#slice n dice those nails

[gatorbites-imagines]

Handsome Devil

Part 2

Billy Loomis x Stu Macher x Slasher Male Reader

Summary: Billy and Stu have really caught (Y/N)s attention, and as the new student at Woodboro high is making the ghostface duo nervous, a budding obsession is created with another slasher.

I have no idea how to link past posts, so just check the Handsome Devil tag.

This has not been proof-read btw

Will write more for this if anybody is interested

Tw: Talk about slicing and dicing people. Comparing people to butchered animals.

Tagged since you asked: @acethecardsblog​

It was the day after the murder of one Casey Becker and her boyfriend Steve Orth. It seemed as if everyone was on edge, and the front of the school was covered in reporters and interviewers. Students were leaving the school as the bell rang, signaling the end of the day. Among those students was (Y/N), who had moved to Woodsboro a few weeks ago. He was well dressed in form fitting high waist pants and a turtleneck sweater, along with a golden chain necklace and high-quality watch. His well-polished shoes clicking against the concrete as he walked along with his new friend group.

Tatum was comforting Sidney, as apparently the anniversary of her mother’s murder the year prior was approaching, and these sudden killings were putting her on edge. Outside your group met up with the girls’ boyfriends, Billy Loomis and Stu Macher. (Y/N) stared at the two guys, his eyes boring into their backs that was turned towards him. As if feeling the stare, Billy turned his head and locked eyes with the taller individual. (Y/N) smiled a smile he knew sent many swooning, his eyes seeming to twinkle like he knew a secret he shouldn’t.

Billy looked like he wanted to do or say something, but the group of three reached them before he could. As the two girls fell into conversation with their boyfriends and started walking, (Y/N) followed behind them, adding to their conversation when needed. He kept glancing at the two shorter men, zeroing where he saw a bruise on Stu knuckles, and the dirt under Billy’s nails. When he locked eye with Stu, (Y/N) just smiled once again, and told the group this was where he would be parting with them.

He waved as the group kept going, but as Stu and Billy looked back at him, he just sent them a knowing grin before going on his way. (Y/N) knew now his stomach-feeling was right. With just how suspicious and nervous those two were, it had to be them. And from what (Y/N) had figured out, Stu had dated Casey Becker until she left him for Steve, if what Randy told him was right.

It made (Y/N) giddy, knowing there was someone like himself here in Woodsboro. His fingers twitched and he felt saliva collect in his mouth, and butterflies flutter in his stomach and abdomen. With a smirk to himself, he sped up his walk and hurried home. He needed to go out again tonight, the craving in his chest demanded it.

Part of him wanted to target the two other killers of the city, wanted to rip them apart and look at their insides. Maybe he could even play the part of classmate who had discovered their secret before he struck. The very idea of Billy or Stu, or even both, beneath him, bleeding and cut open like a Christmas dinner, almost made his eyes roll back into his head.

Rushing inside when he got home, (Y/N) ran up the stairs to his room and locked the door after him. His parents were rarely home, but the thought that they would walk in through the door when he was busy, was enough for him to at least lock his room door.

(Y/N) looked outside of his window, his eyes searching every area he himself would hide when hunting, and when he saw nothing, he was disappointed but pulled the blinds. As darkness filled his room, he flicked on the light switch, and dug under his bed. Under a couple of floorboards, he pulled up a locked box. It was locked with multiple numbered and lettered locks, at least 5. That, along with the box itself having a numbered lock, protected his most treasured items.

After the tedious work of opening the box, he pulled out the multiple polaroid images of his last victims. Many were barely clothed of naked all together. Many were sliced apart and pulled open, like the butchered animal they were. Flipping through the many pictures, he stopped on two. One had longer dark hair and brown eyes, whilst the other had short dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. They looked just enough like his current fixation, they (Y/N) felt hot under the neck of his sweater.

Throwing the pictures on his bed, (Y/N) quickly pulled off his shirt and accessories, and struggled with his belt as he got to his feet. As his belt hung open, (Y/N) stopped infront of his mirror. He looked half-crazed, like he had just had the best romp in the hay any could wish for, and yet he was still starving for more.

The butterflies in his abdomen strengthened, and with a moan he kicked off his shoes and pants, and dove into his well-made bed. Pulling the pictures up to his face, (Y/N) grinned to himself as he imagined just how much fun Billy and Stu would bring him. He couldn’t wait to play with them and see them break under him.

#Handsome Devil #male reader #slasher #slasher x male reader #slasher imagine #slasher headcanon #billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomis x male reader #stu macher x male reader #billy loomis imagine #stu macher imagine #billy loomis headcanon #stu macher headcanon #slasher reader #slasher male reader

[oppositeurmama]

The Bear and the maiden fair (Bjorn X Reader)

A/N - this contains smut with dubious consent! I don’t want anyone to get triggered, so if you are not comfortable with this, pls don’t read! <3

Warnings; violence, dub-con

P.s - I don’t condone any of the following actions, I find it repulsive.

The castle had been stormed hours ago. The villagers had died first, slaughtered in their homes and in their forges, the blacksmiths branded with their own tools, the butchers sliced and diced like prized hogs. And after the village had been burned to the ground, the plunderers came to the castle. They forced down the great oak doors, killed any who stood in their way. 

My father had been the first to die. He’d been on his throne when one of the barbarians had launched a spear, and it hit him straight through the gullet, the sharp iron tip pinning him into the wood backrest. My mother had been the second to die, after she screamed for god to help. 

But the gods were cruel. They didn’t listen to women anymore, even high-born ones like me, even though i was the lucky one. As my family were gutted, i had hid in the only place i could dare think to hide; my bedroom. It wasn’t a clever or sneaky place to hide, to be true, but the door locked and there was only one key, and i was the sole owner.

***

Hours passed. The screams filled my castle, blood splattered the wall and stained the cobbled floors, and those damned screams and pleas of help fell on deaf ears, forgotten by the barbaric cries of the savages who seeked only to slaughter, to take and to take, to never give back. 

I was beneath my bed when the door came crashing down. A great axe stuck through the wood and stripped back the bark, hack hack hack! I held my breath, placed my hands over my mouth as my chest heaved, seeking sanctuary in the dark low confines underneath my wooden bed. 

The door opened, squealing on iron hinges. Goosebumps prickled my skin. The viking stepped through the doorway, treading heavy over chunks of splintered wood and debris. “Princess.” He called, in a growling rasp. “You ran, little princess, and we didn’t know where.” The viking walked across the vast expanse of my room and he dragged his sword against the floor, the iron sparking against the cobbles. “i found you, princess. And now . . .” 

I swallowed a sob and the scraping of his sword stopped. He turned on his heel and before i could barely comprehend, he’d gripped my ankle and pulled me out from under the bed. “You’re mine!”

He pinned me down, and I glanced up at him, too frightened to dare speak, my words catching in my throat, my tongue growing fat from fear. And despite my terror, no tears fell. “Bjorn ironside.” I said, shakily. “You’re Bjorn Ironside.”

A flash of moonlight set his face alight. His smile was cruel and thin. “I am.” He admitted, and my jaw trembled. My chest heaved with the effort it took to breath and not scream for help, or even to sob. “Are you going to kill me?”

Bjorn smiled and gripped my jaw between his thumb and forefinger. He studied me as though i was a fine piece of art-work, his favourite book, a goddess of lore. Finally, he spoke. “No, i won’t kill you. You’re too . . . sweet, for a thing like that, princess.”

I tensed my shoulders, but his eyes were too bright, almost eerie. They cut through me like glass, stripped me bare, left me ashamed and uneasy. His voice was a low, guttural rasp. “Will you fight me, little princess?” He questioned, raising my hands above my head. “Will you beg me to stop?” He took a small dagger from the leather throng at his side, and used it to divulge me of clothing. 

I shook my head. “No.” I said, quietly, too meek to even resist. I truly beleived that, even if i tried to protest or even raise my knee to that tender spot between his legs, he’d beat me black and bloody. 

At my answer, the Viking smiled. “Good.” 

The stone floor was cold against my back. Even if i wanted to fight, i couldn’t. He was too heavy, covering me with his bulk. His hands were rough and careless against my skin, as the icy blade of his dagger slit the soft silk of my bodice and when he lowered his face to kiss me, i tasted blood.

Bjorn’s fingers were mean and cruel against my warm skin, and they travelled to my core, only to find me dry. He grunted against my mouth, irked. When we parted, i turned my face to the side, wrinkled my nose up in disgust. 

Bjorn chuckled lowly and spat on his hand, then lowered it between my legs. “Don’t worry, princess.” He assured, slipping a thick finger into my cunt. “You’ll learn to like this soon enough.” 

It was uncomfortable and foreign. I squirmed and his hot, hungry mouth lowered to bite and nip and kiss my neck. I tried to lift my torso, but he was impossible to move. “Don’t.” I said, harshly. 

He raised his face and smiled. I spat in his face. 

His eyes grew cold, like pale blue ice. It frightened me, and my heart beat heavy and hard beneath my chest, thump thump thump, faster than a snared rabbit’s. “Fiesty, huh?” He questioned, and laughed cruelly. 

The swollen head of his cock was at my entrance. He was big, and he was brutal. With one hand pinning my arms above my head, the other gripped my hip, leaving bruises in his wake. and with one sharp thrust, i wept. 

His jaw clenched and, as though he was punishing me, Bjorn pulled his hips back hard if only to slam back inside me again. The metal of his armour scratched my tender skin, and my cunt burned around his cock, raw and red and aflame.

His movements grew more frenzied, the harsh thrusting depriving me of air in my lungs. His hand firmly squeezed my hip, my back hit the ground hard, and then  I collided against his torso the next. It was almost as if we were fighting instead of coupling. When he thrust forward and the tip of his dick hit my cervix painfully, a bolt of hot pain shot through my stomach when he slammed back into me, harder than before. I shut my eyes and yelped. 

He grimaced and pushed me back to the floor, with his hand forcing my arms into the stones. His groin bumped against my sensitive mound, assuring that no trace of my precious maidenhead remained. “Hold onto me.” He grunted, lifting up one of my thighs. 

I glanced over his muscular shoulder, my eyes trained on the ceiling and the twinkling chandelier, though in the gloom everything was unrecognizable. I did as he bid, wrapped my legs around his hips and looped my arms around his neck, unwilling to fight anymore. 

When Bjorn thrust inside me, it didn’t hurt as much. Encouraged, i clutched at him as tightly as i could, the smell of sweat and blood filling my nostrils, the sound of his moans vibrating against the shell of my ear. I arched my back and predicted his cruel thrusting, and slowly, the friction from Bjorn’s cock pounding away at my cunt managed to rouse a queer tickling sensation at the pit of my stomach. My eyelids grew heavy.

Bjorn lowered his other hand to palm my breast, pushing aside the silk fabric of my slashed dress, as he rolled my hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You like that, princess?”

My cunt clenched at his incessant pounding. I dug my nails into the tanned nape of his neck, and whimpered. He pressed his warm lips to mine and kissed me, tasting strongly of iron. His beard scratched my face, and he plunged his tongue deeper into my mouth. He brought his hand between our bodies and i flinched, expecting more pain, only to find pleasure; hot, flashing bolts of pleasure. 

The friction of his manhood as he tirelessly impaled me, and the queer warmth which was pooling in my stomach tainted my thoughts. I moaned into his mouth and he cursed, “Fuck.” 

Beneath him, my whole body shook when he played with my clit. I hit my peak, toes curling, back arching, breasts pushed flat against his muscled chest, quivering and whimpering beneath him, my gasps and pleas smothered by his hot, hungry mouth. And with my climax, came his. 

Bjorn shoved himself to the hilt and uttered a long, low growl. He kept me flush against him for more than a moment, and after a few desperate thrusts, he stiffened and collapsed, crushing me beneath his bulk.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. When he pulled out and leaned back on his heels, lifting up my silk skirts to look admiringly at my tender pussy, he grinned. Between my thighs was a sticky mess of cum and blood. He leaned down and licked the entirety of my cunt from hole to mound, and i pushed him away, too tender to be played with. “Please.” I begged, shaking my head. “No more.” 

Bjorn crawled atop me and wedged his knee between my thighs to keep me from closing them. “Easy now, princess.” He muttered, capturing my face in his hands, pressing his lips to mine. He kissed me rough and i tasted blood, my blood, on his tongue. “You’re mine.” He said, finally. “All mine.”

#Bjorn #bjorn ironside #vikings #ragnar #ragnar lothbrok #ivar #ivar the boneless #sigur #sigurd snake in the eye #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarrson #hvitserk lothbrok #ubbe #ubbe ragnarsson #aslaug #vikings smut #bjorn smut #bjorn lemon #bjorn ironside dub-con

[cherri-cherri]

× Little Flower ×

-----------×-----------

Pairings - Ryoumen Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis - No one was allowed to touch you as you were his. Those who dared would suffer a fate worse than death...

Warnings - Possible Grammar Errors, Slight Gore, Swear Words

A/N - This fic here is pretty short but I wanted to write this after having a weird dream with flowers and Sukuna. I honestly have mixed feelings about this one but I hope you all enjoy! - 🍒

----------------×----------------

"Speak, girl. Do you know why you stand here on trial here today?" A voice called out to you from above but you simply kept your head hanging down to stare at the stacks of dry wood pressed under your feet. Your body ached due to the countless bruises and cuts littering your skin and the tightness of the ropes cutting into your bound wrists weren't helping at all in the slightest.

"Y/N L/N, do you understand why you stand before us?" The voice repeated again, this time a rough hand grabbing ahold of your hair and gripping it tightly, forcing you to stare up at the man before you.

"Cat has your tongue? Well then, let me remind you that you were caught giving aid to the king of curses. No doubt spreading your legs for him like that harlot you are" his words only mirrored the disgusted look in his cold grey eyes, glaring down at you as his grip on your hair only tightened. Sad to think that you would be used to this knowing your uncle was not a kind or gentle man and yet his words only stung.

"...I did no such thing....He was hurt and I was trying to help, I was–" Letting out a yelp as your cheek burned from the slap your uncle gave you, you felt tears prickling your eyes as he leaned in closer.

"Liar!! Someone saw you with him, saw you hold him! It is obvious that your vile ways allowed him to take over your mind and possess you!" Yelling at the top of his lungs, you heard others around you cheering the man on as some even chimed in. So many hateful words, so many people who you believed to friends and family only for all of them to look at you with such disdain and anger. Tears began to form until your uncle released you and stepped away, "There is only one way to save your soul now before he swallows it whole. The flames will send you to the afterlife and maybe then, you will be saved."

Your heart dropped after hearing that. You were going to die, all because of giving a monster sanctuary, all because you tried to be kind. Men carrying large clay pots came to the stake you were bound to and then began splashing you with oil. Coughing as the liquid was poured ontop of your head, you heard the chanting of the people all around you, screaming and yelling for your death over and over again as your uncle came walking back towards you while holding up a lit torch.

This was the end. Your miserable life ending at such a horrible note, it made you let out a small saddened chuckle as you slowly closed your eyes and waited for the fire to engulf your completely until nothing but ash reminded.

You waited..

And waited..

The ropes wrapped around your wrists were soon sliced off and at the same time, you hear a few thuds collapsing onto gravel not too far away from you. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself staring at your uncle. Your now headless uncle. The blood erupting from his neck like a geyser as the body slumped down to its knees, occasionally twitching as the blood sprayed across your face and ragged dress. The color drained from your face completely as you stared down at the blood on your clothes, horrified until a large tattooed around wrapped itself around your waist. Freezing completely, you looked back forward to see the villagers beginning to flee until those who even took a step back were diced into cubed pieces.

"Any human who moves another muscle will die." A rough voice called out behind you, sending your heart to panic. Turning your head slightly to the side, you saw him.

Ryoumen Sukuna.

His eyes darted down towards you, crimson hues staring into your watery E/C eyes and he simply gave you a toothy grin. "Come on now, Y/N, you shouldn't give such a frightened look to your knight in shining armor. I just saved your life."

"Y-you killed them.. " you muttered, causing Sukuna to roll his eyes as he lifted you in the air before placing you down onto his shoulder to carry you. "And? I don't see what's wrong here. You're alive, they're dead. Now that we've been over that, I think you owe me a reward—"

"I knew it..." a woman said from the crowd, her knuckles turning white from how hard she was gripping her fists. She stared at the two of you with fear in her eyes, more so you than Sukuna. "Y-you were sleeping with him..you dirty whore...letting a monster in this village. Letting a curse spread in this village!" As she screamed out, blood soon enough trickled down her lips as she felt a pain in her chest before a growing numbness. Looking down, the woman saw nothing but a gaping hole in the middle of her chest, blood dribbling down the emptiness to the stomach until she slowly collapsed on her back. Others around her screamed out, some moving from the places they were standing before being sliced in half or trisected into parts. You gasped out, covering your mouth as you felt bile rising up.

"S-she did nothing wrong!" You yelled to Sukuna as he only stared at the remaining people in the crowd with a smirk. "Wrong...As far as I see, everyone here has committed a great sin."

Crimson stained the once grey pathway as people are killed by the curse one after another. A few brave (or foolish) souls attempted to even rush at Sukuna only to make it as far as five steps forward before their insides became their outsides. A woman tried to beg for her life by offering herself as Sukuna's personal slave, even going as far as to give away to lives of her children but once again it proved nothing as she too was killed.

It didn't take long for Sukuna to kill off the rest of the villagers, regardless of their age or even if they were innocent or not. They were all killed and slaughtered brutally without mercy, their blood mixing together as the smell of their corpses began to reek. You stared down at the headless corpse of your uncle, eyes dulled as you thought perhaps it would've been better if the fire had claimed you. Then no one wouldve been killed. No, no that wasn't true.

It would've been better if you never met him. If you simply continued on your way and left him bleeding out for the shamans to find. If you had never opened your heart to the curse..then no one would've died. Then no one would've been killed. Feeling a hand brush your hair gently with his nails and combing a strain behind your ear, you were snapped out of your thoughts. Sukuna pulled you closer towards him with one arm and wrapped each of his arms around your small frame before pressing his lips onto your forehead.

"They didn't have to die..." your voice was practically a whisper at this point, hoarse and dry from the screaming and begging for him to stop. Sukuna merely chuckled as he released you, "Do you feel guilty?"

"What sort of question is that supposed to be? Of course I do...." Saying that you didn't would only be half of the truth. Sure you were angry with how they were so quick to hurt you and kill you but then again, if you knew this was what Sukuna was capable, you would've accepted the punishment. You should've listened, should've stayed away from him that night yet apart of you knew that this perhaps wouldn't have changed much.

"I don't see why when because of you, your people get to live on..."

Those words got your attention as they left you confused. Before you could even question him however, you heard a small weak voice speaking out towards it. "You've doomed us all, girl..."

You could've swore that it was your uncle speaking to you and yet you knew that was impossible seeing as his vocal cords were severed alongside his head. But when your eyes slowly looked over to the severed head, you saw a large flower growing where the blood pooled over. It might have been beautiful if it wasnt for the fact that your uncle's face was on the flower, darkened eyes staring at you. Gasping out, you covered you mouth and took a step back, pressing your back into the warm chest of Sukuna as he pointed over towards the other bodies littered around the execution ground.

A variety of flowers had sprouted forth from the blood soaked ground, each with the faces of the dead villagers as they yelled and screamed out in agony at you. So many cried out your name, children who were unfortunately brought here wailed as their mothers simply screamed out multiple swears at you. Speechless, you froze at the sight as more flowers simply began to grow up around the two of you and were only spreading. Small vines began to creep towards you, only to be sliced away when it got too far, not to you but to Sukuna.

"Regret, anger, hatred, sadness. So much negative energy, so much rage here. I wanted to repay my little flower and what else to gift her with than a garden of her own." He hunching over and reaching for one the screaming flowers, he plucked it forth from the ground as the face on it contorted in pain before it began to beg for mercy. "Flowers for my flower. Though none of this compare to you." Sukuna chuckled, placing the plant onto the back of your ear before combing a strand of your hair.

You felt disgusted as the flower's voice grew more and more faint, it practically whispering in your ear for himself to be spared such a fate. You could do nothing but silently say how sorry you were yet your hushed apologies were drowned out by the voices of your new cursed garden.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #jjk angst #jjk sukuna

[wolffesimp]

Ahsoka and Y/N’s Sleepover

--

a/n: ok so i tried to make it like a headcanon but got super carried away 1.3 K words carried away so its more like an imagine with incomplete sentences oops hahhahaha

--

--

ahsoka and y/n are two very tired padawans

though they typically enjoy to ‘pull shit’ and commit the crime of ‘general shenanigans’ 

they just have no energy

so the two girls decide to have a sleepover

an energy reboost, if you will

ahsoka told anakin if he bothered her that she was going to send the picture of he and padme kissing to all of the gossip columns in naboo

yeah, that shut him up

y/n and ahsoka first went shopping in downtown coruscant

they bought face masks, nail polish, junk food, holofilms with cute boys, and magazines with even more cute shirtless boys

the last two were more of y/n’s idea

y/n insisted on paying for everything and even ended up purchasing matching silk pajamas for themselves

they were giddy with delight as they passed by random strangers on the street

“this will be the best night ever, sokie!”

adorning their arms were their shopping bags

the jedi eyed the two curiously as they walked down the halls

obi wan kenobi stopped them in their tracks

both looked at him in an accusatory manner

“what are you two doing?”

y/n and ahsoka shared a smile

“we’re just having fun, old man!”

“i told you to stop calling me that y/n-”

but the girls were already walking away, hand in hand

kenobi shook his head, sighing at the two padawans

what a handful 

y/n and ahsoka often held hands

signaling their close friendship and everlasting bond

y/n was like ahsoka’s older sister, having been plo koon’s padawan 

she served as a mentor to ahsoka

teaching her valuable things like

how to walk in heels

how to apply lipstick

but most importantly

how to be a boss ass bitch

the girls first decided to have a dance party

because what kind of sleepover doesn’t have music?

music blasted through y/n’s droid’s speakers

they attempted to show off their best dance moves

neither could dance that well

and y/n didn’t want to show her the club dance moves she did with the clones at the 79s

after about 20 minutes of obnoxious music, mace windu sends plo koon to y/n’s room

ahsoka and y/n were known for their shenanigans 

plo koon was very concerned as to what the two were doing

so he respectfully knocked on the door

to find two very breathless and sweaty girls

“what are you two doing?”

plo koon saw bags lining the walls

they’ve been shopping

“we are having a sleepover master plo!”

“i’m glad you girls are having fun, but maybe turn down the music a little bit.”

ahsoka smiled up at their father figure

“sure!”

the door slammed shut in his face

he blinked a few times, then walked away

y/n turned off the music

“hey sokie, why don’t you bring your mattress in here? it would be so much better for when we watch holofilms and paint our nails.”

ahsoka dragged her mattress from her room, bringing it to y/n’s

they conjoined their mattresses, leaving one massive bed in the middle of the room

shortly after, the girls changed into their adorable silk pajamas

ahsoka’s were navy blue

y/n’s were (favorite color)

the design was adorable

the shorts were ruffled and low cut 

with matching spaghetti strap camis

who cares what amount of skin they showed off?!

it was just the girls!

they decided to paint each others nails next

ahsoka painted y/n’s her favorite color, as requested

soon, y/n was putting the finishing touches on ahsoka’s french tips

the girls laid beside each other on the bed

chatting about whatever came to mind

“how’s that one boy you were smitten with? 

“oh, lux? he’s out of the picture now.”

“hmm...let’s look at hot boys to cope with our feelings!”

“what about you and rex?”

caught

“um what about it?”

“i saw what i saw”

“you saw nothing”

“sucking each others faces off isn’t nothing-”

“shh sokie! look at all of these boys in here!”

and soon, the girls were taking quizzes in the useless tabloids

find out which jedi master you are!

which jedi is meant for you?

y/n started giggling after reading those headlines

“hey sokie, which jedi would you smash?”

ahsoka gaped at the girl in front of her

“are you serious?”

“dead serious. and don’t be a wimp about it.”

ahsoka considered the question carefully

“all of them are too fatherly”

y/n snorted 

“well i think master kit would be fun!”

ahsoka couldn’t help but giggle 

“you’re gross y/n!”

“which holofilm should we watch first?”

they decided on a horror movie

needless to say, that was a mistake

the girls ended up switching on all the lights

“do you think the clown will be in your bathroom?”

“no, ahsoka! besides, i will slice and dice that stanky ass with my lightsaber!”

they needed something to lighten their mood

facemasks!

the girls turned on music once again

but quieter

dancing around the room

eating all of their food

the girls spun each other around

dancing for what felt like hours

both flopped on the bed

chests rising up and down

giggling heartily 

“y/n, you are like my big sister”

heart. melted.

“don’t make me cry, sokie! you are the best little sister i could ever ask for”

their heartfelt moment was interrupted by a series of vicious knocks at the door

y/n opened the door, revealing all of the 501st

ahsoka put her hand on her hip, judging the boys silently

“did you not see the sign?”

oh yeah, did i mention they made a sign in the midst of their sleepover?

in bold red words it said

NO BOYS ALLOWED

echo pouted at y/n

“ah, i hate when you make that kriffin face. come in.”

the clones walked inside the room

it was unexplored territory to them

jesse smirked at y/n “lovin’ the outfit”

“i will beat your ass”

“sure”

ahsoka giggled as tup’s face lit up

“i can have some cake?”

y/n smiled, nudging jesse towards his brothers “everyone can have some, as long as you all share”

their eyes lit up

ahsoka and y/n shared a wistful look

they knew the clones never truly experienced life 

no childhood

no parents

no junkfood

just each other

y/n’s sorrow soon faded away as she watched hardcase moan in delight

“love at first bite?” ahsoka teased

“sweet maker, what is this stuff?”

“it’s junkfood, fives.”

“i want some!”

“sharing is caring!”

“leave some for everyone else!”

soon enough, the food was gone

they were all full to the brim

another holofilm played in the background

y/n and ahsoka noticed the boys pile together

they shared a look of confusion

until rex’s arm guided y/n into his chest

next thing they know, ahsoka and y/n were tangled into the mound of clones

ahsoka laughed

“you all sleep together?”

“when you say it like that it sounds weird. we used to do it all the time as kids.”

y/n was nuzzled between rex and jesse 

“no funny ideas, jesse.” 

a sleepy jesse rolls over to look at his captain

even in the moonlight his tattoo stuck out 

“aye aye, captain.”

subconsciously, rex’s legs tangle with y/n’s 

he plants his head in the nape of her neck

smelling her soft hair

grumbling sleepily from behind her

“g’night cyar’ika”

masterlist for more of my content

#clone wars #the clone wars #tcw #tcw fanfic #ahsoka tano #clone trooper jesse #captain rex #captain rex x reader #sw ahsoka #captain rex x y/n #obi wan kenobi #plo koon #clone trooper tup #clone trooper hardcase #clone trooper fives #kit fisto

[romeulusroy]

Temporary (Bonnie Gold Oneshot)

((PEAKY BLINDERS SEASON 5 SPOILERS))

Character/s: Bonnie

Word Count: 1,033

Requested: anon

Prompt/s: Patchwork, Safety Pin

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomrecs @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87 @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby @riana-jannat

A/N: This turned out a lot darker than I anticipated, but also what's new, y’know? Idk why, but I've been struggling with this so much. I absolutely love the concept, and even wrote an entirely different oneshot, I guess I'm just feeling insecure about my writing. None of it feels right. Nonetheless, I don't think writing a third version would help lol. I hope you like this and I hope it's not as awful as I feel it is!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: The only thing keeping you going is Bonnie 💕

Gif Credit: @bills-skarsgards :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

WANNA REQUEST A FIC?

Mud caked feet. Bleeding, torn soles pricked by thorns, by the hard ground, wounds full, choking on soil, on maggots, infection an old friend. Mother nature, in her infinite wisdom, had never been so unforgiving. Ruthless. Demonic. Nails broken, falling one by one in a gruesome attempt to lead you back to a home burning at the stake, discarded along the path of sharp turns, blurry edges. Screaming leaves rustling in the wind, crying out, threatening to fall, to leave you, just as the world fell from under you, as the sun solemnly set. Not out of her own will, her own power. The dark of the night draped over you, the wind biting, starved, the stars nothing but a mockery, finding solace in your pain. Your golden boy, with his sweet summer air, gone. Alone. Again.

Time itself an afterthought. Days and nights meant nothing. All you could do was run. Directionless. Heartless. Cold blooded. A voice between the trees, in the shadows, hummed in the twisted tunes of the crickets when they hushed you to sleep: give up. What more was there? A life cut short. Sliced. Diced. Fucking decapitated. Hung on a cross to atone for their sins. The worst kind of ending. Give up, give in, let go. Lay amongst the woods and wait. Decompose. To be picked apart until you were nothing but a pile of bones. Pray to any god who listened with compassion. Make it quick, painless, at the least dignified. Erase those dark eyes so scared, so knowing, staring you down.

He shouldn't have known where you were, he shouldn't have been able to see you in your hidden place, but he did. He always did. One word. An urge, and edge, in his silence. Run. Before things got bad, he meant. Before the gun struck him again, before they dragged him and tied him, your golden boy made only of blood. Before he hung by his wrists. Before your worst nightmare came true. Before your death. Inescapable. Run. To safety. To somewhere else. Away. Quickly, now. It would have been easy, effortless, even bliss, but he put up a fight every single day. It was who he was. You wouldn't go easy, either. Instead, you walk now, with a limp, with aches you'll never rid yourself of. The safety pin pricking your finger, drawing blood, ironic, really. A ring, in its own right. Engagement. Bent to make the shape. He needed you so much in that moment there was no time to wait, to think. Over the fire, your linens drying, blowing in the breeze, the warmth of him wrapped around you when you say it, when you say yes. Your golden boy, fiancé, all yours, and you, his. A vow, when the time came, for a real ring, a real wedding, a real life together. The world was perfect when it was only the two of you, though.

All you had left of him, the red across your palm.

You knew the life he was chasing, the dream, the want not to be forgotten. Playing toy soldier with people like that, it was dangerous. You thought it'd get him hurt, make your golden boy a patchwork of plastic bits and pieces until there was nothing left of his sweetness, like the rest of them. Temporary, he promised. It hadn't been a lie, but the words he spoke, he found hard to believe as they cut his tongue. The uncertainty dripping in his tone. Hand on your cheek, cupping your face, holding you together. Undeserving of him, his kindness, generosity, his dreams. The things he chased, the things that lived in all his stories. His voice, a lullaby. You were alone. No one by your side, not even your shadow. Forgotten by blood, by those who promised they'd never leave, discarded in the gutter. With him, you had a place to call home and a person to come home to. Your Bonnie, baby faced, naïve, too loving for his own good, head lost in the clouds. Always would be the first thing you noticed about him. The last, too. High above the world, in life and death. Excited, proud in his own shy way. Kissing his face tenderly after every match in the ring, hoping that would cure those black and blue bruises. Even now, a part of you resisted the want to turn back, to spend your future with him the way you intended.

The good in you. The good in this world. Lost. Murdered. The shell around you growing thicker, stronger, emotionless. Regret on the tip of your tongue, in the tears you cried, the sobs you tried to quiet, as if all the bad that ever followed you, your genetic default, putting him in harms way. You weren't sure how long it'd been. Weeks. Months. Lifetimes. Found. Dragged. Hushed, cooed, the way someone would a baby. Blank. A bed. Bandages. Around your legs, feet, smaller around your finger. His ring pried from your cold hands, thrown into the abyss. Men and women in white, missing their angel wings, their halos, their clouds. Each careful, quiet, preventing anymore pain. Speaking softly, incoherently. Not a word from your own mouth. Nothing left to say. In and out, from this world into the next. Never a sign of him, though. Not a whisper, a hint, he was simply gone. Awake. Asleep. You planned, plotted. Those men, the singing, the chanting, Billy's Boys. You'd find them, whoever they were, whatever they were. You'd make them pay the way he had. Take the light from their eyes without a moment of hesitation. Put them through what they put him through. Make them repent. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing would, not until you tracked them down, until your golden boy, with his big dreams and grand promises, could rest easy knowing they lay in shallow graves.

Even now, your mind and body healing, the need to hunt gnawing away, none if it could stop the anticipation, the wanting, to see him standing there, in the doorway, his grin lopsided in just the right places. Once again, this time with certainty, promising all of this would only be temporary.

#requested #writing #bonnie gold #bonnie gold drabble #bonnie gold oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders oneshot #bonnie gold x reader #bonnie x reader #x reader #bonnie gold fic #peaky blinders fic #drabble #oneshot #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

[monstersdownthepath]

Deity: The Shard Barber

Lawful Neutral Great Old One of Blades, Surgery, and Cleanliness

Domains: Earth, Healing, Law, Strength Subdomains: Metal, Restoration, Loyalty, Self-Realization Favored Weapon: War razor Symbol: A shaving razor set on clean white cloth. Sacred Animal: N/A Sacred Color: Silver, blue, and red

Among the many servants of the Indomitable Radiance, the Shard Barber stands above them for being one of the very few that have both seen the Radiance and made physical contact with it while retaining its mental faculties and free will. This is because its own mind and senses are entirely alien in a way that prevent it from seeing the beauty of the Radiance, and also partially because its alien mind is devoted to things it finds much more enjoyable than mindless worship.

To the average onlooker, the activities of the Shard Barber seem simple-minded, almost animalistic. The creature appears content with rubbing its jagged, bladed body and limbs against various surfaces, shaving them down piece by piece in a way that suggests it may be attempting to sharpen itself. However, it cannot sharpen itself in this way because it cannot become any sharper than it already is; its actions instead are careful ‘art,’ the fine blades scraping away at imperfections and contamination only it can see to create areas of true purity, while the thinnest tips of its smallest limbs allow it to construct microscopic sculptures from various materials that only it can appreciate. Its blades can even adjust how they interact with certain substances, allowing them to perform feats such as harmlessly passing through flesh to cut the bone beneath.

It’s fine eye for detail and expert craftsmanship made it the most useful servant the Radiance ever possessed, capable of combing through the Outer Gods’ fur, aura, flesh, protoplasm, and bone for contaminants and parasites without disturbing or harming the tissue itself. Nowadays since the Indomitable Radiance has become perfect, the services of the Shard Barber are limited to trimming its fur and nails when they become too imperfect, so its many other talents are put to use elsewhere.

The consorts and servants of the Radiance, known as the Beautiful Elite, are often riddled with imperfections that must be tended to on their journey to true beauty, and the Barber enjoys doing so, shaving them away and slicing them out with precision that none can match. The inhuman perfection of the Beautiful Elite is often owed in equal parts to their own occult beauty regimes and the machinations of the Barber and its own elite, whose surgical prowess allows them to restructure mortal beings from the ground up if need be. So incredible is its work, it can create a body flawless enough that Death will not willingly touch it, though such a blessing is reserved only for the Radiance’s most proven cultists and the Barber’s own most prestigious enforcers... though there are the rare stories of the Barber gifting this perfection upon apparently ‘undeserving’ mortals, for reasons it refuses to communicate.

The Barber has an extensive knowledge of anatomy and an encyclopedic understanding of surgical procedures for more or less any corporeal creature. Its wisdom concerning medicines and actual disease lore is practically nonexistent as it needs no tools beyond its own blades to remove any infection, but its understanding of living creatures and how they function is nearly incomparable. It must be if it wishes to be careful and not actually harm its patients/projects, and to keep them alive as it turns them into ‘art.’ It is no mad scientist grafting flesh from one creature to another or crafting some horrible mishmash abomination, no, but many former patients of the Barber possess elaborate and impossibly intricate designs carved directly into their bones or along each muscle fiber.

While living tissue is its preferred medium (to the point it will sometimes seek out “patients” rather than waiting for them to come to it), the Barber will work with whatever materials it has access to, creating microscopic art projects. It can spend years, decades, or even centuries working on particularly elaborate piece, and in one instance it spent almost 300 years carving an entire miniature world (with a perfectly detailed population, down to the insect) out of a dragon’s vertebrae. Once it completes a project, the tiny works are often so fragile that they cannot be moved and so sensitive to changes in the environment that they can collapse with singular puffs of air, and as such the Barber will swiftly and violently defend the area around its favorite works to shield them from harm. Many unfortunates have experienced the Barber’s rage upon doing things as innocent as opening a door, oblivious to the consequences as the gust ruins a fractal it carved into the floor.

In the rare instances it is not tending to its own projects or working with patients, the Barber is sent out by the Radiance to dispatch of creature that prove an inconvenience or danger to its lifestyle, a relationship that extends downwards between the Beautiful Elite and the Barber’s own servants: the Clean-Shaven.

———-

Obedience & Boons

———-

The Clean-Shaven are the Barber’s largest cult, an assembly of individuals who’ve sworn create a world worth looking at. The Beautiful Elite are inhumanely gorgeous to the point that it becomes unnerving, and the Clean-Shaven are immediately recognizable even among groups of the Elite for their entirely bald bodies--their name isn’t just for show--and their propensity for wearing largely undecorated, function-over-form clothing. They tend to possess the demeanor of a watchful and stern bodyguard, an attitude beaten into them by the training regimen set by the first of their numbers, and work as the muscle for the Elite and the assassins for threats against both member and regime.

Many of the Clean-Shaven are not truly clean yet, and become adventurers to hone themselves and their skills until they are. Others who have properly cleaned themselves up can become (or remain) adventurers as a way of actively cleaning the world, either literally (maintaining structures or equipment, treating disease, bathing themselves or others) or figuratively (eliminating criminals, purging corruption, bettering civilization, stopping destruction). Some dutifully serve the Beautiful Elite themselves, while others may never even see the Elite and instead work independently towards their own ideals of perfection.

In addition, they are also responsible for maintaining practical medical knowledge, such as how to cure sickness, cleanse poison, scrub the body of mundane and magical contamination, remove growths, and rid ones self of parasites, all of which are still common afflictions among the Elite. The Barber may not need medicines or curative magic to do its work, but its mortal flocks must rely on both, thus the Clean-Shaven are responsible for being the beauticians, doctors, and surgeons both among the faith and beyond it, earning them good standing in both the cult and the public eye... provided that public eye doesn’t see the darker aspects of their practices.

For example, the final mission of each of the Clean-Shaven before they officially become a member of the organization is to slay an enemy of the cult using one of their sacred razors, without getting even a single drop of blood on themselves. Any who pass this test will be invited in officially, but those who fail are often made to start from step one. In addition, at random times, a member may find themselves visited by their superiors as their body, mind, and equipment are all inspected for signs of imperfection to assure that they maintain the standards of cleanliness and professionalism that the organization demands. More than once the Clean-Shaven have been asked to dispose of former members, or even members of the Beautiful Elite, who no longer qualify.

As Great Old Ones do not possess a dedicated Prestige Class for accelerating the power of their faithful, one can only enter the actual Evangelist, Sentinel, and Exalted Prestige Classes to obtain Boons at a much faster pace. Otherwise, they are gained at levels 12, 16, and 20. One must have the Deific Obedience feat to enter into the mentioned Prestige Classes, and entering the classes as soon as possible allows one to obtain the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14.

Obedience: Spend at least one hour ridding yourself of as much body hair as possible by way of shaving as closely as you can without drawing blood. If you do not possess body hair, spend one hour meticulously sharpening, polishing, or cleaning any bladed instrument you can. Benefit: You gain DR 2/bludgeoning and a +4 sacred or profane bonus to Profession (Barber) checks.

------

EVANGELIST

------

Boon 1: Medicine Cabinet (Sp): Gain Polypurpose Panacea 3/day, Status 2/day, or Cure Serious Wounds 1/day.

Boon 2: Shave And A Haircut (Su): You’re no two-bit, one-note barber, no mere stylist! Your work is immaculate to the point of being supernatural! You can spend ten minutes providing a creature with a good trim and some quality care, fixing up minor injuries and perform whatever actions necessary to alleviate their physical and mental fatigue, in addition to cleaning them up and making them look fantastic. Any creature you work on in this way regains hitpoints equal to 10+your Charisma modifier and gains a +4 sacred or profane bonus to either their Constitution or Charisma scores (their choice) for a number of hours equal to half your Hit Dice. You cannot use this ability on the same creature until you complete your Obedience again.

Boon 3: Surgical Savant (Sp): A few swings of the scalpel, a bit of elbow grease, and some creative interpretations of what a functioning organ looks like, there’s little you cannot do. You may cast both Restoration and Heal as spell-like abilities once per day. In addition, with 8 hours of work and the expenditure of 1,000gp worth of raw materials, you can imitate the effects of Resurrection.

------

EXALTED

------

Boon 1: Clean Living (Sp): Gain Rite of Bodily Purity 3/day, Lesser Restoration 2/day, or Protection From Energy 1/day.

Boon 2: Cutting Edge (Ex/Sp): You are gifted by your patron with a piece of its own body, its namesake shards. Each time you complete your Obedience, a +2 Keen Impervious War Razor appears in your possession. If you have 15 or more Hit Dice, it is instead a +3 Keen Speed Impervious War Razor. As a swift action, you can call it to your hand from across any distance and flourish the blade out in a single move to draw it. This blade retracts and refuses to open for any creature outside of the Barber’s faith and cannot be used to harm you, even by your own hand. As a standard action while holding the razor, you can will the blade to detonate into thousands of shards, casting Blade Barrier as a spell-like ability but destroying the blade. Finally, the razor grants you a +10 sacred or profane bonus to Profession (Barber) checks. The razor vanishes 24 hours after it’s summoned, or if you perform your Obedience again.

Boon 3: Beyond Flaw (Ex): Your extreme devotion to the Barber and the lifestyle it enforces has removed many mortal flaws from your body. You no longer age, nor can you die of old age (and are thus immune to aging effects), and your body is transformed into a perfect version of you in the prime of your life; you no longer suffer age-related penalties but keep any increase to your mental ability scores. You maintain this ageless body even if you fail to perform your Obedience, though you lose it if you renounce your faith. In addition, you become immune to poison, disease, and ability score damage and drain.

------

SENTINEL

------

Boon 1: Sharp Standard (Sp): Gain Protection From Chaos 3/day, Sense Vitals 2/day, or Channel Vigor 1/day.

Boon 2: Not A Drop (Su): You cannot afford to get your suit dirty. You and clothes you wear are exceedingly resistant to staining and filth, with such contaminants crumbling off your body and flaking off your clothes within a minute of contact. In addition to the aesthetic effect, this grants you a +5 sacred or profane bonus to saving throws poison, disease, and any effect which would cause bleed damage. Three times per day as an immediate action, you may instantly end a single bleed effect on yourself or an adjacent creature.

Boon 3: Living Whetstone (Ex): You remember your first days in the faith, trying to hold your hand steady as you shave as close as possible without injuring yourself. Now? You’d struggle to actually draw blood. You reduce all slashing and piercing damage you take by 10; this is not Damage Reduction and cannot be bypassed. Once per day as a standard action, you may scrape the edge of a slashing weapon along your body like a strop or run it between your fingers as though they were a sharpener, granting it the Vorpal ability for 1 minute.

------

Supplemental material.

#original concepts #Pathfinder #pathfinder homebrew #this has been in my drafts for MONTHS

[lovehugsandcandy]

Lost and Found

A/N: Yeah side character day! I dislike Ingrid as the witchy popular foil to MC’s innocence. I like Ingrid as a tough powerful character and as a LI choice MC could make, stepping away from the of crime to crush it as half of this powerful Langston couple. @rodappreciationweek

Pairing: Ingrid x MC, ROD

Length: ~1,400 words

Rating: PG-13 (Maybe a swear?)

Summary: Ellie loses parts of her past and finds her future.

The hinges squeaked as the dorm room door opened, but Ellie didn’t even look up, shifting books and boxes aside in utter panic.

“Why the hell are you under the bed?”

She didn’t reply, kept burrowing deeper into the darkness, whispering a fervent prayer that it fell underneath while she was sleeping.

“Ellie?” Ingrid’s footsteps edged closer. “Um. You...you okay?”

She sat up, slamming her head into the underside of her box spring before squirming out. “No.” She was decidedly not okay. Her chest was tight, breathing shallow; she had already felt lightheaded and now she had a lump on her crown to add to her awful day. “Have you seen my necklace?”

“Your necklace? The shiny silver one with the...the thing? One the end?”

“It’s a spark plug!”

Ingrid put her hands up, placatingly. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s just…” Ellie sagged onto her bed, furiously rubbing her eyes. She would not cry, she refused to, instead fighting down the sting behind her lids and the hammering of her heart. “I can’t find it anywhere, I swear I had it this yesterday-I mean, I wear it every day-but now it’s gone.” She needed that necklace. It was like a suit of armor, wrapping her in protective warmth and memories when the struggles of college seemed like they were too much. When she felt most anxious, it’s calming weight made her realize that she could do anything.

“I’m sorry.” Ingrid dropped her backpack on the bed and perched next to Ellie, any smart remark gone as she rubbed her shoulder with a comforting palm. “Should we go search for it? Retrace your steps?”

Ellie blinked back the tears, mouth dropping in awe. “We? You would do that with me?”

“Definitely!” Ingrid charged off the bed, leading the way as they weaved through the entire campus. Classrooms, libraries, gym, campus center-all turned up nothing. However, when Ingrid bought her a milkshake, spinning tales of her misadventures in Chem Lab that made Ellie’s laugh sweeten like chocolate, well, it didn’t feel so bad.

~~~~~

“Oh my God, what’s wrong?”

This time, Ellie couldn’t hold back the tears, heaping sobs that made their way, shuddering and heartbroken, out of her throat. “Someone…” She tried to sniff back some moisture, but it poured down her face, anyway. “Someone broke into my car.”

“Oh my God.”

“They broke the window, messed it up a bit-”

“Assholes! What the-I’m so sorry!” Ingrid pursed her lips, standing to embrace Ellie in a tight hug.

“But...but they stole my stuff,” Ellie wailed, clinging to her roommate.

“What stuff?”

“My...my cactus. And my fuzzy dice.” Ingrid pulled back to study her. She couldn’t possibly understand how much the items meant, but she knew they were important. “It’s just…” Ellie sighed, “They were special. People, really good friends, they gave them to me and I don’t even know if they-” Her voice broke. “-I don’t even know if I will ever see those people again. That’s all I had and-”

“Ellie, you don’t have to explain. I don’t know everything you went through senior year, but I’m sure it was rough. I know that stuff was important.”

Ellie nodded. Ingrid’s arms were still around her and the cashmere sweater was comforting, wrapping her in warmth that edged through her numb limbs. 

“El?” Ingrid probed, hesitantly, “Did you file a report with Security yet? In case any of your stuff turns up?”

She swiped at the tears still dripping from her chin; thankfully, Ingrid apparently hadn’t noticed her expensive clothes getting damp. Or maybe she didn’t care. “No.”

“Let’s go.”

“Really?” 

“Of course.” Ingrid stepped away to grab her purse, but Ellie pulled her back, folding her again into a massive hug.

“Thank you, Ingrid. Really….thank you.”

Ingrid’s face was indecipherable, a flush spreading over her nose. “I...Anything for you.”

~~~~~

Ellie ate her fourth slice, stomach aching dangerously, when Ingrid spoke up.

“Were you….are you dating one of them? The people who gave you the presents?”

“Why?” She swallowed pepperoni and cheese down a dry throat. “Why do you ask?”

Ingrid looked out the window. It was dark, even the light of the moon hiding behind a dense patchwork of clouds; Ellie didn’t see anything but the reflection of two college students, scarfing down junk food at 2am. “I just...I was just wondering.”

“They were…” Words flew through Ellie’s brain and she focused, thinking hard, considering the right ones. “They were all important to me. They were there for me when I was learning who I was, what I wanted.”

“Okay...”

Ellie blinked and she could see the quirk of Mona’s eyebrow as she teased, the fire in Colt’s eyes as he watched the shop burn, the warmth of Logan’s smile when he called her Troublemaker.  But then it faded. “But I chose to be here. I chose to leave LA, to follow my dreams across the country. I know who I am, now.”

“Okay. I just always wondered.” Ingrid turned to face her, freckles speckled across her nose mingling with newly painted flush.

“Okay. Fine. Why did you go to the prom with Brent Vandermeer? I just always wondered.”

“He’s rich.” Ingrid smiled, all teeth, and Ellie was transported back in time to high school, when those dazzling, sneering grins were all she knew of her roommate. It easily softened into something warm, less shark, more friend and Ellie was brought back to the present, to the times she and Ingrid had crammed all night and laughed so hard they collapsed into tears. “And because he asked me.”

“Oh.”

“I would have…” Ingrid picked at her nails. Even after midnight, with tomato sauce on her cheek and hair askew in a ponytail, she was stunning. “I would have gone with someone else.” When she glanced up, her eyes shone. Ellie’s lungs wouldn’t inflate. “If they asked me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Ingrid didn’t look away and Ellie’s lungs burned. “Ellie, I always wondered…” Every word was halting; Ellie hung on every one. She had never seen Ingrid so unsure. “What did you mean when you said you would try not to break my heart?”

“I meant….I meant what I said.”

“Oh.” Her blond hair swished as she turned away and Ellie could finally breathe. “Are you gonna eat that last piece?”

She pushed the box away. “You can have it.” Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore.

~~~~~

They were studying, both lying in companionable silence on Ellie’s bed. Finals were fast approaching and Ellie focused intently on the first draft of her English Lit essay; however, every so often Ingrid’s leg would brush hers and she would need to delete the last sentence of gibberish.

The blaring of the phone interrupted the peace. 

Ellie squinted at the unfamiliar number. “Hello?”

“Ms. Wheeler?”

“This is she.”

“This is Langston Public Safety.” The bored voice droned as Ellie furrowed her brow. Next to her, Ingrid sat up, abandoning her chemistry formulas to cast Ellie a puzzled frown. “I think we have your belongings here.”

“You...you do?”

“Yup. Looks like...a necklace, some dice…” Paper rustled over the line. “And some cactus looking plastic thing?”

“Oh. I….thanks.”

“You gonna come pick it up?”

“Umm….” Ingrid was still staring at her, expectantly waiting, a vision from her past, her present, and, Ellie realized in a shock, her future. “No, I don’t think I will.”

She hung up the phone to stare at her roommate. “Who was it?”

“Public safety. They found my stuff.”

She was watching Ingrid’s face closely enough to see her eyes dim. “Oh, that’s great. Are you gonna go get it?”

“No.” She curled her hand into Ingrid’s hair, taking advantage of her surprise to pull her closer. “I have everything I need right here.”

As their lips met, she tasted bubble gum lip gloss, a dazzling grin, and the certainty that she had made the right decision.

. 

Tags:

Perma @desiree-0816 @leelee10898 @emichelle @client-327 @choicesgremlin @brightpinkpeppercorn @thequeenofcronuts @lilyofchoices @choicesarehard

ROD @omgjasminesimone @mskaneko @lovemychoices​ @burnsoslow @troublemakerinspace 

 RoDAW @ritachacha​

#RoDAW #playchoices fanfic #ingrid x mc #ride or die: a bad boy romance #amy writes

[greekowl87]

Fic: False Flags Redux 5/13

(1) (2) (3) (4) | AO3

A/N: Hey everyone, thanks for sticking around. Chapter five is here. A massive thanks to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm and @scully-loves-ruthie . Tagging @today-in-fic

P.S. I’m being bad this week by posting two chapters this week because I got the time still and things haven’t gotten too crazy yet. I’ve also added the AO3 link if you want it all in one place. Chapter six is on Friday.

5/13

Gosport Shipyard Portsmouth, Virginia March 7, 1862

Mulder and Scully had communicated with each via letter a few times now since their last in-person meeting. He started supplying her with simple things, such as orders and troop numbers, but there still had been nothing of great value except the letters itself. Their correspondence had grown more personal in nature, something he had not expected. He thought he was supposed to keep it impersonal. While he kept the sensitive information coded, like he had been taught, they begin to speak of familiar things...addressing each other in the letters simply as M. and S. She spoke of her hopes after the war, seeing her family again, maybe filing for divorce if she could find a valid reason, and what she loved and read. He spoke of his childhood, his fondness for books and mysteries, and his hopes for the war's end. In each other, without meaning to or realizing it, they had found a confident within each other and a growing trust. The trust seemed like it had been built over years, decades even, instead of a few short days. The sensation he had met her too before the dinner party was growing in the back of his mind as well.

Since he had reported for duty that past Monday, the CSS Virginia still remained in dry dock and he was still in his barracks. He opened his most recent letter she had written him and read it carefully to his self. He was the only one in the barracks at the moment. The rest of the officers had gone to a local tavern to enjoy themselves that evening. He jumped when he heard someone knocking lightly on the door. Nervously, he tucked the folded letter under the pillow, got up and opened it a crack and when he saw Scully wearing a cloak with the hood drawn. He instinctively grabbed her hand and pulled her into the barracks, god forbid anyone sees her.

“Scully,” he hissed, grabbing her arm, “what the hell are you doing here? Coming in the middle of the night? I thought we both agreed that we would never meet in person like this.”

“I needed to come, Mulder,” she retorted, ignoring his anger and stepping past him. “It couldn't wait.”

“Why?” he asked desperately. He shut teh door. “We both agreed not to meet if this arrangement was to work.”

She took the opportunity to glance around the barracks. “Is this where you stay?”

“When I'm not on the ship? Yes. But that still doesn't answer my question. Stop changing the subject”

“Which one is your cot?”

He pointed towards his bed absently and shook his head. “Scully! Quit distracting me.”

She took a moment to pull back the blankets, inspect his shell jacket, his officer saber, his kepi, and his personal effects, noting the lack of pictures. She kept running her fingers over his things with such familiarity. Mulder ran his own fingers through his hair, clearly flustered. “I'm sorry,” she said softly. “I had a dream the other night. I needed to reassure myself of your well being.”

“What dream?”

“I dreamed you had died. I saw you die and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“Since when do you care about my well being?” His voice softened. “I'm no one, remember. Just a soldier. I'm just convenient to your cause.”

“You aren't just a soldier,” she spat. “And it’s our cause, Mulder. Are we safe here?”

“For a bit, yes. Scully, why are you here? Do you know the danger that you are putting yourself in? I would die if something happened to you because of me.”

“I'm sorry,” she said softly again. She relaxed and looked at him finally. “But that dream was horrible. And it seemed so real, like a memory.”

“Nothing's happened to me,” he soothed. “I'm right here. Nothing's happened.”

“No.” She took a deep breath. “It was from a different time. I don't know. Maybe it is my imagination lead astray. But I just needed to reassure myself of your well being. I needed to see you”

He gave a feeble smile. “I'm touched, Scully. I really am. But you need to go. I won't risk you putting yourself in danger anymore.”

“You sound so silly,” she chuckled softly. “I just feel like something is about to happen soon. A feeling. I just want you to be careful. The information that you have provided has been invaluable, but I still worry. I want us to continue working in the future.”

“As an asset or a friend?”

“Friend,” she answered quickly. “We're friends. I think.” She chuckled to herself. “Forgive me. I acted without thinking. Just promise me, Mulder, promise me you will be careful.”

He nodded slightly. “I promise.”

“You know,” she paused after a moment, “I wear my brooch every day since you've given it to me.”

“A bit quick to be rushing it, don't you think? And you, a married woman,” he teased.

Her lips quirked into a weak smile, recognizing his wit and the warmth of his concern. “I wanted...I wanted to give you something in return. That's another reason why I came.”

“Scully,” he admonished softly. “Please, you don't have to.”

“No, no. I just...” From her pocket, she withdrew a beautiful rosary and pressed it into his hand. He tried to give it back. “No. No. Keep it.” She pressed it into his hands. “Please, Mulder.”

He squeezed the warm beads and glanced down the intricate blue and silver rosary. “I can't take this.”

“You can and you will.” She clasped both of their hands together, the rosary nestled between it. “That morning you went to mass with me, it felt like everything changed. I know you don't prize religion but your openness of mind and heart was most welcoming. Most would cast it from their mind and my silly inclinations.”

“Having faith is not a silly inclination,” he said softly. “I was honored to go. I enjoyed your company very much but the sermon was a little dry.”

Scully giggled. For some reason, it felt right. He could not describe it, the feeling the ache that was welling in his chest. It was so deep. “For you, just this once,” he whispered. He instinctively tried to make light of this situation. “You know, this is the sort of token a girl should give to her dandy.”

“Well,” she replied after a moment, “maybe I have. Promise me you'll be safe, Mulder.”

“I will,” he promised.

They both could hear the drunken laughter of the other officers heading towards the barracks. “I better go,” she whispered, bowing her head.

He did not know why this stranger, this woman, elected this response from him. He felt like he had known her all his life. He bowed his head as well, resting their forehead against one another. “It will be okay, Scully. I promise.”

She gave a weak smile and nodded. “Be safe, Mulder, for me.”

“I promise.”

She broke away suddenly, drawing up her hood. She gave a sad smile and disappeared out the back door. He glanced down the rosary in his hands. Carefully he untangled the delicate symbol and placed it around his neck, hiding it under his shirt so no one would see it. She would always be close. He could not even begin to try and explain it. His friend. His partner.

. . . .

Elizabeth River Norfolk, Virginia March 8, 1862

Scully awoke to the sounds of cheering. She rushed outside, still wearing her dress from the night before, and saw the crowds. The home that she lived in had a lovely view of the Elizabeth River. She loved to sit in the window and watch the ships pass under the glow of the sunsets. But this morning, she saw her husband's ship and civilians lining the shore cheering them on. She also saw some of the officers and civilian workmen still aboard but she could hear the faint beating of a drum and hear her own husband's small voice yelling.

“Sailors, in a few minutes you will have the long looked opportunity of showing your devotion to our cause. Remember that you are about to strike for your country and your homes. The Confederacy expects every man to do his duty. Beat to quarters! The whole world is watching you today!”

Her eyes widened. She would have guessed this would be CSS Virginia's sea trials, but she knew how narcissistic her husband was. She had heard his speech. He intended to go straight into war.

. . . .

Coroner's Office Virginia Beach, Virginia December 15, 1998

Scully rolled her neck and snapped off her gloves, hearing her neck pop and crack. She gazed at the body she had just sliced and diced, silently bemoaning the report she still had to write and how badly her muscles were protesting. Scully had not slept the night before. Those dreams that had plagued her for the past couple nights had to continue, finding no respite. She tossed and turned, tried to read, watched tv. She ended up staying up talking to Mulder when she finally drifted off to sleep sometime around three am only to be promptly woken at six am.

She heard multiple footsteps squeaking along the well-polished floors of the coroner's office as she turned to gaze at the door. ASAC Benson came in, Mulder and Diana and some unnamed agent trailing behind him. Inwardly, she groaned, not ready to deal with Diana this early in the morning. “Agent Scully,” ASAC Benson greeted, “did you find anything?”

“Well,” she began, turning towards them. “I still have yet to write my report. But the victim was strangled, then stabbed postmortem. Sixteen stab wounds in all. I still have yet to hear back from the labs on any forensic evidence but I doubt if that is any help.”

“What were the other bodies like?” Benson asked.

“Tortured, shot in the chest, and finally in the head,” she recalled.

“And now he strangles?” Diana mused.

God, the sound of her voice, Scully groaned inwardly, like nails on the chalkboard. “Well, the guards were strangled,” she shrugged. “Maybe he's developed a taste for it. I don't know. This killing was done with precision and I did lift one of his fingerprints from her body, so we know it's him.”

“Agent Mulder,” the ASAC looked at her partner.

“Hm? I need time,” he murmured, looking at the body.

“Well, if anyone can do it, I'm sure you can, Fox.” Diana gave him a warm smile.

He glanced at her quickly before focusing back on the body. “Scully, did you find anything else? Anything helpful?” he asked her.

“No,” she said.

“Well,” Benson sighed, “it looks like we need to go to the public.”

“Draw him out?” Diana said. “Won't that make him run?”

“No,” Mulder sighed after a moment. “It will make him find more of a challenge in it. He's a narcissistic bastard. I would do it, but be vague. Just mention this murder.”

“Fowley, with me,” Benson said. “You can help on this.”

The other three left except Mulder who gave Scully a weak smile. She returned it and nodded towards the door. “Ever since you said something to Benson, I can't help find great pleasure that Diana has been regulated to his personal assistant. I suppose I should thank you?”

“She isn't that bad, Scully,” he said softly. “And I really do think she could help us with our problem.”

“Mulder, you know I don't trust her!”

“I know, that is why I haven't said anything to her,” he said, “and kind forced her off out of our hair. The last thing you need to freak out about that.”

Scully gave a small smile, her cheeks blushing. Small things like that were not rare for Mulder, even though he always had her interests at heart, he still made her blush. “Well, thank you nonetheless.”

He nodded towards the body. “I need to get back to the field office to work on my profile. Wanna tag along?”

“I have to finish up here,” she replied.

He nodded. “Wanna break for a late lunch later then? We can talk about your dreams last night.”

She nodded slightly. “That'd be nice.”

“You seem more grounded today,” he said as an afterthought.

“Hm. Maybe it is just the lack of caffeine or maybe it's the recent company.”

He smiled and gave her arm a quick squeeze before he left. She sighed again, glancing at the body and then frowning at the thought of writing that report.

. . . .

CSS Virginia Elizabeth River en route to Sewell's Point March 8, 1862

Mulder felt claustrophobic. The iron siding enclosing the ship made the world seem smaller. A young sailor glanced at him and chuckled softly. “Nervous, Lieutenant?”

“Just a wee bit,” he confessed.

“Why don't you go above deck and get yourself some air?”

He nodded despite himself and climbed above deck. The cold air was biting as he watched the coastline pass them by. A young naval officer smacked him on the back and smiled in greeting. “How you holding, army boy?”

“Hanging in there,” he nodded. “Marines are doing well.”

“Glad to hear it.” The young officer leaned against the railing. “Can you believe the captain? Today was supposed to be just sea trials but the eager bastard is hell-bent on confronting the Union blockade today.”

“Why, Evans?” Mulder blurted, despite himself. “I heard the onlookers when we left Portsmouth. 'Go on with your old metallic coffin!'”

“I'm sure we'll be fine. The Virginia will prove herself seaworthy. We'll go down in history that is for sure. Technology is changing, that's for sure.”

Mulder touched his chest briefly, feeling the rosary beneath his jacket. “We are just an experiment,” he muttered.

“Nothing can sink Old Ironsides!”

He chuckled. “Is that the captain or our ship?”

“The ship of course, but we might as well call the captain that, stubborn as he is,” Evans grinned.

They could hear the drum picking up as the Union blockade came into view. They saw the ships, the Union sailors white laundry hanging from the sails. “We better get below deck,” Evans muttered. “Where will you be during all this?”

“The top gun deck,” Mulder answered. “Marines can't do much while sailing but I do know my way around a cannon.”

“Good man,” Evans nodded. “Let's go get those Yankee bastards.”

They disappeared below deck, Mulder's chest growing heavier the doubt and anxiety. He did not want to fight his true country. He did not want to be here.

. . . .

Captain Buchanan stood in the pilot house with his helmsman. “There, Jones!” He pointed out the small port window excitedly towards the USS Cumberland, a Union frigate. “That's our first target. Here we make history, men!”

The executive officer nodded. “Aye, sir. Helmsman, full speed! Ensign Edwards, belay the order to open fire!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” the young ensign echoed and disappeared.

Captain Buchanan clapped his hands enthusiastically as he heard his ship's cannons began their first explosions. Here he was, making history! Everyone would remember him and his ship! He could see it now! President Davis would congratulate him personally. He would be made an admiral. Admiral of the Fleet. That had a nice ring to it, Admiral Buchanan.

“Sir!” the executive officer cried in alarm. “Sir! We need to break course!”

“No, full speed ahead! Ram that ship!”

The helmsman looked nervously at the other officer and he nodded grimly. “Full speed ahead then,” he said softly.

“Aye, aye, sir,” he mumbled as his shaking hands gripped the helm tighter.

The CSS Virginia rammed into the Cumberland's starboard side with guns blazing. In the excitement, the ironclad was almost unable to free itself, barely escaping its own fate of sinking with the doomed ship. The captain was ecstatic at his ships first victory! “Seaworthy indeed!” he bellowed. “Helmsman, take us to the James River. We'll confront those Yanks head on!”

. . . .

The cannon fire was deafening for Mulder. He could not think. He could not breathe. But still his body kept functioning. The ringing would not go away. He was covered in soot, his hands ached from helping load cannons. His voice was hoarse from shouting orders over the cannon fire. Briefly, he touched his chest, once again feeling the rosary. He was going to make it out of this. He had to.

. . . .

The CSS Virginia steamed along, finally reach Sewell's Point and the Union blockade. Unlike the Cumberland, the rest of the Union ships, they were ready.  They opened fired and the Virginia returned the lolly. The siege of the USS Congress for two whole hours, neither side giving in. But finally, the Congress surrendered herself. Then the Union batteries at Fort Monroe began to fire on ironclad.

. . . .

“Damn Yanks!” Captain Buchanan bellowed. He grabbed a rifle from a nearby marine and stormed up to the deck. “Fire on my ship will you? I'll show you!”

Among the cannon fire, Buchanan's rifle could be heard firing. A couple of marines joined him uselessly on deck, firing their own rifles. He ordered the marines to set the Congress aflame. Then a stray shell landed against the Virginia and shrapnel landed into his thigh. The marines quickly took their captain below deck.

“Damn it to hell!” he bellowed. “Jones, take the command! And someone fetch me that marine lieutenant! On the double!”

A young marine nodded quickly and went to find Mulder on the top gun deck, supervising his marines and the sailors. “Sir,” he said breathlessly, “the captain...the captain requests your presence.”

“Can't the damn fool see I'm busy?”

“Sir, he was wounded.”

“How bad?”

“I don't know. His thigh?”

Mulder rolled his eyes, leaving the gun deck and heading to the surgeon's quarters. He found Captain Buchanan snarling like an angry dog at the surgeon, who was more than annoyed. “Captain,” the doctor said, “I can't very well treat you if you don't sit still.”

“You won't be taking my leg, damn you!”

“I'm not taking your leg, for god's sake, man! Stop fussing like a child! It is just a flesh wound!”

“Sir,” Mulder interrupted, “you needed to see me?”

“Yes, yes,” he grunted. “You. You are to make sure  nothing happens to my wife, understand?”

“Sir?” What the hell was the captain going on about?

“You keep an eye on her, you hear?”

“Jesus, you aren't dying!” The surgeon yelled.

“Promise me, lieutenant.”

“Why me?”

“Because you're her pet. I don't know! Jesus, get that saw away from me, you devil!”

The surgeon threw his hands up in surrender and when to get a bottle of whiskey. “Drink,” he ordered, fisting the bottle towards him.

“Lieutenant, promise me!” Captain Buchanan yelled.

“Aye, aye, sir,” he said hesitantly.

. . . .

FBI Field Office Norfolk, Virginia December 15, 1998

His phone was ringing. Mulder blinked himself out of a daze and shifted the files in front of him uselessly trying to find his phone. His ears were ringing like a loud explosion had just gone off next to him. He shook his head, trying to clear it. But the ringing. His phone.

“Mulder.”

“Mulder, it's me.”

“Scully,” he said softly. “Everything okay?”

“Everything's fine.”

“Everything?”

“Everything, me included. I can't make that late lunch. Something else here came up with the victim.”

“That's okay. Do you want me to swing by and pick you up when you're done?”

“No. Just go back to the hotel. I don't know how long this will take.”

“Okay. Scully, call me if you need anything.”

“I'm fine, Mulder. I promise.”

He rubbed his chest, an itching sensation near his heart. “Okay, well just let me know. I'll see you later tonight.”

“Count on it.”

She hung up and he buried his face in his hands. His profile was at a standstill and his mind elsewhere.

. . . .

CSS Virginia James River, Virginia March 9, 1862

In a hammock, Mulder fingered the rosary he wore, the day replaying itself in his mind. The battle was still fresh and it kept replaying itself over and over. He could hear the cannon fire. He gazed at his right hand as it shook slightly. He had experienced battles before. But something about naval warfare, being stuck on a ship, being unable to run anywhere. He felt trapped.

But now it was quiet and he had time to reflect.

Scully. Why did his thoughts keep drifting to her? The familiar ache in his chest came back as he continued to fiddle with the rosary around his neck. Did she have prophetic dreams? Was she a seer? Mulder rubbed his face, trying to erase the thoughts and drowsiness he felt. He had been having weird dreams lately, ever since he met her. Dreams of a different time, different places. She was always there. Like two halves. But he was brought out of his daydreaming by shouting.

“What is going on?” he called.

“Damn yanks! The got their own iron ship!” one of his marines yelled.

He quickly went to the top deck, rifle in hand with a handful of marines. Below he could hear the cannons firing, the shells uselessly bouncing off the rotating turret. He had never seen anything like it. He thought the ironclad was an amazing technological feat, this tiny little ironclad (which paled in contrast to CSS Virginia) and its rotating turret. “Look for a target,” he yelled to his men.

It was a useless feat. They could find no targets.

. . . .

For two hours the ships fired uselessly at each until the Confederate vessel ceased fire all together as they ran low on gunpowder. Lieutenant Jones, the executive officer and now captain, had to think of something. He ordered the ship into line. He was going to ram the Monitor. But the tiny little union ironclad was able to maneuver away before there could be any impact. Time elapsed. Jones needed to leave, replenish the stores and repair the vessel. No one had won that battle.

. . . .

Gosport Shipyard Portsmouth, Virginia March 9, 1862

Mulder was glad to be back on land. Experiencing another naval battle was not something he desired to do again. As soon as they were back on land, the captain had been whisked away for medical attention. The shipyard works set about repairing the vessel's damage. The marines and sailor returned to their barracks for some much-needed rest. It was near midnight when a field medic came for him.

“What's this all about,” Mulder murmured.

“The captain wants to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“I'm just following orders, sir.”

Mulder grumbled as he pulled on his jacket and followed the young medic to the infirmary. He saw his captain in the lamplight, sitting in bed pensively. His wrinkled face was frumpish. Mulder ran his fingers through his hair in a last minuted attempt to look decent. “Sir,” he called softly. “You desired to speak to me?”

The captain trained his gaze at the lieutenant. “What was your name again, soldier?”

“Mulder, sir,” he said.

“Mulder,” Captain Buchanan repeated softly. “I said some things on the ship.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I made a request to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I understand the peculiar nature of the request,” he said, lingering over the word 'peculiar' as it rolled off his tongue.

“I remember.”

“You are an honorable man, aren't you, lieutenant?”

“Sir?”

“Do you have a wife at home?”

“I'm a widower,” Mulder replied uneasily, wondering where the conversation was going. “My wife died in childbirth about seven years back.”

“You're a father then.”

“Would have been. My daughter died as well in childbirth.”

Captain Buchanan shook his head. “I have nine myself, from my first wife. She passed unexpectedly. Dana...I wish she would bear a child but it seems there is something wrong with her. We've seen doctors and all assure me she is perfectly normal.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Anyways, they are going to send me to Richmond for a time as I heal from this. Then elsewhere” He waved uselessly at his wounded thigh.  “Doctor says a change of environment will do me good.”

Mulder felt his heart stop. What about the whole mission?

“But,” Captain Buchanan droned on, “Dana is to remain here. However, I need someone to hold her accountable.”

“She is more than capable herself, sir.”

“Nonsense. Her head is in the clouds. She just needs a bit of moral guidance. Which,” he said, gazing at Mulder, “where I desire your help.”

“Help, sir?”

“Dana needs a firm hand. A male guardian to look after her interests. You are the one who is going to do that while I am away. I’m transferring you to the war office in Norfolk. I believe your background before that was in stragey and planning battles?”

“Yes, sir, but e?”

“I need to go elsewhere to recover from my wound. Then there are some damn grand plans for me.” Captain Buchanan waved his hands and glanced at Mulder in thought. “You were a husband once. You know what is expected of a wife. Their place is in the home. Her head is in the clouds and her nose buried in books. You're a marine too. Maybe you can straighten her out with that discipline.”

He bit his lip to keep from replying.

“Regardless, I am changing your orders. You'll be stationed here and check in on my wife periodically while I recover.”

“Sir? Can you actually do that?”

“I can do what I damn well please. After the other day, I'm a hero. Do you understand your new orders?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded. “Dismissed.”

Mulder briefly shot to attention and left, unable to believe his luck. What were the odds. He was already composing his next message. 'S.- You will never believe the odds...'

#false flags redux #xfiles #xf fic #msr #msr fic #mulder #scully #mulder and scully #early post suprise!

[k-p-p-d]

RIVALRY. Pt. 2

PART 1 | PART 2 |

Genre: Angst. Gang!AU

Warnings: Mentions of blood/violence.

Pairings: Mark x reader x Namjoon ft GOTBANG collaboration

Word Count: 2.3K

Summary: You’re innocently caught in the crossfire of two of Korea’s deadliest gangs, after an argument with your gang leader boyfriend. Could you have been hurt by someone closer to home? Or has the rivalry between the two become personal? Remember not everything is as simple as black and white..

Your name: submit What is this?

Mark paced back and forth outside of the operating theatre, his eyes firmly glued on the clock that hung above the door. He could hear every single tick of the second hand, and his heart raced knowing that in just a few minutes, he may have to say goodbye to the only person he had ever loved. As he paced, silently praying and clutching his necklace that you had bought for him, he bumped into someone. Usually, he would have argued with whoever it was, telling them to watch where they were going, probably even dropping some less than holy words, but tonight he was in pain. He slowly raised his head, and sighed with relief as his eyes met one of the people he truly wanted to see in that moment..

“Jackson..” Mark whispered, looking at his friend.

Jackson scanned Mark over, seeing his dishevelled hair and clothes, covered in blood. His eyes were red and he seemed completely lost, yet relieved to see a familiar face. Not used to seeing Mark like this, Jackson felt a deep sadness wash over him, and so he pulled Mark into a hug, gently speaking, “Hey Tuan, I came as soon as I saw your text. She still in surgery?”. Mark nodded a weak yes, on Jackson’s shoulder, and sobbed quietly.  

Suddenly, Mark’s ears pricked and his head shot up from Jackson. His gaze flew to the direction of the theatre, just as the doors opened and the surgeon walked out, removing his gloves. Mark stared at the man, his lips were mute, not wanting to hear the words that his girl was dead. Jackson sensed this, and he ushered Mark to the seat behind them, “It’s alright, don’t worry. I’ll talk”. Mark nodded in response, and watched on as Jackson conversed with the surgeon, trying to decipher body language to understand what was being said. He soon gave up however, because his thoughts took over his mind. They changed from thoughts of sadness, *What the fuck am I gonna do if she dies?.. I love her too much..*, to anger and revenge, *Which one am I going to torture first?.. I will kill them all*. Mark clenched his fists and jaw, his anger level reaching boiling point, red mist covering his eyes. “I swear y/n, I’m going to kill every single one of them”, he said through gritted teeth. Whilst in his thoughts, he felt someone touch his shoulder. His reflexes combined with the rage he was feeling in that moment, caused him to punch whatever was in that direction, resulting in his hand colliding with the wall.

“Woah, calm down Tuan! It’s only me!” Mark snapped out of his daydream, to see a startled Jackson sitting beside him, wide eyed, holding up his arms in surrender.

“You almost hit me man.” Jackson let out a breath, and wiped his brow.

“Jackson.. I’m sorry.. I was thinking about those bastards. I snapped. I-”, he shook his head, connecting with reality again.

“It’s fine brother, next time just try not to aim for the face. It’s more precious than diamonds”, Jackson replied chuckling. Mark gave him the are you kidding me look, and shoulder bumped his friend. “By the way..” Jackson continued. “Y/N is doing great, she lost a lot of blood but the surgery went well. One of the bullets grazed her heart, she got lucky.. You can go and see her if you want to”. Mark’s face beamed at the words, he kissed his necklace and ran to the room, Jackson following behind him.

Mark POV

I raced to the room, where you were, thinking I would bolt into there with desperation to see you, but a force stopped me at the door. I wasn’t sure what I would see and how I would cope, but I felt Jackson’s hand on my shoulder, reassuring me that you needed me, and I needed to go in. With his help, I stepped inside.

My heart broke.. No, it shattered seeing my girl lying helpless in a hospital bed surrounded by tubes and beeping machines. I sat beside you, trying to fight back the tears that were building up behind my eyes. I was so scared to even touch you, you seemed so fragile, but I found some courage, gripped your hand and kissed it. Looking at you, it would be impossible to tell that the deep red blood that stained my clothes, and skin was yours. You looked pristine, in a white polka dot hospital gown, your lower half covered by a blue blanket.

“Hey Y/N buddy, you scared us. You can’t do that again ok?” Jackson says, slipping into the chair at the other side of your bed. I don’t take my eyes off of you, but I can sense Jackson’s compassion, by the slight cracking in his voice. I sigh, and stroke your hand gently, silently plotting what my next move was going to be, against the assholes that put you in here.

I turn to Jackson, and grit my teeth, “I am going to kill, every. last. one Jacks. And I’m starting with Namjoon.”

Jackson tips an imaginary hat towards me, “I hear you brother. I’ve been meaning to shoot those bitches, since the day I met them. I know the rest of the guys feel the same. We’re just waiting for your signal”

I place a kiss on your forehead, and take off my necklace. Standing up from my chair, I put the jewellery in your hand, close it into a tight fist. “I love you Y/N”, I whisper in your ear.

“Bulletproof huh? Let’s test that”. Jackson smiles, in agreement with me, and we leave the hospital.

POV end

The next day, Mark calls a meeting with the other members of his clan at their headquarters. He stops by at the hospital to see you first, and loses track of time, which means he’s late. He jumps in the car, and drives away speeding to the office, when his phone rings. Looking at the caller ID, he rolls his eyes and answers.

“It’s been an hour, where are you man?!” A voice booms down the phone.

“I’m on my way Jaebum! Oh, and calm your ass down too, because I am not afraid to put a bullet in your brain”. Mark replies, with a serious tone whilst stifling a laugh.

Jaebum chuckles, “Bro, if you kill me, then who’s gonna be bad bad cop?” Mark chuckles at his friend, and says a final “Look, I’m coming.” before hanging up the phone.

Mark arrives at HQ, he places his head by the eye scanner and it beeps a few times. “Welcome Mark”, the electronic voice greets him, as the doors slide open. Bambam is so good with this tech shit, Mark thought. He steps inside to find 4 members, sitting around the large table in the middle of the first room. All apart from Jinyoung, who is leaning against the glass window folding the pocket square of his suit, and Yugyeom who is perched on the end of the table throwing scrunched up paper into the bin.

“Morning boys, sorry I’m late. I had shit to do.” Mark addresses his friends, and takes his place at the head of the table. Jinyoung and Yugyeom sit down also, and the meeting begins.

“How is Y/N by the way?” Youngjae nudges Mark, whispering with a concerned look on his face.

Mark shrugs, “I mean, she’s alive.. That’s something right?”, Youngjae nods solemnly in response.

“So Mark!-” Jinyoung cuts in, “How are we killing these guys? You know I have the armoury fully stocked, with whatever weapons we need, to carry out slow and painful deaths. Also, our brand new iron maiden arrived yesterday, and I am dying to christen it with Bangtan blood” he states, casually smoothing down his jacket and smiling.

“It’s not a case of how Jinyoung. It’s a case of when. We all know we’re killing them in the most painful ways possible, that’s a given and thanks to Yugyeom-” Mark gestures to his friend, and Yugyeom takes a bow of pride, “we have a plethera of torture methods we can use. but what we don’t have is the when”

“Well, you know me and my knives are always ready to slice and dice those fucks. That feeling has only amplified now they have hurt family” Jaebum says, using his pocketknife to pick his nails.

“I know Jaebum, and believe me you will get your chance don’t worry.” Mark replies, then speaks to Youngjae, “Little brother, what’s the lowdown on Bangtan as of now?”

Bambam pulls up the projector screen, with his laptop, showing maps and CCTV footage of their rivals. Youngjae stands up from the table and proceeds to inform the group. “As of now, Bangtan are currently out of Seoul. They were seen at the Chulo Club last night after the shooting, corresponding with this man-” He points to a zoomed in CCTV picture of the man sitting with the Bangtan boys,”-a Mr Choi Seunghyun, where they exchanged money, it looks like some kind of deal. Shortly after they left the club, as you can see on the footage, I tracked them to Seoul airport where Namjoon along with Jungkook and Taehyung were seen boarding a private plane to Mexico. The rest of them followed early this morning, carrying large suitcases, I believe they are full to the brim of money from whatever deal they struck the night before”. He sits down again, and smooths his hair.

“Good work, as usual Youngjae. See if you can get any more info on this Seunghyun guy” Mark says. “I’m already on it”. Youngjae replies, and Mark continues, “So, my girlfriend gets shot, and suddenly Bangtan are are meeting with people, exchanging money, and fleeing the country..They ordered a hit on her!.” He furrows his brow, and slams his fist on the table in frustration.

“Yeah, and they won’t get away with it”. Jackson cocks his gun, and points it directly in front of him into the air, to emphasise his statement.

“Damn right. And as much as I want to attack them now, e can’t do shit, until they return to Seoul, so let’s plan our-” Mark continues the meeting, but is interrupted by his phone ringing. He sighs, and pulls it out of his pocket. Looking at the screen, he doesn’t recognise the number but answers anyway.

“Who is this?” Mark breathes out, his voice oozing annoyance. A voice speaks at the other end, and straight away his demeanor immediately changes, from being annoyed to angry. His jaw is clenched, and he grips the phone until his knuckles become red. Finally he speaks.

“Calling me when you’re halfway across the world. Bitch move Sasin”

The boys watch their leader, confused. However, once the Bangtan leader’s name is mentioned, they all shoot up from their seats, intrigued. Signalling Mark to turn on speaker phone, he obliges, and places the phone on the table. The boys huddle around it.

“Oh Siwang, keeping tabs on me are we? You would think you were my girlfriend or something” Namjoon chuckles darkly, “Speaking of girlfriend, I heard of the tragedy that happened with Y/N. So sad. I hope she’s ok.. If there’s anything I can do please let me know”.

Jaebum leans over the phone, and speaks surprisingly calm, “Yeah there’s something you can do. You can get your ass back to Seoul, so we can fill you and your little puppets with bullets”

“Jaebum, temper, temper.. I’m hurt you think we had something to do with it”.

Jaebum rolls his eyes, and Mark grows angrier. Through gritted teeth, he speaks, “Yes, I know you had something to do with it, because whilst I was holding my dying girlfriend in my arms, I saw a rose conveniently placed right beside her. Which happens to be the Bangtan signature”

“That is our signature, you’re right.. But when your girlfriend was being shot, I was busy carving my name into the back of some guy’s head. And the rest of my guys were, um let’s say assisting”

There are chuckles heard in the background, through the phone from the other boys.

“No. No way. Don’t fucking lie right now. You did this”. Jackson spoke, shook his head, and walked away from the table.

Namjoon sighs, his voice is slightly muffled now as if his hand is on his jaw, “Look I know we have had our differences for years, but Y/N is the only one I actually like out of you guys. We have history. Plus if I was going to kill her, I’d do it myself, and she wouldn’t be alive right now, because I shoot to kill. Looks like someone is playing us both”

Jinyoung pulls Mark away, and whispers to him, “I hate these guys guts, and I would love nothing more, than to rip each one of their stupid teeth out of their head for hurting Y/N.. But he’s right, they have history. And I am going to need cleansing after saying this, but I think he’s telling the truth”.

Mark releases a deep breath, and something in him reluctantly agrees with his member. Mark walks back to the phone, placing his hand either side of it on the table.

“When are you back in Korea?” He says plainly.

“2 days time. Why? Planning to ambush us on our return? Who’s doing bitch moves now?”

Mark scoffs, “It would be easy to laced your planes with explosives if I really wanted to, believe me. But no. We’re meeting. I’ll text you the time and place. Bring your lapdogs too”. He goes to hang up the phone, but continues to speak, “I swear to God, if I find out you’re lying to me, you will regret it”. He hangs up the phone straight after speaking, cutting off Namjoon’s reply.

“Mark, we’re meeting them?! You’re gonna have to take my guns, because you know Jungkook fucked me over the last time we saw each other. The minute I see him, he’s dead”. Bambam says, seething with anger.

“B, we have to speak first ok? I have to get to the bottom of this shit. Then after our conversation, Jungkook is yours to flay. Deal?”

Bambam shakes his leader’s hand, “Fine. Deal”

Mark gathers the guys back around the table, and takes his stance once again at the head, “Alright boys, let’s get to work. We have a reunion to prepare for”

- Admin Rosa

A/N:

Siwang = Death. Sasin = Reaper. Ps. i’m sorry it took so long, my life has been hectic.. which is also why this chapter isn’t as punchy, but i’m gonna try and do my best to write more frequently.

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#got7 scenarios #bts scenarios #got7 fanfic #bts fanfic #got7 angst #bts angst #got7 au #bts au #got7 mark #got7 mark scenarios #got7 mark fic #got7 mark angst #mark tuan #tuan yi eun #bts namjoon #bts namjoon angst #bts namjoon scenario #bts rap monster #bts rapmon scenario #bts rapmon angst #bts rapmon

[ondownthemountain]

Been a year

Kinda wanna write about this in a non-urgent way.

I’ve been home for the summer, and it’s been nice. I get to do so much stand-up and practice so much martial arts with my oldest friends. I eat burritos and hug my grandparents and went rafting and watched a meteor shower with my brothers.

And when I feel motivated I go for a run. I did it a few times this summer. I feel like if I don’t watch it I’ll “get fat.” Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But I wanna stay lean.

Anyway.

Being home is hard. Not just because there’s no privacy, because I worry I’m the only one who cares about maintaining my oldest friendships, because my mom is raging and rude and my dad is a jello cup of shame. All that is tough, but it’s always tough. 

What’s really hard, what hits me like a dump truck, what makes my ears hot and my lungs as tight and empty as a crushed up bottle of water, are the memories.

Memories of my ex. First love.

I don’t want to be with her, first off. Let’s get that out of the way. Being with her would mean letting go of a lot of stuff we’ve both worked really hard to build.

Doesn’t mean I don’t remember her, though. And last year, when I was living here, we... crossed paths... just for a few months. And it was surreal, it was a tornado, and it didn’t end on good terms. 

And for months, even as I was faraway in Boston, the guilt would come up and squeeze me, and I wouldn’t be able to smell, or see, or breathe, and I’d black out, or fall asleep, or need to squinch shut my eyes and count and think and do something. Like picture my little brother, when he was a fat baby, gurgling in the bath. Something like that. Pure, you know? To bring me back.

Anyway. Being here is tough because the last time I was here... she was my world. I haven’t lived here and not had her be, you know, it. My lens, my friend, my hope. Literally, not since like, 2009. 

It’s exhausting. I love my hometown so much and I wanna be able to walk around and see it unvarnished by my love for her. But instead of My High School, it’s The Old C Building Stairwell Where We Cuddled and I Skipped Track. Instead of Nations, chill late nite burger joint, it’s Diner Where Her Dad Took Me to Eat Pie and Talk Politics While She Sulked, Where She Hugged Me Just Last Year.

My mom always lashes out at me, tongue dripping venom, when I come home. 

“Why do you want to come home? To see your brothers? Your friends? I’m reeeaally worried that they’re holding you back.”

And I tell her that is my reason-- which is true-- and that they could never hold me back-- which is true-- but that’s not the full truth. Because half the reason I’m so insistent on coming back is to normalize the place I’m from, the place I love. So I live here, and it’s my life, free and independent and replete with memories that do not. revolve. around. her.

So anyway. I’ve been running.

I ran from my house up to Panoramic couple weeks ago. Pretty far, and I fuckin did it. And it was easy til I started to crest the hill.

Because I rounded the first bend and could hear her teasing me as we drove down it in 2012. I could smell the weed on her breath as she, chill as fuck, drove us down around that tight curve in 2011.

And I muscle past that bend, and the next, and then on the long brown grey stretch before the next big hill I remember driving, just last year, my right hand clenching hers, as neither of us looked at each other and she talked slow and even and told me about the bad things that happened to her in college, when she was away, when we weren’t talking.

And it hits, not just the memory but the shame. I should’ve pulled over and hugged her. I should’ve listened harder. I should’ve left, then and there, knowing I’d just hurt her again. Should’ve done anything but keep driving, holding her hand.

The red-hand of that shame, raspy and rough, claws at my larynx. Doesn’t make cresting this hill any easier. But I push on, on and up, thinking if maybe I can see the violets and agave plants of the hillcrest, the ones I took a picture of my girlfriend in front of just last month, I’ll be here, in the new memories--

But no dice. Instead it’s me and her, sitting just on the other side of the railing, in the dead straw grass, smoking. Me angry, her sad. 2 days before we go back to college. And break up for the final time. 

And she turns her head sideways, and looks at me with her little slit eyes, and exhales out the thinnest stream of smoke. I’m cold, I have my plaid-shirt’s sleeves rolled down and buttoned, but again, she’s chill as fuck, and she looks and gulps and pauses and says--

“You look really cute with your sleeves rolled down. I can’t believe I never knew that. You always rolled em up. But you look so cute with your sleeves rolled down.”

Back here in 2017 I’m hacking and coughing. That weedsmoke. Shit. 

I run harder now, harder even though I’m tired, down the side of the hillcrest to the big rock. Think about my girlfriend-- my current one-- and my best friends sitting here, planning jokes and feeling free. I have to think about it. Have to, as I cradle my hot head and cough up phlegm. That’ll keep me here.

                                                                   *

That run was rough. Didn’t try to run anything in the hills again til today. 

I knew I needed to work off the soreness from rafting and knew I wanted to feel fast, feel free-- also knew that I needed a hill to really get that feeling. Like back in high school, when I ran with Eugenio. I saw him last night. He said I was the best friend he ever had. Smartest guy, too.

Yeah, that’s right. Fuck it. I’m gonna run a hill. Like he and I used to, together.

But I know what it means. The only hill to run, the only route I know that’ll let me make it to work in time to finish this memo, is Indian Rock.

Indian Rock. Where we first kissed.

Yes, I’d kissed another girl up there before her, and yes I kissed like 3 girls there after and yes it’s just a rock, but... it still feels like hers. Sometimes. She used to live right next to it, you know. Sometimes in high school I’d run that route and just bump into her. Sometimes I ran it on purpose. Knowing, just knowing, she’d be out walking and I’d see her.

I know I won’t now, though. She moved, and probably avoids that place anyway. Her friends aren’t really the pipe-n-burrito type anymore and she probably just has bad memories of me there anyway. Still, though. I’m kinda scared I’ll see her.

Fuck it, though. I’m gonna run it.

And I lace up my shoes and go--

and it’s instant. Boom, my old house, where we had our first time. Boom, the school, where she refused to show me her stories and I showed her mine. Boom, the park she met me in one night, warm, in january, and I, unbothered for once, dozed off up on a tree branch like an ocelot, waiting for her.

Boom, the corner she left me on with our first public kiss-- good luck-- before I ran off to rehearsal for some silent play where I played a rabbit. Boom, the street we walked-- walked up to her house. And the one time where we walked on different streets, parallel, and I beat her to her house and she called me, angry, cuz she was still a few blocks back, waiting where I forgot I’d said I’d meet her.

You see what I mean? It’s exhausting. Relentless. Every crunch of grass, every smooth slap of my feet against the deep black pavement reminds me, in a rhythm-- you fucked up. you fucked up. you fucked up. you hurt her, hurt her, hurt her. Weak, weak, weak.

And I try to steady myself. Focus on my form. Remember the track team trading jabs, the seniors teasing me, as I struggled to keep up on this route, to even make it halfway to the rock. Remember my coach telling me the middle of the street was actually a softer impact than the sidewalk. Remember picking my little brother, the gurgly one, from school-- his elementary is on this street.

But like one of those insistent radio stations that follows you, even after you cross county lines, she came back. Cuz I remember how fast I’d tear up this trail to get to her house, and how fast I’d tear down from her place once I realized I was late for my brother, for practice, for something. 

Remember being so cut, nine pack abs and bleeding all the time from my own brittle skin, my pimples on my chest, her nails on my back, remember never feeling tired and always feeling ready and showing up at her place sweaty and licking each other clean and man I had never felt so alive! And when you’re a law student, and you’re always sleepy, and you’re outta shape, man oh man is it tough to feel that alive.

But I keep running, dude, cuz I’m gonna feel alive. Alive alive, on my terms, alive. Believe it.

A right, a left, and there it is; the tunnel, and the giant stone stairs.

I hit the stairs like a bullet, like some kinda bug. Scuttle up em, fast. And now I’m smiling cuz I remember taking Robert and Mateo up here and showing them just how fast I was, after one semester on the team. Remember them getting tired and stopping on these steps. Remember how they convinced me to pee off em. We tagged every bus that came out the tunnel.

And then, the traffic circle. If I make the first right, I’ll end up at her old house.

It’s my first time up here in a long, long time.

And being up here I kinda start thinking. Bout how we said we’d always love each other. How we’d carry each other inside.

This is the intersection where Eugenio had to carry me home, crying, when she wouldn’t say bye to me before leaving to college. The intersection where, a year later, her dad paid me n my boys to help them move, and his old red truck stalled in the intersection, and he said “Oops!” in a way that made everyone crack up and just, like magic, started that shit up again.

I’m remembering all these memories and I’m like, dude. I don’t hate her.

I always knew but never said. This time I said it, tasting the dried salt on my lips from running, from sweating. 

Hm.

Why do all these memories sting me? Slice into me, slice in a way that makes me wish some assassin, some riptide blade, would actually come slice me in those some places, those same ways, to deaden the pain?

Cuz I hurt her. Cuz I know she hates me. Cuz I know she wants nothing to do with me ever again. 

Right? I insisted she love me and when she finally tried to I discarded her love. Over. and over. again. 

That’s it. That’s only why it hurts. Not because she hurt me. Cuz she did. She did. She lied and kept secrets and kept me a secret and, and... it never changed a thing. At least about what I felt for her.

And I jog along, and cut in front of some green van, and it’s like, hm. She stabbed me a hundred times and all I can think about is the hundred times I stabbed her. Hm.

I run and run and run, up the hill to Indian Rock.

I love this run, dude. Even before I knew she lived up here, I loved it. The slope, it’s so strong. Gradual, graceful, challenging but good. I loved it. Come to think of it, I think that’s what made it so special, when I finally learned where she lived. Cuz I already loved the run.

Something about the air, the smell of eucalyptus, the dark grey clouds and the mist just fill me up and I realize.

She doesn’t hate me.

She might’ve lied about a couple things but she never lied about how she felt about me. She refused to tell me she loved me til she meant it. And then she did mean it. And when she said always she meant it. And when she said no more, it’s too much, she meant it. And I did too. I did too.

I get to the rock. It’s beautiful. Towering and jagged and grey, and I climb it. Pick my way up dainty, taking the narrow ways, the ways only kids can fit. 

And I hop and jump and get to the top. And there’s a ton of fog but way far away, by just its belly, I see the Golden Gate Bridge.

Yeah. Yeah, we had some firsts up here. 

So did a lot of kids.

Looking down the slope of the rock I see some cans. An empty case of Bud. I shuffle down the rock, grab the cardboard case, and make my way about the rock, picking up all the loose cans. It’s only about four.

Then I climb down the rock, the way I came. Check the secret cave underneath, pick up one more can and a swisher wrapper. 

I go to the garbage can and dump it. There’s in’n’out in the garbage can. Makes me smile. The closest in’n’out is miles away. That means some kids really knew that they wanted for a perfect night. Those burgers, those shakes, and this view. Must’ve been nice. 

For real. It makes me grin. Teeth and everything.

I turn and run downhill.

After a while, running became about her. It started off as a way to show how good I was. How fast and in control. And then, for a sweet spot in the middle, it was brotherhood, and connection to my town, and nature. And then after her, through her, it became about being primal. About pushing my limits and craving red meat.

I used to love to run to her place. I loved running everywhere. Running like that meant I was burning fat away, clean, and shredding up my abs and my whole body so that I was ready to be held, to be washed.

Running, running to her, meant being and becoming strong for her, meant never tiring, never getting sore.

And my feet swirl over and over like a bicycle, like my friend’s hands when he practices wing chun, like two trout. I roll down the hill.

And it makes me smile because running still means the same thing. Running here, running through the same old memories... it’s still being strong. It’s still loving her, by being strong.

But this time, I’m not running to her, like she wanted. I’m running forward, like she wants. Like I want. Like everyone who loves me wants. I run up here, and I run back, and it means being strong, strong as I always was, and it mean running forward, finding something new.

I run up and I feel her and I run back and I feel her  like sweat flying off my brow behind me as I run and I feel nothing, hold nothing, carry nothing. I’m running forward and I’m being and learning and staying strong. For me. For everyone. 

#love #moving on #running #prose #prose poetry #anxiety #writing #creative writing #story #short story #flash fiction #stream of consciousness