Something I've Been Debating....

Something I've been debating....

I need help deciding.

Should i do two versions of my bucky story, one with the OC and then the second with a slightly detailed reader (like detailed background/family/last name, certain parameters she abides by, ex -> is able bodied, certain characters are able to pick her up, is no taller than 'x'.) ???

Help 😐

It's just that nobody has read my story, it's an oc story (hydra hurt us, but he brought us together) and I want someone to read it, not all of its out yet but I've been working really hard to write it and I've been doing so much research just for no one to read it...

I mean it won't be as good I think with it not being an oc but she's not very defined other than her name and details (skin, eyes, hair) which is easily changed to neutral stuff...

So please let me know.

Who’s the mighty warrior?

If you like my art, help by reblogging ♡ because it’s the only way to get my art noticed :) and prints are in bio

Beautiful 😭😭😭😭

— tale as old as time

chapter two

beast!remus x beauty!reader ★ 1.9k words

The sun had risen in Riquewihr, your father's chickens clucking outside of your small home on the outskirts of town. You tiptoed through the house to not wake up your father, grabbing and putting on your shrug that was laying over a chair. Collecting the book you had to return to Mister Longbottom from the dining room table you left the house, making your way into the town's center. You wrapped your shrug tighter around you as the brisk morning air ran a chill over you, your shoes echoing over the cobblestone path. You always went to the bakery first to make sure you got the freshest bread for you and your father.

"Good morning Madame Potter, you look puzzled." You chuckled as she walked up to the baker's stand.

"I woke up today feeling like I've lost something again, I just don't remember what." the merchant replied, one of her ceramic bowls in her hands as she looked around her space in confusion. She stopped her search to grab a fresh loaf from her basket and handing it over to you in exchange for a few coins. "Where are you off to today, amie?"

"I just finished reading this book, I'm on my way to return it now. It's about two lovers in northern Italy."

"Sounds boring." Lily scrunched her nose with a smile.

You laughed and waved at the red head , turning to walk towards the town's tiny library. You didn't have to look around to know that the other villagers were staring at you. Since arriving, your father and yourself were often pushed aside and looked down upon. Your father was older, and an inventor. Apparently being the two meant that there was something off in your head. And you, a young woman with no intention of finding herself a husband, were promised to a life of loneliness and poor lifestyle. Many assumed that once your father was gone, you would end up on the streets begging for scraps, a woman with nothing with the ability to read, deeming you useless.

Lucky for you, friendship was easily found in Lily Potter and Frank Longbottom, the kind owner of the library. You continued your stroll, the bell tower ringing to indicate the start of the day.

The town square was the most colorful part of the village, stands full of perfectly picked flowers and buckets of the season's harvests. Vendors shouted over the crowd selling textiles and meats, a cleaver just barely missing your arm as you got pushed around the hustle and bustle of the market.

"Y/N!

A self proclaimed war hero. An arrogant hunter who all the women in the village were in love with. Evan Rosier was Riquewihr's most eligible bachelor, his tall stature and aristocratic features apparently the best thing since fresh bread. He wasn't the brawniest, but he held himself such a way that made all the ladies swoon.

"Here, beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady."

You did your best to keep a polite smile on your face as Evan just about shoved the bouquet into your arms. This unfortunately wasn't your first encounter with the hunter, and you feared it wasn't the last. You knew he was considered the most handsome man in the village, but no amount of attractiveness could overlook such a sour and vain personality. Glancing down at the colorful arrangement of flowers in her hands, you nodded towards Evan and took a step back to continue on your stroll.

"Thank you Evan, I'll see you-"

"Dinner, tonight. I'll arrive just before sundown." he smirked,

"Sorry, I'm busy!" You began walking away from him, the flowers slowly getting ripped apart as you squeezed you way through the crowd to further distance from him. Apologies Mister Longbottom, the books will have to wait for another day.

"Not too busy for a gentleman's company, I'm sure!"

You weaved around the market, slipping into an alleyway, holding your breath to hear if he was nearby. As soon as you saw him strut by, you let out a breath of relief, letting yourself leaning against the stone wall for a moment before turning towards the direction of your house.

Surprisingly, Evan wasn't even the worst part of Riquewiher. The villagers weren't as good at whispering as they thought, or perhaps they meant for you to hear all of the mean comments they made daily. You weren't oblivious to the nasty glares and insults. You didn't share the same miniscule mindset as everyone else, and you wished that one day you could leave it all behind and explore what else the world has to offer. Until then, your books will have to do.

With your little cottage just up ahead, the coast felt clear. But of course with your luck, an obnoxious smile and shiny boots stopped you in your path.

"That's a nice book you have there."

"Evan, do you read?"

You stand there looking confused as he let out a boisterous laugh, shaking his head. "What kind of man do you take me for, of course I don't."

"Of course, how silly of me to assume there was anything in that head of yours besides.. well, is there even a brain in there?"

"Ladies mustn't speak like—" You shut the door behind and blew out a breath, relieved to be at home in your safe space. Hearing your father's whistling from the dining room table, you smiled and walked over to him hunched over his newest invention. It seemed to be his favorite project, a small metal replica of what you believed to be your old family home in Paris. Inside sat tiny figurines identical to your father, mother, and a small bundle which had to have been yourself.

"I don't think the villagers like me very much."

"What's not there to like about you? You're beautiful, very smart, and most importantly, you're kind." he sent you a certain look, the side of his mouth twitching up. "Sort of like someone I used to know."

Your eyes softened at his response. It warmed your heart to know that no matter how much time went on since your mother's passing, his love for her never faded.

Your father gives you a sympathetic smile, coming over to kiss the top of your head before turning back around to collect his things and packing them in a trunk. That's right, it was the time of year that your father left town and traveled to the market to sell his work and meet other creatives. Though you'd missed him dearly, his trips took no longer than a few days.

"Alright my little flower, what shall I bring you back?"

"You already know father. All I'd like is a rose."

The journey to the market was a relatively easy and familiar one. Your father and family horse, Philippe, take the same woodland route every few months. Upon reaching a fork in the road he doesn't remember existing, a breeze of cold air runs through the forest, sending a bit of a chill throughout his body.

"Well Philippe, we've got to make sure we pick the right path." he laughed to himself , nudging the horse towards the right. This path was unfamiliar, but it couldn't take him too far off from his destination. Besides, he'd look bad making that joke to Phillippe only to take the opposite route.

He had to say, the treetops blocking out the sun did make it a little chillier, and the lack of the usual river he followed deprived him from the calming sounds of the running water. The two continued on through the forest, making the most of the greenery and the.. snow?

Philippe's hoof clacking became muffled as the fluffy snowfall increased, a far away howl waking up the artist from his calm state. He was not at the age to try an outrun any wolves, especially not with the precious cargo he had strapped to his horse. Nudging his hooved friend with his calf, they carefully trotted along. The sun had begun setting an hour later, making it harder to see for the older man. Philippe and himself were tired, they were not expecting for this journey to take as long as it had, perhaps he should've taken the left path instead. Just as he was about to give and set up camp among the trees, metal gates came into view. As they got closer, he realized that the metal gates stood at the entrance of a large garden, with an even larger castle standing tall behind it.

With the drop in temperature, your father wasted no time in passing through the gates, tying Philippe up outside, and entering the castle. The foyer was dark, apart from the warm glow from the crackling fireplace. He quickly made his way over to the the heat, rubbing his hands together and letting out a big sigh of relief from escaping the cold even just for a moment.

A clinking of ceramic pulled his attention away from the fire, eyes scanning the room. They finally fell upon a a teacup sitting on a saucer, sliding across the floor in his direction. The teacup then looked up at him with his eyes and spoke. "Mum said I wasn't allowed to move, in case I scare you. But you looked cold so I thought you might like a hot cup of tea."

He blinked, nodded politely while his mind ran a thousand kilometers a minute. "Right, well.. I actually-"

Your father may not be young enough to outrun wolves but he hopes he's faster than this teacup. Philippe's lead had never been untied faster, hoping he was only experiencing hypothermia induced hallucinations while inside. He mounted the horse find his way to his original destination when he notices rose vines nearby, a speckles of red peeking out from the sheet of snow.

"Oh," A cloud of cold breath joins his laugh, "How could I forget?"

Jumping off Philippe, he step towards the prettiest flower to take home to you, when a deep snarl stops him in his tracks. He looks up just as the shadow looming over him presents itself, shaggy fur and giant horns making him fall back onto the snow. He tries to crawl quickly back to Philippe but the monster took hold of his arm and dragged him back into the castle. The frightened horse manages to escape and run off, leaving his owner in the hands of the massive predator.

"Please, let me go! I'll never tell a soul I was here, I promise!" his cries echoed through the candle-lit stairwells on the towers, reaching no one. Roughly thrown into the cell by the creature, he sat with his back against the wall and held his arm in pain.

"Oh I'll make sure of it." The giant beast growled lowly, locking the cell door and stomping away.

Your father had slumped down in his cell, his heart feeling heavy thinking of you alone back home. The stone was ice cold and rough, and the cell had a large opening that led to nothing but what seemed to be a fifty foot drop to his death.

On the steps leading to the West Wing sat a clock, a candelabra, a teapot, and a teacup. They watched in sorrow as their master stomped passed by them to his bedroom where an encased rose sat, one of its enchanted petals falling off and wilting away.

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I ended up finishing some artwork for money, and I am now going to have my body pillows commissioned. I'm very excited!!!!

Hey yall in the COD fandom.🤭🤭..if any of yall are artists could someone possibly uh.. either make orrr link some art that would be good to use for a lil uh... body pillow that would be great, 👀👀👀my requests are price and ghost and konig. ❤️❤️🥺🥺🥺

(Please no like full nudity, I still live with my parents yall, I don't need em to like question my sanity.)💀💀💀🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

Shirtless is fine but keep them undies on!! 👀👀Also ghost better keep his mask on for both sides same with konig.. so um if yall need some like compensation I could write yall a lil sum sum👀👀, or I could even draw yall something! 🦖😶(I just don't got no money for yall and I'm starving for some body pillows cause they lacking in that department.🧍‍♀️)

(PS it would only be used for personal use, I promise I won't use it for monetary gains)😚😚😚

Either dm me or tag me if you do it! Or reblog this with it attached. I'm actually sobbing because there's like nothing good for any of the characters I want and I'm so sad rn

Currently smiling like an idiot athow cute this was.

that’s my man (and my woman)

Summary: Your kids are curious little buggers. Asking questions about everything and anything under the sun. So there comes the complications of when your kids ask you if you’ve fallen in love before. How will you explain everything? Time to put your imagination to use.

A/N - I’ve been putting out a lot of sexy fics recently. Why not some fluff?

Song Inspo: Style - Taylor Swift and Perfect - Ed Sheeran

It took so long just to get two human beings to eat breakfast.

“Charlie, Sam, breakfast!” You called up the stairs, sighing after you did. Your hands were on your hips in true mom fashion, and disbelief and faux-regret was your adrenaline high this time as you wondered why exactly you had kids. That you loved to death despite their poor eating schedule. “Come on, I made pancakes.”

The thundering of little feet on the stairs told you that you had two incoming hurricanes.

Your seven year old boy, Sam, and your five year old girl, Charlie, appeared at the bottom of the stairs with broad smiles, crashing into you for a bear hug that knocked the wind out of your sails. You laughed as you hugged them back, giving a few pats of their head each. “Hey, there. Ready for breakfast?”

“Is there syrup?” Charlie asked eagerly, running and hopping into a high chair, grabbing her plate of pancakes and bringing it to her with a familiar lick of her lips and happy, twitchy grin. Sam had gotten his father’s hair, while Charlie had gotten yours. But the eyes were swapped around, and it was always a point of laughing. Not one child could be more like one or the other.

Arguably, both kids had their father’s dimples and smile. So yes, he could stake his claim.

“And whipped cream?” Sam added with a toothy grin.

“Raspberries?”

“Blueberries?”

You shook your head with a chuckle; such chatterboxes. You opened the fridge and a cabinet, getting out the maple syrup, whipped cream and strawberries. “Not too much, ok?” You passed the toppings to them, and with a chorused ‘yes, mom’, they proceeded to completely disregard your orders. It made you shake your head again, huffing out a breath when all sense of scolding them disappeared once you saw the golden morning light hitting their little heads as they squealed and laughed.

Kids. You loved them to bits.

“Mom,” Charlie asked through a bite of pancake and whipped cream that smeared over her mouth, “have you ever loved someone before?”

The question startled you slightly, but you grabbed a kitchen towel, cleaning her lips with a soft smile as she shied away with a shriek of delight, little bunches waving about wildly. “Course I have, sweetie. But only once.”

“Ooh, tell me, tell me!” She giggled, while Sam cringed a little, muttering a small ‘gross’ that got a sharp glare and pout from Charlie. Out of care for his little sister, he shut himself up.

You took a slow breath in to give yourself time to think, leaning on the counter and putting down the paper towel. “Well, it started a long time ago. When I was twenty six, all young.”

“That’s old.” Sam wrinkled his nose in confusion. You scoffed lightly, because it damn wasn’t, but he was just a kid.

“Behave, Samuel.” You ruffled his hair with a laugh. “We met at my old job. 4th October, 2006. He had his brother with him. Now, I thought he was trouble. He had a leather jacket and one of those really fancy, loud cars and he was very popular with girls.” You reached out to tickle Charlie’s side, which had her squeaking. “But he was likeable, and charming, so I wanted to bump into him more often.”

“Was he cool?” Sam perked up, suddenly very interested. “He sounds cool.”

You pinched his chin affectionately. “The coolest. But our job was very tiring. We went through a lot of big stuff, like I told you in your bedtime stories. There would be vampires and werewolves and fairies of all kinds, but he and I would always save the day. And if we didn’t, we’d save the next day.”

“You saved the world!” Charlie exclaimed, making an aeroplane with a pancake bite on her fork. The action sent a flutter of warmth and love through your chest. For your family. Something you thought you’d never have.

You nodded, guiding the bite to her mouth gently before your hyperactive child sent the fork flying. “That’s right, gumdrop. We saved the world.” It was like telling a story, of you and your prince. “I couldn’t help but love him. He’d call me sweetheart and hold me tight. He’d look at me with a wide smile on his face, just for me. And he told me I was the one he was looking for.”

“That’s corny.” Sam piped up, but he also had a wide, goofy, dimpled grin on his face. He leaned forward. “So, where is he now? Did you two leave each other?”

“Well, he-” The sound of the door opening and closing echoed through the house, followed by soft padding steps and heavier ones not so far behind.

“Sweetheart, I’m home!” A familiar voice called, the deep one which always had your stomach doing flips. That you heard murmuring sweet nothings in your ear every damn day. “C’mon Miracle, stay still- attaboy. Such a good boy.”

“That would be your father.” You sighed, not in a disappointed way, but a lovesick teenager way because hearing the word ‘sweetheart’ from your husband’s mouth never got old.

Your husband. Damn, you didn’t think you’d make it to that point. Not when Chuck was still a threat. Or even that rebar that Jack saved him from.

Your kids shrieked happily and practically flew off their high chairs, sprinting towards their dad, who was busy taking off his jacket in the hallway.

Dean Winchester. All 6’ 1” of flannel and denim, but this time with burden-free smiles and lit up looks.

When he saw his two munchkins, the jacket was off in a flash and he’d bent to one knee in order to absorb the impact of two koala hugs. “Aw, hey, squirt number one and two. Hope you didn’t give your mom much trouble.”

It felt so much better than the impact of a punch. Indescribably better.

“Dad!” The two giggled at the same time, accepting two kisses on the forehead each while being smothered by their dad’s strong arms. Warm and comforting and no longer instruments of destruction.

They’d always be somewhat like that, Dean thought in the back of his mind. The seed of doubt sowing in again.

Then Dean saw you in the hallway, and his brain forgot to work, doubts forgot to sow and crept into the dark corner it came from. You, his wife (he never got tired of the way that word rolled off his tongue), Mrs Winchester, standing there all pretty looking at him with those eyes of yours that always saw through his crap and often jackassery.

Dressed up in his undershirt, your sweats with the last few winks of sleep yet to go from your eyes, but still working yourself to the bone to make sure your kids had a good meal. A far cry of the days where he’d look up, see you covered in blood that wasn’t yours, adrenaline-pumped with that sexy fire in your eyes, machete in hand instead of that ring he bought around your finger.

He preferred this look on you. It meant you were safe.

Dean watched as you gave Miracle an idle scratch before ushering the kids into the kitchen, then walking up to him and wrapping those gorgeous arms around his neck, gorgeous eyes twinkling and your gorgeous lips stretched into a smile.

The whole nine yards, apple pie and picket fence of gorgeous and it was all his. All his personal heaven.

“Mrs Winchester.” He murmured, nudging your nose with his as his arms circled your waist, drawing you in and gripping your hips with both underlying possessiveness and a tender glow in those emerald eyes. Your soul soaring and low, warm vibrations in your body increasing until it was at the frequency of his. Syncing you both.

“Mr Winchester.” You giggled softly as you let your lips meet his once, pulling back. Then you couldn’t help yourself, letting them meet in holy matrimony again. And again. And again, over and over until you were both mentally and physically restraining yourselves due to your children being in the next room.

“We have to stop.” Dean chuckled, his hand tangling in your hair as the other inched down from its place on your hip, taking yet another hit of your honeyed lips.

“We do.” You whispered back, meeting his ministrations with the slow massage of your thumb against his scalp from where your fingers ran through his hair, your other hand on his chest.

Over his heart.

“Hard to when y’looking so pretty, darlin’, and you know it.” He huffed, nuzzling your nose before dipping to press a slow, hot kiss to your jugular. “Wearin’ my shirt too, hardens the bargain. And these sweats, god, you know what they do for your ass.” As if to punctuate his point (and sentence), he gave a quick, firm slap to it. “Ain’t makin’ it easy for me here, baby.”

“Dean!” You squeaked, giggling. “Our kids are in the kitchen.”

“Lil’ buggers. My sex drive’s arch nemesis.” He groaned against your neck, but listened anyway, taking his hand off your ass and cupping your cheeks, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead, then hairline. “C’mon.” You two made your way to the kitchen, where Miracle then padded over, rearing on his hind legs to paw at Dean’s jeans for attention. He obliged, bending down to ruffle Miracle’s golden coat.

“Hey, boy.” He whispered, fingers doing good work to give Miracle the love he was whining for. “I love you a lot, ok? But I’ve got a wife, a very sweet, very sexy…” Dean gave you a once over with a lick of his lip and a quick bite of the bottom one, “wife. And I wanna get her in bed today, so don’t ruin this one for me. All respect given. Alright?”

A small whimper of affirmation.

“Attaboy.” Dean gave Miracle a quick scratch behind the ear before straightening up.

“C’mon, mom, tell us what happened to the cool guy!” Sam insisted, which had Dean raising an eyebrow at you in question. Cool guy? Who, what, when, where, how, why?

“Yeah, the one that stole your heart and put rainbows in your eyes!” Charlie added, making a heart with her tiny hands.

Dean smirked, leaning against the counter by his hip. “Oh? Who stole your heart and put rainbows in your eyes, honey? Do tell.”

“First of all, I did not say that.” You chuckled, raising a finger.

“You don’t have to. It’s all here.” Charlie pointed to her own eyes with an intense stare at her finger and a cute pout. It almost had you melting. “But tell us!”

“Oh, fine.” You rolled your eyes playfully with a laugh, then took Dean’s hand and kissed the battle-scarred knuckle.

The gesture making Dean internally melt and externally making his eyes fill up with hearts and his lips twitch into a warm smile.

“I married him.” You said softly, your eyes mirroring the same look.

“Damn right.” He chuckled, leaning forward and meeting your lips in a sweet, slow kiss. Free from the stress of an Apocalypse or a battle. That tasted like coffee and toothpaste rather than beer or whiskey and had no rush. His hand cradling your cheek while yours gently cupped the back of his head. Breathing in his body wash that wasn’t low grade anymore. You still had the unlimited credit cards, so you had more time for things like these. The little things.

You became absorbed in everything Dean, the kiss not as passionate as when he’d dipped you and took your breath away in front of a crowd of hunters on your wedding day but still had the same meaning. The whispers of the vows you two had choked out through tears. He became absorbed in you, in the sweet taste of a croissant on your tongue and your floral scent dizzying and overwhelming his senses in a good way. It was you he was feeling. It felt like you, so real, so safe. It felt like home.

“Ewwww!” You were interrupted by Sam and Charlie, and you broke apart, foreheads pressing together with a soft laugh coming from the both of you.

His hand on your waist, yours carding through his hair. Comfort, assurance, something you both had been deprived of for fifteen straight years. You wouldn’t let being Mrs Winchester go. Not now, not ever.

Mrs Winchester. Never got old.

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So i just watched moulin Rouge two nights ago😐😐😐... think I might be dead.😱😱😱

Thought I loved ewan before this, but my heart has been stolen😭😭. His voice is so angelic. I actually cried so many times. 😭 like I am not okay.

Literally me the past two days ^

I can't stop listening to the songs.🙂 I mean the movie was great but...Ewan...omg.🥵 this man literally is older than my dad and I'm frothing at the mouth. 🤠🤠🤠🤠