#Not a killer-just a quitter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

holylulusworld · 1 year ago

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Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, implied break-up, sadness, rejection, Mary being a bitch, sleazy John

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

Live was great. The man you loved proposed to you in the most romantic way. And later, you made love in his old Chevy Impala. The only girl he loved as much as he loved you; according to Dean.

Butterflies still fluttered in your stomach whenever he looked at you.

Everything was fine, great even. Until he invited you for a family dinner to get to know the rest of his family.

You already knew his younger brother. Sam was easy to be around.

Dean never talked much about the rest of his family. All you knew was his mother came from old money, and his father was a made man.

The moment you stepped into Mary Winchester’s house, your relationship with Dean was doomed.

Not only did she ignore you for most of the day, but she always invited Dean’s first love, the girl next door. The one and only Lisa Braeden.

You knew that Dean never got over her and accepted that he had a past. Everyone has a past, right?

It felt like someone stabbed you in the back and ripped your heart out at the same time.

But you never were a quitter. Instead of sulking in a corner and watching your fiancé talk to his ex, you decided to remind him what he’s going to lose if he doesn’t get his shit together.

“No, wait. He’s my man. His mother can’t do this to me,” you cursed under your breath." Dean was your man, he even proposed to you. His family just didn’t know yet. “I’ll beat you with your own weapons, bitch.”

You walked back upstairs, entered the room you shared with Dean, and threw on your most sexy dress, killer heels, and no underwear. – To hell with the girl next door.

When you walked back down you put on a faked smile and confidently entered the living room again.

Your eyes scanned the room for you man only to watch Dean still talk to Lisa. They laughed, and she touched his arm, giggling like he said the funniest thing she ever heard.

You saw red but didn’t want to act like a jealous bitch in heat. So, you took a deep breath and brushed your concerns off.

“A nice party, huh?” Dean’s father stood a little too close for comfort. “Can’t believe my son got his hands on someone like you.”

John Winchester stank like booze and desperation. You assumed he didn’t get any from the ice queen his wife seemed to be.

“Mr. Winchester,” you excused yourself to walk toward Dean.

You stopped in your tracks and took another deep breath. Dean ignored you calling his name, even when you put your hand on his shoulder. “Dean, I’m a little tired and I got a terrible headache.”

He didn’t react, too engrossed in listening to what Lisa had to say.

“Later,” he grumbled and didn’t even spare you a glance.

You knew there and then that Dean wasn’t ready to marry you.

Maybe you only were a rebound to him. A woman he could use until Lisa came back into the picture thanks to his mother.

“I thought you have changed. Dean, I believed you moved on from sleeping around when we met. Please don’t prove all the people telling me not to marry you right,” you grabbed his hand and tried to make him face you.

“Y/N, not now,” he didn’t even hear what you said and waved you off. “Later.”

“Please…We need to talk Dean…it’s not only us any longer,” you whispered the words not daring to speak any louder.

You dropped his hand and stepped away, catching the attention of his whole family when you turned around to run upstairs.

You cried for what felt like an eternity when it was only a few minutes.

Sam came by after the scene you made in your opinion, but you didn’t open the door.

“I don’t know what to do now,” you wiped your eyes and choked out a sob. Dean changed so fast only because that woman was around. He didn’t act like the man you fell in love with that night.

It took all the strength left in you to change clothing again and pack up all your belongings. If he didn’t come to his senses tonight, maybe tomorrow when he found you gone.

You hastily wrote a few lines, and placed the piece of paper on the bed, along with your engagement ring.

Rereading the lines you choke out another sob.

One night of passion, a life-long responsibility. This is your decision. Are you in or out? I got a job offer in London and will accept it if you don’t want to be a father yet (or at all). If you are still the man you made me believe you are, call me tomorrow. If not, have a nice life…

Part 1

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #angst #au!dean winchester #au!dean winchester x reader #female reader #spn

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what-have-i-unleashed · 4 months ago

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the angel: ?̴?̶?̸

(first) (prev)

"just saying. killer, you're not ready for it. not yet. maybe you never will."

you stand before the door, indecisiveness rooting you to the floor. maybe this is really a bad idea, something you shouldn't entertain in this fragile state of mind. so you just stay there, immobile - if you stared any harder at the gray door, you would burn it into your mind.

you don't know how long you've been standing in front of angel's room, but then the door swings open and there he is - with his signature piercing gaze and static smile that you can't help but find endlessly charming. you unconsciously tilt your head at him, and the corner of his smile twitches.

"what took you so long?" he asks, his voice reverberating in you skull. "come in," his gaze moves downwards. "and bring the beer in."

you look down at your feet. there's a beer crate you don't remember bringing with you. maybe you have stolen them from somewhere, on a mission most probably. doesn't matter. you bend down to pick up the crate. your angel is gracious enough to hold the door open as you walk through it and into the room. you hear the door slam shut behind you, the sound echoing like a hammer on a bell.

you place the crate on the ground next to the floor mattress, which needs to be cleaned soon, you notice. you sit on the piles of dirty clothes as your angel sits on the mattress across from you. he pulls out a pack of cigarette from his pocket. and like the diligent acolyte that you are, you hold out the lighter for him. he looks at you, then leans in, cigarette between his fingers.

"you're quiet today," your angel says between puffs of smoke. "something on your mind?"

“just thought you’d like the silence for once,” you reply, eyeing the yellow stains in his phalanges.

he doesn’t say anything at first, only watching you. as if he knows the little cogs running in your mind. as if he’s able to dissect your soul and see what’s rotten underneath.

maybe this isn’t a good idea after all.

but you’re anything but a quitter.

"let's just celebrate," your angel hums. "yesterday we did the job well enough."

you... don't exactly recall what mission nightmare gave you the other day, but you've always been with the flow anyway. so you crack open a bottle and give it to your angel, who accepts it with a little smile. something blossoms in your nonexistent guts before you stamp it out, again.

you hesitantly open one bottle and drink. alcohol has never been your vice, but you can enjoy one if your angel wants you too. the liquid burns your throat as it travels down, down, down. you ignore the other burn – the gaze of your angel cast upon you. the eye of judgement as you know what you are going to do next.

time passes like it never has before. your fingers are strangely numb.

in the blissful lull of alcohol, you stare at your angel sitting across from you, at the sinuous spine, as he chug more and more beer straight from the bottle without any regard; at the relaxed fingers on his side, so different from his usual nervous, restless twitching; at the hood threatening to fall off his skull and revealing something forbidden. you stare, not noticing how hard you're gripping on your bottle until a pair of white eyelights return your gaze. and you angle your head down slightly, a perfect picture of deference, waiting for the oncoming chastisement.

"who's chara?"

you whip you head up, a strange turmoil brewing in your chest. your angel looks at you, eyes searching. there's no condemnation, only curiosity mixed with something else you couldn't pin down just yet.

"what?" your mouth utters, stupidly. your eyesockets burn.

"who's chara?" your angel repeats. "yesterday, you were calling for them in your sleep."

what can you say? you want to deflect the question, but it doesn't seem like your angel would like that. there’s nothing wrong just yet. the buzzing in your mind hasn’t come just yet.

“chara… is my first,” you say, finally. like a confession.

“your first owner angel?”

“yeah,” you take a drink, unable to help with the dryness in your mouth. the alcohol doesn’t help.

“and you killed them?”

“yeah. i just couldn’t take it anymore,” you chuckle, a broken sound. “ha, no, it’s not that. i could take it – it’s that i didn’t want to. kill or be killed. that’s what they taught me. and once i became more determined than them, it was all over.”

“the strongest wins.”

“yes.”

“but then they still haunt you in your dreams.”

“yes.”

your angel looks to the side, as if he’s looking at something invisible. you avert your eyes.

“… do you hate them? chara? is that why you killed them?” your angel murmurs but he doesn’t look at you. “you couldn’t bear to look at them anymore? the sight of them made you sick, made you question your world, your reality?”

you don’t say anything. your grip on the bottle in your hand slackens.

silence blankets over both of you, until your angel speaks again.

"is that why you killed me?"

and you-

-freeze.

"maybe," your mouth moves to form words that you cannot stop. "i don't know."

"hmmm," your angel takes another gulp from the bottle. "you always say that. always so confused about why you do the things that you do. are you the knight or the dragon? are you the knife or the hand holding it? do you intend to be purposefully obtuse until the very end?”

“nothing’s ever truly ended,” you say, like a liar. your angel smiles beatifically.

“not if you’re not real.”

“am i real?”

your angel whispers, his hood falling onto his face like a veil, “am i?”

when your angel moves towards you, it’s as if a spell has been broken. you jerk back, but he only lays his body onto the mattress and looks at you from the corner of his eyes.

“come on, lie down with me.”

you comply, gingerly putting your body onto the mattress next to that of your angel. you two lie side-by-side, face turning towards each other. the scene is sacrilegiously intimate, and it makes your nonexistent skin crawl, though not exactly out of discomfort.

“… where am i?” you ask after a while, dreading the answer.

“wherever you want to be,” your angel replies, his eyes half-closed. like he’s going to fall into an eternal slumber. the thought fills you with much grief.

“so it’s all in my head, huh?” you murmur back.

“is chara just in your head? i’m just the same.”

“the angel is not this kind. or merciful.”

“then, am i the angel, sans?”

once again, you stay silent. your angel hums a familiar song, but you can’t remember what it is. the room is dead quiet, as if the world is waiting for you to speak. and you do.

“… i’m tired.”

“you always are,” your angel says, his hands folded near you, almost touching. you don’t want them to touch you. you don’t want the illusion to break. “but the job’s done. out there, it’s a miserable existence for you. everything is your enemy, even yourself. your body is burning. your soul is constantly melting. there’s a singular directive your body is following. in here, nothing can hurt you ever again.”

“i can hurt you.” and you can hurt me.

“do you want to?”

“i don’t know.” i already did.

“it’s fine. you have an eternity in here to think about it. no need to rush.”

the next words you want to say, you hesitate to speak. you don’t need to look at your soul to know what’s happening. the pain is almost gone, like in every few good dreams you’ve ever had. only this time, you fear you have to wake up at some point. you fear you can never find this oasis again in the recess of your mind. so, if you don’t say them now, you might regret it forever.

“angel, i’m-“

“don’t say sorry. i hate apologies.”

so you close your mouth, disquieted. your angel closes his eyes, and your fears are realized. that pit in your nonexistent stomach grows. all good things have to end eventually.

“angel,” you gasp. you didn’t realize you’re crying, tears running down your face. and you can’t stop. “angel… please, i’m scared…”

your angel peers at you with half-lidded eyes. the white is gone, replaced with the nauseating colors of red with a tiny bit of cyan. “our reds match. isn’t that funny?” he mutters sleepily. “we’re destined to be together.”

you can almost feel it. the lick of red-hot pain crawling up your femur. the gurgle of black tar bubbling from your chest. the smell of rot and earth and lightning. the screams of a thousand stars. your vision blurs, this capture of an intimate moment you have always feebly craved. you try to grab your angel’s hand, but it slips through you like dust. the last thing you remember is his smile, so strange and unlike him – it’s like looking through a funhouse mirror. what are you to desire something like this? you’re falling up, up, up, leaving him behind under the dirt you have put him under. don’t you remember?

“you’re the angel now. aren’t you happy?”

END?

#cw unreality #killer sans #dust sans #murder sans #kist #love affair #undertale au #utmv #sanshipping #sanscest #i'll let you guys decide what this is about =)#i write #fic: the angel

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howlsofbloodhounds · 6 months ago

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me and my butter fingers, did i forget to turn on anon again??? (T_T)

talking about frisk/chara/the player in the context of stories and aus is really fun! i saw a really funny art post on twitter (i don't remember the link...) that depicts the player in three aus where the murder time trio comes from and they're friends. something new!player is a dedicated hacker, dusttale!player is a 100% achievements player, and horrortale!player is a loser/quitter. it's quite fun to see them interact with each other in "real life" not knowing that the games they play are actual universes/worlds out there, but then considering what the aus become... this kind of tone dissonance between the "real life world" and the aus is quite interesting. i don't see many people actually depict stories with the player as a core character/force/mechanism. i think a story from the player's (or multiple players') point-of-view would be very funny, in a dark humour kind of way.

~ crowshipping anon, on brainstorming mood

Yeah you did 👍. Im glad I caught it in time, I almost didn’t 😭.

The only fanfic I can think of involving a player was a Deltarune fanfic from Noelle’s POV. I don’t remember everything about it, but I do remember that Noelle realizes that Kris isn’t Kris, somehow gains the ability to Reset (I forget how), and had to face off against the player and save Kris without letting the player know. Something along those lines.

But honestly picturing Horrortale, Dustale, and Something New Player being friends is honestly amazing to me.

Like, Dustale is screaming and seething when Sans kills them, hooting and hollering whenever they manage to kill sans and earn more achievements.

Something New Player’s over here cooking up new ways to make the game more interesting, and I can imagine just how fascinated they were with Killer. Imagine all the potential prompts that could exist to interact with Killer? There definitely had to have been moments where they just kept clicking that “poke” and “examine” or “touch” button. Telling him to do the most strange things or depraved things, having him stand somewhere in stress positions for hours.

I like to imagine the Something New Player has a very perverted fondness towards killer, he’s their greatest creation, and they love talking about him to their friends at every chance. but maybe they always dog on smthn new player cuz of their edgy hacked oc.

And meanwhile horrortale player, the quitter they are, is probably only interested in undertale still because their friends keep yapping about these creepypasta-esque versions of the game lmao.

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lambsouvlaki · 2 years ago

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For the Hell of It - Date Night

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: G, no warnings.

Word count: 1,237

Summary: Dating a vigilante is hard, but worth it. Early on their relationship, she has to face that.

Masterlist

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On an early autumn night they strolled across Robinson park. Actors in Elizabethan costume were prancing around the low concrete stage, doing some warm-up crowd work. Jason’s arm was slung over her shoulder, and her dog Marlow trotted happily alongside them.

They weren’t great at the actual Dating aspect of dating just yet. It was still early days, and they had sidled into being together by following the same trajectory as their friendship, now with sex. They supported and trusted each other, they were both loyal and committed. They had already had two years to figure all that out.

Romantic nights out had been planned, postponed, and cancelled. Andy had eaten alone at a restaurant booked for two, not to know until later that Jason was fighting Killer Croc in a cage match. The week after he was blowing up an exotic animal trafficking ring before the major players could flee to south america.

He was apologetic and self recriminating. She could already see the barbed little seeds of ‘can this even work?’ trying to take root in his mind.

But she wasn’t a quitter.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been forced to stand her up. It wasn’t even in the first five, and she’d long since made her peace with it. It just felt more calamitous because now it was called a date.

It wasn’t a big deal, she decided. If other people could make it work, the partners of firefighters, nurses, other on-call professionals, then Wonder Woman help her, she could too.

Despite telling herself it wasn’t a big deal and she wasn’t worried, when Friday night swung around: bright, warm, and dry she let out an audible sigh of relief.

The light was swiftly dying but the park was surprisingly busy. It was the last Shakespeare in the Park of the year, and there were food trucks and little battery-powered candles for sale. Families and couples of all ages milled about looking for good spots. A polite group of children came over and asked if they could pet their dog, to said dog’s eternal happiness.

“I propose a strategy,” Andy said.

“Hit me.”

“We split up to look for clues, and by clues I mean the best food trucks. That yellow one has empanadas, and we passed a flag before that said something about paella.”

He nodded seriously. “You take Marlow, I’ll take the backpack, and we’ll meet back here in ten.”

They broke off like fighter jets zooming away, and roughly ten minutes later they returned with arms full of delicious smelling cardboard boxes. They set up their picnic blanket on the slope some distance from the stage where they had a good view of the whole area. They’d arrived at the perfect time, because the park was filling up.

They sat on the ground and laid out the spoils of their hunt, just as the show was starting.

The empanadas were sold out, but they had choripan instead, which Andy picked up for Jason. The paella was with shrimp and mussels, and was absolutely delicious, if a little small. Jason had found Korean fried chicken, and little skewered things called tteokkochi that neither were familiar with but were excited to try.

It was a confused and messy dinner that they dove into with relish, and some negotiations over final bites.

Getting the choripan was a strategic move on her part, because Jason was a sucker for anything in the neighbourhood of a hotdog. The fried chicken was the perfect counter, he knew her weaknesses. The tteokkochi turned out to be deep fried rice cakes slathered in sweet and tangy hot sauce, that had them both licking sticky fingers and promising to try them again some time.

Up on stage a short performance of the play within a play from Midsummer Night’s Dream was finishing up.

Next up, and the main show for the night, was an abridged version of Much ado Nothing. Jason scrunched up their food packages and lobbed it into the nearby trash can, and Andy got out the thermos of non-alcoholic mulled wine from the backpack for them to share.

They relaxed together on the slope, leaning back on their hands, with Marlow sitting up next to them on look out.

Jason glanced away for a moment.

“Hey, can I borrow your scarf?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure.” She handed it over without questioning the strange request.

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek then wrapped it around his neck so he could pull it up and hide his face.

“I’ll be right back.”

He snuck away through the crowd.

The play continued, the actors hamming it up appropriately. The night had set in properly now, and large lights beamed down onto the stage leaving the rest of them in darkness. The audience around her laughed at the jokes and gags.

She leaned against her dog.

The night was getting cooler.

Why did it hurt more now than it had when they were just friends?

She’d had no expectation of him then, she supposed. She hadn’t wanted him to be hers.

No. That wasn’t true, she had wanted him badly for some time, but squished it all deep down inside of her. Now it was out, with promises made and claims staked, it was hard to keep that once contained desire on a leash.

He would give his life for her if the situation demanded it. She knew that, with the same confidence she knew tomorrow would follow today.

But he would give his life for just about anyone if the situation demanded it. He was never going to change. She wouldn’t want him to.

She looked at the silhouettes of people in the dark around her, an elderly couple on camping chairs to her side, and ahead of her a family with two children who were fast asleep on a blanket. Not very long ago this park was so dangerous people rarely came here during the day.

She looked at her things around her, and thought about what she would need to do if he didn’t come back tonight. She would take a taxi home and bring his stuff with her, hold onto it for him until he could come to her place to pick it up. It could be in two weeks, it could be tomorrow.

This was going to be her life, forever.

She pulled in deep breath and leaned her forehead on Marlow’s neck.

“Okay,” she said to herself. “Okay.”

About twenty minutes after Jason left, Marlow looked up and to the side. She followed his sight line and she saw Jason returning through the crowd. He dropped something into the trash can with such a casual air it took a few moments for her to recognise it as a disassembled pistol. Nobody else noticed him at all.

He stretched out on the blanket behind her and gently pulled her back against him, his hands around her waist. He returned her scarf, wrapping it loosely around her neck. The knuckles of his right hand were grazed. He drew no attention to it, acting for all the world as though nothing had happened and nothing was ever going to happen. He definitely hadn’t just disarmed whatever dangerous hooligan had been planning to do something terrible.

She loved this man so much it hurt.

“What’d I miss?” he said in her ear.

“Not much.” She leaned back against him. “But I’m starting to think this Benedick guy doesn’t actually dislike Beatrice after all.”

He snorted a laugh. They settled in for the long haul.

Next>>

#jason todd #red hood #dc #jason todd x oc #red hood x oc #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #for the hell of it #my fanfic #fluff #angst #yearning #dating a vigilante is hard and lonely #but no less rewarding

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biggestsimp12 · 6 months ago

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Creepypasta playing roblox MM2

--—–

These are some crack headcanons I made while waiting for roblox to give my account back lol. If not interested, feel free to keep scrolling! I also write serious fics, requests are always open!

-——–

Jeff The killer

Definitely knows the game from Ben-

Probably has the highest level but hasn't any godly or legendaries bcs his luck sucks

Definitely a rage quitter-

His aim is 50/50 and whenever he loses he blames it on lag-

Most probably a targeter-

--—–

Ben drowned

Plays with Jeff just to annoy him-

Definitely an exploiter

Exploits and either kills Jeff when he's murderer, either flings him out of the map

Ruins the whole game for everyone

Bans people that made him lose the game

Camps just to annoy Jeff

Makes fun of Jeff cause he has more godlies than him

---––—

Ticci Toby

Most probably has a better aim than Jeff

The definition of thrower

Teams with Ben to annoy Jeff

Always gets killed the first somehow

Juking people a lot (even on accident)

Probably dies as sheriff when he accidentally tics

Also camps to annoy Jeff-

Spam jumper

-–——

E.J

Has no idea why he agreed to play this

Also always dies first, even more times than Toby

Has a lot of lag

Somehow has the best luck when pulling on boxes

Sucks as murderer but shots the murderer when sheriff out of pure luck.

Probably gets bored of it easily.

-——–

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #ben drowned #ticci toby #eyeless jack #roblox #mm2 #crack fic

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surgeonssturgeon · 3 months ago

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OC PLAYLIST I AM BORED

Martina Afonso , 38, Communist Dictator, colonizer of Spain ☭

I am bored, as stated above. So hello the one person of 8 Billion on earth and 191.1 Million active on Tumblr.com actually reading this. You are most likely my sibling, hi.

this is based off songs relating to her, (she’s a little asshole) not songs she’d listen to. I might make that, but lets be real who gives a hoot about missus murder over here.

You probably just wanna look at the music, so here you go, i highlighted the lyrics i felt related more to her story underneath

↓

“ Cartoons and Vodka “ - Jinkx Moonson, 2018

“ You see I'm tired (she's tired) I'm spent (she's spent), I'm really feelin' my age

You know life is twice as hard When you're livin' half on the stage And I barely have the energy to sing you this song

So let's get some cartoons and Vodka And do 'em all night long

Ooh, boy, are you ready for some fun? Drink 'em down, drink 'em down, drink 'em down, oh! Drink 'em down, drink 'em down, drink 'em down, oh!“

2. “ Change the Formality “ - Infected Mushroom , 2007

” I tried to change the formality and everything about it.

People killing people for a reason.

You make mistakes, you don’t regret

So make a conclusion. “

3. “ Fine “ - Lemon demon , 2006

“ It’s such a lovely day, we should pocket the sunshine!

and never give it back, even if theres a heat wave!

Or Terrorist attack, it will just be a close shave

And i know ( i know )

That every bomb has a silver lining, i know ( i know )

Im full of crap, but still “

4. “ Brutus “ - The Buttress , 2016

( Basically the whole song but )

“ I, too, have a destiny This death will be art!

The people will speak of this day from near and afar.

This event will be history, and I'll be great too I don't want what you have, I want to be you! “

5. “ Killer Queen “ - Queen , 1974

“ She keeps her Moët et Chandon In her pretty cabinet

"Let them eat cake, " she says Just like Marie Antoinette”

6. “ Everybody loves me “ OneRepublic, 2009

“ Well i, pray the music don’t stop ‘till i turn gray. “

“ Don’t need my health, got my name and got my wealth

Stare at the sun, just for kicks all by myself

Lose track of time, so i might be past my prime, but; I’m feelin’ oh so good! “

7. “ I Can’t Decide “ Scissor Sisters, 2006

“ I’m not a gangster tonight, don’t wanna be a bad guy

I’m just a loner baby, and now you’ve gotten in my way.

I can’t decide wether you should live or die. Oh you’d probably go to heaven, please don’t hang your head and cry.

No wonder why my heart is dead inside. It’s cold and hard and petrified. Lock the doors and close the blinds, we’re going for a ride! “

“ It’s a bitch convincing people to like you.

If i stop now call me a quitter, if lies were cats you’d be a litter “

8. “ Wrecking ball “ - Mother Mother, 2008

“ I aim to break not one but all I'm just a big ol' wrecking ball “

“ It takes a dedicated hand To put it through the wall You gotta wanna break the heart Of all those pretty porcelain dolls “

9. “ Dead Man “ - Self , 2000

“ I wish I could tell you, all you children, why you're here, why you're here We'd all sing along Isn't that something 'cause there is no knowing 'til you're gone When I'm gone I'll prove you all wrong

behind every woman there's a good man trying not to bug the hell out To understand it guess I'd have to be a dead man trying not to laugh out loud “

10. “ Ready to Die “ - Andrew W.K , 2001 🧁

“ This is your time to pay This is your judgement day We made a sacrifice And now we get to take your life We shoot without a gun We'll take on anyone It's really nothing new It's just a thing we like to do! “

It’s cringy, but it’s free.

#OC playlist #WIP #OC #Original character #Playlist #Spotify #music #Cod #Call of duty Modern warfare #Modern warfare 2 #Call of duty #Call of duty oc #Cod oc

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tbhimnoteasyonmyself · 2 months ago

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15 Day BL Challenge - DAY 31

Back for part 3 bc MY DAD RAISED NO QUITTER!! Let's fucking go!

Favourite Hug(s)

I, myself, am a hugger. Are my hugs good? Idk, only 1 person has ever commented on them and that's not nearly enough data to generalize. BUT ANYWAY, what I meant to say was: naturally, I appreciate a good fucking hug. Here are my 3 favs.

WinTeam in the Rain (Between Us); IshidaMitsuya During the Not Break Up Break Up (Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding) & FadelStyle's Betrayal Slow Dance (The Heart Killers)

I know some ppl are gonna be like: "if you're gonna pick a WinTeam hug, then why not the one at the pool??". Well... I'm not afraid of being a common whore, so I really would've if I thought that was the best one but I genuinely don't. I love the pool scene, don't get me wrong, but it's all different. They don't get to say much, it's just emotions. Here no, they get to say what they meant to say that time. Especially Team. And I love Win just taking it all in, being a support, calm this time, hugging him without a 2nd thought.

Ah... Mitsuya and Ishida... I think this hug speaks volumes about their relationship and about them. Precisely bc each of them does the opposite of what they did in the beginning: Mitsuya used to be the one that's all out, that takes on the world. Ishida used to be the one that's afraid. But here they exchange roles and it makes so much sense! Mitsuya is fine living his life by himself but he doesn't want to drag others into the mess. Ishida, on the other hand, has a hard time doing things alone but when he has ppl who have his back he's willing to take chances. God, this series is so good... I miss it dearly.

Last but not least is last week's betrayal slow dance with Fadel and Style that absolutely BROKE MY FUCKING HEART, OKAY??? IT BROKE MY FUCKING HEART!! And that made so much sense, was so beautiful and showed such a big contrast... Fadel, for once, being calm and choosing to have a goodbye, silently crying while he thinks this is the last time he'll get to live the fairytale of holding Style as his boyfriend. And Style, serene bc his bf returned from what was meant to be a suicide mission and he's there with him, saying he's in love... Ah, what a great fucking episode... Just wow.

#BLChallenge2k24 #WinTeam #Ishida x Mitsuya #FadelStyle

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ourghoststories · 10 months ago

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Recovery [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

I wasn't a fan of Bucky, I never liked the idea of super soldiers, even with Steve Rogers

We never got on and now wasn't any different, even if I liked him, doesn't mean I had to literally like him.

He had recently gotten hurt on one of his high priority missions, and it made me feel a sadness in the pit of my stomach that only meant one thing, I had to care for the super soldier.

As much as I'd tried or I'd like to deny it, those jittery feelings I felt betrayed me to the reality of that and I couldn't fight it, especially not now that he had been shot in the stomach, it was pretty serious, even the doctors were putting him under strict conditions, he couldn't do much and I was the one who had to look after him.

"Hey Bucky" I smiled caringly, despite having preconceived ideas about him.

"Oh, you're the help... Nice to meet you, you already know the name" he chuckled.

My walls were up and I couldn't help but feel like he was a good person, but I wasn't made for looking after anyone, not even myself.

"Yeah hi, uh I'm y/n" I mumbled anxiously.

For the first time I actually felt scared, what if I screwed up or what if he did? It was a 50/50 effort, it needed to be.

"I don't need looking after, gunshots take a few days, minimal bruising and they go away, no help necessary" he argued, putting up his defences.

"Bucky, I was sent to help you for a reason, you may not need any help but I'm not a quitter and you got sent me for a reason, it wasn't just one gunshot injury, you were fired on multiple times and it's worse than usual" I said sternly.

"I'm fine, I don't need someone looking after me who- no offense - knows nothing about me or what I've been through, especially now" he said abruptly before he pulled his bedsheets up higher.

"Seriously Barnes, that's not gonna cut it- I know what you're doing and why you're doing it and also that you don't trust me one little bit which is infuriating because I also feel the same way, trust is a hard thing for me too, so don't act like a insolent child and just choose the easy way out- not out, but through- damn it" I stammered, trying to do the right thing.

"I don't need help, seriously, you could get yourself killed don't you know I'm the Winter Soldier, a train assassin who takes lives mercilessly" he spat sarcastically.

"I know that's not you, it never was. I've been made privy to your case file, I know what your situation is, I know you on paper... I just don't know you in person" I said softly, making my way to the bed.

"You mind if I" I gestured towards the bed so he could move his feet and I could sit there.

"Look, I know we barely know each other but you work so hard in the field, it doesn't mean you can't work hard while we're spending time together, we can do more research into the people who are the targets right now... I know Sam's pretty keen on you resting and letting him steer the ship for a while and by the way, just because you're hurt and you need a break that you don't mean anything to anyone, that couldn't be further from the truth" I argued passionately, not caring if he liked it or not.

I just needed to take my role seriously, even if he was some big, scary, super soldier that I needed to be wary of.

The case file and notes contained a lot, but they were no way descriptive of who he was, it was just informative data that didn't have anything about who he was as a person.

"Please just... I don't like trusting new people, I barely contact anyone and I stick to myself, I know you've been around me and proved yourself more than a little bit about being a good agent, but if you want to know me you're gonna have to persevere, I'm not easy to get along with" he said shyly, looking down at the ground and avoiding eye-contact.

"I know how this goes, Barnes, just let me complete my mission, as you do all of yours. You're an inspiration to so many people" I mumbled.

"Yeah and another group of people are equally convinced I'm a killer, I was only pardoned because of Steve, he did all the work, he rescued me, heck, if it wasn't for him I'd never be myself. 90 years I fought and fought and took countless lives, people with families and loved ones, how's a guy like me ever gonna make up for that", he spat, getting angry at himself before he tensed and winced in pain.

"Argh" he groaned, obviously overdoing it.

"If you'd just listen Sargent, this wouldn't be so difficult, for either of us" I lectured as he grunted, this time out of stubbornness.

"I'm taking that as a yes" I smiled, before I squeezed his hand and saw a flicker of hope in his eyes, even though he was trying to hide it.

"Don't call me that, it's not right, I haven't been that fo-"

"For 90 years. I get it, stop being sorry for yourself, I know this sucks but we can work past this. Your therapist has instructed me to be stern with you, you know that you're doing a great job right? I'm impressed with how you've been going. You're allowed to struggle with what's going on, I'm not taking that away from you Bucky" I comforted.

I could tell Bucky secretly - or maybe not so secretly - liked being called Sargent, even if in his mind he didn't fully associate with it, it was the opposite of a trigger, a positive association word.

He took a breath in "okay, I'll give it a go, I will- but you gotta help me and work with me, especially with the new arm, it takes a while to get adjusted to. It's been playing up since a bullet got lodged in the vibranium, but I assume you know how to help with that?".

"Yes I do, I can help with the arm in multiple ways, but it's gonna be good for you to do some physio and manual manipulation for the rest of your aches, after all, you keep throwing yourself in the deep end with these missions. The government are only letting you off the hook because you're providing them with a service. The rest of the world aren't necessarily happy about that, you should be careful" I said calmly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm aware of the consequences... The government want me as long as I have some ideas about their assets and when they're being targeted I'm considered one of them. If I work with you, what do I get in terms that we'd both understand?" He smirked.

"Careful what you push for soldier- what happens if I was up for grabs, what would you say if I said 'just say the words'" I winked.

"Oh shit, you're not even joking. Doll I think I'm too old for you and miserable but I'd take you up on the offer for a bit of fun" he chuckled, the first time id seen him genuinely smiling the whole time id been around.

"Oh wow not that kind of fun- I'm not saying no, I just-", he paused "shut it Barnes, yeah I get it, sorry y/n" he said, mentally facepalming.

I giggled "you're not too old, you're just right... But let's see how things go first, and how much of a crack you're willing to give it".

"Got it, you won't hear two words from me" he fake saluted.

"James, you just said more than two words" I chuckled again, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"You're gonna make me blush" he fake swooned.

So the journey continued with the Sargent and I.

---A/N

hello I hope everyone is doing well, Darcy is the one writing these Bucky stories because I can't get enough lol, are they gonna release more tftws? because I loved it so much

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xannador · 2 years ago

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Mostly (h)Armless, a Hi-Fi Rush fan comic: page 17

Read from the beginning:

https://comicfury.com/read/mostlyarmless/comics/1795336

If you want to read the next 5 pages right now, please consider joining my Patreon! If you can’t/have no interest in signing up, I hope you would be so kind as to share my comic around or just leave a comment! Reading them is the highlight of my week!

https://www.patreon.com/Xannador

Chai's mama didn't raise no quitter!!

In one corner, we have 3 deadly killer robots with claws, lasers, and a horrible attitude. In the other corner, a one-armed skinny dude with a music-powered spidey sense and a cat.

Strap yourselves in, ladies and gentlemen, cause we about to go from 40 on a highway to 150 in a school zone.

#Hi-Fi Rush #Hi-Fi Rush Mostly (h)Armless #Hi-Fi Rush comic #Hi-Fi Rush Chai #Hi-Fi Rush 808 #Hi-Fi Rush fanart #comic #fan comic #webcomic #Hi-Fi Rush KEM-0N0 #Hi-Fi Rush KEM-N0

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sajirah · 1 year ago

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The Prison Chapter One

The Prison

In honor of me being newly unemployed and House of Flame and Shadow dropping in less than 2 weeks I wrote a thing. You can read it here or on AO3. Enjoy.

-o0o-

Feyre was a murderer.

That was why she was here after all, staring out at the island that was soon to be her prison. She probably deserved it. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t absolutely petrified to be here.

“Any advice?” She asked the marine unlocking her shackles.

He glanced up at her, considering, and then said, “Pretty thing like you? Find the meanest, nastiest fucker on that island and convince him to protect you.”

Feyre didn’t need the soldier to explain how exactly she was expected to ‘convince’ said man. She’d already had plenty of nightmares of exactly that scenario after her sentencing. The worst part was his advice was probably one of her better options.

“Thanks,” she replied quietly. I think.

He didn’t reply, only pulled off her shackles and then took a strong hold of her arm. She didn’t know why he bothered. It’s not like she could hijack this boat and sail it back home all by herself. She didn’t even know how to drive a car, let alone a boat. She supposed she’d never learn now.

The captain stepped in front of her then, weary and clearly wishing he was anywhere else.

The feeling is mutual pal.

“Feyre Archeron, you have been sentenced to life on The Prison. Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out?”

The woman in question stared at him blankly. What was even the point? He was going to throw her onto an island of rapists and murderers no matter what she said. She’d already screamed and cried and swore at her trial. What more could she possibly say?

The captain had the gall to look annoyed. As if she were the one ruining his day.

“Right,” He turned to the marine holding her arm. “Toss her and let’s leave this fucking place.”

Toss her?! “Wait, what?!-” But it was already too late and before she could react the marine was hoisting her up and shoving her overboard.

Icy seawater hit her like a ton of bricks. The shock froze her limbs for precious seconds as her mind tried to reorientate itself. Kick! She thought frantically. After a few terrifying moments her body obeyed.

Salt stung her eyes as she broke the surface and sucked in oxygen but she still managed to see the blurry shape of the boat as it passed her and glided off towards the horizon.

“Fuck you!” She shouted after it. It was petty, but who was going to care about her behavior now? Her dead mother? Her absent father? Her sisters she hadn’t seen since she’d been hauled off by the police?

The island loomed large a quarter mile behind her. She supposed it didn’t matter to the courts if their prisoners actually made it onto the island. Just that they’d been dumped within its vicinity so there was no hope of them ever escaping.

How far even was the mainland from here? Thirty miles? Forty? Fifty? It had taken at least a few hours to get here. They’d left at 9 am sharp and if the sun was anything to go by it was barely noon. Not that any of this mattered. She was never going home.

No one escaped The Prison.

For a few indulgent moments Feyre considered letting herself drown. As terrible as it seemed, it certainly had its appeal compared to eking out a miserable existence on an island full of dangerous criminals. After all, they didn’t send just anyone to The Prison. Only the worst of the worst for this place. Murderers. Serial killers. Violent rapists. Enemies of the rich and powerful.

It was dizzying to think she was considered one of them now.

She let the moment of self pity linger and then let it go. Right. She’d never been a quitter. She wasn’t about to start now.

Resigned, she pointed herself towards the island and started swimming.

-o0o-

Feyre arrived upon her new home’s doorstep looking, for all intents and purposes, like a drowned cat.

It had taken her at least an hour to swim to shore, fighting six foot waves and avoiding what she desperately hoped were not sharks. She couldn’t be sure but she swore something had bumped up against her in the water at some point and hadn’t she read somewhere that sharks bumped into their prey before they circled around to take a bite out of them?

Shivering, she glanced down the beach, hoping against hope none of her fellow prisoners had seen her, but almost immediately she spied two men melting out of the tree line.

Well fuck.

Adrenaline flooded her veins and she scrambled to her feet as one of the men crept closer, holding his hands up as if she were a spooked horse. He was older, hair grayed and skin weathered by the sun. Clothes barely more than rags. Was this what awaited her if she managed to survive as long as him? Rotted teeth and preying upon new arrivals like scavengers?

“Easy there doll. We’re not gonna hurt ya…”

Either he thought she was a moron or he was one himself because Feyre knew exactly what that man had planned for her and quite a lot of hurt was involved.

“Bet you’re real hungry after that swim,” the other man said. He was younger than his companion, but in many ways he looked worse off. Starved and mean looking. “We’ve got some food over at our camp. We’ll share it…”

Even if she were desperate enough to take him up on his offer, his hollow cheekbones and bony wrists led her to believe that statement was a load of bullshit.

She waited, muscles coiled and tense as the men drew ever closer. Suddenly the skinny one reached out, attempting to make a grab for her but Feyre was ready for him. She kicked the sand and it arced up and sprayed straight into his eyes. He howled, clutching at his face, and stumbled forward but she was already bolting out of reach and into the forest.

“Wait, come back!” The older man shouted.

“I can’t see!” The other roared. “I’ll fucking kill her!”

But Feyre was already putting as much distance between her and her would-be captors as possible, not knowing which direction she was going except that it was ‘anywhere but here’. She heard the older man crashing in the underbrush just behind her, shouting at her like she were an unruly dog set loose.

She didn’t even realize his shouts had stopped until she was halfway up the hill. She dared a glance over her shoulder and saw nothing but trees and ferns.

Good.

She kept climbing.

-o0o-

It’s getting dark.

That was all Feyre could think as she wandered the woods in search of food and shelter. So far she’d found a tiny stream of questionable quality and a crooked stick. She supposed she could poke someone’s eye out with it if she was very lucky and her attacker were very still but she wasn’t holding out much hope in that department. Unfortunately the other items on her survival list had yet to be discovered.

Though with the way the sun was going down she was starting to worry. The temperature was dropping rapidly and though her clothes had long since dried they weren’t exactly made to keep one warm in near freezing weather. When she’d first realized they intended to send her off to her final destination in only her prison uniform she’d nearly fought them.

“You can’t be serious!” She’d raged at the officers escorting her onto the boat. “How am I supposed to survive without a coat? A knife? A lighter?”

The officers had been silent but their message was loud and clear: You don’t.

They expected her to die out here. They expected them all to die out here. Well clearly they hadn’t met Feyre. If there was one thing she was good at it was survival. And spite.

Especially that last one.

Still, if she didn’t find shelter soon even sheer undiluted spite was going to have trouble keeping her warm.

It took another hour before she found what she was looking for.

In the dying light, she spotted a little burrow under a rocky outcrop. It would be a tight squeeze, but it was better than her current options which were…nothing. It wasn’t exactly the Four Seasons, but it would mostly protect her from the elements and, more importantly, keep her out of sight. The last thing she needed was another of her fellow prisoners happening upon her while she slept.

As she wormed her way into the muddy crevice, she wistfully reminisced upon her bed back home.

To think, just a year ago she had been sitting in an upscale dining hall, celebrating her sister’s marriage. If someone had told her then what her future held she never would’ve believed them.

And still, she couldn’t fully regret the actions that had led her here.

Perhaps if she hadn’t seen the bruises littering Nesta’s arms things would’ve been different, but she had. And once she had seen them she couldn’t unsee them, no matter how many long sleeved dresses and cardigans her sister wore afterwards. Feyre still had the image of purple fingerprints dotting her sister’s wrist branded into the backs of her eyelids. Nesta never said a word about them. No matter how many times Feyre and Elain begged her to. She had been the very picture of the quiet, demure wife.

And Feyre had hated it.

Perhaps it would’ve gone on indefinitely like that, Nesta’s stoic silence and her sisters’ outspoken concern, but then it had happened.

It had been over something innocuous, his breakfast not being done on time, his coffee being too hot, or his newspaper not being laid out on the table the way he liked. Whatever it was, all Feyre remembered was the way her sister had reacted to her husband’s ire, braced and waiting for a blow. She’d seen it in her eyes. The hatred. The fear. The self loathing of having her sisters here to witness her humiliation. And then he’d grabbed her by the chin, fingers pressed deep enough to leave marks and Feyre had seen red.

Perhaps she truly deserved to be here for what had happened next. For the sheer satisfaction she had felt as she’d watched him bleed out around the butter knife in his eye socket. All she had known then was that this man would never touch her sister again.

She had never lost a moment’s sleep after doing what she did. When she had closed her eyes in her cell after her arrest the only thing she had regretted was the looks of horror and disbelief on her sisters’ faces. She hated that her final memories of her family were those.

But she still couldn’t regret it. No amount of wealth was worth broken bones. Nesta may have been willing to live in gilded luxury for the price of her battered body, but that wasn’t a trade Feyre agreed with. Better her sister live a rich widow who hated her. Better she was thrown to the rapists and murderers.

And I’d do it again. Every time. Feyre thought as she curled into the mud and let her exhaustion lull her to sleep.

Elsewhere, in the gathering dark, something stirred. The other prisoners retreated to the shoreline. They knew better than to enter the forest at night.

There you are. A voice whispered into Feyre’s dreams. I’ve been waiting for you.

#the prison #fanfiction #fanfic #my fic #acotar #feysand #you don’t understand I haven’t written anything in ages #this is so unbaeted and for that I am sorry #I wrote this in a mad rush over the last two days #I don’t think I even remember what day it is today

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rileythefool · 4 months ago

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I realized it's been 5-ever since I've talked about the book i wrote, so I've come back to blather about my OCs and share some of the art i commissioned.

This is the cover! @claudiacanginiart did a phenomenal job portraying the vibes i was going for with each of the characters.

On the left is Cyrus! He likes scotch and making art in all sorts of mediums. Even though he got a pretty lucky break on his gender affirming care from a friendly neighborhood demon, he decided to keep his top surgery scars to remind him that his body is the home he builds it to be. Making his own testosterone in bulk has been pretty overwhelming, but he's determined to figure out what asexuality means to him and fully understand the size and shape of his comfort zone.

On the right is Mary! Mary likes her coffee sweet and everything else with lemon. She struggles to embrace the aspects of herself that us humans can't relate to, but she keeps trying every day. There's really no telling how much pressure shes under at any given time, but she hasn't broken yet and momma didn't raise no quitter! (That's some dark humor for ya). Magic is just something she does on the weekends or if the kettle is broken.

Addie is on bottom. A long time ago she decided who she was and there hasn't been enough reason to challenge those assumptions in years. I mean- she got rid of a lot of prejudice in college, so what more is there to explore? Her past relationships haven't gone the best for her so shes been focusing on her career. Her survival mechanisms have survival mechanisms but she says those are just unspoken universal experiences.

Claudia also did some killer illustrations for the first and last chapters!

#the fool the lovers the devil #paranormal romance #random post about my OCs

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amnevitahwritesstuff · 8 months ago

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Feyre is sent to a prison island after committing a murder. But she soon discovers that there is something far more sinister there than her fellow prisoners...

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Murder, Horror

Chapters: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 (wip)

Length: 1,927 words

Read on AO3 or below the cut

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter One

The Prison

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Feyre was a murderer.

That was why she was here after all, staring out at the island that was soon to be her prison. She probably deserved it. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t absolutely petrified to be here.

“Any advice?” She asked the marine unlocking her shackles.

He glanced up at her, considering, and then said, “Pretty thing like you? Find the meanest, nastiest fucker on that island and convince him to protect you.”

“Thanks,” she replied quietly. I think.

The captain stepped in front of her then, weary and clearly wishing he was anywhere else.

The feeling is mutual pal.

“Feyre Archeron, you have been sentenced to life on The Prison. Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out?”

The captain had the gall to look annoyed. As if she were the one ruining his day.

“Right,” He turned to the marine holding her arm. “Toss her and let’s leave this fucking place.”

Toss her?! “Wait, what?!-” But it was already too late and before she could react the marine was hoisting her up and shoving her overboard.

Salt stung her eyes as she broke the surface and sucked in oxygen but she still managed to see the blurry shape of the boat as it passed her and glided off towards the horizon.

No one escaped The Prison.

It was dizzying to think she was considered one of them now.

She let the moment of self pity linger and then let it go. Right. She’d never been a quitter. She wasn’t about to start now.

Resigned, she pointed herself towards the island and started swimming.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Feyre arrived upon her new home’s doorstep looking, for all intents and purposes, like a drowned cat.

Shivering, she glanced down the beach, hoping against hope none of her fellow prisoners had seen her, but almost immediately she spied two men melting out of the tree line.

Well fuck.

“Easy there doll. We’re not gonna hurt ya…”

Either he thought she was a moron or he was one himself because Feyre knew exactly what that man had planned for her and quite a lot of hurt was involved.

Even if she were desperate enough to take him up on his offer, his hollow cheekbones and bony wrists led her to believe that statement was a load of bullshit.

“Wait, come back!” The older man shouted.

“I can’t see!” The other roared. “I’ll fucking kill her!”

She didn’t even realize his shouts had stopped until she was halfway up the hill. She dared a glance over her shoulder and saw nothing but trees and ferns.

Good.

She kept climbing.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It’s getting dark.

“You can’t be serious!” She’d raged at the officers escorting her onto the boat. “How am I supposed to survive without a coat? A knife? A lighter?”

The officers had been silent but their message was loud and clear: You don’t.

They expected her to die out here. They expected them all to die out here. Well clearly they hadn’t met Feyre. If there was one thing she was good at it was survival. And spite.

Especially that last one.

Still, if she didn’t find shelter soon even sheer undiluted spite was going to have trouble keeping her warm.

It took another hour before she found what she was looking for.

As she wormed her way into the muddy crevice, she wistfully reminisced upon her bed back home.

To think, just a year ago she had been sitting in an upscale dining hall, celebrating her sister’s marriage. If someone had told her then what her future held she never would’ve believed them.

And still, she couldn’t fully regret the actions that had led her here.

And Feyre had hated it.

Perhaps it would’ve gone on indefinitely like that, Nesta’s stoic silence and her sisters’ outspoken concern, but then it had happened.

And I’d do it again. Every time. Feyre thought as she curled into the mud and let her exhaustion lull her to sleep.

Elsewhere, in the gathering dark, something stirred. The other prisoners retreated to the shoreline. They knew better than to enter the forest at night.

There you are. A voice whispered into Feyre’s dreams. I’ve been waiting for you.

#my fanfiction #my fanfics #the prison #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #feysand #fanfiction #fanfic

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