it's an old farmhouse

There's No Reason to Be Afraid.

When my sister Betsy and I were kids, our family lived for awhile in a charming old farmhouse. We loved exploring its dusty corners and climbing the apple tree in the backyard. But our favorite thing was the ghost.

We called her Mother, because she seemed so kind and nurturing. Some mornings Betsy and I would wake up, and on each of our nightstands, we’d find a cup that hadn’t been there the night before. Mother had left them there, worried that we’d get thirsty during the night. She just wanted to take care of us.

Among the house’s original furnishings was an antique wooden chair, which we kept against the back wall of the living room. Whenever we were preoccupied, watching TV or playing a game, Mother would inch that chair forward, across the room, toward us. Sometimes she’d manage to move it all the way to the center of the room. We always felt sad putting it back against the wall. Mother just wanted to be near us.

Years later, long after we’d moved out, I found an old newspaper article about the farmhouse’s original occupant, a widow. She’d murdered her two children by giving them each a cup of poisoned milk before bed. Then she’d hanged herself.

The article included a photo of the farmhouse’s living room, with a woman’s body hanging from a beam. Beneath her, knocked over, was that old wooden chair, placed exactly in the center of the room.

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Design Restaurant inspiration: Fonderie Milanesi.

Fonderie Milanesi is a very special place for a relaxed brunch, a romantic dinner or just to have something to drink. Housed in a old Farmhouse with a lovely courtyard, its design maintains the nineteenth-century industrial style with a bohemian and shabby decor. Cool, romantic, really relaxed and a nice feeling of urban-countryside.

The menu is quite simple with extremely fresh products and created according to seasons.

Fonderie Milanesi-  Via Giovenale 7, Milan

paganequestrian  asked:

May I have an energy reading? My name is Jaz 💚

Sure!

I see a mass of trees in the background, all reaching for the same thing. A field of purple flowers, slowly swaying, separates me from them. The black and white polka dots of a cow flashes in the corner of my eye and there is one, shaking its head. A candle is lit behind a dirty window to an old farmhouse. I go to my left, and I see a backdoor tinted in teal leading to the yard-a line of determined ants that I wish to say are mice going through the crack of it. There’s a pond and I see a mermaid’s hair just as the water reflects the moon behind me. There is a waterfall upside down and lily pads swim in the water. I see pinks and blues and have the feeling of bubblegum. Your energy is calm and has the hint of excitement-like the one of doing something that you love dearly.

Hope this was okay!

~Genie 🔮

Military Brat

Pairing: BuckyxReader (not much in this part, it is mostly story build up) but includes Sam and Steve as well.

Warning: Swearing, Some angst.

Be prepared to feel some feels. The fluff will come I promise!

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5 - PART 6 - EPILOGUE 

Originally posted by normanosborn

It is days like today you are happy the Tony let you take the nice big SUV. Currently, you were driving down the road with two very large super soldiers and Sam sprawled out across the seats snoring in unison. You were using the time to clear your head before the big events of this weekend.

“So, (Y/N) what time do you want to head out this weekend?” Steve asked at breakfast one morning passing you the milk.

Sam immediately chimed in, “Where are you guys going, and why was I not invited?!?”

You rebutted with, “We are going to my brother’s Medal of Honor presentation, my dad is practically forcing me to bring Steve.”

Steve placed his hand on his chest pretending he was offended by your comment, “Ouch (Y/N) that hurt.”

You huffed and punched his arm playfully. “Oh, you know what I meant Steve.”

Sam looked around excitedly,  “I WANNA GO!”

Bucky walked in, “If he’s going I am DEFINITELY going.”

Your rolled your eyes and Steve chuckled. And just like that it was settled, the four of you were going to see your family.


You were in your own little world when a deep raspy voice broke your concentration.

“Hey, (Y/N) do you need a break? I can drive the rest of the way.” Steve looked at you from the passenger seat with sleep still lingering in his eyes.

“Nah I’m good Rogers, driving helps clear my head. I’m going to need it this weekend, but thank you guys for coming, the support means a lot.”

“Of course, we are a team and we need to stick together. I know how much you miss him.”


You came from a family of highly decorated officers, so it wasn’t a surprise when your brother Derek joined the army. Your father was so proud of his son following in his footsteps, his commanders told him that Derek showed promise and that he was the brightest in his class, that was until it happened. Derek was on his second tour in Afghanistan when a homemade explosive took him and his jeep up. Your brother pushed as many people out of the vehicle as possible taking the most of the damage himself to protect others and your brother was the only one who lost his life, and he was considered a hero.

This was 2 years ago, it had happened just shortly after you had joined the Avengers. Derek was so proud to be able to tell his buddies that HIS sister was an Avenger, he loved to brag about you to anyone who would listen. He cheered the loudest when you graduated, he was so proud when you told him about joining SHEILD, and when you told him that you were recruited for the Avengers he honestly almost started to cry. Derek was your #1 fan and was proud of it. You were away on a mission with Natasha and Clint when the rest of your family got the news calling the Tower shortly after, you walked into the living room after trying to clean up the quinjet. Everyone was quiet, that’s when your stomach dropped. Steve pulled you aside and told you what had happened, you were quiet and just nodded your head. When he was done speaking you stood there for awhile feet unable to move, everything felt empty. He pulled you in for a hug and held you for a moment, the team never left your side that night. The team sent you on leave for a month to be at home with your family and when you came back you spent a lot of time with Sam, Steve, and Bucky they understood your pain better than anyone else on the team each of them reminding you of your brother in their own way. Sam had the same sense of humor as your brother, the way he picked on Bucky was the way he always picked on you. Steve and Derek shared the same sense of morals always trying to be the best man they could be. While Bucky was protective of you the way Derek was, checking up on you after missions or staying with you when the nightmares became too much. They were your family, they were your platoon.


Not long after that Bucky and Sam woke up stretching and hitting each other in the process

“Tell me why again Steve got shotgun and you forced me back here with this idiot?” Buck then proceeded to hit Sam upside the head.

“Because Sam, Steve and I just love to watch you suffer.”

Steve chuckled “She has a point.”

Sam grumbled something to himself and pouted in the backseat which caused the rest of the car to burst out laughing in response.

“You guys are idiots, but you are MY idiots.” you continued laughing, as you started to pull into your long driveway.

The old farmhouse came into view with its old faded yellow color and white shutters where the paint was beginning to chip, it was home. You gazed on fondly finding that your dad still kept your tire swing, and had even put a fresh coat of paint on your tree house.  Some things had changed but your home was never one of them. Pulling up behind two other SUVs and what you always remembered as your dad’s old red pick up, the four of you got out. As soon as your feet hit the ground you were greeted by a happily wagging tail.

“Hey, Coop! How’s my big boy? Did ya miss me? Oh of course you did!” the boys looked at your trying not to laugh while you a highly trained agent basically rolled around on the ground with a giant German Shepherd.

“I see some things never change.” A woman walked out onto the porch and shook her head as she looked at you.

“MOM!” You ran into her arms and gave her a hug. You backed away motioning over to the boys who were now unloading the car “Mom, these are my boys. Steve, Sam and Buck.”

The boys all came over to introduce themselves when your mom scooped them all into a big group hug. “Thanks for taking care of my little girl.” squeezing them a little harder before she let go.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, “It has been a pleasure Mrs. (Y/L/N), and half the time it is (Y/N) who takes care of us.”

Your mom laughed, “That sure sounds like my (Y/N), but please call me Mom or Laurene. But now that you guys are here let’s get you settled in!”


 Part 1 of a possible 8 Part series! But expect more to come! I have so much planned! Also, if you would like to be tagged feel free to message me.

@writingruna

When my sister Betsy and I were kids, our family lived for awhile in a charming old farmhouse. We loved exploring its dusty corners and climbing the apple tree in the backyard. But our favorite thing was the ghost.

We called her Mother, because she seemed so kind and nurturing. Some mornings Betsy and I would wake up, and on each of our nightstands, we’d find a cup that hadn’t been there the night before. Mother had left them there, worried that we’d get thirsty during the night. She just wanted to take care of us.

Among the house’s original furnishings was an antique wooden chair, which we kept against the back wall of the living room. Whenever we were preoccupied, watching TV or playing a game, Mother would inch that chair forward, across the room, toward us. Sometimes she’d manage to move it all the way to the center of the room. We always felt sad putting it back against the wall. Mother just wanted to be near us.

Years later, long after we’d moved out, I found an old newspaper article about the farmhouse’s original occupant, a widow. She’d murdered her two children by giving them each a cup of poisoned milk before bed. Then she’d hanged herself.

The article included a photo of the farmhouse’s living room, with a woman’s body hanging from a beam. Beneath her, knocked over, was that old wooden chair, placed exactly in the center of the room.

(Credit to whoeverfightsmonster, via Reddit)

10

The 31 Days of Halloween - Abandoned Houses Too

“Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I’ve passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.

I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn’t haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn’t be so lonely if it had a ghost or two."  - Joyce Kilmer

There's No Reason to be Afraid

When my sister Betsy and I were kids, our family lived for awhile in a charming old farmhouse. We loved exploring its dusty corners and climbing the apple tree in the backyard. But our favorite thing was the ghost.

We called her Mother, because she seemed so kind and nurturing. Some mornings Betsy and I would wake up, and on each of our nightstands, we’d find a cup that hadn’t been there the night before. Mother had left them there, worried that we’d get thirsty during the night. She just wanted to take care of us.

Among the house’s original furnishings was an antique wooden chair, which we kept against the back wall of the living room. Whenever we were preoccupied, watching TV or playing a game, Mother would inch that chair forward, across the room, toward us. Sometimes she’d manage to move it all the way to the center of the room. We always felt sad putting it back against the wall. Mother just wanted to be near us.

Years later, long after we’d moved out, I found an old newspaper article about the farmhouse’s original occupant, a widow. She’d murdered her two children by giving them each a cup of poisoned milk before bed. Then she’d hanged herself.

The article included a photo of the farmhouse’s living room, with a woman’s body hanging from a beam. Beneath her, knocked over, was that old wooden chair, placed exactly in the center of the room.