trophy walls

anonymous asked:

Could I get a few prompts with a vampire captured by a vampire hunter please?

1) The vampire eyed the trophies on the walls, in every jar and vase, the grisly reminders of ash and dust that they could soon become. Each one - a vampire slayed. Their stomach lurched. “I do hope you’ve picked me a pretty pot,” they drawled, keeping their voice casual. “That one’s hideous. Did you make it ugly out of spite?” 
“An ugly home for an ugly creature.”
“Now, now. There’s no need to make this unnecessarily personal. That’s just hurtful.”

2) “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
“I’m a hunter, not a slayer.”
“Hunters generally eat up what they hunt,” the vampire said. “Otherwise it’s just wasteful to kill a living thing.”
The hunter smiled at them, then. “You’re not alive though, are you? You can’t kill something that is already dead, besides.”
The vampire’s jaw clenched - more stung than they cared to admit. “And yet, here I am. Why?”

3) “I’m trying to protect you!”
“By staking me to a wall?!”
“There are people out there who would do worse,” the hunter murmured. “And you’d run if I didn’t. Wouldn’t you?”


Modern style Hunters Wall by Urbanmasquarade

Tzachi Nevo is the designer, who founded Urbanmasquarade, an Israel based design company that creates modern, decorative wall decor masks from wood.

Their latest Series is called Hunters Wall and is a modern, animal protecting, humorist interpretation of wall trophies. They fit well in an office or a living room as well as a kids room.

Black and Blue.

Authors Note: This is not edited, I am sorry. I just stopped by Starbucks to write something and I figured I would post this while I can. :) Soo enjoy the un edited blurb. :) Xx 

It had been a long hard year for him, he stopped doing the one thing he loved— performing. He needed a break from the constant on-the-go life style, going from continent to continent, living out of a suitcase—it was all too much for him.

Towards the end of his last tour, he was struggling to get through the sets, he didn’t have it in him to finish the sets to the best of his ability; he was constantly losing his voice, and catching colds. To say the least, he was exhausted and rather miserable, it was obvious and heartbreaking to watch him string himself out to such the extent.

The first few weeks of him home being fine, he spent most the time catching up on much-needed sleep, seeing friends and family, and genuinely getting into a more normal routine that did not consist of traveling across time zones and hiding from fans while in new cities.It was nice to have him around, it was nice to wake up and not have to wonder on what time zone he is in or whether he landed safely. Having him at arm’s length every night is soothing, it is nice to know that he isn’t miles away and going to bed as I wake up.

He began to become restless and bored after a while and needed some sort of hobby to keep him occupied, usually he turns to his music on his time off to keep him occupied, but for some reason, he refused to push himself to hit the studio or to start writing the new album he is contracted to release by November.

It was my idea for him to start boxing, he was good at it and it allowed him to tire himself out even further, giving him more of an opportunity to put his time into something other than lying around the house.

I overhear the front door open and close, the familiar sound of heavy footsteps ring in my ears as I peer down the hallway, Shawn’s figure making its way closer to me with a small smile.

“Morning, I have your favourite keeping warm in the oven,” I greet him with a tender smile before leaning up and kissing his cheek,

“Morning, mmm, smells great, but I need to shower first,” He presses a quick kiss to my lips before his hands come into my view as they adjust his athletic bag hanging over his shoulder.

My eyes grow wide when I see the markings on the hands that were once tender to the touch— now they’re harboring purple bruises, “Shawn, your hands,” I try to reach for them but he steps away, not wanting my touch or my concern.

“Don’t,” he mumbles, “I am fine,” he assures me, giving me his cunning smile, accompanied by his copper coloured eyes that make my heart melt with every moment.

“Shawn, you have the awards tonight, you can’t show up with bruised knuckles,”

He shakes his head, “I am not going,” he mutters as he begins to walk down the hallway with myself in toe.  He drops his workout bag by the laundry room before sliding his jacket down his arms, paying no attention to me as I stare at him.

The only times he has missed any sort of award show is when he has been out of town or sick, he has never purposely missed them, in fact, he tends to enjoy them a lot more than I’d think.

Shawn turns to glance over his shoulder as I lean against the doorframe of the laundry room, my eyes focused intently on Shawn, “I know I am good looking, but you don’t have to stare.” His voice is nonchalant, completely disregarding his hands or the fact he is relentlessly throwing away his career.

“You can’t just miss the awards,”

He disputes my comment, “Yes, I can.”


“I have other plans,” he mutters cutting me off as he looks down at his hand, opening and closing his hand with a small grimace, “I need some ice, my left hook is coming along well though,” he comments proudly.

“What other plans do you have? Your suit is upstairs, you’re nominated for three awards,” I question as he steps passed me and walks towards the kitchen to get something cold for his hand. “Shawn, what could you possibly have to do?” I repeat my question, frustrated that he is so nonchalant about the entire situation. He is choosing not to attend awards that boost his career, a career he is throwing away.

He rolls his shoulders back into a shrug, “I am going to go box.”

My lips purse like I’d been chewing a lemon rind; the stupidity of his words cause me to scoff, he is going to box instead of going to a music award, he has got to be somewhat delusional at this point in time.  

“You just did that,” I clap my hands on her hips, arms crooked like a sugar bowl handle.

His shoulders lift in a shrug, “No, I hit the boxing bag to train, tonight I am hitting the ring with a few mates,”

My brows bump together in a scowl, “Like hell, you are,” I shake my head disapprovingly, he is taking this boxing thing too far.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest, seeming amused by my disapproval, “I’m not going to the awards, I am no longer an artist.”

“You’re not a boxer either. This was meant to be a hobby, you’re taking it way too far now,”

He arches a sly brow, “What happened to supporting me no matter what decisions I make? I always support yours.”

My body stiffens at the remark. I have never put him in a position to support a decision that would ruin my career or potentially hurt me physically. “My decisions don’t cause me to come home with bruises,” I defend, unsure of how to get him to understand the consequences of the decisions he is currently making.

I understand he has hit a rough patch with himself and the music he once loved, but completely giving that up for a short lived boxing thing is not Shawn. He isn’t behaving like himself.

He opens the freezer and pulls out a bag of peas, placing them over his left hand, “I’m not going tonight, I don’t even think I am going to start that album. I want to invest my time into boxing.”

For a moment I stare at him, my thoughts racing with many comments regarding his stupidity, but I stop myself. “Shawn, I don’t think it is a good idea,”

“You’re the one who encouraged me to box in the first place,” he leans against the kitchen counter, his eyes flicking down to his hand being iced while I begin to prowl the floors.

I had thought the boxing to keep his mind off of things would be short lived, evidently, I was wrong.

I let out a breath of air before rolling my eyes and stepping away from the kitchen, “Oh come on, no. Don’t start this,” his voice travels after me as I wilt down in the couch and pay languid attention to Shawn's’ voice. “You can’t be mad at me, not when I look like this,” he gives me a cocky wink and confident smile while gesturing towards his sweatpants and t-shirt.

“Shawn,” I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest, “you need to take a long hard look at yourself and figure yourself out. Don’t make a split second decision on a permanent thing.”


“No, don’t love, me.” I shake my head, cutting him off before he can proceed to say anything else, this conversation is over, I have nothing to say to him after this last comment, “I am going to get ready for the night, I hope you make the right decision on what to do. I love you, and whatever you choose, I will support you.” I inform him, watching as his eyes crinkle with frustration before he inhales a deep breath and blows out slowly…


I wonder around the house in my black dress, trying to find Shawn. I had thought he would take the hint and decide to make the decision to go tonight, but from what I gather from his suit still positioned in its place upstairs, he has not made the decision I had anticipated.

I peer into every room downstairs, surprised when I don’t even find him in the only room in the house that is entirely set up for him and only him— the record room. The room as expected is full of his accomplishments from the moment he started his career as an artist, award trophies, plaques on the wall from album accomplishments, vinyls of his favourite artists, and much more. The room is thoroughly a room full of the things he loves within the industry, a room that resembles who he is. I often find him sitting at the desk jotting down lyrics or humming along to a few chords he plays on his guitar, but lately, he has neglected the room entirely. I close the door with a sigh. “Shawn?” I call out, my voice echoing through the quiet house, I wait a moment in the middle of the hallway, waiting to hear his voice.

When I receive nothing but the quietness of the house in return, I stride myself to the only other place he could possibly be— the garage. I push open the door, the coldness instantly wrapping around me as I step down the three steps, my hands instantly rubbing my arms.

I observe Shawn in front of the boxing bag, his body strength forcing a few punches to the bag with heavy hits. I don’t disturb him, instead, I watch on for a few moments. I watch every move he makes, every jab, every stance, everything; he is strong, sharp, and quick with each move, if he was to get in the ring, part of me feels as though he would be able to handle himself, after all, he does have one hell of a trainer… Not to mention, Shawn is one hell of a boxer, even if I don’t want to admit it out loud.

His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths as he stops himself from hitting the bag again. “Ye’ distracting me,” he flicks his head to allow his nystagmic eyes to glance at me, they change from eyes burning with hatred, to the eyes I fell in love with, soft and loving.

I lift my shoulders in a half shrug, “You’re looking good, Mendes.” I give him a tight-lipped smile. He shifts from one foot to the other as he takes off the boxing gloves, placing them to the side before he massages the back of his neck, his eyes refusing to lose contact with mine.

He looms closer, his lips curving up into a wider smile, “You look lovely… You’re making me weak at the knees in that dress,” he grins, earning himself a playful hit to his arm.

“You always say that,”

He shrugs his shoulders, “It is always true… Drop dead gorgeous you are.”

“Mhm, alright Mendes, enough flirting… I gather you’re not going to attend tonight and that I got ready for no reason?” I question softly, my hands running down the sides of my dress, gently smoothing out the material hugging my body.

He threads a hand through his messy, curly hair, “Give me twenty to shower and get ready? Is my blue suit still up there?” He offers, taking me by surprise.

I did not expect for him to change his mind, from earlier conversation, he was set on boxing in a ring tonight, not sitting in the crowd of other artists. I nod my head, confirming his suit is still upstairs where I left it. He presses a kiss to my lips before leaping into action, his feet hammering the marble floor with his long legged strides.


I smile to myself as I stand towards the side, out of the way while Shawn adjusts the lapels of his jacket, a woman interviewing him with multiple cameras around him taking pictures and live streaming him to the world. He brushes up very nicely in a suit, honestly, he brushes up nicely in anything he wears, sweats, gym clothes, black jeans, oh how those black jeans do it for me with a hoodie. He flashes me a delicate smile from his stance before continuing to talk to the interviewer.

“Your boyfriend has a strange accessory on his hands,” a voice distracts me, I follow the sound and my eyes meet with a woman I have not met before, I only assume she is apart of the media.

I give her a kind smile, “He looks ravishing tonight,”

“Mhm, I think the question everyone is wanting to ask, how did he get the bruises?” she questions, seeming to be searching for some sort of interesting story that will drag Shawn in the media’s prying eyes.

I flash her another smile, doing my best to appear polite and sweet, “He has been boxing lately with his spare time, he is very good at it. Excuse me, he’s finished,” I excuse myself from her, leaving her with a deadpan expression on her face.

We take our seats in the crowd of many other artists, most of them surprised to see Shawn and throwing himself into the public eye, but I can see in his eyes that he isn’t interested in anyone here, he is somewhere else.

I stand up and take his hand, “C’mon,” I gesture towards the way we entered the area. He gives me a confused facial expression but quickly stands to his feet and follows me out.

“What’s wrong?” he questions when we exit the area where the awards are being filmed.

I stop our long strides and look at him, “Let’s leave,” … “There’s somewhere else you need to be,”

He inches forward, leaning in closer to me, “Is this some kind of hint towards us sneaking away for alone time?” he questions with glowing eyes.

I let out a small chuckle and shake my head, “No, I am not referring to that,” … “Let’s go to that boxing ring,”

“Honey, have you been drinking?” he asks as he adjusts the lapels of his jacket.

There is no sense in him being somewhere he does not want to be, surrounded by media and being shoved into a spotlight that he doesn’t want to be in at the moment.

“Are you coming or not?” I mutter, taking long strides in my heels, peering over my shoulder to see him following me.

He takes longer strides and finds my side where he laces our fingers together, “Hon, are you sure? Is this some kind of test?” he softly questions, clearly confused with my encouragement to allow the two of us to leave an event just so he can go and stand in a boxing ring and do his thing.

“No test, darling.” I shake my head, “pick up the pace if you want to make it in time,” I mutter, forcing the two of us to take a quicker pace.


I cut him off promptly, not wanting to hear any buts or doubts he may have, this is what he wants, he might as well get it out of his system now. “Not buts, Shawn.”


I take a deep breath as he wraps his hands and wrist, his dark eyes intently focused on the wrap.

“Are you sure about this?” he questions, taking note of my apprehension and anxiousness. I shrug and drop my shoulders, there is no way in hell I am sure about this, but if he is, then I can support that. Part of me regrets dragging him away from the awards, but part of me knows this is something he needs; he needs to get this out of his system. I can only hope this is a one-time thing and that after tonight he does not want to step foot back into a ring.

I give him an assuring nod, “Just be careful out there,” .. “I need you in one piece.”

He nods and gives me a kiss, “Thank you,”

“For what?”

“Letting me do this,”

I give him a reassuring smile, “Just don’t make me regret it.” … “Go get ‘em out there,” I chuckle with a bit of encouragement.

I have seen him play many sports, I have witnessed him attempting to play American Football, European football, baseball, and hockey, oh have I witnessed his Hockey days’, and I have to say, boxing has been the one to leave me the most anxious.

I stand around the barriers set up in the old boxing gym, trying to understand the concept of the sport. I don’t understand what is entertaining about watching two people physically harm each other, but the people around me seem to be thrilled and nothing has happened yet. There is quite the turn out; I did not expect people to be gathered in an old gym on a Saturday night to watch mediocre boxers. I honestly expected there to only be a few people considering Shawn said he and a few mates, I am starting to think his opponents are not his mates.

I fold my arms over my chest, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I see Shawn finally making his way towards the ring, a man walking beside him with an intense stare.

I cringe with every intense hit that rings in my ears and shocks the crowd, my own breath hitching in my throat as my eyes watch on, Shawn managing to hold his own as round three comes to an end. I move away from the barrier and cross over it when I see Shawn sitting in the corner of the ring with a man pressing a towel to the side of his forehead.

“Shawn,” I call out, forcing myself closer to the ring despite the men telling me not to.

“A bit of blood didn’t hurt anybody,” he yells over the crowd and the officials talking around us, “Just a cut,” he adds, wincing slightly as he continues to be quickly cared for. For a moment I frown, but remind I hold my tongue as I remind myself that I can not be the overly protective girlfriend right now, he needs to make his decisions and if this is what is takes to get him back on the right path, then this is how it has to be for the night. “Okay, be careful,” I fake a smile up at him, stepping away before he can respond.

I watch round four while standing by the same guy who threw a bandaid on Shawn and let him go back into boxing mode. He seems nonchalant and entirely fine with watching the two men hit each other, he doesn’t flinch or cringe at the smacking sounds of a body being hit, nor does he seem too interested in the match itself.

I meet Shawn after the bout in the same area that he got himself ready in. He gives me a small smile as I enter, his hair a curly mess and hanging loosely all over the place.

“You’re still alive, I am surprised,” he chuckles, sliding his jacket up his arms and adjusting it to his body,

I step closer to him, “Mhm, only internally freaked out the entire time,” I smile, “Good to see you’re still in one piece,” I gesture my hand up and down his body before placing a kiss to his warm, blushed cheeks.

“That worried about me, eh?” He asks, picking up his athletic bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

Of course, I worry about him, I love him and don’t want anything to happen to him.

I shrug my shoulders and glance down at the flooring, not wanting to guilt him with my worry. “Come here,” he opens his arms and I find myself wrapping my own around him, “Mm, careful there darlin’, bit sore,” he mumbles and I instantly pull away to look up at him, “I am fine, just sore,” he quickly assures me as if to read my erratic thoughts that do nothing but worry about him.

I cross my arms over my chest, my eyes staring at him as he bites his lip, “Let’s go home,” his voice chimes in the tone he uses when he is wanting to avoid something.

“How sore are you?”

“I’m still in one piece, that’s all that matters,” he gives me a subtle wink before lacing his fingers with mine. I take my hand away from his and lift up his shirt, not surprised when I see light bruising already forming over his tanned body.

“Barely,” … “You’re black and blue,” …

Part 2? :)

anonymous asked:

I just read the anon about celebrities mean tweets and it would be ridiculously funny. haha! What would be some of the tweets they read and their reactions? If you don't mind me asking.

Viktor would probably get someone saying something like ‘he’s overrated as a skater and he hasn’t even won that much anyway’ and would be like ‘wow, maybe I should just go and throw out my wall to wall trophy cabinet now considering all the medals in it are apparently imaginary’. And someone else saying he’s annoying and too in love with his own face considering how many selfies he posts to which he’d reply ‘I post selfies because I’m lucky enough to have a face to be proud of, unlike the person who wrote this tweet apparently’. The only one he’d probably actually be offended by is someone saying his hair is grey because he’d very indignantly reply ‘it’s not grey, it’s SILVER’

Yuuri on the other hand would get something like ‘Katsuki is just a straight up bad skater, him ever being able to win at all was a mistake’ and even though sometimes he doubts himself he is great at working to prove wrong other people who do it to him. So he wouldn’t get upset at mean tweets he’d just say something like ‘well that’s a mistake the ISU have made about twenty times now, someone should probably tell them so they stop giving me all those accidental medals’ and he might get another one like ‘Viktor is out of Katsuki’s league’ and would reply something along the lines of ‘he’s out of everyone’s league but he’s going home with me which says it all really doesn’t it?’ (and Viktor would probably be there in the background like ‘EXCUSE ME HE IS OUT OF MY LEAGUE NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND’)

Snapshots from a (much) later future
  • An apartment for two. Crystalline figures, lined up an equal distance apart from each other, kept in a glass case in the study room, away from the cats.
  • An exy racquet signed ‘Knox’, in the back of a closet filled with various workout clothes. An XXL sized t-shirt hangs from one of the plastic hangers, jutting out incongruously from the smaller sized clothing. On it are the faded words ‘World’s Best Dad’, ‘Coach’ written underneath it in parentheses. It still smells like smoke.
  • A trophy case in an empty locker room, freshly cleaned after a match. It’s filled to the brim with medals and trophies. On the same wall, an overcrowded collection of photos. Everyone in them is smiling if you squint your eyes and tilt your head.
  • An urn filled with ash, built to be the centerpiece of a fountain in front of the house. If you look closely, you might see engraved on it, 'In loving memory of Bryan Seth Gordon’. 
  •  Various bottles of half used brightly colored hair dye sitting in a box to be shipped out. The owner doesn’t need them anymore. The little girl she’s been writing to needs them more.
  • A stuffed fox plushie tucked into the bed of at least 3 different children, all of whom’s parents will never forget the nostalgia of their college days.
  • A set of black arm bands beneath a pillow. The color has faded to gray, but the 'To Robin’ written in Sharpie on the inner label hasn’t. 
  •  A set of black arm bands tucked away in the back of a drawer. They haven’t seen light in a while. Neither have the knives hidden inside them.

Title: Memories

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 5,500

Warning: This is angsty, fluffy, soul touching and heart breaking all at once

A/N: Okay guys, this is my first ever soulmate piece and I worked really REALLY hard on this. It took a very long time to outline and smooth out so that it all flows right. PLEASE send feedback!! Major shout out to @mysteriouslyme81 for giving me the inspiration for this many months ago and helping me find the perfect song for the final part. 

The Beginning

Every single one of us would go to extremes for the one we love.

When the Alzheimer’s treatments stopped working and you couldn’t remember the simplest of things, Dean got desperate.

Shuffling his way into the familiar witch’s work room Dean grabbed a pen and paper and listened carefully.

“Only give her this on the worst of days”

“Remind her of a happy time, you will both be transported to that time, and upon return the memory will remain”

“This magic must be used carefully, only the strongest of loves will power it”

“I will give you enough for 7 memories to be restored to start”

“Remember though, giving her everything may cost you everything”

Dean Winchester never let warnings stop him. Eighty-five years old and watching the only true love of his life slip away he sure as hell wasn’t going to start listening to them now.

Keep reading

Send ✘ for my muse to say to yours...

Brutal edition.

  1. “I wonder what you look like on the inside.”
  2. “You won’t be leaving this place alive.”
  3. “Keep screaming; no one will hear you.”
  4. “Try to run, I dare you!”
  5. “You’re going to make a beautiful trophy for my wall.”
  6. “I hope your blood tastes as lovely as I imagine.”
  7. “Poor, poor lost soul.”
  8. “I’ll make it quick, don’t worry.”
  9. “You’re going to be here a while.”
  10. “I’ll never get enough of the sound of screams.”
  11. “Look at my tools. This one is my favorite.”
  12. “I apologize for any discomfort you might feel.”
  13. “This is going to be more enjoyable for me than it is for you.”
  14. “Get back here! Don’t run from me!”
  15. “That’s right, run away! You’ll get nowhere!”
  16. “No matter where you go, I will always find you.”
  17. “Just trust me. I would never hurt you.”
  18. “How dare you talk back to me?!”
  19. “Comfortable? No? Too bad.”
  20. “The first cut/bite is always my favorite.”
  21. “You’re such a lovely specimen.”
  22. “This will only hurt for a moment.”
  23. “Shh, don’t cry.”
  24. “You were so brave before now. What happened?”
  25. “You should know better than to wander alone.”
Injured Football Player Ch 5

Originally posted by ohmystucky

Summary: Bucky’s doctors appointment didn’t go as well as he thought it would. He takes out his anger on the reader.

Word Count: 1088

A/N: I’m back! I couldn’t write a series without some angst, so this chapter is jammed back with angst and the next one has a little bit of angst! Thanks again for reading! If you want to be added to the tag list, just ask! Enjoy!

(Chapter 4)

 Bucky sat in the chair next to you bouncing his leg. You were at his doctor’s appointment to check on the progress of his collarbone.

 You put your hand on his leg, “Buck, calm down. Everything is gonna be okay." 

 "I’m just nervous. If everything is going good, I can play in two weeks,” he played with your engagement ring.

 "Whatever the doctor says, we will handle it, okay?“

 He brought your hand up and kissed it, as if that was going to calm him. 

 "Bucky Barnes,” Dr. Bruce Banner walked in, “how are we doing?”

  Bucky stood up and shook his hand, “Doing pretty good Doc.”

 "Y/N,“ Dr. Banner held his hand out, "it is always a pleasure to see you.”

 "Hello Dr. Banner,“ you smiled.

 "So Bucky,” he sat down at his desk, “I’ve got some bad news. Your collarbone isn’t healing as well as we would like it to. So we are gonna go back in and add a couple screws to the plate.”

 "What does that mean?“ You asked him.

 "How much longer am I going to be out, Doc?” Bucky asked.

 Dr. Banner sighed, “Honestly, Bucky, you will be lucky lucky if you will get to play the last two weeks of the regular season.”

 You ducked your head and let out a sigh. Bucky ran his hand down his face and sighed, “So what do I do now?”

 "We schedule you for the surgery as soon as possible and get you back in there. The sooner we get that done, the quicker we can get you into PT, and hopefully the sooner you get back onto the field,“ Dr. Banner saw Bucky’s long face, "Listen son, I know this isn’t the results that you wanted, but we would rather it take a little longer to heal properly, than you going out on the field and getting hurt again.”

 "I understand. Thank you Doc,“ Bucky forced a smile as he shook his hand. 

 Bucky didn’t say a word while you scheduled his surgery, the whole way down to the car and the drive back home. He walked into the house and went straight to his office, closing the door.

 You sat down on the couch when your phone went off. It was a your dad calling. You sighed when you answered it, "Hey Dad.”

 "So how did the doctors go?“ You dad asked.

 You rubbed your forehead and let out a sigh, "He isn’t healing like they wanted. So they are going to go back in next week to put screws in to help the healing. The doctor said he would be lucky if he played at all this season.”

 "Oh damn, how is he taking it?“

 "He didn’t say anything the whole drive home, and he is in his office right now,” you put your face in your hand, “I’ve never seen him like this Dad.”

 "He will be okay. He just needs to be able to process,“ your dad always tried to make things sound better for you, "Don’t worry, sugar, he will come around. Promise.”

 "Okay, Dad,“ you looked at your watch, "I better go start supper.”

 "Alrighty. Love ya kid.“

 "Love you too. Bye Dad,” you hung the phone up.

 You were in the kitchen cooking dinner when you heard a crash coming from Bucky’s office. You ran in to see him throwing trophies against the wall. You ran over to him, “Bucky! Bucky stop it! What the hell are you doing?”

 He looked at you; his eyes were filled with anger and hurt, “What am I doing? What the hell am I doing? All of this means nothing now,” he threw the trophy he had in his hand, “It means nothing!”

 “What are you talking about? Hey, look at me,” you grabbed his good arm and turned him around to you, “What are you talking about?”

 “Don’t you get it, Y/N, this is my contract year! Do you really think the Dallas Cowboys are going to negotiate with someone who will be out all year? Because they wont! So all of this,” he waved his arm around, “this life, this house, us, means nothing! Absolutely nothing Y/N!”

 “You know they will negotiate with you! You are the best wide receiver they have ever had! Bucky, they will keep you! I promise,” you tried to brush the hair out of his face but he jerked away.

 “God damn it, Y/N, you don’t get it! You can’t just wish things better,” he yelled at you, “All you care about is me getting a big contract so you can live this fancy life. The only reason you are concerned about me is because you are so worried you wont be have your perfect Dallas Cowboys football player’s wife life! Everything is falling apart! Everything is falling apart! Fuck! I had everything, now I have nothing! I had the perfect life just a month ago!”

 You felt the tears falling down your face, “How dare you! I have done everything for you, and you treat me like this?” you wiped your face, “Your life is falling apart? You have lost everything? Well, you just lost me,” you took your engagement ring off and threw it at him. You stormed out of the house and drove off.

 Everything that just happened registered to Bucky. He looked down and saw your engagement ring was at his feet. Everything that he had just said to you sunk into his mind.

 “Oh God, no! No, what have I done,” he cried out picking up your ring. He ran outside and saw your car gone.

 He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed your number, “Y/N, baby, please pick up! Pick up!”

 You saw he was calling so you sent it straight to voicemail. You cried as you drove down the road.

 “Y/N, baby, please call me. I am so sorry. Oh, God, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean it! Please, call me,” Bucky left a message on your phone.

 Bucky sat on the front steps of your house and cried. He clutched the ring in his hand. He didn’t know why he said such horrible things to you. You were not the reason that he was upset, you were just there and he took it out on you. You were the one who had been there since day one, before he was a famous football player. You didn’t want to be with Bucky for the money, you were just with him for him.

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Batgirl Vol 1 25

The time has come, folks. One year has passed in comic time since Shiva defeated Cass. We start with Shiva kicking ass, before switching to Cass, who is recording a heartbreaking message to Oracle, only to delete it again and record one for Batman, thanking him and telling him not to blame Shiva. I swear, Cass is tearing my heart out with every word and we are not even five pages into this. ;_;
Batmom: 23
Batdad: 18
Living Emoji: 53

Next, Cass goes to a viewing platform and keeps a man from jumping to his death. He is so freaked out by her ability to read him that he promptly runs off. Given that, just a year ago, Cass was someone who had no interest in things like pretty views, the fact that she chooses to come to this place is pretty heartbreaking. She then returns to Oracle who shows her the video of Cass’ first kill. Cass tries to stop her younger self, but can’t, and Barb tries to talk her out of fighting Shiva one last time by pointing out that Cass was only eight and did not know what she was doing when she killed, but Cass merely apologizes and then temporarily paralyzes Oracle so she won’t follow her. ;_; ;____;
Batmom: 24
Better Off Dead: 11
Ghost Of Failures Past: 9
Living Emoji: 54

Cass then meets with Shiva. Few words are spoken, but the fight itself is poetry in motion. Sadly, Cass loses. Shiva comforts her as she dies… and then promptly resurrects her.
Little Lady Of War: 23

I have to say: the balls on this lady! She has barely brought Cass back to life, then sits her down for a questioning. Understandably, Cass doesn’t remember what being dead is like, but she can tell Shiva why she wanted to die: because she killed a man. When Shiva shows amusement that she is that shaken up after killing just one man, Cass explains why: she read his body language as he died – first terror, then nothing. However, now that she has paid her price, she feels a good kind of different. I love how every single emotion of Cass – from her annoyance to her shame to her new hope and joy is just so evident in her face. ;___;
Living Emoji: 55
Better Off Dead: 12
Ghost Of Failures Past: 10

Cass asks where they are and Shiva explains that there is an entire cult that worships her and keeps pictures of her toughest kills as a kind of trophy. When Cass finds out that Shiva killed the man who put up the trophy wall, she asks her to bring him back, but Shiva explains that it took her a year of preparation to bring back Cass and she can only do it once. Shiva challenges her again and Cass finally understands that Shiva has just as much of a death wish as Cass herself did. They fight once more and for a while it looks like a re-run of their first match, but eventually Cass manages to turn the tables. The match ends with both of them knocked to the ground, making Cass the first person in a long, long time to survive a match with Earth’s deadliest martial artist. And she even manages to snark about it. What do we say to the god of death? Not tonight. You go, girl! ;_;
Little Lady Of War: 24
Cass Sass: 6
Opinion | I am sorry for killing everything: A millennial’s confession
I am the avocado desperado.

“Yes, it was me, and I did it to get vengeance on the boomers. They did not want me to have nice things. They insisted that I valued experiences more than possessions, while denying me the disposable income that would have permitted me to try having possessions. They forced me to live in my parents’ basement, then mocked me for living there, calling me “self-obsessed,” “entitled,” “lazy,” “narcissistic.” I could only bear so much.

They would be made to suffer. I would murder everything they loved. First, the nuclear family. Then, golf. Then, the American Dream.

At first my only motive was revenge. I killed their precious wine cork without a second thought. I watched the life ebb out of it and felt — nothing. Only emptiness, and a sort of relief.

Diamond rings I dispatched with no pain whatever. I am under far more stress than a pitiful piece of carbon ever have been.

I remember how the work week begged and pleaded for its life as it writhed in my vise-like grip. “Don’t you understand that once you destroy me, you will have to work all the time, without stopping?”

“I know,” I said. “But I do not care. I am a millennial. Work is my only joy and source of creative fulfillment.”

I am a millennial. Destruction is all I know. I no longer care what I wipe from the face of the Earth. There is nothing for me but to mount this fresh kill on my wall: a trophy. All I have ever desired.”

artandshitposts  asked:



Everyone was born with a word-or just random letters- on their arm. For James Madison the word was Serendipity. But he came from a family of unmatched.  People who didn’t have soulmates who found their own love. So when he discovered his tattoo he tried to hide it from his family, but they found out. They wanted him to embrace the fact that he was destined to be with someone but he refused to. So at school he would always wear hoodies, change in the bathroom for gym, pretty much never show any skin. 

Then there was Thomas Jefferson. Everyone knew his word, Serendipity, and everyone figured that the person who had it had to go to a different school, because who in their right mind would hide from Thomas Jefferson? James had known that Thomas and him were soulmates for years now but he never spoke up about it. He knew all the torment Thomas and his friends put him through would end but it wasn’t worth it. 

Keep reading

Leela in Time in Office: Happily married with Andred and has K9 as their pet dog and hangs her hunting kills as trophies on her kitchen wall.
Leela In Gallifrey series: Missing husband turns out to be traitor turns out to be murdered with K9 destroyed.
Also Leela: Has gained a family in Romana, Narvin and Braxiatel.

thaliamaybe  asked:

trick or treat!

“So,” says Phichit over a platter of scrambled eggs and home fries, “Not that I’m not grateful for a chance to visit my best friend, but what made you invite me up here on such short notice? You sounded pretty panicked over the phone.”

Yuuri sighs, looks around the diner. It’s charming in a countryside way, with wood panelling and hunting trophies on the walls as well as framed photographs of the town’s construction and an old-time jukebox that still inexplicably works. There’s a couple other people here, but all of them are occupied in their own little worlds, such as the truckers chatting with the waitresses at the counter and the teen couple splitting a milkshake in the back. 

“There’s something off about this town,” he says quietly. Phichit raises an eyebrow, one forkful of egg halfway to his mouth. 

“Off how?” he wonders. “It looks like a really nice place to live!”

“That’s the thing,” says Yuuri. “It’s really nice, and yet last night around eleven I heard screaming and something slamming the back screen door. Makkachin wouldn’t stop barking.”

“Barking at the wind?” wonders Phichit, his eyes wide. 

“Yeah, though it’d be a lot less freaky if it weren’t for the fact that people keep going missing here.”

“Missing,” echoes Phichit. He glances towards the entrance, where a noticeboard full of different missing persons flyers is posted alongside announcements for theatre shows, concerts, and the farmer’s market. “And where did they go missing? All over town, or in one specific area?”

Yuuri sips at his coffee. “I don’t know; I haven’t had the chance to look deeper into it. School and running the rink, you know? But we’ve hired some local kids to help handle the rink, so now I could probably go and dig deeper into it.”

Phichit hums. “Yeah, I suppose – but what’s gotten you so worried about this? Do you think something bad will happen to Yurio?”

“I don’t know,” admits Yuuri. “Maybe I’m just not adjusting as well as Viktor or Yurio has and I’m all worried over nothing, again.”

“Maybe,” agrees Phichit, though his expression seems thoughtful as he flips through his phone.

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