lead windows

10

Good wood - the contrast between the two tone monochrome exterior offset against the warm hues of the natural oak lined box window that leads into a cosy yet airy interior, makes this house in Melbourne really stand out. 'The Datum House’ by local architects Figr.

inevitable realizations ☼ peter parker

summary : peter’s always been a little bit in love with you, it just took a difficult night and warm, ever comforting words for him to come to the realization. intelligent he may be, but he’s a clueless teenage boy before anything else.

word count : 2.5k

   It was eleven o’clock at night and, as per usual, you were neglecting the sleep you desperately needed in order to finish up the notes on your assigned reading novel that were due in just a few short hours. You were never one to finish tasks, especially menial ones such as homework, in a timely fashion. This was just the tip of the iceberg. You briefly took off your glasses, rubbing your tired eyes that were now struggling to focus on the words in front of you properly. When you slipped them back over your nose, glancing up toward your bedroom window that lead out to the fire escape, you saw the familiar face of your best friend peering in through the glass in a way that was only slightly creepy. 

   Peter knocked rapidly on the glass, waving at you in the typical, hyperactive way that he always had about him. You jumped off your bed, reaching out to shut your bedroom door before walking over to the bay window and unlocking it. A rush of cold winter air nipped at your face the minute it swung open and Peter Parker shoved himself through. Visits from him in this particular manner were common, especially after a day’s work of fighting crime throughout various parts of New York, but not usually this late- and never without a text to alert you first.  

    “You must be freezing,” you shivered, closing the window quickly. “How long were you out there?” Making yourself comfortable on your bed once again, you propped open your book, ready to force him into helping you study. He didn’t answer. Instead, he drew his sweatshirt closer to his body, sliding to the floor beside your bed and leaning his head against the soft duvet. His curls were sticking up in every direction when he pulled his hood away, his cheeks and the tip of his nose a brilliant shade of red, but not from the bitter chill that was sweeping mercilessly over Queens. 

   You heard a distinct sniff, then another, then another. His breathing, already shallow from the frantic climbing he had done to reach your fire escape, became even more labored. He pulled his knees to his chest to hide his face. He felt you press yourself against him, your arms around his shoulders and across his chest before he could pull away in embarrassment. Your glasses creaked when they pushed too far into his shoulder. Neither of you moved. You clung to him and he sat there, silently shaking and leaning into your embrace as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. 

   “Hey, hey, shh, shh, Peter, you’re okay,” you whispered, rubbing his back. “I’ve got you, I promise. You’ve gotta breathe, though, okay?” He was always ashamed of his sensitivity, but he couldn’t help it. He was a sensitive boy and he cried easily and had an awful lot of anxiety sometimes. Today was one of those days, with good reason. He nodded stiffly, maneuvering himself to hug you back, face pressed into your shoulder this time. 

   “It’s… the anniversary,” he said, his voice broken. “One year.” Hollow. “One year since- since Ben. One year tomorrow.” 

   He pulled away, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt. There were traces of tears still making their way down his cheeks, sliding across his nose and down to his lips. He tried to rub them away, too, but you caught his wrist in your hand. 

   “You’re not wrong or less of a dude for crying, Peter.” The way you looked at him, so lovely and caring and worried, made his heart cry out for the safety of your embrace again. “Were you at the cemetery?” You matched his stance and rested the side of your cheek on your knee, still carefully studying his face. 

   “Yeah,” he exhaled, placing his chin in his palm. “I’m gonna go again in the morning with May. Gonna miss school. I- I probably should’ve, um, stayed with her tonight but I…” he trailed off, “I needed you.” He said it as he said most things to you, with his soft tone of voice and his hesitance that made him, him. He never really noticed until now. 

   “What are best friends for, right?”  

    “Yeah. Best friends.” 

    Ignoring the odd way those two words slipped out of his mouth, you said, “I’m sorry, Peter. I know you loved Uncle Ben so much. I’m sorry, you don’t deserve this. You and May don’t deserve this.” You reached out to him, your hand gripping his without an ounce of doubt. You had small hands and he didn’t but he felt a thousand times better when yours found his. “I’m always here for you. Do you wanna talk about it?” 

   Surprisingly, he shook his head adamantly. “No, no.” He squeezed your hand. “I kind of, um, just wanna go to bed. Crying like a little baby really tires a guy out, you know?” He gave a weak laugh, a tiny grin, and you smiled right back at him before pulling him to his feet. “Can I use the bathroom?” He needed to wash the sticky feeling of dry tears off his face, rub the sadness out of his eyes. He wanted to be strong for May when he got back in the morning. 

   “Of course, just be quiet. Mom and dad are asleep.” You padded across your rug and opened your door a crack, holding it in a specific way so that it wouldn’t creak when you let Peter through. He gave you a grateful squeeze of the hand again before disappearing into the bathroom. 

    He splashed water on his face, staring up at his reflection, at the water dripping off his eyelashes and the curling ends of the hair that was plastered to his forehead. He rubbed at his face and took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to cry anymore. You had sufficiently comforted him for the night. Peter could breathe again. 

   Peter quietly walked back down the hallway and into your bedroom, watching for a second as you pulled spare blankets down from a shelf in your closet and arranged them on your bay window. You had cleared your bed of your school supplies and had left the covers open for Peter to crawl into without a second though. Which he did. Your covers smelled quite lovely, actually. It was the scent of your perfume that you wore often enough for him to recognize the scent, and he wanted to fall asleep under the inviting covers that were laid out for him. Then, he saw you sit atop your window, about to lie down. 

   “Wait, why are you doing that?” He got out of bed and took your hand for the third time that night, growing accustomed to the feeling of it. He pulled you over to your bed. “You’re not sleeping on a stupid window. That’s ridiculous. I’ll take the window.” He spun you around and ignored the protestant noise you made, gripping your shoulders and sitting you down on the bed. 

   “I’m not letting you take the window, either!” You argued, yanking him back down on the bed. He huffed, glaring at you in a teasing manner. “C’mon, just take the bed. You need it more than I do.” His glare dropped to his lap, an idea rolling around in his head. “What?” 

   “Y/N, how about we just both take the bed?” He said finally, lifting his eyes back to yours. He wasn’t sure what made him say it, why he didn’t just take the floor like he probably should have, but the words were out there in the world and there wasn’t a way to take them back now. You bit your lip, then shrugged, scooting over. 

   “It is big enough for the two of us.” You turned away from him, turning off your lamp and getting under the covers. You heard Peter slide in next to you, but your back was toward him until he poked you sharply. “What’s wrong, Peter?” 

   “Can you- um, well-” 

   You flipped over on your side, just barely making out his face in the darkness of your room. “Do you want me to cuddle you?” Though you said in a teasing sort of tone, you were silently quite pleased when he mumbled a reluctant yes. You moved closer, one arm going around his waist and the other underneath him. Your head was on his chest, listening to the resilient beating of his heart. He placed his chin atop your head. He focused on the sound of your steady breaths until you were sleeping peacefully beside him. 

    He was so grateful for you- the person who stood by his side throughout anything and everything. You, so strong and beautiful and brave and comforting in his times of distress. You, who never seemed to waver in your loyalty to him. You, the very picture of loveliness and a girl who he’d very much like to- 

   His eyes flew open, and he almost jumped away from you. He didn’t want to risk you awakening, though, so he stayed put, freaking out internally rather than externally the way he was prone to doing. He had been thinking of kissing you. That was what he was going to say. Kiss. The thought had come so simply to his brain it was like he already thought the same thing for years. Maybe he had. It wasn’t like he was blind. You were a stunning girl, even if you didn’t think so yourself, you were his best friend, you were practically perfect and Peter would be an idiot to not adore you the way that he did. 

   Adore, adore, adore. Oh, boy. Peter glanced down at you, sleeping in his arms, and confirmed what he had so stupidly never noticed before. His infinitesimal, brief affection for Liz Allen had absolutely nothing on his all encompassing love for you. 


   Peter bid you goodbye that morning at six thirty sharp, before either of your parents had woken up for work. Before he slipped out your window and into the cracks early morning sunlight, he had pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to your cheek. It was only the briefest touch of his lips to your face, but you had held your face, right in that spot, for practically the entire day. Ned had questioned why, but you brushed him off with an answer of exhaustion. 

   The day after that, Peter returned to school, dragging Ned off to the side as soon as he stepped off the train platform. He had waited for the other boy purposely, seeking advice. 

   “I have a huge, gigantic, terrible awful problem right now, Ned!” He exclaimed as soon as he saw him, throwing his hands up in the air. “I need help.” 

   “Psychiatric help,” Michelle supplied, appearing out of nowhere as she usually did before walking down the path to school. 

   Ned shrugged. “She’s not wrong.” 

   Peter, frantic, seized Ned’s shoulders and shook him. “This is not a roast Peter session! This a cry for help! Help me, Ned Leeds!” 

   “Am I your only hope?” Peter wanted to scream. 

   “This isn’t the time for Star Wars puns, either!” Not waiting for Ned to quip back that every time was Star Wars time, Peter said, loudly, “I’m in love with Y/N and I don’t know what to do!” He ran his hands in his hair, wanting to pull it out. “I just- I just realized the other night! Everything just kind of, like, clicked and I’ve been so stupid. I should’ve realized it before, but of course I didn’t and now I have no idea what to do!” 

   “Wait, dude, you seriously have never noticed this before? Are you kidding me? Peter, you’re supposed to be the genius of the school. I feel let down.” Ned shook his head solemnly. “Dude, everyone knows you love her. Even Flash. That’s why he picks on her all the time. He likes pissing you off and nothing gets under your skin more than someone messing with Y/N. She’s the first one you told about being Spider-Man, you go to her for all your problems, you practically pee yourself racing to be her partner for almost everything- not science because science is our subject, but still. I figured you knew you loved her and just didn’t wanna talk about it because she’s out of your league.” 

   “Hey! I am not-” He stopped. “So what if I am? That’s not even the point. The point is that I love her. Me realizing it was inevitable, even if it took me like eighty years to get there. Doesn’t matter. I’ve gotta tell her, right?”

   “You totally should,” Ned encouraged. “She’s definitely in love with you, too.” 

    Hopefully, Peter grinned. “You really think so?” 

    “Anything’s possible!” 

    “The reassurance you give me is suffocating, Ned. Stop before I die.” 

    That day in gym class, Ned and Peter went off to the side to pretend they were doing stretches while you sat with Michelle and conversed about literature for the first half of the period. Your conversation, however, soon led off into other directions. 

    “Hey, MJ, have you ever… I don’t know, been in love?” 

    Michelle raised her eyebrows. “Only with crushing the patriarchy. Why? Have you?” The intuitive girl already knew your answer, of course, but she was invested in you and Peter’s love story and was desperate to hear the truth from your own lips. 

   You played with the hem of your shirt, thinking. Peter and Ned casually inched closer, having been listening to the conversation for quite sometime now. They were unapologetically nosy. “I think I am.” 

   “With who?” Peter clasped his hands together, silently pleading with the universe to grant him this one wish. I promise, universe, I’ll never ask for anything ever again in my whole life if you just let this girl love me back I swear I’ll be the best Spider-Man there ever was and I’ll protect New York until I’m eighty five just please oh my god please- 

   “With Peter.” 

   The gasp he let out was involuntary, but you didn’t hear him. He turned to Ned, his expression of shock, as well as elation, mirroring Peter’s own. Suddenly, Ned stood, shouting for the entire gym class to hear, “Y/N! Peter loves you too!” You looked up, Michelle’s happy and knowing smirk going unnoticed by you because the only thing you could focus on was Peter and what Ned had just declared. 

   The gym fell silent, every student turning to stare at you and Peter. You were frozen in shock up until the bell rang and everyone filed out quickly, leaving you and Peter alone. 

   “Did he mean it?” You asked, your sneakers squeaking against the floor as you closed the distance between you and Peter, your head tilted to meet his. 

   “It’s the truest thing anyone has ever said.” His lips met yours, and the slant of his mouth against your own was a feeling you could definitely come to adore more than you already did after just one kiss. 

Originally posted by lethalbarnes



Title: “Can I try on the Suit?” (Reader x Peter Parker)

Summary: A certain spider hero crawls into the confines and comfort of his own bedroom, not even realising that the reader has been waiting for him.

Word Count: 1536

A/N: OK I LOVE THIS A LOT! I’ve been working on it during my free time this week and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! :) 

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anonymous asked:

yuuri is a witch in training and viktor is a prince!

guys. which one of you failed to inform me that yesterday was @beanpots‘s bday? this is dedicated to them now


The bell above the door tinkles merrily as it opens. Viktor steps in nervously, pulling his hood about him and closing the door quickly, before peering out the little window in the door to make sure he hadn’t been tailed.

After ascertaining that no one had, he steps out into the main part of this shop, looking around him at the dried herbs tied to the ceiling and gathered in baskets all around. A book lies open on the counter, next to a mortar and pestle and a small linen bag. 

A bengal cat comes leaping down from the rafters, landing onto the counter before flicking its tail and turning to survey Viktor with piercing green eyes. Viktor stands rooted to the floor, hardly daring to breathe. He only moves when the cat does; it leaps off the counter and pads away silently through a set of black curtains behind the counter.

Viktor returns to his examination of the room. Minako is taking such a long time to get out here, and he didn’t remember seeing a bengal cat familiar the last time he was here to be checked up by her. He sighs, finger skimming across a deer antler and a rabbit’s foot before coming to rest on a fox pelt. It feels unbelievably soft.

“Hey! I’m sorry it took me so long to get out here!” A voice startles Viktor from his reverie and he turns to see a young dark-haired man at the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. Viktor’s chest does an unpleasant-feeling lurch, and he heaves, caught off-guard by the sudden motion. The young man’s eyes widen, and he scrambles around the counter to catch Viktor just as he stumbles.

The young man smells like petrichor, Viktor muses, before he’s being guided to a stool and instructed to sit. The young man vanishes behind the curtains again, and reappears momentarily with a cup of some sort of hot beverage.

“It’s tea,” he explains, when Viktor clutches the cup and stares at it. 

“…Thank you,” mumbles Viktor, before he sips. It is scalding, but it is tea, indeed.

“You gave me a bit of a fright,” admits the young man. “What can I do for you?”

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Pulse Part 4

Part 3

Genre: Angst
Words: 2,004
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: Stalking, some minor violence
Summary: Soulmate AU in which one’s heartbeat becomes perfectly in sync with their soulmate’s once they meet.


Sleep never came to you that night. Every sound in your apartment made you paranoid. Your heart would speed up and the creep’s face would be the only thing you saw behind your closed eyes. You finally had gotten so annoyed at yourself and your inability to chill out that you took out your laptop for next to your bed and opted on doing some research.

You and Natasha had both established you didn’t know enough about the whole soulmate thing, and if there was one way to distract you from your impending murder, it would be to think about Bucky.

So that’s what you did. At three in the morning, you researched every question possible:

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Detective Conan File 1001 [Japanese to English Translation]
  • This is just like the blood ceiling…


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5

*Requested* Can u do an imagine where klaus’ teenage daughter and (half) sister Hope reunite with the family after the 5 years of being apart (reader was about 10 when all the stuff with marcel happened and he took klaus)

(I focused this more on the reader reuniting with the family (especially Klaus), but maybe I will write a continuation to this which will be more focused on Hope. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this kind of bittersweet one. Happy reading my lovelies!)

Characters: Teen Daughter! Reader, Klaus, Hope, Hayley and the rest of the family

Story Title: “5 long years”

Word count: 908

Your name: submit What is this?


The sun has barely risen on the horizon as the sound of rustling sheets and the presence of a body stirs you awake. You blink a few times and rub the sleep out of your eyes before you look next to you. As it seems your half-sister Hope has had another nightmare and crawled into your bed like she has a numerous of times before.

After a few minutes of almost dozing off to sleep, you decide to seize the day and get some morning air and collect a few of the flowers that grow in the area. Your auntie Beks always like them, and since today might be the day they all return, you thought it would be a nice gesture to have a few of them around. Also, Hope likes to draw flowers as well so you could kill two birds with one stone with them.

You quickly change and open the window leading out into the backyard with a roof below. You always sneak out like this, because Mary does not like if you wander off too far, which of course, never stops you.

.[Time skip]

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mrs--sawyer  asked:

Love what you've written, could you possibly write how you think the rest of the gang would find out about Jughead and Betty?

Thank you so much! I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve decided to combine this with another request that was sent in by @sophiiemead so this is part one, and the conclusion to this will be completed on the request they sent in. Hope you like it! 

Summary: Archie and Kevin find out about Betty and Jughead’s relationship when they see them sharing an intimate embrace through Archie’s bedroom window

Also, I already wrote about Veronica finding out about their relationship so you can read that here.

Betty’s Bedroom

“I hate lying to everyone, Juggie.” Betty stood from the spot where she and Jughead sat on her bed, crossing the room to stand in front of her bedroom window. “We should tell them the truth, I think they’d be more supportive than we think.”

“I know, and we will, but I kind of like the secrecy of it all,” Jughead admitted, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the bed before joining her by the window. “It eludes to some sort of greater mystery that’s bigger than either one of us, just waiting for someone to figure it out and be solved once and for all. It’s exciting, and yes, mysterious. And you know I love a good mystery.”

“Then I should probably tell you, Veronica already knows,” Betty clamped her teeth together, wincing as she waited to hear what Jughead had to say about that.

“You told her?”

“No, she sort of figured it out at Pop’s the other day,” Betty explained. “Apparently it really wasn’t that hard of a mystery to crack. I guess it has something to do with the way you look at me or some other sentimental garbage like that.”

“Oh, really?” Jughead raised one eyebrow, taking a step closer to place a gentle hand on Betty’s arm. “Well, what about when I do this? Do you think this would give us away?”

Leaning in close, Jughead brushed his lips across the smooth skin on the side of her neck, kissing it softly before pulling back to meet her gaze with an amused grin.  

“Uh, yeah, I think that would definitely blow our cover,” Betty giggled, her hand flying up to cover her mouth and hiding the rosy pink color creeping onto her cheeks.

“What about this?” In one quick motion, Jughead maneuvered one hand behind Betty’s back to steady her, and used the other to tickle her side before she could dodge him.

“Juggie, you know I start convulsing like I’m having some type of weird muscle spasm when you do that!” Betty shrieked, jumping back from his embrace and fleeing to the other side of the room.

“Then you better not let me catch you,” Jughead warned, his lips quirking up into a devilish smirk as he waited for her to make a move.

“Get away from me!” Betty darted for her bed, leaning across it to snatch a pillow from the massive pile at the top of the mattress. Without looking, Betty launched the pillow across the room in Jughead’s general direction. It missed her target completely, nearly knocking her grandmother’s antique desk lamp off her bedside table.

“Betty Cooper, you’re terrible at instigating pillow fights,” Jughead teased, glancing back to watch the teetering lamp shake in protest.

“Oh yeah?” Betty taunted, reaching for another pillow and holding it out as she prepared to chuck it at him once more. “How do you like this?”

Once again, the pillow missed Jughead, flying past him to smack the window with enough force to knock the curtains out of the way and let the light come pouring into the bedroom.

“Like I said,” Jughead smirked. “Terrible.”

With a defeated sigh, Betty held up her hands in surrender to show Jughead that she wanted a truce and slowly crossed the room to stand in front of him by the now-open window.

“Well, lucky for you,” Betty began, reaching her arms around his neck and leaning in close. “I’m better at other things.”

“Really?” Jughead challenged, his gaze dropping to her lips. “Prove it.”

Archie’s Bedroom

“Thanks again for letting me borrow your history book, Archie.” Kevin said as he unzipped his backpack and shoved the thick textbook deep into his bag. “I would have asked Betty, but she’s not answering her phone. Plus her mother scares me more than that girl with the terribly unconditioned hair from that scary movie you guys made me watch last week.”

“Trust me, she scares me too. Well, Mrs. Cooper, not the girl from the Ring,” Archie assured him, glancing up from the sheet music on his desk to smile at Kevin from across the room. “And it’s no problem. I don’t have that test until Friday anyway. Just drop it by when your done, or find me at school sometime this week.”

“Will do,” Kevin nodded, spinning around to face the guitar propped against the side of Archie’s nightstand.“Hey, how’s the whole music thing going by the way? Any hope that you’ll become the next Justin Bieber and need a very handsome, very helpful, assistant to guide you through the perilous lifestyle of being a world renowned pop-star?”

“Uh, let’s hope not,” Archie scoffed, tossing his pencil onto his desk and turning in his chair to face the window.“And it’s going well, I just need to-”

Archie stopped suddenly, rising from his chair to make his way over to the window. With furrowed brows, he leaned forward, squinting through the glass to look through the Coopers’ open window next door.

“What is it?” Kevin asked curiously, his voice rising in excitement at the promise of juicy gossip. “Uh oh, did you catch one of the neighbors in their underwear again? Ew, was it Mr. Jacobson from across the street with that weird hair condition?”

“I thought I saw…” Archie trailed off, shaking his head, sure that he was just seeing things.

“Wait, isn’t that Betty’s room?” Kevin leaned into the glass, cupping his hands to see past the glare from the sun. “Why is there a ladder leading up to her window?”

“That’s Jughead’s jacket on her bed,” Archie muttered, his head swimming with a hundred different thoughts and mixed emotions.

A moment later, an object hitting Betty’s window caused the curtains to fall open, revealing a very giggly Betty sauntering across the room to stand in front of Jughead. Before either Kevin or Archie could react, Jughead leaned forward to meet Betty’s lips with a kiss.

“Holy hot and sarcastic Romeo and Juliet,” Kevin muttered, his eyes going wide at the sight of their two friends sharing such an intimate embrace. “Don’t hate me, but I kind of love it.”

“I have to go,” Archie mumbled under his breath, pushing back from the window and heading for his open bedroom door.

“Archie, what are you doing?” Kevin hurried after him, already putting two and two together as he heard Archie’s footsteps pounding through the kitchen. “Don’t go over there!”

Before Kevin could stop him, Archie swung open the front door and quickly made his way over to Betty’s house.

“Archie!” Kevin called out to him, but he was already too far away to hear anything he was saying. “Well, things just got One Tree Hill-level of dramatic around here. And on the day I decided to wear the loafers that give me blisters. Great. Wait for me, Archie!”

(To be Continued…)

{terror}

word count: 1,896 words
story peek: “are you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” in which peter saves her from a horrific situation. (requested)
warnings: attempts at rape/mentions of rape


A string of curses left her mouth as she glanced at the time displayed on Peter’s alarm clock. A look of confusion spread across his features.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, watching as she hurriedly stuffs her belongings into her backpack.

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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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The Bronx: Part 2

Requested by: Anonymous (x2)
(Here and here are the specifics)

Pairing: Reader x Peter Parker
Word Count: 1.1K
Warnings: Angst

A/N: A couple of people requested that I do more parts of The Bronx, so I’m planning to make this either 3 or 5 parts long (I’ll see where the story takes me!)

Feedback is always appreciated. Let me know if you want to be added to the tags list.

Part 1

Taking some time for yourself, you were enjoying a coffee and reading your favourite book at a cute little cafe in the city. Peter was supposed to be meeting you in an hour, but for now you were enjoying some alone time.

It had been almost 3 months since you debuted your superhero self to help Team Cap, and you were still anxious that the government was going to show up any second and force you to sign the accords. You were also holding out hope that Captain America would get in touch and ask you to join his team, even though you knew that most of them were in hiding - and you still had a semester of high school left.

Since the civil war in Germany, you had been using your powers more and more, trying to grow them and have more stable control over them. You were getting better, but occasionally you’d feel like your control was slipping. Just last night you woke with vines scattered all over your room, having wound their way into your bedroom window from outside.

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Born from Stars - pt. 3

[A/N: Here it is! Part three to the Star Child AU! It’s shorter than what I’d like, but @alienslovetea reminded me that I have to leave you guys wanting more! I hope you enjoy it! Give some feed back if you want~

Part I     Part II 

Part III


Leandro – Lance, the boy reminded himself – walked into Garrison, carrying his bags in both arms. He had said goodbye to his family earlier in the day before he boarded his flight to the United States of America. “Where’s the office…?” He mumbled to himself, his Cuban accent thick. He wandered around until he found something that looked like the office. “H-Hello?” He called from the window leading into the office. A girl looked up, and walked over.

“Hello, can I get your name?” She asked, looking through a list of names.

Lance smirked flirtatiously, “The names Lea- Lance. Lance McClain,” He deflated once he realized that he had changed his name, it wasn’t like it was his fault that some people couldn’t pronounce POC names, so he needed to change it to make it easier for them.

The girl smiled fondly, apparently used to people flirting with her. “Your room number is 67, your roommate is Hunk Garrett,” she said, handing him a card that had his face on it – it would be his I.D. Leandro stared at the name on it. Lance McClain. He supposed he should start getting used to calling himself Lance. He smiled at the woman before he followed the directions to his room. When he walked in, Hunk was already there unpacking his things into the dresser he chose.

“You must be Hunk,” Lance said, smiling at the bigger boy. The boy turned to him, and smiled widely.

“Ye-Yeah, I’m Hunk! Hunk Garrett! Well, my name isn’t Hunk, but my name is hard to pronounce so I just go by Hunk,” the guy rambled slightly, making Lance automatically like him because he was in a similar situation.

“Well, now’s a good time as any to tell you my name isn’t Lance, it’s Leandro, but I needed to change it so people would be able to pronounce it here,” Lance told the boy in front of him, setting his stuff down on the unclaimed bed.

“Huh,” Hunk said, cocking his head. “Both of us go by different names for the sake of other people. Although, I do like the name Hunk. Do you want me to call you Leandro?”

“No, I need to get used to being called Lance, to be quite honest.”

Thus, began the first friendship Lance had that wasn’t from his school back in Cuba. They got along very well, Lance often cooked with Hunk whenever they had the free time to do so. When the first semester came and Lance found out that he was only a cargo pilot, he wasn’t as upset as he thought it would be. Okay, that’s a lie. Ever since his family told him that he literally fell out of the sky, Lance had been dying to go to space as a fighter pilot. To be closer to the stars. Suddenly his childhood obsession with going to space made sense – he wanted to be closer to where he came from. For a while, Lance was confused why a falling star would birth a child, but then the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

Like a human, stars are born, then they grow old, and finally die. Unlike humans, stars form black holes when they die. Lance wondered if that meant anything to him, as someone who fell out of the sky as a shooting star. What would happen when he died?

To distract himself from such thoughts, Lance began a rivalry with Keith Kogane, the star Fighter Pilot. He started it on the basis that ‘he got to be a Fighter Pilot, and I didn’t,’ and let it fester from there. It worked mostly, Lance rarely thought about his origins after he began the rivalry – but then Shiro and the rest of the crew on Kerberos disappeared – or died, but Lance refused to believe that the man he looked up to was dead. He himself came from space, how hard was it to believe that an alien took the crew – though Lance thought all of these things, he never spoke them out loud. Not even to Hunk, who quickly became his best friend. After Shiro disappeared, so did Keith, and there left the distraction and slowly the thoughts about where he came from and how it happened started popping up.

Then suddenly, Lance was a Fighter Pilot, with Hunk as his Engineer, and a boy called Pidge Gunderson as his Technician. Pidge and Lance got along, but it took some time in order for the two to get past their differences and realize just how similar they were to each other. Although they failed the simulation every time, Lance knew it was because he was starting to go lax – to worry more about the things going on inside his head than actually working his way through the simulation.

Even more unexpected and sudden, Shiro came back. Albeit, falling out of the sky – and for one heart stopping moment Lance thought that there was going to be another someone like him – but it was even better, it was Shiro, and suddenly they were flying into space in a giant blue lion to save Earth and the rest of the Universe. Suddenly his dream of finding out where he came from wasn’t so unlikely, and it was even a high possibility.


Part IV     Part V

Pool Party (Christian Yu Smut)

Originally posted by jisatsusakuru

Requested

Admin: Nari

POV: Second (male x female)

Genre: Smut (16+ material)

A/N: Part 2 to ‘Reunion Fun’. I actually kind of enjoy writing these summery smuts. It feels more natural and like I don’t have to try to make it sultry.

A clatter woke you up for you to see that your phone had fallen to the floor from vibrating so much. A dim blue sky could be seen through the window and you looked at the digital clock on your phone to see that it was 5:30 AM. You groaned, but weren’t surprised to see that your phone had vibrated endlessly thanks to Lu calling fifteen times.

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Dex slipped out of bed quietly, trying not to wake Nursey.  It was early, too early for a day when they had no morning skate, and he had no classes until 11am, but Dex didn’t want to be late for work.  He needed all the money he could get, both for himself, and to send whatever he could home to his dad and brother.

“Will?” Nursey mumbled sleepily from his bunk, “What time ‘sit?”

“6am Dere, go back to sleep.” Dex whispered as he began heading for the bathroom.

“I thought skate was cancelled?” Nursey asked, sitting up in bed.

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Week Five: Mrs Fitz

The premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night with Jamie?

You can find previous weeks/chapters here.


July 6th, 1743; Claire’s Surgery at Castle Leoch.

My dungeon of a surgery had found another use while I was away, but Mrs Fitz seemed eager for me to return to my duties and cheerfully gave me back my space. She and her small regiment of young women had just finished toting the last of the impedimenta away, leaving me in blissful solitude. The bustle of the kitchens could be heard thru the open doorway and I moved to shut it.

This done, I plodded back to my work table and sat down heavily on the stool.

Why was I so tired?

Traveling about the Scottish Highlands had certainly been taxing to an extent, but we’d returned to Leoch four days ago and I’d had ample time to catch up on sleep. Even if I hadn’t, I was used to operating on minimal sleep for days at a time. I thought I might even thrive on it. A few hours here and there were more than enough to carry me thru the day.

Propping my head in my hands, I slid my eyes shut and tried to pinpoint the cause.

Maybe I had misdiagnosed my nervous stomach.

I hadn’t been ill enough for it to have been full-on food poisoning and no one else fell ill. Even if something I ate had caused the stomach upset four days ago, it would be long out of my system by now.

I mentally shook my head; it wasn’t that.

I certainly could have contracted a virus from the many people I came into contact with in the last week. The flu would explain the vomiting, as well as my residual lack of energy, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the overwhelming feeling of fatigue had started before I had gotten sick.

Fatigue. Nausea. Tender breasts.

No. I can’t be.

Bolting out of my seat, I frantically dug thru the drawer where I kept my daily log. I hadn’t written in it very faithfully, especially while I was on the road, but it was the closest thing I had to a calendar.

My heart raced as I flipped back thru the pages.

I had my courses while traveling, hadn’t I?

I found the ones pertaining to rent collecting and my subsequent marriage, but they had no mention of my monthly visitor.

Hadn’t I?

May 29th, 1743 - Monthly begins.

June 2nd, 1743 - Left Castle Leoch at daybreak. 

I frantically flipped to an empty page and hastily sketched out the days, not wanting to entrust this to mental calculation.

Four weeks would be…

Last week.

It should have started the twenty-sixth of June and it was now the sixth of July, making me ten days late.

I’m never late.

The world seemed to spin around me as I slid against the wall to the floor, curling myself into a tight ball. My heart screamed that I couldn’t be pregnant, that I was simply late and stressed, but the incessant stream of logic in my mind told me that pregnancy was the most probable cause.

I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby.

It was at this very moment that the door swung open and Mrs Fitz’s cheery voice greeted me from the entryway, shattering the fragile moment into a hundred different pieces of fear and uncertainty.

“I found ye a wee bit o’–” she stopped suddenly as she came around the corner, “Ach, Claire! Whatever’s the matter, lass?”

Should I tell her? It was really Jamie’s news to hear first.

The very thought of telling Jamie I was pregnant with his child sent me scrambling across the floor in search of something to vomit in. I reached the bucket in time to turn away from Mrs Fitz as I retched. Tears fell from my cheeks, mingling with my stomach contents at the bottom of the bucket.

I heard Mrs Fitz softly pad across the room behind me before she lowered herself to the floor and began to rub soothing circles between my shoulder blades, “Ye dinna have to say a word, lass, I ken just wha’ yer feelin’.”

Oh, she does, does she? She KENS what it feels like to be pregnant by a man who you do not love? To be separated from the one you do?

I must have muttered aloud, for she cheerfully replied, “Oh, aye. I was sick as a dog wi’ all o’ my bairns. Dinna fash, it doesna last forever.”

Wiping my mouth on the hem of my apron, I pushed the bucket aside. Mrs Fitz smiled at me as she reassuringly patted my arm. I made no attempt to smile in return, but instead petitioned, “You won’t speak a word of this, will you?”

“‘Tis yer news to tell, lass.” She waved away my concern, then added, “Jamie must be proud as a peacock, aye?”

Unable to meet her gaze, I answered, “He doesn’t know. Not yet, I mean.”

She took my face in her worn, wrinkled hands and waited to speak until I looked up at her.  Her voice was gentle, without a hint of reprimand. “‘Tis a noble an’ holy thing to bear yer husband’s child, lass, no’ a thing to be ashamed of. Ye’ve given Jamie a great blessing.”

“But I don’t love him,” my throat tightened around the words, unable to fully explain myself. “I can’t, I mean, I still…”

Jamie knew it, but I wasn’t sure that I had ever actually said it out loud.

I still loved Frank.

I gave my body freely to Jamie, my time, my energy, but I could not give him my heart, for it belonged to another.

Her smile wobbled as her eyes grew misty, “I was married twice, myself, lass, an’ I didna love my second husband when we wed. ‘Twas a match arranged by the Laird an’ no’ wha’ I wished, but I did grow to love him in my own way. He was a good man, as is yer Jamie.”

Jamie was a good man. He had promised me the protection of his body and name, a vow he had kept when I put to the test. I knew that, heedless of the cost, he would do whatever it took to ensure that I was safe and cared for.

It wasn’t Jamie’s integrity that I was concerned about, it was what would happen next.

“I ken ye fear wha’ the morrow may bring, but let it be as it may. Dinna waste these precious days of carrying yer bairn by worryin’ over what ye canna change,” Mrs Fitz seemed to read my mind.

Her words rang in my ears like a resounding bell, a single phrase reverberating higher than the rest.

Carrying my child.

It took two to create a child, yes, yet this baby would be mine. He or she would bear their father’s name and maybe his looks, but I would be the one to shelter them within me, to carry them beneath my heart, to give them life even if it cost me my own.

It was in this moment, this hush between the wise and the yearning, that I knew without a doubt that I would love them. Daughter or son, it didn’t matter. A baby of my very own to care for, a child to raise, a legacy to leave behind.

After assuring Mrs Fitz that I would be fine and triple checking that the door was bolted behind her, I lay in the bed that was tucked into the corner of my surgery, wrestling with my thoughts. My knees were pulled tight to my chest, my cheeks wet with tears.

Why now? The question circled around and around above my head. I had tried to get pregnant for seven long years, why now?

A conversation I had with Frank right before I left flickered thru my mind. We had been speaking of adoption, of caring for a child who had been orphaned in the war since it seemed we could not have one of our own.

His words haunted me, a cold, icy fist squeezing around my heart.

“I couldn’t feel properly towards a child that was not of my blood.”

What would Frank’s reaction to my return be if I was pregnant with another man’s child? Would he divorce me? Leave me and the child alone in the world? Would I be better off here, in the past with the father of my child, than in the future, shunned by the man that I loved? Or would he support us, all the while holding the shame of my infidelity over my head like a guillotine blade?

There were too many questions, too many scenarios of a future I could not predict.

“Jamie must be proud as a peacock.”

He would be. I knew he would be.

I didn’t doubt that his reaction to my news would be anything but joyful, but that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that I wasn’t.

I didn’t know exactly what I was, just at the moment, but joyful wasn’t it.

A loud pounding woke me some time later. The shadows stretched long and slender across the floor as I sat up and moved slowly towards the door.

“Sassenach?” A voice called between emphatic knocks.

Jamie.

I stopped dead in my tracks, unsure of what to do.

“Claire?” He was quickly becoming concerned, “Are ye alright?”

“Coming!” I called, but made no move to do so.

Do I tell him now? Today? Or should I wait until I’m absolutely sure?

You are sure, a little voice ridiculed me, you just don’t want to admit it.

“If ye dinna come to the door, Sassenach, I’ll–”

Visions of him knocking the door off it’s hinges propelled me forward, quickly letting him in before he gave the castle folk enough gossip-fodder to last until next year.

“Or you’ll what?” I quipped as I stared at his shirt front, trying desperately to act normal.

Jamie shrugged, mumbling something about regretting putting the bolt there in the first place. He shoved his left hand towards me, palm up, as he gestured vaguely to it with his right.

“I, ah, am in need of yer skills,” he supplied.

After leading him to the windows that lined the southern wall and turning his hand this way and that for several minutes, I looked up at him in confusion. “What am I looking for?”

“A sliver, just there.” A blush began at the base of his neck and slowly crept its way up to his ears, turning them a dull pink.

I had to bring his hand right up to my nose to find the speck he was talking about.

“This tiny thing?” I asked incredulously. How a fleck of wood that small made its way thru his thick calluses was beyond me and told him so. “How did you even notice it was there?”

He shifted from foot to foot, smiling slightly as he looked at the floor. “Oh aye, well…”

“You know, you don’t have to come up with an excuse to visit your wife.” I dropped his hand and crossed my arms as I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth, my voice dropping as I teased him. “You can just stop by to say you missed me.”

His head snapped up, a huge grin spreading across his face.

A good man, indeed.

July 9th, 1743; Castle Leoch

Morning sickness is a lie, I fumed as I heaved into my bucket for the third time today. If only it would bloody stay in the morning.

It was almost time for the evening meal and I had no appetite what so ever. In fact, the very thought of enduring another aromatic meal filled with haggis and neeps in the great hall made me gag.

The nagging voice came again, You have to tell him.

I shoved the thought aside as I rinsed out the bucket and placed it underneath my work table, hidden from view.

Out of sight, out of mind.
..

anonymous asked:

How would the 2pface fam treat their s/o?

2p! France - Francois would really just leave you in his room and have your ankles chained to the bedposts, his room is pretty dark though because he has thicc curtains and he already boarded up the windows so you can’t pull shit. The room is pretty big and he has a tv in his room and he won’t bother you often unless he wants to fuck, wants to go to watch tv and try to sleep, check on yo ass, or needs to feed you. So all you’ll be doing is chillin. Unless you try to escape then most of the time his punishments are sexual based and will slowly become more and more controlling.

2p! America - Allen would be really clingy almost never leaving you alone. He will let you roam around but every exit door or window leading to the outside has like a lock on it so. You will only be outside if Allen is with you and you two go to the nearby forest and you’re on a leash. And don’t think you won’t be fucked all the time because you will. Not focused on mind breaking you but it may happen.

2p! Canada - Matt would be less controlling than the others the most controlling thing he’s doing is putting a shock collar on you but besides that you have house roaming privileges the view from his porch is amazing and he has a fully stocked fridge and cabinets and he has a good tv that he doesn’t even use that often in his den so you’ll be pretty chill. Matt personally likes to check on you often to make sure you’re okay because he knows you won’t get out. He likes to cuddle you sometimes and little kisses here and there, he will wait to have sex with you though.

2p! England - The sweet little bby with love the fuck out of you and make you fear him at the same time it’s crazy. You just mean the world to him so don’t think he won’t ask you if you love him like 500+ times a day. He is definitely controlling and protective and if you start doing anything suspicious he may get violent yelling at you asking if you love him or not.

Day 30: Magnus + Max

Magnus had almost missed seeing him. He’d been so focused on finding Alexander when he’d portalled into the Institute, that he’d passed the room, his mind working the different places Alec could be that it took a couple of seconds before he realized when he’d just seen.

He backtracked and sure enough, standing on several stacks of boxes, a little boy was trying to slide a fishing rod through the tiny space left by the slightly open window, leading into the next room.

The boy was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn’t even notice Magnus walking up to him, and leaning against the wall adjacent to the boy’s impromptu fishing spot . Magnus studied the tiny rugrat for several seconds, the focus of those eyes—brown he thought they were—the way the boy didn’t let the blond hair that fell over his eyes distract him from achieving his goals.

He had to admire the tenacity, especially because it reminded him in no small part of Alexander.

But tenacity, no matter how much a person had it in spades could not retrieve whatever it was that the boy wanted to get from the next room, and some seconds later, he released a deep sigh, a sigh that had Magnus’s mouth twitching at how tortured and long-suffering it sounded, and turned around.

The boy didn’t jump or act startled. In fact, he looked more curious than surprised.

And yeah, his eyes were brown.

“You’re looking for Alec.” It was a statement, not a question.

Magnus nodded.

“I’m Max,” the rugrat said as he extended his hand.

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5

Jerome x Reader

AN:I kind of feel Jerome’s a little OC in this, hopefully if I keep writing for him I’ll find the right balance of crazy :P



Run! That was all that ran through your head. The door had been left open and your restraints were loose so you yanked yourself free and hurtled out to the hallway. You began to panic when you found the front door of the penthouse room locked but you quickly spied the fire escape and despite being several hundred feet in the air, you decided to risk falling over staying, especially if it meant staying in a building full of escaped criminals.

 

“Come on Doll come back inside.” Jerome chirped as he hung dangerously over the bannister so he could watch your long descent.

 

Just as he started climbing down, realising you had no intention of coming back up, you found an open window that lead into a hallway. You vanished through it and you could hear him shrieking angrily like a demented bird.

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