse and lending a hand wherever needed. News that she would be staying for a time spread quickly through the little community. Most greeted her warmly enough, but Claire could sense the hesitancy; while her skills were useful, she was still an outlander and would have to earn her place among them.

She was given her own guest room on the second floor; it was cozy and quiet and had its own small fireplace in the corner. Compared to the last ten years of dorm room beds, army cots, and whatever patch of brambles looked the most comfortable, the luxury wasn’t lost on her every time she curled up under the already warm covers.

Jenny bustled about, tending to who knew how many mental checklists inside her head and making sure everyone was properly fed and cared for. Her son, Young Jamie, could be found following in the wake of his mother’s billowing wool skirt, either helping or causing trouble at inconvenient moments. Claire was happy to learn that Young Jamie’s birth had been uneventful; she hoped for the same for Jenny’s new baby.

Jamie, despite discomfort and Claire’s insistence on taking things slowly, was found outside with his tenants every day doing what he could. Claire found herself watching him; the knowledgeable way he addressed concerns; the way he carried himself, despite his healing back and muscles; how well he knew each and every person around him. James Fraser was a leader of men. She could easily see him on the battlegrounds of Europe, leading troops through the rubble that remained of great cities.


She turned at the sound of her name, echoes of gunshots and spark grenade explosions fading as Jenny came toward her. Claire breathed deeply and wiped her sweaty palms on her cargo pants. Flashes of the Last War weren’t uncommon for her, but unsettling didn’t begin to describe it.

“Are ye alright Claire?” Jenny asked, brow furrowed as she looked up into Claire’s face. Claire tried her best attempt at a smile.

“Yes, perfectly fine. Did you need me to help with something?”

Jenny gazed at her a moment before turning and beckoning Claire to follow her with a tilt of her head.

“It’s no so much what you can do for me as what I can do for you. Here, this way.”

She led Claire into a smaller building near the barn. Assorted plastic bins and bits of machinery were piled along the walls; Claire didn’t doubt that Jenny knew what was in every last one of them. Jenny was moving about, mumbling a bit as she surveyed the boxes. She was still light on her feet, despite the pregnancy.

“Ah here’s the one. Claire, could ye help me please?”

“What’s in this?” Claire asked as they managed to extract the bin from the middle of the pile and place it on the floor.

“It’s wool,” Jenny answered, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Ye’ve seen the sheep herd aye?”

Claire nodded, feeling the soft yet slightly scratchy material. It still smelled slightly of fresh dye.

“Weel, we shear them and then make the wool. It used to be for the tourists, ye ken. We’d reenacted the process of making the fabric but we used modern dye instead of urine and plants.”

“Urine?” Claire asked, eyebrow raised. Jenny laughed.

“Oh aye. It set the dye faster than anything else at the time. Dinna fash though. We still have plenty of dye to last us a long while yet.”

“It’s fascinating to me how this place has been able to survive, despite everything. You’ve all done a fine job.”

“Thank ye,” Jenny replied, appearing pleased. “Now, are ye any good wi’ a needle?”

“Yes, but only when dealing with flesh.”

“Och, we’ll manage. If you’d agree, I’d like to have clothes made for ye. Winter is coming on and I dinna think what ye have will be sufficient for the elements,” Jenny said, putting the lid back on the box.

“Oh you don’t have to,” Claire started, touched at the kind thought. Jenny gave her a blue eyed look.

“It’s the least we can do. Now,” she continued, discussion apparently ended, “Could ye please help me take this to the house. Mrs. Crook and I can take your measurements.”

Claire pulled the bedroom chair close to the fire and sat down, carefully balancing her hot cup of tea. The warmth from the flames and from the cup began to spread through her extremities, leaving her with a feeling of heavy limbed contentedness and well being. She curled her feet under herself, adjusting the tartan blanket into a cocoon of warmth. Halfway through her tea, she heard a soft knock at her door.

“Come in!” she called as quietly as possible, unsure of how many Lallybroch inhabitants were still awake at this hour.

The door opened to reveal Jamie, soaking wet, presumably from the cold rain that currently pounded against the roof overhead. His eyes briefly searched the room for her, his body going still once he caught sight of her. The wetness of his hair made the red go dark; his eyes were brighter than usual. After a moment, Claire cleared her throat.

“You can come in. I’m decent.”

Jamie blinked, looked at her as if judging whether she was playing a trick or not, then eased himself all the way in.

“Sorry to bother ye, Sassenach. I ken it’s late.”

Droplets of rain water pattered to the floor, prompting Claire to stand and reach for a towel. She was thankful for the clean set of pajamas Jenny had loaned her. While the legs were too short, the top fit well enough for warmth and coverage. Jamie didn’t move as she approached, but she saw a slight shiver run through him.

“I see you’re ignoring nurse’s orders again,” she said lightly, throwing the towel over his head to dry his hair.

Jamie made a Scottish noise, bending a bit at the knee to assist her efforts.

“I had a wee project I was overseeing today. Only just finished.”

He blinked owlishly as his head emerged from the towel. Claire draped it around his shoulders, careful not to put pressure on his back.

“I hope this ‘project’ is worth infected wounds and pneumonia,” she quipped.

Jamie laughed, blue eyes bright with humor.

“That’s actually why I came to see ye.”

Claire paused, looking up at him. She felt his heart beat under her hand, the cold rain water dampening his shirt, and his natural blazing warmth that seemed to keep any chill at bay. He was solid and immediate, his ruddy skin glowing in the firelight. Despite the healing wounds on his back, Jamie looked like the picture of perfect health.

“Are you not feeling well?” she asked, turning toward her chair. “Here, sit down..”

“Thank ye, Sassenach, but I’m fine,” he replied, one corner of his mouth curving upward. “It’s just that I’ve a wee surprise for ye.”

Claire blinked.

“What sort of surprise?” she asked.

“It wouldna be a surprise if I told ye before ye saw it.”

He was outright grinning now. Claire crossed her arms and smirked.

“If it has something to do with you getting sick or infected, I’m not sure I want to be a part of this surprise.”

“Scairt, are ye?”


“Hmm we’ll see. Meet me at the barn after breakfast tomorrow?”

Claire eyed him for a moment, then smiled and nodded. Jamie’s shoulder’s relaxed slightly; clearly he was pleased. They stood looking at each other for a few moments before Jamie cleared his throat and looked away.

“Well, I’ll leave ye to your sleep-”

“Wait,” Claire interrupted, catching his wrist as he was turning away. Jamie turned back, glancing at her hand on his before meeting her eyes. Claire smiled softly.

“Let me take a look at those bandages. They might need to be replaced.”

“Really, it’s alright-”

“Sit,” she said firmly, pushing the chair away from the hearth and replacing it with the footstool before rummaging through the medicine box Jenny had gifted her. Jamie hesitated a moment but accepted defeat. He exhaled and slowly lowered himself down onto the indicated stool.

“Rate your pain from one to ten,” Claire said, beginning their usual exam routine while helping him shrug out of his jacket.


Claire gave him a look.

“Aye, seven then,” Jamie admitted. “It’s starting to itch something fierce as well.”

“That’s good. It means you’re healing.”

Claire set the supplies on her vacated chair before helping him remove his t-shirt. Jamie grimaced, but made no sound as the soaked fabric pulled at his bandages. Claire handed him a fresh towel before putting his clothes over the back of the chair to dry.

“Alright, let’s see the damage.”

Most of the taped edges had started to peel off from getting wet. One deep wound had started to bleed again.

“I’ll have to clean this one,” she said regretfully. “The bandage came off completely.”

Jamie nodded, settling himself. They sat in companionable silence while she worked, the crackle and light of the fire creating a hypnotizing ambience. Jamie swayed a bit, tiredness betraying him. Claire finished with the cleaning and moved on to replacing all of the dressings.

Claire ran her finger down the edge of one scabbed over runnel, sealing the bandage covering it. Goose flesh sprang up on Jamie’s arms at the touch; the red gold hairs of his body standing up. His breathing had changed and he was unusually still. Claire swallowed. Suddenly, the room was feeling too small. Heat flooded her body with the knowledge that she was very much alone with him in her bedroom. She grasped at anything to distract herself.

“I have some exercises you can start doing once these wounds heal more. It will help strengthen the muscles again.”

“Thank ye,” he responded, turning his head slightly to smile at her over his shoulder.

Claire gently squeezed the shoulder in question, letting him know she was finished. She felt his eyes on her as she knelt in front of him, gathering spare bits of medicinals that she’d tossed in front of the hearth. The firelight sparked off of the gold ring on her left hand, catching her attention for the first time since she’d come to Lallybroch. A sudden wave of unexpected guilt washed through her and her breath caught in her chest.

“Sassenach?” she heard Jamie ask.

Her throat was too thick to answer without giving herself away; she tried to will the tears back down. She saw Jamie lean further over, trying to see her face.

How does he always know? she wondered.

“Claire, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice deep and filled with… something. Something she was too afraid to name. She sniffed, wiping away a tear that had made its way down her cheek.

“It’s nothing. I was just… just thinking about my husband.”

“Ah lass,” he said softly. “Is… is he not alive?”

Four years. Four years of being completely alone again; when the Last War ripped the only two people Claire had left in the world away from her. She’d cried for them of course but had never truly grieved. And now, in a strange land amongst strangers, Claire’s enduring walls dissolved.

“No,” she said, tears falling freely now. “No, he’s not alive.”

Jamie knelt beside her, wrapping her in his arms as she sobbed uncontrollably. A large, warm hand went up and down her back as he whispered soothing words in Gaelic. The hand moved to her hair, smoothing it out of her face as she began to regain control of herself. Claire leaned into the touch. Sniffing, she opened her eyes and met his; blue and fathomless and so, so close. He glanced at her mouth and back up again, his hand tightening imperceptibly in her hair.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking away, heart beating heavily in her chest. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Dinna fash, lass,” Jamie replied softly, giving her a sad smile as he wiped a stray tear away. He put a finger under her chin to make her look at him again.

“Ye need not be scairt of me,” he said seriously. “Nor of anyone else here. So long as I’m with ye.”

Claire merely nodded, unsure whether to return to him or pull away. Jamie sighed.

“Ye need sleep, Sassenach,” he said gently, rising from the floor before giving her a hand to help her up.

“You do too,” she replied, giving him a shy smile as she walked with him to her door. He smiled back, hand moving as if to touch her again, but he stopped himself.

Don’t stop, she thought.

“Goodnight,” she said instead, searching his eyes.

Stay. Please.

“Goodnight Claire,” he said softly. “I’m right down the hall if ye need anything.”

I want you to stay.

“Thank you, Jamie. For.. for everything.”

Don’t go.

“I’ll see ye in the morning. Sleep well, Sassenach.”

Jamie left, moving quietly down the dim hallway to his own room. Claire waited for the click of his door shutting, but the sound never came. She sighed, berating herself for dissolving into an emotional mess, and shut her own door. Exhaustion won out over tidying up the room. She crawled into bed, buried herself in the tartan blanket, and gave into sleep and uneasy dreams.

His Last Request - Pt. 8: An Exciting Breakfast

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: “Panic attack hangover,” nosy neighbors, fluff on fluff

Word Count: 5100ish

Summary: Dean and The Reader adjust to their new “apple-pie-life”

A/N: Thank you for being patient with me during my long hiatus. I’m not super proud of this chapter as I was a little rusty from my long break but hopefully its alright. It’s the fluffiest chapter I’ve written for this series so it felt a little awkward to me tbh Thank you @torn-and-frayed for helping me think up a name for the nosy neighbor OC haha Hope yall enjoy! Feedback is much appreciated!




You grimaced and scrunched your eyes together even harder as you felt tiny fingers poking your face.

“Wawa…Wawa! Wake up, Wawa!”

“Nooo, I don’t wanna go to Wawa…” You murmured sleepily, rolling your face into the pillow and away from the disturbance.

“Looks like she’s not budging, Jen,” You heard Dean’s voice pipe up. “Time to take some drastic measures.”

You heard Jenny giggle and your eyes shot open just as Dean yelled, “Baby Bomb!”

You felt a weight slam into your back and Jenny let out a chain of giggles in response to your “Oomph!”

“Wawa! Wake up!” She commanded, crawling up towards your head. You rolled over slowly and gently enough for Jenny to easily slide off of you and onto the mattress. You noticed Dean sitting at the edge of the bed laughing at you.

“What happened to ‘I got her, you just go back to sleep.’” You whined, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Breakfast happened,” Dean chuckled.

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The transcult has begun summoning spirits.

I followed the cultists with their pink, blue and white cloaks into a run down barn. In the middle of the barn floor they had their cults symbol huge in purple paint, here’s a picture: 

In the middle of the symbol lay a old wooden table. They lit two blue candles, two pink candles, and one white one. Then, one of them pulled a Ouija board out of their cloak. Two of the leaders sat down at the table to try to conjure up the most evil spirit they could find, and her name was Jenny. They then asked Jenny what each of their members names was; in order to know that the new cult names they assigned themselves were their actual names. Jenny responded to every name request as the new name the cultist had.

Be careful out there cisters, if these terrible cultists can change their name in the spirit realm, who else knows what they can do!