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solari-writes-things · 4 years ago

Text

Boxing Day

requested by: @kind-wolf

Solari says: I feel like this is a little more brief than some of the things I write, so I hope that it provides a little more of the comical vibe to make up for it.

Prompts -

#11: “You didn’t tell me your friend was cute! Now what am I going to do?”

Happy Lowman x Reader

WARNINGS: Language

gif credit: to the OP (pulled from Google).

MORE HAPPY | MORE SOA | > MASTERLIST < | REQUESTS OPEN

It took you awhile to convince yourself to finally visit the SAMCRO clubhouse. Not for any particular reason, it’s just that the party scene just wasn’t your preference.

However, you had known Harry Winston for years. You once lived in Charming, when you were a teenager, before moving a little further South of the small town. Finally deciding to move back, you rekindled your friendships with him and Jackson Teller, which prompted an invitation for a clubhouse party.

You almost didn’t want to accept just on the idea of a party. You weren’t too much of an extrovert, preferring to meet everyone on your own accord; however, you didn’t plan on making any trips out of your own time. This was the chance that you had to meet the other people your two friends mentioned prior, their loyal brothers in arms.

They always spoke highly of them, confident that you would get along swimmingly. You had the talent of getting along with almost anyone, though, within reason.

So here you were, sitting in a crowd that surrounded a rinky-dink boxing ring outside of the bar itself. Harry, or Opie, had been sitting to your right to watch the men brawl. There was two in the center, dancing around one another and swinging harshly. One was Tig, whom you had met on arrival to the party, and the other you hadn’t quite met yet.

Opie had been calling him Happy, which you weren’t sure was his real name. The man was anything but that, tall and tattooed all over the parts of his body that you could see. His hands were wrapped tightly in tape, stained just a slight shade of red from the beating that he had been giving Tig these last five minutes. His eyes were serious, feral even, as he shuffled around the ring.

You tapped your fingers against your beer bottle calmly, watching the two of them circle. The jerking of their arms, followed by the sounds of their skin being beat made you cringe where you sat. Something about the two of them in the ring together almost made you a little fearful.

Two opposing, wild forces clashing against each other.

Tig managed to land a couple of back-to-back punches, which seemed to have Happy in a bit of a daze in the corner of the ring. He would try to follow up with another barrage of hits, but the President of the Sons of Anarchy stood up from his ringside seat and called the match to an end.

Both men were almost coated in a matching shade of red, and you almost didn’t notice until they had been called to a stop.

Instead of them sauntering out, their expressions went from wild to smiling; the quickness of it all was enough to give you whiplash. They bring each other in for a hard hug, before both of them duck through the ropes on opposing sides.

Happy dropped down calmly in front of you and Opie, giving a nod of greeting to Opie before approaching. The longer you paid attention to him, the longer you seemed to realize that he wasn’t a bad looking man--blood and all. Your eyes scanned the different types of ink that he had strewn all over his body, intrigued in the different art styles that he had decorated himself in. God, you had hoped he didn’t notice you staring just a bit too much.

“Fuckin’ badass match, Hap,” Opie commented, taking a drink of his own beer bottle. “You look like shit.”

Happy had an almost wicked grin on his face, amused at the fact that he was in such a shape. “I’ve had worse, man. Shit will get cleaned up quick.”

You were almost startled by the sound of his voice. You didn’t know what to expect, really, but the tones that left his mouth definitely weren’t it. Honestly, it kind of added to the face-level fascination.

Opie nodded his head to you, directing Hap’s attention to you. Your eyes dart up from his tattoos, and you offer a smile that feigned your innocence. “Happy, this is [Y/N]. She just moved back to Charming, I’ve known her for years.”

“Hey,” you said simply, trying to keep your responses as brief as possible to hide the fact that your eyes were wandering just a bit before.

“Hey,” he greeted. “I’d shake your hand, but mine are kinda covered in blood.”

“Noted,” you replied quickly. “Great match, had me worried you were gonna kill each other.”

“If Clay didn’t call it, someone probably woulda gotten close,” he casually admitted. If speaking to anyone else, they’d probably take that as their first warning.

But here you were, completely ignoring that notion. “Can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Situational,” he retorted, before looking down at himself. There was a bit of blood clinging to the skin of his chest and his face, which prompts him to speak again. “I gotta fuckin’ wash this off. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He trudges off, pushing through the crowd of patched members trying to pat him on the back in praise.

You look back to Opie, almost in disbelief, not even paying attention to the fact that he was drinking out of his beer bottle again when you opened your mouth. “What the fuck, man? You didn’t tell me your friend was cute! Now what am I gonna do?”

It was almost comical, the reaction that Opie immediately gave to you. With your mild infatuation with Happy out in the open, he had almost choked on the beer that he was in the process of swallowing. He lurched forward, coughing into the shirt that he wore underneath the kutte. You grimaced at the coughing fit, reaching over and patting his back as if to encourage him to let it all out.

Once he was finished, he sat back up again and wiped his mouth of any remnants of his fit. He began to grin, laughing just a bit once the spasms in his chest has settled down.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me, man, I hate you,” you said jokingly, giving him a gentle shove; inevitably causing him to laugh even more.

“To answer your question, you can come with me to get a beer,” you heard an answer, causing your head to whip around once more in a start.

Your heart picked up it’s pace. Happy had come back, slightly leaned over to pick up something that was laying on one of the wooden tables you were sitting near. He had forgotten to pick up his rings, placing them on the palm of his hand calmly as he waited for you to respond.

“Oh... Shit, Happy, you sure about that?” you ask, nerves settling on your shoulders once it really sank in that he had heard your comment.

“Yeah. Why the fuck not?” he asked, standing straight once he had all of his rings in his hands. “Come on. Just gotta wait for me to finish up.”

So you stand, slowly, just in case Happy decided this was no longer a good idea. You wouldn’t be angry if he did, you kind of embarrassed yourself in front of him and Opie. However, when nothing of that notion left his mouth, you relaxed your shoulders.

He turns, connecting eyes with you once again. With a serious expression, one that he wore since coming back, he nods towards the door that led back into the bar and begins to walk towards it.

And you follow, with an approving nod from Opie, towards the black painted door frame that contained the comradery inside.

#happy lowman #happy lowman x reader #soa #sons of anarchy #samcro #happy lowman imagine #solari writes things

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 5 years ago

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CALI COAST.

Filip “Chibs” Telford x Reader

Anon asked: Hiya, love your writing!! I’d like to request a chibs Imagine about a him falling for a female mechanic at TM. Thank you 😊

Word Count: 3.6k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Driving the car crane, carrying a blue sedan that you were trying to seize for three days, but the owner was such a dickhead till he finally pissed you off and you had to point him with a gun. Tig told you to do it, even if you've never fired one. His face was worth the risk of being reprimanded by Hale. Danny claps at you, when getting off of the crane, you point your new acquisition with both hands and a huge smile on the corner of your lips.

“Tada!” You say with a melodic voice, jumping one time.

“Good job, rookie”. He says urging you to high-five, giving you the ‘seized’ sticker.

Very proud of your work, you take it to stick it on the front glass, crossing your arms after it to admire your piece of art.

“Ok, let's pull down this big guy”. Danny palms your back, ready to drop the tow and park the car with the rest.

“Ya’, man, who's that lass?” Chibs steps slow down, some meters away from you, hitting Tig's chest with his palm, actually hurting him.

“What the fuck?!” He yells rubbing himself over the kutt.

“She's (Y/N), the new Teller-Morrow mechanic”. Happy comes from nowhere, scaring both men, with no gesture in his face. “She's like a Pop Tart. Sweet and crunchy”.

“Did you already fuck her?” Tig sighs staring at him.

“No”.

“Then, how 'you know she's crunchy?”

“She broke Juice's nose yesterday”.

The men break in laughter, now understanding why his face looks like shit.

“Wha' happened?” Chibs tries to talk, starting to cough because of the loud laughs.

“She just got scared, 'cause he was behind her in silence”. Happy turns at them, narrowing on of his shoulder, making a move with his head to follow him.

The SOA president has been out of Charming for two weeks, taking care of the gun's business at southern Cali. For you, he was just traveling. The guys talked about him a lot in his absence of the club and you were pretty excited to meet him. At least, he's also your boss. So, when Tig shouts your new nickname making you turn, you go immediately with the same smile on your face.

“What's'ap, boss?” You say placing your hands behind your back, covered by the green jumpsuit of the workshop.

“The president”. He says pushing the man into you, with a singsong voice, making the scottish clicks his tongue.

“Just Chibs”. He adds, offering you a hand in somewhat formal greeting.

“Finally!” You say excited narrowing it, actually feeling a little nervous. “I'm (Y/N), but they call me ‘rookie’”.

“Rooke'”?

“Yeah, like a prospect for the club”. You explain then, getting back your hand with the own other.

“And she likes whisky”. Happy puts a forearm on one of the president's shoulder, taking off the toothbrush of his lips.

“Really? Ya' wan' one? So ya' can tell me where did ya' come from”. The man offers then, turning an arm to the club entrance, and you obviously can't say ‘no’ even if it's ten am and you just finished the first coffee of the day. You nod in silence.

Tig and Happy continue their way to the workshop, whilst you're walking by the scottish side with the nerves running through your whole anatomy. Everybody knows the Sons of Anarchy, everybody knows what they do even if they didn't see it. You know you don't have to be afraid, nor scared, but you can't help feeling it anyway. In a gentle gesture, the president holds the door for you, smiling slightly coming in. The club is empty, not even music is being played and it's kinda strange. Maybe they prepared before this meeting, so no one could bother you.

Even if you have been working for the last two weeks, if Filip decides to fire you 'cause you're not what he was looking for Teller-Morrow, he can do it without needing the support of anyone. You like your job and they pay you quite well, having a very flexible schedule, and treating you like another one of the family. So losing it, it's not an option.

You can see the man turning around towards the bar, grabbing two glasses to serve a whisky from an old bottle. You can recognize it. An special edition of Blue Label of Johnnie Walker. You have never tasted before, but you heard about it. Honey and vanilla are the first nuances you can taste having a sip. Chibs is staring at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an opinion. Snapping

“It's sweet, but bitter because of the citrics”.

“Dammet', lass!” He yells excited, hitting the bar, provoking you a chill. “Its true ya' like wheske'”.

“Yea', I... do”. You nod with pursed lips, seeing him walk towards the sofa.

Sitting there, you doubt for a second carrying a chair next to him and leaving your drink on the table, looking around for a second expecting what he wants to know.

“So tel'me. Where 'ya from, where ya' worken'... All thes' thengs'”. Chibs finally says, placing his whisky above the table, leaning towards you with his forearm supported on his lap.

“I'm from Los Angeles, my father had a workshop too, so it's family business”. You explain yourself, not sure what more you can say about your life. “When he died thr—”.

“'Am sorre'bout that”. The president holds your right hand for a while, narrowing it.

“Yea', life's things, I guess”. His touch is firm, looking at both hands sideway, before continue. “Well, ah... It was three years ago. He left me the workshop, but I was alone and I couldn't do it without help, so I had to sell it. I was working with my uncle, till I decided to move on. And... a friend told me about yours and I said... Why not? So, here I am”.

“Hm...” Chibs nods thoughtful resting his back on the sofa, moving his gaze from one side to another in nowhere.

“Listen, ah... I know it took me three days to seize that sedan, and I have no excuses, but I really like this job. I mean, work here”. You look desperate licking your lips and gesticulating more than necessary, not trying to give pity, but asking for another chance.

“Relax, rooke', I'm not gonna keck'yar ass”. His loud laughter, shaking his chin, infects you chuckling. Not sure if because you want, or because you're doing it to please him. “The bike in the backyard, is yars'?”

“It was my father's. He used to run Cali with it, till he couldn't do it anymore. But it's not working. I have to fix it”.

“You wan'me to help ye'?”

The question takes you by surprise, twisting your neck as a dog would do when he's confused. Until now, you have been doing it by yourself, even though you can take her to a workshop and not worry about it. But someone offering himself to help you it's something new. Not actually ‘someone’, but the Sons of Anarchy president. And your boss.

“Yes, yes... I mean, sure. If you have time”.

“Aye! 'Course, lass. Wha' ya' have is a fuckin' gem! Wha'bout tonigh'?”

You don't say anything, but it sounds like a date. And it doesn't surprised you by the way he had to greeting you, when you two met minutes ago. His fingers were a little shaky and you can swear that even his hand was somewhat sweaty. Finally, you nod before he could start to think that you're kinda dumb, having a sip of your whiskey.

“Ya ken'? I had one simila' when I was younga'”. He comments, seeming like the man wants to continue your talk, but doesn't knows how to do it. “I toured Scotlan' whet'et'”.

“I've never been there, but I saw it in photographs. It's an amazing country”.

“Aye! Et'e—

Some yells outside call your attention, and you recognize the voice by heart, 'cause you have been hearing it for the last three days. Rolling your eyes and getting up, down by the scottish's gaze following you, you walk towards the workshop with a serious gesture on your face and your arms crossed above your chest. The sedan' owner is there, with Hale by his side. You're fucked.

“She was! She was!” The blonde man is pointing at you accusatory, seeing how the sheriff rubs his eyes. “That bitch pointed me with a gun!”

“Did you?” Hale asks you with a hand resting in the butt of his own gun, hanging from his belt, and the other hanging by a side of his body.

“No, sir. I did—”.

“You, fucking liar!” The man practically jumps to you, being blocked by the SOA president, hitting him straight to his face.

Everything goes so fast that you can't even react. But the scottish is putting you behind his body, after punch the sedan' owner, with a hand thrown back slightly touching your abdomen. Hale is handcuffing him, growling and cursing at you lying on the ground by the sheriff.

“If you say anything else, I'm gonna accuse you of obstruction, do you hear me?” The cop says putting him down, starting to walk next to the car so his co-worker can sit him inside the car. “Do you want to file a complaint?”

This time is coming back towards you, with a sigh on his lips rolling his eyes. You shake your head, hiding out from Chib's back, frowning at the blonde man.

“Don' worry, sir, it's ok”. You say then.

“Tel'im fi' me that he won't get his car back”.

And without saying anything else, he turns at you placing an arm on your shoulders to urge you start to walking back to the workshop.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

When your turn is already finish, you drive back home the enough time to have a shower and changing your clothes for something more comfy taking into account the plan you are going to have. You're also trying to not think that it's a date, even if it was like it sounded. And you can't help but feeling nervous parking by a side of the yard, frowning missed when you notice the fact that there's only a bike. So, your suspicions get confirmed. Actually it's not something that bothers you, after all you've heard about him. Loyalty, strength, sincerity, self-confidence, kind and polite. And an accent pretty funny. So, why not?

“Wha' ya' thenken'?” Chibs comes from nowhere, scaring you and making you scream.

The man starts to laugh loud, while your face becomes rude with pursed lips and a hand on your chest trying to calm your heart beat.

“Jesus Christ...”

“Dammet, rooke', it's true ya're ease' to scare!” You sigh rolling your eyes because of his words. “Com'ere, I've alrede' brought yar' bike”.

“DaMmEt, RoOkE”. You joke on him with a high-pitched tone, whilst he's laughing louder.

“Ya' amaze me, lassie. Dinnae' know you talk scottesh'”.

“What the...?” You find yourself laughing too in a relaxed way after a long time, shaking your head with a sigh, going to the workshop illuminated by some lights.

Turning over your steps you notice that the place is practically empty, guessing that Juice took off all the cars by Chibs' petition, playing fool when you find with your gaze two cardboard boxes from your favorite burger joint. Hiding your curiosity and moving your feet next to the old Harley Davidson, you let your fingers travel over the metallic handlebar. Memories crowd your head, one on top of the other, until you collapse. You still haven't driven it, because your father kept it for almost eight years on his garage, till he left. And it doesn't need a lot of fixes, but you haven't been able to get started before. You couldn't, 'cause it's the only thing you have of him.

“When was the... fers' time ya' ride't?”

Turning to the man, finding him supporting his back against the wall with a big cup of coke in his left hand, sipping from the straw. You shrugs your shoulders, taking the other drink to imitate him with your gaze on the matt black motorbike.

“I didn', yet. Alone, I mean... But by my father's back”. You say almost in a whisper. “I was five years old. We toured Cali coast”.

“Cali coast amaze me, et's a good ferst' ride”. He says then, after some seconds in silence. “Ded'ya by night?”

“Dawn, actually”. You answer with a goofy smile on your lips and your eyes on the drink between your hands, playing with the straw. “I... remember that... my father came to my room, to wake me up saying ‘let's go, bunny, adventure time’! He was very excited”.

It's the first time in years that you're talking about him and Chibs looks pretty curious about it, but you're trying not to break your voice. Smiling sideways, you stare at the scottish man, shrugging your shoulders again, not knowing how continue.

“Why ‘bunny’?”

“I like velocity”.

“Oh, realle'? Wha' bike ded'ya have before et'?”

Your cheeks turning red and your lips pursuing second by second, containing a laugh, makes him raises both eyebrows with curiosity.

“A Vespa...?” You mutters biting the straw, while Chibs laughs again. You're starting to love his laugh, no regrets. “Ah, ah, but...! I have a Mustang, so, boom!”

Your left hand imitates the typical gesture of dropping a mic, getting up from the wall to walk towards the food with innocent air, opening one of the bags with your forefinger and having a quickly look.

“Ya'hungre?” He asks then, following your steps to grab boths bags, twisting his neck in a soft gesture to tell you without words about to have a seat.

So you do, on one of the cair placed on the front yard, next to a corner.

“So, what et' needs?”

“Brakes. I need to change them. Now it has ones that are obsolete and I was thinking to put an ABS”. Leaving your drink between your feet, you take the burger Chibs is offering you to unwrap it on your lap.

“Sounds good. Do ya' have them?”

“Yea', I bought them in LA. And I think could be good change the tires, the oil and the handlebar grips, they're a little worn”.

“Tha's'ease fo' ya'”.

“Yeah, but... I didn't want to fix it, actually?”

“Why?”

“I'm scared to have an accident or something, and destroy it. I don' have anything of my father, but his bike”. Having a bite with your gaze on him, you cover your mouth to keep talking. “So, I just... was telling... myself that I didn't have time... to fix it”.

“But we're gonna do 'et!” Chibs exclaim excitedly, opening his arms for a second and holding the burger and the beer in each hand. “I know yar' father prefers to fac'ap his bike, than keep'et in a garage with dust on 'et”.

“Yea', I think so...”.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

First, knocks on your door. Then your bell ringing. Palming the mattress till you find your phone to watch the clock, you read all the notifications in the locked screen. There are almost eleven lost calls from Chibs and a lot of messages. And it in silence. You practically jump off of your bed, running as never before to the main door, opening it.

“Finally! Jesus Christ, I thought ya' were dead!”

“What happened? It's everything ok? Sorry, I just fell asleep an—”. You're talking so fast that your tongue ends up making a mess.

Chibs enraptured looking at you from top to down with a goofy smile on his lips, very interested in the Black Sabbath' shirt you're wearing. Clearing his throat, while your gaze travels to the dark van parked in front of your house. Tig and Juice are taking off of it your motorbike. Pushing him away from you, with your left hand on his chest, you take some steps barefoot above the cesped. You're face shows surprise and confusion, believing for a while that you're dreaming or something like that.

One of his hands wrap your left wrist, urging you to look at him. You're legs shaking for a second.

“Ya're prette' with messy hair and tha' shirt, but I wanna ride with ya'”. He says then, trying to hide his excitement.

And you want to hide yours, but you can't. You hug him, but not with a normal one. You're rousing and thankful, surrounding his neck with yours arms leaning on your toes. You know he wasn't expecting by the “oh” he mutters kinda surprised, taking some seconds till he finally is able to wrap your back and your waist pushing you closer into him, resting his forehead on your shoulder. Then, Chibs understands why Happy said like you're like a Pop Tart. He knows it tooks you just one second to make him fall in love with you and that the fact of worrying about your favorite take away restaurant, it wasn't only 'cause you're ‘the rookie’.

The scottish have a deep breathe from your hair, starting to wish he hadn't, because he's falling a little more. And he can't watch his mouth.

“Ya' smell really good”. He tells you with a husky tone on his voice that bristles the skin of your arms.

“Honey and vanilla”. You mutter with pursed lips, before the man making you a gesture to come in your house.

You nod in a hurry, running back to your room looking for the perfect clothes to drive. A comfy pair of jeans, a vaporous shirt, your boots and a leather jacket. Keeping your principal stuff in a bag and grabbing your helmet, you walk towards the main door sooner as you can. The van isn't there anymore but your bike and Chib's one, close to yours, are parked on the sidewalk. He's already waiting sitting on his, turning on the engine when you're wearing the black helmet before keep the bag under the seat, the scottish stares at you with a hug smile and a dearly gesture on his face.

It has been eight years since you heard your father's Harley roaring, and feeling how your body vibrates on it it's simply amazing. You can't even describe how you feel right now, looking at Chibs with that gesture mixing incredulity and surprise. Pressing the brake, but also the gas, the back wheel squeaks without caring if you wake up your neighbors.

“Let's go, lass!”

You release the brake, letting your motorbike rolls above the road with a hoarse growl flying off from the engine, being followed by the scottish. He didn't tell you where you're going, but after five days talking about your childhood in Cali, it's pretty clear that he wants to ride the coast with you after seeing the emotions that provokes you the memories doing it with your father. You know well he wants to be part of it, part of your routine and part of your life. And you're letting him come in 'cause, why not?

You know the road by heart, touring it with the fresh dawn's air hitting your face, till it turns with a salty smell after some hours driving in silence, enjoying the landscape views. You're closer to the ocean and you can feel it inside your lungs, closing your eyes for second. Time enough to make you fly back to your childhood. The sound of the engine, the seagull, the waves breaking. Everything is the same as you remember. But you're not a child anymore, you're ridding California with Filip Telford by your side, who can say that? Only you. And it's not because who he is, but because of who you want him to be for you.

It's sunrising. In the horizon, the sky is mixed with blue, orange and soft pink. It's your favorite part of the day, but now it's different. You're /living/ it, breathing it, enjoying it totally relaxed as never before, with Chibs' eyes on you for a ephemeral instant, fully spellbound. And that's what makes it special this time.

“Don'ya thenk' it's time fo' a coffee?” He asks loud enough for you to hear him. You nod laughing, 'cause you really need it after sleeping for just four hours.

Some mills away, you finally stop in a rest area on top of a small cliff. Taking off your helmet, you walk towards the wooden railings looking down. You're too close of the sea that almost some salty drops splash your face interspersed with the sea breeze. You couldn't get tired of a place like that. The smell of hot coffee pushes you into reality, turning to Chibs so you can hold the metallic mug.

“Maybe I put some Cardhu in'et”.

“Maybe?” You break in laugh, leaning your nose over it.

“When I say ‘maybe’, et's because I alrede' ded'et”.

“So... the other night, at the workshop, maybe it was a date?”

“Maybe”. He nods, blowing his drink, before taking a drink. “Maybe that's the second one”.

“Maybe you already won me, fixing my bike and bringing me here”. Giving him your most smooth smile, you drink too, turning to the ocean while he puts an arm on your shoulders letting you rest your cheek on his. “Maybe you put a lot of Cardhu”.

“Yea', maybe”.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy x reader #chibs x reader #chibs telford #chibs telford x reader #chibs telford imagine #filip telford x reader #filip telford #filip chibs telford #filip chibs telford x reader

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skold · 5 years ago

Text

alright fine here’s the fuckin punk house au summary

putting under a cut for length/content

abandon hope all ye who enter here for there is rpf, genderbends of both the cisswap and the trans variety, some recreational drug use, and one (1) underage character beyond the veil

so anyway punk house. it’s a house. there’s SO MUCH STUFF in the house and there’s only really 3 bedrooms but 5 people live there.

it’s kinda tim centric ig and tim is a trans guy who makes zines and is into vulture culture. got a lotta cool dead stuff. he’s like 28 and chris is his boyfriend who is cis and like 22. he’s basically just a shitty baby goth like when he was all greasy during infamous era. chris works at a gas station and tim works at the local goth store/piercing studio/head shop. chris has his own shitty studio apartment because tim doesn’t want chris to actually move in cuz he’s got a loft bed and doesn’t wanna sacrifice floor space to get a real bed that actually fits both of them comfortably. they do definitely cram into the loft bed when chris stays over but chris whacks his head a lot.

corey and jim are dating also but they don’t technically share a room bc corey’s a fucking animal. jim’s a trans girl and she’s also a witch and super crust punk and her love for corey is secondary to her truck which is an old beater from like he early 70s she fixed up. she works on bikes and cars at the local garage and is generally just super grunge butch knockoff jerry cantrell ass. think pre-slipknot long hair jim y’know. corey is gnc and a disaster. he’s a nuisance y’know. his “bedroom” is basically just a closet. mostly hangs out with paul whose room is just a converted living space kinda room right by the front door and paul is the local pansexual polyam mess. he has a bad habit of leaving his door open and half the house sees the genital configuration of whoever he’s hooking up with. his actual boyfriends are sid and #3 chris. shawn’s the token cishet cryptid nobody ever sees him and he has multiple locks and deadbolts on his bedroom door. he’s an artist apparently. nobody knows what the fuck his problem is.

uhhhh ricky is 17 and a baby trans and has a fat crush on justin who is chris’s co-worker at the gas station. and chris is like justin i s2g if u even LOOK at lil man sideways i’ll smear yr brain across the commissary. they’re def dating the second ricky turns 18 tho. and justin’s like 20 so it’s not actually weird. ricky’s mom drops him off everywhere all the time. ryan’s the pet heterosexual of the bunch and they keep him around cuz he drives and has the weed hookups. all the smokers roast him cuz he vapes and every time he gets a new cart jim has to try it so she can roast him adequately

uh what else lemme think. chris is xvx still and tim is the shittiest vegan on earth he’s just like yeah there was cheese on this pizza but i peeled it mostly off so it’s basically vegan now. jim’s ig profile picture is her truck and she does stick n pokes and taught tim how to do them. tim tattooed RAT QUEEN on her ass. john’s tim’s ex from before tim transitioned and she’s a cis mostly-lesbian who’s a stripper/escort who knows paul cuz he’s the bartender at the club she works at and she got tim the room in the first place. tim has a SMOKE GRASS EAT ASS patch on his battle vest but he doesn’t even rly smoke weed that often. he just keeps a pack of papers on hand and has like one rly stupid piece like a jack o lantern bong or a hand pipe that looks like worm on a string. when ricky got his first T shot his mom dropped him off at the house afterwards and tim ran out into the driveway with two cans of silly string spraying it all over him and screaming LIL MAN GOT THE DICK JUICE!!! and jim was just like “welcome to hrt hell just wait till yr genitals start doing weird shit here’s a congratulatory cigarette don’t tell chris”. the one time chris has seen shawn shawn took one look at him and said “you look like you’re into latex and eating ass” and chris just looked at tim like HOW DOES HE KNOW. sometimes shawn pays sid money to be involved in his “experimental art projects” but sid always comes rolling out bleeding and looking well fucked and everyone’s just like I Pretend I Do Not See It. jim and tim do a lot of leftist vandalism/graffiti and minor property destruction like knocking over those stupid scooters for anarchy reasons. chris has kind of a lot of instagram followers cuz he’s hot and does makeup lewks. paul has pissed in the fountain outside the local mexican restaurant so many times they were forced to remove it.

tagging so i can add to this later if anything needs to be added lmao

#rpf //#punk house

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trickandmxgic · 5 years ago

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— BASICS.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE ? Tall? 5′9″ so, thAT’S, TALL I THINK SFJKHKDFJ

▸ ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ? Guo Jia is p. alright with his height.

▸ WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE ? Short-medium length, blonde, very silky. Often smells like flowers, faintly enough not to be overbearing but not faint enough to be unnoticeable-- just flowery enough.

▸ DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING ? It really depends. On a normal day, Guo Jia can spend maybe twenty to thirty minutes styling and grooming his hair, and other days, like waking up with an awful hangover, he might forego any of that and just set out carefree into the world with some serious bed head going on. Which brings me to the next question, actually...

▸ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK ? There is a certain standard Guo Jia likes to hold his appearance and looks to, but honestly? The guy doesn’t really give a damn about how others perceive his looks or style or anything related to it. Like, Guo Jia prefers to dress fashionably, prefers to look quote end quote “on fleek”, but if for some reason on a given day he doesn’t have time to dress properly or do his hair or anything like that, then he’s okay with that too. Everyone’s negative opinions on him can honestly be damned if you ask Guo Jia. I mean the guy would sometimes barge into meetings hungover and without any pants on and not give two single shits about the remarks or judgements people made. Case in point, Guo Jia likes to look good in the eyes of others, but equally, he doesn’t really give a damn if they don’t appreciate what he’s working with.

— PREFERENCES.

▸ INDOORS OR OUTDOORS ? Indoors ▸ RAIN OR SUNSHINE ? Sunshine. ▸ FOREST OR BEACH ? Forest. ▸ PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS ? Precious Metals. ▸ FLOWERS OR PERFUMES ? Perfumes. ▸ PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE ? Equal. ▸ BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD ? Being in a crowd. ▸ ORDER OR ANARCHY ? Order ▸ PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES ? White Lies. ▸ SCIENCE OR MAGIC ? Magic ▸ PEACE OR CONFLICT ? Peace. ▸ NIGHT OR DAY ? Night ▸ DUSK OR DAWN ? Dawn ▸ WARMTH OR COLD ? Cold ▸ MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS ? Many acquaintances, though few true friends. ▸ READING OR PLAYING A GAME ? Either

— QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS ? LMFAO there’s quite a bit to unpack here but, to try and sum some of them up, he’s very morally gray, he can be manipulative, he has a drinking problem, he’s hella flirty, he’s a real ‘ends justify the means’ kind of guy, with the way he lives he is either going to end up partying or working himself to death (or both somehow), and he can occasionally tease people too much (to the point of pissing them off).

▸ HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM ? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM ? Guo Jia generally hasn’t had many people grow close enough to him to where he would care about losing them. Guo Jia didn’t know his mother or any of his brothers and sisters, and his father was a complete asshat, so he has no true connection to any of his actual family, nor would he care if any of them perished. Guo Jia is in much the same boat when it comes to close friends or found-family too-- he has maybe, two, or three people he would really feel bad about losing, but none of them have passed yet, so there’s nothing to be affected by, yet.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS ? Finally being accepted by a father-figure type person (Hua Tuo) and the time he spent with them studying, training his magical arts, and indulging in their wine collection.

▸ IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL ? It’s very, very, very easy for Guo Jia to kill people. Even in instances where Guo Jia would prefer not to kill someone, he’ll still do it without batting an eye if he thinks it’s the only way forward.

▸ WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN ? Interesting, because Guo Jia doesn’t really break down. When Guo Jia reaches a breaking point (which is incredibly rare), there isn’t any anger, or tears, or outbursts, or anxiety or fear or anything like that-- when Guo Jia is ‘breaking down’, it’s more like he ‘shuts down’ as in he just smiles, maybe gets a sullen look in his eyes, and goes silent, becoming an immobile heap of flesh who’s completely disconnected from the outside world and many of their own emotions. It’s a really odd, and possibly eerie thing to witness when this happens to Guo Jia, because he basically appears to be in what can only be described as a ‘waking coma’-- his eyes will be open, he’ll be smiling, he’ll be ‘awake’ but he won’t really be ‘there’.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE ? If Guo Jia gets close enough with someone, yes, he can trust them with his life, but since that doesn’t often happen....

▸ WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE ? Guo Jia in love is not much different from Guo Jia regularly. Assuming of course that Guo Jia opens up and actually allows himself to indulge in loving and being loved by someone, he will be more romantic with said person, his flirting will go farther more often, and he will want to include them in a lot of his activities. Guo Jia on the whole though will just keep being himself ,and yes that involves being a flirt, not just with his partner but with other people outside the relationship-- he wont cheat mind you, he’ll be surprisingly loyal to a potential partner in that regard, but flirting with people is like second nature to the guy and he isn’t just going to stop on a dime, though it is something he will try to work on if his partner is uncomfortable about it.

tagged by: i stole it from my GF @clippingwings tagging: everyone

#;i'm twisting allegories now (HEADCANON);#//GOOD MEME GOOD MEME

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judesowndaughter · 5 years ago

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— BASICS : KATE MARSH.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE ? : kate is technically of average height for a woman, albeit on the shorter side---she is 5′3″. however, she considers herself short because her family is populated exclusively by people taller than her.

▸ ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ? : no; kate would prefer to be her mother’s height ( 5′7″ ) so that people would take her seriously, and so she would feel less intimidated by helen.

▸ WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE ? : l o n g, blond, thicc, and soft like lambswool. kate has naturally wavy hair, although she usually straightens it ( according to helen, it’s ‘neater’ that way. )

▸ DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING ? : at least two hours a day are committed to getting her hair and makeup just right. if she spends enough time and energy contouring and putting her hair up perfect, kate should be able to distract from the omnipresent bags under her eyes.

▸ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK ? : she worries about what her mother may think of her appearance---stepping out of line is grounds for punishment. but kate also fears that she’s not pretty, especially when compared to girls like dana and victoria. her weight is a particular sticking point due to the fatphobic comments that helen has made over the course of kate’s life. kate cares about her appearance, but that concern is motivated out of fear and self-loathing rather than love and self-care.

— PREFERENCES.

INDOORS OR OUTDOORS ? ▸ outdoors, being inside too much can stir up cabin fever, and her safe space away from her mother is in nature. RAIN OR SUNSHINE ? ▸ sunshower, the best of both rain and sunshine. FOREST OR BEACH ? ▸ forest, owing to how quiet and secluded they are. it’s easy to find a spot to be alone along a forested hiking trail. PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS ? ▸ metals, kate likes their simplicity. FLOWERS OR PERFUMES ? ▸ flowers, she’s picky about perfumes, and flowers come in so many wonderful combinations that she can’t choose a favorite. PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE ? ▸ personality, as kate values traits like loyalty, empathy, and compassion in her significant other. BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD ? ▸ being alone, no one judges her. ORDER OR ANARCHY ? ▸ order. PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES ? ▸ painful truths. SCIENCE OR MAGIC ? ▸ science, which she sees as another way for man to contemplate and express appreciation for God’s creation. also chemistry jokes. PEACE OR CONFLICT ? ▸ peace, kate has enough conflict going on in her home life. she would just like to rest. NIGHT OR DAY ? ▸ night, the one time when she isn’t busy. DUSK OR DAWN ? ▸ dawn, for the colors and the sunrise. WARMTH OR COLD ? ▸ warmth, this girl is FREEZING. she craves feeling warm. MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS ? ▸ a few close friends, people she could tell her personal struggles to. but due to her family’s role in town life and her blandly pleasant demeanor, she has many acquaintances. this hasn’t made her very happy. READING OR PLAYING A GAME ? reading.

— QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS ? : she places her own life at very little value, which puts her into situations where she takes the punishment for someone else. this girl automatically assumes that the best course of action is to sacrifice herself rather than come up with a solution that benefits both or all parties involved. kate is bad at self-care in general---if it’s not an activity that keeps up the appearance that she/her family are well-adjusted and “normal”, she’s not likely to do it. finding time to regularly relax, hydrating, getting enough sleep, etc. are left by the wayside.

▸ HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM ? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM ? : rachel’s disappearance and the discovery of her body is not something that kate takes well regardless of their relationship. with the revelation that rachel and she are forever linked together by the dark room, kate is stricken with a terrible sense of survivor’s guilt and a desire to keep rachel alive in memory and art. depending on the LIS verse, kate can lose her sister, emily, to the storm, and her death sends kate into a depressive spiral. there are other verses where kate can lose/loses people close to her, but for the sake of length, i’m only covering these two scenarios.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS ? : swimming in the river by herself during the summer, cloud-gazing with her father as a child, the day of her confirmation, teaching emily to skip stones by the beach, watching lynn perform her first successful kickflip.

▸ IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL ? : no. kate is a pacifist, and even in extreme circumstances ( such as her UD verse ) she cannot bring herself to fire a gun at jefferson until the instinctual will to live overrides her rational concern for violating a moral imperative.

▸ WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN ? : numbness initially sets in, with kate going quiet and getting lost in her thoughts. something breaks, though, and that’s when the tears start flowing and the anger/anxiety hits. kate never gets violent or hits things, but she may scream into a pillow or a loved one’s chest and hold tight to them, not letting go until she feels safe. ▸ IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE ? : yes, easily. while not naive, kate is willing to believe the best in her closest friends and found family---that the better angels of their nature will prevail.

▸ WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE ? : she’s affectionate; holding hands and playing with their hair is a given. one of her love languages is food in spite of her e*ating d*sorder---she’s all about making food for her girlfriend, or at the very least sharing a cup of tea together. art is another area---kate’s sketchbook slowly becomes filled with drawings of her SO.

TAGGED BY : @horrorempathy thank you! this was a lot of fun to do! <3 TAGGING : @odawns, @ghostinhumanshape, @4x0hxnxroll, @et-inarcadia-ego, @downpaths, @avisplumis, soula boy voice youuuuuuuuu

#;;confessional #;;selling faith on the go tell crusade #tw ed mention #tw ed #tw abuse mention

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jjunishi · 5 years ago

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Choice

Kakegurui au (since I haven't seen any)

Prompt: In a school run entirely by gambling ability, Katsuki Bakugou is the self-proclaimed king and everyone who challenges him is unlikely to meet a very good outcome.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem. reader

Rating: idEk what this is but there’s implied sexy things (characters are aged up)

Words: 3,234

Part two? Would anyone want that tho??

It was one of the largest come-ups that Japan has ever seen. Incredible how an unknown family name suddenly became one of the best known and perhaps even infamous names seemingly overnight. The media painted the family out to be one of mystery but with an evident stench of new money, cold hard cash. Overnight, they had one of the largest net worth’s that Japan has ever seen, it was borderline terrifying the power they had. Consequentially, when the only child of the family was enrolled into Hyakkaou Private Academy, it was hardly to the surprise of anyone.

She was the ever so gentle daughter, greatly treasured as the only heir that would inherit the empire. Just as she brushed by the gates of the school, people instantly knew who she was, whether it was for the fame or the controversy. The girl wore a soft smile, beautiful as the rest of her, it was enough to brush off the look she had in her eyes. She fed off of the power and knew how it all worked. Manipulation and people skills were her specialties and the idea of being underestimated only excited her.

Katsuki Bakugou was the self-declared leader of the school, he was the show-man of that entire shit show of a school. Of course, the student council president was the official power of the school but Bakugou had much greater power and influence over the student body than the president ever did. Evidently having such a powerful body among the civil students without being a member of the council was unheard of and so a high position on the council was offered to him but was almost instantly refused. Bakugou thought it was a tacky attempt to control him, caging him in and preventing him from growing any bigger- for the council to control him with their own rules. The idea made Bakugou sick as he thrived in the anarchy that he was otherwise creating, he fed off of the chaos, unpredictability, and the overall fragile state of the system because wasn’t that the exact mirror of a good gamble? Bakugou wanted the fear, he liked the way he was looked at whenever he entered the room, he liked being the obeyed master of his many house pets, he liked knowing that he was truly on top. Most importantly, however, he hated anyone who dared to challenge him- Afterall, nobody was of worth to him.

“You’re the heir of that rich family, aren’t you?”

“You’re so pretty!”

“I love the way you do your hair-“

“Want to get desserts later-“

The questions flooded y/n just as she was introduced. She only countered with a soft smile, trying her best to keep up with each question, trying her best to be nice to everyone even though her reputation was already long solidified in that school.

She knew exactly what being in the school entailed and how the system worked- why else would she choose this school over others? Her family loved the thrill and the gene was clearly passed down to her.

“The fuck do you think you are”

The room instantly went silent as a deep aura filled the room and the classroom door was slammed shut. Again, Bakugou’s house pets were as obedient as always.

The girl looked up with questioning innocence as the sea of bodies that once crowded her was suddenly split due just to the voice of the male. Her eyes gleamed as he had clearly caught her attention. So this was the leader- well, more so the rebel. She only sent him an innocent look as she was sure to quickly introduce herself, yet, she didn’t even do so much as stand up to bow to him. Rude, but she knew it would be a bomb to his ego. Bakugou was annoyed by such petty behaviour but he couldn’t lie to himself and say he wasn’t entertained. As a scowl spread over his face, he hissed and grabbed the closest chair to him, flipping it around and setting it down to sit in front of her and backwards on the chair with his hands gripping it. He bit the inside of his cheek as he mustered the best grin he could. Why scare her away this early? She would clearly make a nice little house pet for him, probably a good footrest.

“Listen here, big eyes- “

Weird nickname.

“-I’m sure you already know how this school works. I see you even had a chance to gamble with that dumb Deku, hm?” Bakugou said in the nicest tone he could. It came out as a grumble instead.

“Oh yes! Izuku was quite the opponent, I had a good gamble!”

Good gamble? She wrung him dry of 20 million yen in just three sets.

Having knowledge of this, Bakugou wasn’t certain whether he should go ahead and shamelessly taunt Izuku for his losses or feel annoyance in the innocent way the girl infront of him was speaking. Was she in no way intimidated by him? Was she underestimating him?

“Close the blinds.” He growled out to the students wearing the tags that were crowded behind him, all instantly obeying with the notion of what would be happening next. The room was black under some dim lights came on, lighting up just the table infront of them.

“Oh, I see! You want to play a game, hm? You could have just said!” Her voice was sweet enough to cause a cavity, playing it all up simply because she knew the effect it had on him, observing from the little time she has known him that he really was a ticking bomb, it only took time and she was going to use it for her advantage.

“Shut up, you idiot, call it for what it is. A fucking gamble.” He spoke with his tone gradually increasing in volume. He flipped his chair around to face her. After all, having the back of the seat against his chest would imply a form of cheating when it came to card games and Bakugou got his ego fed the most by games won with an even gamble.

“Choice poker. Every heard of it, dumbass?” His eyebrows furrowed together tightly in a scowl as a new deck of cards was placed onto the shared desk. Of course, he would pick his favourite game to gamble on.

“I assume it’s like poker…but with a choice” She teased him, propping her elbows onto the desk and placing her chin on her hands. Bakugou had to keep from lashing out then and there- because after all, what did he have to worry about? No way was a little extra going to beat him in a gamble that he pulled all of his house pets in with, it was only a matter of patients before he could laugh in her face and claim the victory (and cash) that he has grown so addicted to.

“Choice poker? I don’t think I’ve ever played; do you care to explain the rules?” She spoke in a soft voice as she tilted her head to the side in curiosity, a soft expression on her face, not even betting on an unfamiliar game seemed to scare her. But of course, she knew the game, she was just using this as a spare chance to analyse him, since the order and tone he describes the rules would stress what he views to be most and least important. What rules a player deems more crucial can definitely reflect the approach they would most likely be taking.

Bakugou let out a tsk of air, annoyed but what more would he expect.

“Fine. Listen well since I’ll only say it once, try and get it through that thick skull of yours.”

He pointed to a member of the crowd of people, “He’ll play the role of the dealer-“. Bakugou was cut off by the female in front of him.

“But that can hardly be fair, a biased dealer isn’t it?”

She earned a smirk and a scoff.

“Of course, I wouldn’t stoop so low as to have such an obvious cheat”

He was an honest player but bluffing and causing uncertainty in his opponent was his best and only cheat.

A voice spoke from the corner of the room, “I will deal”.

It was Shouto Todoroki. He wasn’t a house pet, nor was he interested in gambling his money away, he just respected an artful gamble between two opponents, careful to avoid cheats. He was a dealer that was trusted by the student council and so the rate of turning down Todoroki’s request to deal were very low if an unbiased gamble was that of the objective.

“Perfect, half and half will deal, is that to your shitty standards?” Bakugou leaned forward in his seat with a testing expression. The response he received from her was a satisfied smile and quick nod, “Yes indeed! I know he is a diligent dealer”.

That was among one of the many things she knew.

With a huff and the roll of his eyes, Bakugou proceeded to explain the rules.

Todoroki shuffled the cards.

“It has the same basic rules as common poker, five of a kind are the strongest hand and high card are the weakest hand. The joker is obviously incorporated and is strongest in place of the ace, we play with all 52 cards. But what makes this game interesting isn’t that the strongest hand doesn’t necessarily indicate the winner. The lower hand can win depending on the choosing of the highest better. So, it’s all a game of choice…and how much money you can bet. Oh and you can only exchange your cards once.”

Interesting that he mentioned this last. Rules usually lay this out first but Bakugou is indeed searching for chaos and chance, it’s a game that perfectly mirrored him as an individual. Y/n was sure not to let this bit of information slip.

“Seeing as you robbed Deku of 20 million- I don’t blame you, that idiot wouldn’t know better even if it hit him in the face- and you have that sweet new money, I’m sure you wouldn’t care if we started with 1 million yen chips?” His scarlet eyes gleamed as he twisted a chip in between his fingers.

“Sound’s brilliant! I’ll request 100 million’s worth!”, she chimed in shamelessly.

If Bakugou wasn’t certain in his skills and the fortunes he acquired from his house pets, he would have been irritated. Now he just knew that she really was worthy of becoming his footrest.

A loud laugh fell from his lips,

“I like the way you play, big eyes!”

Still a weird fucking nickname.

“I’ll mirror your 100 million yen”, he wasn’t worried about it, it was pocket change.

The chips were placed on the table and Todoroki has commenced with distributing the cards.

“I’ll bet just 10 million. I’m a gentleman after all.” Bakugou pushed the ten chips forward as he knew y/n would raise by at least 1 million yen, he gave her a smaller risk. It was her first round after all.

She did exactly as he expected and placed down the million. “Does that mean I can choose?”

“Sure does, dumbass”

She made the choice of betting on a stronger hand.

As the two placed their cards down, it was clear that both had bad hands.

However, y/n was gifted with an ace and so she won the set.

“Impressive, lady luck is on your side today”, Bakugou teased. He knew she would win the hand, he scarified it to see if she had a few tells he could pick up on, whether her face contorted in a certain way depending on the hand she was given. No tells. This was an annoyance to him but he viewed it as a mild inconvenience for a greater win.

Todoroki dealt the second hand and Bakugou was quick to exchange a set of queens.

“Wow, that’s quite the bold move, Katsuki, are you going for a weak hand?”

Now her tone was different. It wasn’t sweet, it was now a venom on her tongue. What made Bakugou cringe was his name coming off of her lips. He never introduced himself and now it became evident that she knew more than he thought she did.

She was done playing games.

“Or are you perhaps making me think you are? What are you hiding there? I bet it’s a pair of kings…maybe the joker, you seemed to like that card quite a bit” she set her cards down on the table as she pushed in all of her chips.

“Raise 1 million yen!”

Why was she betting like this on a hand she potentially figured out? Why wasn’t she going all in? Bakugou was actually starting to fell uncertainty because he was unable to understand her nor her motives. She knew his move, but she also knew he could easily out bet her even if she did have the upper hand from having one the last hand.

“Raise 70 million.” Bakugou was becoming jaded with his hand, all he could do is out bet her in that moment. But that also appeared to be what she was trying to make him do…unless she certainly either had a set of twos or knew that he didn’t really have the joker. She was bluffing.

“I guess I’ll have to call, I’m not ready to go all in yet”, she spoke with such a slickness in her voice, it was eerie, but it got Bakugou going even more than he already was.

“I bet on a stronger hand’, that seemed to be the best choice for him at that very moment, she did spend more time focusing on the likelihood that he would bet on a weaker hand after all.

“Please show your hands”, said Todoroki as he motioned to the desk on which they were playing.

Of course, Babkugou was right. He won the hand easily with the pair of fours.

But his heart still raced. She had a terrible hand dealt to her; she was doomed to lose either way so why would she try to out bet him knowing that both of her predicted outcomes out have led to her downfall.

“I guess this hand goes to you! Well played, Katsuki!”

He scowled at the name that left her lips. How dare she talk to him with such informality, he was clearly on a higher rank than she as and he was also winning their gamble.

But this wasn’t an attempt to annoy him nor was she trying to be rude, she was hinting at the fact that she already had him figured out and all it took was the play of two hands.

She had full control over the outcome of the game, having completely taken it from Bakugou. In her eyes, this was an absolute win because they weren’t playing for the heaps of cash they were betting on, but dominance and their own pride.

The final hand was commenced, cards were shuffled and distributed. Without even looking at her hand, she pushed fourth all of the remaining chips she had.

“I raise 40 million yen”, her voice was a lot darker than the sweet voice he heard addressing him at the time of his very arrival into the room. Her voice was as sweet as candy, but it wasn’t real cherry, just a chemical imitation but nonetheless addictive.

“You Idiot!”, he cried out a laugh, “you’re either one bold bitch or just completely insane!”

Bakugou pushed all of his chips in as well. He had the choice since there was nothing left to bet.

This was finally when y/n decided to look at her cards. Her expression was indifferent from the rest. Babkugou was at a complete loss. Although he had the advantage in choosing the winning hand, his option wasn’t any easier now. He had a straight flush of high cards, the odds were entirely in his favour and all he had to do was choose a strong hand.

“what’s wrong, Katsuki…you have a clear decision infront of you…”

She was suddenly standing up from her seat and slowly dragging her fingers over the desk, a few chips knocked from their nearly stacked towers.

She circled until she stood behind him. Her breath was hot against the back of his neck as her plush chest pressed between his shoulder blades.

“What’s wrong…aren’t you going to bet on the strong hand? That seems to be your preferred winning. With a strong hand isn’t it? That’s your style…twisting up your opponent and making them think that the cards dictate your choice- but you love the control…you love to be on top and mysterious, while having all of these ‘extras’ figured out from front to back…So, why are you hesitating now?”

Bakugou’s throat was dry. She had him completely figured out.

“You seem a little hot under the collar, darling…is everything alright?” she whispered against his ear, her fingers travelling along his shoulders before she gently unbuttoned the top button of his shirt…then the second…stopped after doing the third.

He was entertained, after all, she was one of the only opponents to make him feel this way and to come so close.

But the win was his.

So why was he in doubt?

“Come on… show me my fate…am I yours to play with? Or are you mine?”

“Stronger fucking hand!”, his rage and hotheadedness spilled over in that moment as he tossed his cards onto the table. It was a perfect hand, he had the joker too.

The girl behind him kept her calm and slowly revealed her cards only to him.

She had a shitty hand again. But if he chose to choose a weak hand, she would have lost without doubt.

“I guess that’s it”, that was the last thing she whispered to him before she slid back into her seat.

“You fucking house pet!”, he cried out, his eyes a blood red as a wide grin spread across his face. Now he was the one standing. “Unless you can pay up, where’s my 200 million?”

It was no question that she had the money, she just wanted to lie, entertain herself and use the rules of the school to her own advantage. Not a surprise, since this type of manipulation was how her family rose to the top so quickly. She was the heir all in all and he was a pawn in her game.

But he was also one in his.

Unknown to the both of them, a mutual relationship of advantages and pleasure was birthed in that room at the cost of those 200 million yen.

“I don’t have it-“

This threw Bakugou in a fit of laugher. It was a lot better winning out of uncertainty, this was the type of gamble he came to be addicted to.

“What will you do? Tie me up? Walk me on a leash like a good kitten? Strip poker maybe? We could even play Russian roulette!”

She was mocking him but little did she knew that his true ideas went above and beyond.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out…What happens to you is up to me to decide… You’re mine now, kitten….and it only cost me a game of choice.”

Okay so this was my first lil dabble thing, I have plans to continue it but it all depends on the feedback! Please leave a comment on what you liked and what wasn’t that great, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

I own none of the right to the characters or plots mentioned.

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thevikingsheaux · 6 years ago

Text

A Viking Samhain

A/N: Happy Samhain!!! I know I am a little late but I’ve been busy. This will probably be a 2-3 part series. There isn’t much dialogue in this chapter but there will be more in the next. I hope it isn’t awful though I feel like it probably is.

Pairing: Hvitserk x reader

Warning: none really

Masterlist

Setting: So this is kind of a mashup of Vikings and Celts in Ireland. From my understanding, the Celtic tradition of Samhain started several hundred years before the “Viking age” and a lot of Ireland had transitioned from paganism to Christianity by the time any Vikings arrived in Ireland. However for the purposes of this story, I wanted the Celts and Vikings to coexist before Christianity, so this is by no means historically accurate!

The brutish strangers who had arrived on ships two moons ago were still camped nearby. They had planned to move on a couple weeks ago but for some reason, your father, the chief of the town and its surrounding farms, invited them to stay and travel to Tlachtga with everyone from the town for Samhain. Tlachtga was a sacred site, usually open only to the Druids, but open for everyone on Samhain.

It was a bit odd that your father invited strangers who had different gods to such a sacred festival. He said that he did it to be generous to his guests, but you knew better. Your father was curious about them and their way of living. He wanted them to stay a while longer so he could learn more about them.

Your father had always been an inquisitive spirit and loved to learn about the world and its many cultures. He adored foreign visitors and always picked their brains about other peoples and places.

Many years ago, when you were much younger, four men who spoke the same tongue as the ones who were camped near your town now landed on the nearby shores. Your father invited the men to stay for almost a year, which allowed him to learn some of their language and vice versa. You picked up on much more of their language than your father had since you were so young and your mind still pliable.

So, now you translated a lot of what the newcomers said for your father. The three who seemed to be in charge of the rest knew a small amount of your native language and claimed that their father had taught them.

Their names were Ubbe, Ivar, and Hvitserk and they commanded a sizeable number of warriors. Even though Ivar was a cripple, he seemed to be the most respected and even feared of the trio. There were both male and female warriors in the Viking force which delighted you. You liked to watch the females sparring on the outskirts of their encampment and wished you could join them.

When these new strangers who spoke the same tongue as the four men from years ago arrived, you remembered some of what the four men had taught you. Not only did they teach you their language, but they told you about their gods and their people and culture. They worshipped several gods, similar to you and your family’s tradition, however, their gods were different than yours.

One of the brothers had caught your eye and he seemed like he was fascinated with you as well. Any time your father invited them to sup with the family, which was quite often, his eyes never left you. He usually looked like he wanted to devour you and was so obvious about it that even your father noticed.

One night when the Viking visitors were not around, he brought it up. Your mother and three of your brothers were all sitting around the table and grew quiet when your father spoke.

“One of those men has his eye on you, Y/N. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Hvitserk I think his name is,” your father observed. His face was unreadable. “As you know, you are my only daughter and a more than beautiful woman,” he continued. “I don’t expect you to remain chaste forever, but I ask that you wait for a husband.”

Your mother exclaimed, “Cian!” and hit him on the shoulder. Your brothers snickered but tried to contain themselves.

Your cheeks grew warm and you looked down into your plate. You poked at your food and wished you could turn invisible. “Father, can we not talk about this?”

“Well, I’m just saying! I don’t want to become a grandfather while you don’t even have a husband!” he said defensively. “When will you choose a husband anyway? I’ve hosted many eligible suitors over the years and yet you refuse them all. Soon enough I will have to just choose one for you or else you will no longer be able to bear children!”

You scowled at him and snapped, “You know, a woman’s only purpose in life isn’t just to have children.”

“I know, I know, but I need grandchildren!” he said with an eye roll. “And I won’t be around forever!”

Now you thought back on that conversation often. Your father was right. You wanted children and you were still young but you worried that if you didn’t have them soon you would no longer be able to conceive.

You also thought about your father’s warning to wait to have sex until you were married every time you caught Hvitserk staring at you. He was a very attractive man and you couldn’t deny that you wanted him too. You had only spoken to him a handful of times excluding the conversations you translated, but you were infatuated.

He was one of five sons of a man named Ragnar Lothbrok and was from a place called Kattegat. He flirted with you relentlessly and even brought you a small bouquet of wildflowers one day. Winter was approaching quickly so there weren’t many flowers to find. He must have worked hard to gather enough for a bouquet. You thought they were beautiful even though they were nearly dying because of the weather.

Hvitserk also told you about his mother, who was a Völva. At first, you were very confused and had no idea what a Völva was. When he explained, you were intrigued. You told your father about it and he immediately wanted to speak to Hvitserk and the two brothers he had with him, Ivar and Ubbe, to get more information. He had once met a female druid with similar powers and he wanted to discuss it in detail.

---

Samhain was now only a week or so away and you were excited because it was one of your favorite celebrations. The veil between the otherworld and your own was said to be the thinnest during Samhain, making it easy for spirits to come and go. Everyone dressed up to blend in with the spirits that roamed the earth during this time. This year you planned to paint your face elaborately, wear a cloak you made, and don a crown of flowers and leaves you had been nurturing, keeping them alive just for your costume.

There was to be a bonfire built by the Druids, sacrifices, feasts, and more at Tlachtga which was a few days walk from your coastal town in the northern part of the realm. The local Druid that advised your father made sure that everything was arranged to make the trek there and that you would all have a place to stay during the celebration. The Viking strangers had also been preparing for the journey and had most of their things packed and ready to be loaded onto the mules your father was lending them.

Everyone was set to head out in the morning and you couldn’t sleep. You were excited to make the journey and participate in the festival. Also, your father had announced that your oldest brother, who had been off studying to be a Druid since you were just a small girl, would be attending the festival and intended to reunite with the family. You had not seen him in many years and looked forward to the reunion.

You were very curious about how the Vikings would react to the traditions of Samhain. What would Hvitserk think of you and your people? you wondered. Eventually, you drifted off to sleep, but dreams filled your head, making you restless.

A few hours later you woke to the sounds of the town bustling around your home, preparing for the journey to Tlachtga. You got out from under your blankets and furs and dressed.

When you emerged from the warmth of your home a cool breeze tugged at your clothes. You spotted the party of Vikings, ready and waiting on the outskirts of town. Hvitserk was perched atop a horse along the edge of the Viking horde closest to the town, eyes scanning the crowd. When his eyes found you they stopped and he smiled mischievously.

To be continued

A note about the father, Cian: First of all, you pronounce it like “key-inn.” I got the idea for the father’s name from a list of old Celtic names on this website. I chose this one because this was the description underneath it: “The name means ‘long-lived’ or ‘ancient one’.” I want the character to have an air of imperishability/immortality/great wisdom, so I found this a fitting name. Also, I imagine him with an Arthur Weasley type curiosity about the world.

About the cover art: That green circular thing in the top right corner is at Tlachtga in Ireland. It’s real and super cool! Here’s a link to more info about it.

Finally, a note about Druids: They were not only priests but legal authorities, adjudicators, lorekeepers, medical professionals, and political advisors. They are incredibly interesting to me and I can link some websites so you can read more about them if you want.

Tags: @laketaj24 @tephi101 @grungyblonde @captstefanbrandt @missrobyn81 @moondustmemories @supernaturalvikingwhore @hallowed-heathen @ariellostatci @vikingalexthedane @anarchy-is-coming @alicedopey @lisinfleur @voodoodollgirl @backstagepaige @oddsnendsfanfics @whenimaunicorn @lol-haha-joke @heathen-whore @credulouskhaleesi

If you want to be added to or removed from the tags on this short series please let me know.

#samhain #vikings #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson

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tryagainmv · 7 years ago

Text

ad nauseam (part two)

part two: two lonely people we were

➷ you had never known the meaning of lovesickness until you had crossed paths with na jaemin.

part one: strangers in the night ❧ part three: up to the moment we said our first hello

warning: cursing, violence.

you’ve been in this town for one day, and you’re already dreading the concept of spending a summer like this.

in a town where everything mirrored the life you had just left, with the exception of the familiar storefronts and neighbourhoods and faces strolling down the sidewalks. you had worked yourself up, your oh-so-big jump, to leap a puddle and land in the corner of the muddy water. you still had the same coast, but different shops. you still had the same red brick buildings lining the main streets, but different names. you still had the same loft apartments over every single business, but with different numbers. you were living in a strange, but parallel universe.

you didn’t know if it was because you had built up your first taste of self-sufficiency, your first taste of the freedom of living away from parents and from the same cracks in the road you had caught your shoe toe in, or if it was because you had unfinished business from the night before, if you can even call that business. it felt more like comfortable anarchy, the wild beat of your heart against the steady beat of the drum fighting the smooth beat of your lips against his.

you didn’t deny that whenever you closed your eyes, you could almost picture yourselves, his arm holding you against him, your heads cradled together, silhouetted against the raging sunset orange fire, blending into one shadow as the orange flicker outlined you. between the crackling of the fire behind you two and the connection of your hearts, you didn’t know what created the sparks that floated in the night sky among the stars. however, you refused to admit that when you had driven past the cliff on your way out, you had spared a glance towards the field where your softly swaying feet had worn another sparse patch into the rocky earth.

you refused to admit that the boy named na jaemin held anything over you but a memory.

but you felt yourself wanting to reverse time and catch him before he slipped away, before he sent you that last glance and molded into the night crowd so seamlessly that made you wonder whether the boy was a human or a figment of your imagination. a guilty conscience trying to hold you back in the place that you had been so relieved to part from.

whoever jaemin was, you refused to admit that the stranger in the night had put another pair of shackles on your rubbed-raw wrists.

but for now, you’d make do in the parallel universe you lived in.

as your feet crossed the threshold from sidewalk to linoleum, you felt the cold push of the frozen air and the sweet wave of ice cream collide with your senses. you inhaled the cream-filled air and walked up to where your new coworker was waiting, his brown hair visible over the cash register as he made eye contact with you and gave you a soft wave, beckoning you to the false countertop which he swung open.

“you came ready in your uniform! i have your apron and name tag in the back, they’re folded just beside the cooler room door,” he said, pointing you down the narrow hallway lined with extra cones and napkin containers. “i’m renjun.”

he pointed to his green and pink name tag, wiggling it and shooting you a toothy smile. he had a small snaggletooth, and you felt yourself smiling back at the soft boy.

“i’ll be y/n, once i get my name tag,” you laughed back, walking past him to grab your apron and name tag and put them on, renjun coming up behind you to tie the top strap of your white cloth covering.

you thanked him and slid the pin of your lacquer name tag onto the thin white cloth, and you presented yourself to a renjun who gave you a thumbs up and another smile. he showed you the ropes quickly, the cleaning of the scoops and how to work the new electronic register. you learned that his dad owned the shop and that him and his older brother ran it now that his father was getting older. his older brother was named kun, and he was the manager that only worked the night shifts while renjun worked the days. it was obvious how much he knew about this shop and the way it had been run for years, that it was both ice cream and blood that flowed through the sweet boy’s veins.

“one more thing,” renjun says, only after he’s decided your scooping is satisfactory.

“yeah, shoot,” you respond, taking a bite of your final cone product so that the ice cream wouldn’t go to waste.

“uh, because of our… location beside the beach, we draw a pretty sketchy crowd around the early afternoons. don’t let them phase you, okay? they’re harmless, mostly.” he rubs the back of his neck and you smile, biting the rest of your sugar cone and throwing the paper shell into the trash below the counter.

“renjun, don’t worry. i’ll be okay,” you smile, giving him a thumbs up as you go to open up the shop.

renjun had told you that it was the newbie’s initiation to flip the paper ‘open’ sign and officially start their first workday at green rose ice cream parlour. you appeased him, despite your complete disinterest in the small rituals that he seemed to value so highly. you didn’t want to make your boss think of you as flippant, as disrespectful or uncooperative, and you didn’t want to make the soft looking boy upset. so you flip the open sign as the clock hits ten and immediately spot a few groups of people make their way towards the cute shop perched a street away from the tourist-filled beach.

you slipped into your place back behind the glass walls and tubs of ice-cream and took your position at the cash register, ready to ring up the first customers of the day while renjun crafted his beautiful cones. you fell into a rhythm for a while, the soft jingle of the radio a backing track as you called out order after order to the boy who whipped the cream into the wafer and passed it to the waiting customer, over and over again.

until the next ring of the door’s bell signified something so much more than another customer you’d have to serve.

they didn’t come to the register or browse the flavours, not even take a peak at the menu. they slid into a table that had remained unoccupied, almost as if they owned it, and burst into a jubilant conversation. they looked so out of place in their dark attire amongst the green tables and pink chairs, yet they blended into the scene as if they had been placed there purposefully by a hand designing a piece of art, so stark of a contrast, so different of people from who you would see in a parlour with twice playing from the loudspeakers. and yet here they were.

you stared at them, black paint splotches on a pastel canvas, until one of them flicked his eyes to you and you averted quickly, staring at the green and pink background of the desktop cash register. you didn’t even notice the single jingle of the bell echo through the shop, the racing of your thoughts creating a maelstrom in your head that blocked out the small sounds.

“uh, hello?” a voice called out, and you could have sworn you had heard that timbre before.

you flicked your eyes up and your mouth gaped. you quickly shut it and took a breath in through your nose. na jaemin, tattoos clear as day against his tanning skin, stood in front of you, gaze hooked on yours and his eyes the width of someone who was shocked yet trying to bury that surprise under a layer of confidence and nonchalance. you scoffed and plastered a thicker version of that on your face, a version of that meant for someone who had screwed you over without even knowing he had done anything, who had caused a snag in your heart that you refused to acknowledge as more of a fondness for a memory.

he’s just a stranger, after all.

you owed nothing to someone who treated your heart like it had strings.

“hi, what can i get for you?” you gritted out, shifting on your feet and starting a new order on the screen.

“a single scoop of pralines and cream on a sugar cone, please?” he asked musingly, drumming his fingers on the top of the glass.

you nodded and hummed, inputting the order and hovering over the ‘complete’ button.

“will that be all for you today?” you responded, not wanting to bring your eyes up to meet his again, not after the first time.

“no, actually. i know it’s not on the menu, but i would like a fresh order of ‘explanation’,” he laughed out, and you leaned back and crossed your arms, bringing your gaze up to his again.

“what do i need to explain to you, na jaemin?” you spat out, huffing. “it’s not like you really were interested in what i had to say about anything.”

“what are you doing here?” he pressed, and you laughed dryly before completing his order and calling it out to renjun, who watched you two interact, enrapt.

“i’m working. now, if you’d go collect your cone down with renjun, that would be swell,” you grumbled, gesturing for him to move along.

he simply looked at you and leaned further over the table, and you caught the roman numerals along his collarbone when his tank top dipped further down.

“i thought you lived a few towns over,” he questioned, more suspicion climbing into his voice than before.

he was cracking.

“yeah, well, a lot of things can change in such little time,” you shot back, tilting your head and nodding towards renjun. “your cone is melting.”

renjun hadn’t even taken the cone out yet.

“y/n, listen, if you’re mad about —“

he used your name.

he knew.

“i’m not mad about anything,” you gritted out. “i’m just swell. go pick up your cone, thanks for coming.”

“y/n!” he hissed out as you turned around, slamming his fist on the top of the glass.

you spun around, and you saw the hurt in his eyes. but you also saw two of the boys from the table behind him slide back in their chairs and climb to their feet. one of them pulled off jaemin’s baseball cap and tossed it to you, and jaemin’s carob locks flopped down in a haphazard pool on the top of his head.

the other boy grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward, leaning in and pushing him closer and closer to the wall.

“leave the girl alone,” the first boy grunted. “or i’ll make you.”

he sneered. the other boy did too.

“she’s obviously not into you and whatever you guys did together, and honestly? looking at you, shrimp? i can’t blame her.” the second boy laughed and placed his hand on the first boy’s shoulder as he held jaemin in an iron grip. “she’s cute, right? the way she stands is so confident, so detached, i’d like to tame her for a night. i’d treat her so good, she’d forget anything you two did toge—“

you absently let out a cry as you watched jaemin’s fist swung up and connected with the first boy’s nose, the crack filling the tense air of the room. you heard renjun drop the cone in his hand, and jaemin didn’t stop. he swung up and hit the second boy, jab after jab until the other two boys from the table were on him too and he was kicking and grabbing collars and snapping noses. you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but watch as the boy you had kissed two days ago beat the ever-loving shit out of four grown boys. when the first punch was landed on his face, he snapped back and the tables turned. the boys launched themselves on top of him, and he was swallowed by a pile of flying arms and kicking legs and brutal sounds of broken skin breaking skin. you screamed again and slid out under the counter, hearing renjun’s cry of dismay and fright, and you yelled out at the top of your lungs for this to stop, stop, stop.

it only stopped when you put yourself into the fight, pulling one of the boys off of a bloody jaemin who was curled on the ground, who spit out a shot of blood as the other boys backed off slowly. you slid yourself in between jaemin and the retreating boys, and you wiped off the smudge of blood you had gotten on your hands.

you stared at your hands, then up to the four boys with bloody noses and bruised eyes. they all stared back, some with confidence, some with fear and all of them with mirthless contempt.

you imagined you looked the exact same, your hands balled into fists at your sides and your eyes set in a glare.

“get out!” you yelled, and the boys didn’t move.

“get the hell out, you creeps,” renjun shouted, voice enthusiastic with a slight twinge of adrenaline. you didn’t expect that.

that’s when the boys nodded and picked their bloody faces up, running one by one out the door, taking the jingles of the little silver bell with them.

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and dropped your head into your hands, sighing shakily before turning back to jaemin who was pulling himself to his feet.

“uh, y/n, do you — uh, do you want to patch him up in the back break room? i have a lot of first aid stuff, there was an accident with a scooper and someone’s eye a while ago that we don’t talk about,” renjun asked, and you heard the concern in his voice.

you looked back to jaemin, who was on his feet and limping to the table where he rested his body weight on his leaning hand. his eyes were already bloodshot and swelling, and you felt your heart climb in your throat as you catalogued every visible injury on the boy’s body.

he was defending you, your heart called out. he fought the creeps because they talked about you.

he was violent, your mind called out. he was impulsive, but you knew that already. he was just like you.

no matter how many times you tried to repeat it to yourself, you knew. when your heart spiralled, so did your head, and you had always been irresponsible when your feelings and thoughts didn’t sync up. you had always been impulsive, always been someone who had never totally understood your heart and your head. you’d always had one foot in love and the other in logic.

your feet were getting further and further apart.

you nodded to renjun and grabbed onto jaemin, pulling his arm over your shoulder and bringing him back into the break room. renjun followed and opened the first aid cabinet, and you thanked him as he ran back out to the front to go greet customers. you set jaemin down on the foldable chair that sat beside a matching table, and he laughed as you pulled down a kit from the cupboard.

“why are you laughing?” you asked, dragging another chair beside him to rest on as you began to dab a cotton ball with peroxyde on it onto his open cuts.

“i don’t know,” he laughed out, and you huffed as he continued to laugh when you put bandaids and steristrips on his face cuts.

“then stop,” you growled.

he stopped, raising a hand gingerly to tilt your chin up and meet his eyes.

“i really fucked up, didn’t i?” he said, more to himself than you. “i really fucked up when i walked away, i fucked up when i didn’t ask your name. to be honest, i didn’t think i’d see you again, and i was so ready to have my heart broken by you if i had asked. but i didn’t, and that was so smart of me, and i felt so bad that i was weak and told you my name, because now i’m someone to you, and i disappeared and i hurt you. so i really fucked up not asking anything, but i think i’ve fucked myself over so much more now that i know, now that we’re not strangers in the night.”

you didn’t dare break eye contact, and you dropped your hand from where it held the cotton ball on his shoulder back to your lap. you felt the rough skin of his knuckle turn under your chin as he rolled his lips over his teeth and sighed.

“just tell me how i can make it better,” he asked, and he pulled your head a bit closer with the crook of his finger under your head.

you weren’t going to stand down, you weren’t going to admit to anything, you weren’t going to admit a boy who was a stranger in the night became someone who you know. someone who you allowed to know you, someone who you allowed in past your walls and into your head with the reckless, destructive, confused thoughts that filled it. you would not let the boy who disappeared into the fog of pot and cigarettes and god-knows-what to have any say over what you felt, not when he turned his back on you.

one foot in logic.

“can i make it better? can i fix this?” he asked, and you let him.

you let him move closer to you and press his lips to yours, and you let the cotton ball that was pink with his blood drop to the floor. you let his lips find that rhythm again, let him cup your jaw and tilt your head to slot your noses together, and you let him kiss you and map out every corner of your lips. you didn’t stop him, and you didn’t want to, your heart didn’t want to remove your lips from his in fear that he’d turn his back on you again.

one foot in love.

you kept your hands in your lap, you twiddled your thumbs and ran your fingertips over the ridges of your nails, you kept them everywhere but on him. you thought that if you had kept your hands off him, had kept your hands away from the smooth feeling of his skin and away from the ink of his tattoos that you felt you could rub off with the pads of your fingers even though you knew that wasn’t true, you wouldn’t get yourself connected to him. you wouldn’t let a boy with a bloody taste on his tongue leave that on you, that memory, that imprint, if you didn’t let your hands wander or climb the stalk of his neck and trace the bumps of his spine like you had already. if you didn’t let him hold you by the waist and run his fingers where your shirt had ridden up and your soft, warm skin had hit the air, you wouldn’t connect yourself to the boy who had turned his back on you.

things didn’t work that way, not anymore, because it didn’t take one kiss to fall in love with someone. it took two and you had so foolishly stumbled into his trap, his lips and his gaze and his charming voice pulling you into him and refusing to let you go.

you broke it off a few seconds, minutes, hours later and drew back, standing to pick up the soiled cotton ball and walk it over to the trash in the corner of the room.

you had a pit in your stomach, because you knew that if you turned your back on the boy, you might never see him again. you might never feel him again. you might never taste the iron on his lips again. but you turned. you turned your back on the boy who was watching you from the foldable chair and you walked away, walked to the corner instead of throwing the ball. you turned your back. this time, you turned your back.

why did you turn?

when you spun back around, na jaemin had taken a handful of bandages, the cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide, and he was gone, chair empty and the air he had occupied empty. the baseball cap that you had brought in and set on the cabinet ledge was gone too.

you were convinced na jaemin was no more than a shadow who haunted you, a figment of your imagination.

was he just a stranger?

if only you could predict the future, read the cards it held. you’d be so much more worried. you were already sick to your stomach.

a/n: grammarly won’t LEAVE ME ALONE (this is a let down)

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diveronaevents · 6 years ago

Photo

DATE: August 27th, 2018

TIME: 0:00

LOCATION: Outer edges of Verona, northern grove

The August air is thick and sweltering, coating one with an inescapable heat as well as coaxing from each individual a heady sort of desire to bask in the balmy light of the moon. But they who appeared at the outer edge of the grove, mere flickers and shadows now truly flesh and blood, were not here for a bacchanal engagement, no. Though the ABODE in the center of the grove seemed to be laid out for such a night -- what with its decadent wines and liquors, its sweetly laced desserts and hors d’oeuvres, and servants clad in satyric masks and impish wings -- no one could forget what this garish TRIAL was meant for; it was meant for the repayment of blood. It was meant for the just vengeance of a man who was six feet under.

This was no celebration for Bacchus, no. This was an offering to bellicose Minerva.

The servants stepped out from under the domed roof, their feet shifting from a rug-laid floor to that of dirt and grass, feet flying to fetch the guests as the appeared out from under the tree line. Their masks were as ETHEREAL and IMPISH as that of the butlers and maids, gold dusting their finger-tips, silver etched across their brow, painting their face. Tonight, they were what their hosts -- the three witches -- bid them to be; they were pixies and fae, imps and brownies. Some were blessed, some were fallen. All were under scrutiny, surrendering themselves to the judgment of the witches, who sat at the high table. Do not be fooled by the wings and the moonlight overhead, nor by the soft lights that seemed to float in the air or the ambrosia and faerie’s blood that dusted every treat.

This is no Midsummer’s Night Dream. This, onlooker, is the beginning of Verona’s darkest N I G H T M A R E.

Dio sia con noi.

The servants lead their guests into the sanctuary of the domed, open building. Their masked superiors are quiet as they do, the breaking of silence a costly mistake while under the eyes of the starry night sky. None dare breathe a word so long as the witches’ watch. An oculus highlights the dimmed constellations in the sky, but what catches the eye of all who enter is the ceiling. All Veronans knew about this building, the abandoned dilapidated thing that sat by the end of the large pond in the northern forests. But under the witches’ careful ministrations, the graffiti was covered with gilded classical art. It looked as though LUCA SIGNORELLI himself had risen from the grave in order to let the Veronans know that their own chapter of Revelation was being written -- and his dead hands had commemorated it with art. The dilapidated building was now bedecked with Persian rugs whose yellow threads looked as if they were gilded with real gold. Chandeliers hung from the skeleton of the roof, sparkling tauntingly from above, their imperfect light bedazzling the eyes that dared glance up.

But what truly stole the show were the figures that the THREE WITCHES’ cut.

In contrast to all the golden colors and warm moonlight, they were voids of deepest black, sitting at the HIGH TABLE, like judges from Hades’ palace, risen to deliver their verdict. Were it not for the movements of their shoulders and the deliberate movements of their hands, one might have mistaken them for STATUES. Or gargoyles -- their masks being as grotesque as they were. Facing the high table were two podiums and rows and rows of pews, padded with cushions of the deepest reds. But the servants did not motion for any of their guests to sit. Instead, they bid them to gather towards the far end -- where the goods and spirits awaited them.

The party waited, stirring nervously like the beginnings of an ominous wind before the breaking of a storm.

Two more figures entered into the domed building, each from opposite ends of the grove. But there was no mistaking them -- each person at the gathering knew the figures better than they knew their reflections in the mirror. Damiano and Cosimo have arrived.

A man with ram’s horns curling above his head takes a sharp breath in. A servant who has effervescent wings on their back finds their fingers twitching towards a book tucked into their side. A figure lazily flicks their lighter on and off, on and off. The two bosses stare at each other before nodding and turning to the witches’, all now waiting for a word, a nod, a single look to tell them what the night shall entail. They rise from their seats as one, always as one. Circe raises their arms towards the heavens (to God?), their voice carrying as their lips part to deliver the speech.

The crowd seemingly moves as one, heads bowing, shoulders hunched as they bare the weight of the oncoming words. Their deities, equal parts flesh and equal parts divinity, have yet to speak and already they can feel the convictions of their sins making them bend.

“Welcome, Veronans,” they say, voice soft but making all who hear it tremble nonetheless.

“We gather here at this trial,” Medea continues, lip curling, “because it has come to our attention -- “

“--that a crime of the utmost gravity has been committed.” Hecate hisses.

Circe’s hands lowered, the expression on their face as devoid of any color or emotion as a blank canvas. There was no scolding, no judgment. It was as if they were staring at an unmoving piece of art. The expression was mirrored, almost exactly, by each of their siblings in turn. Justice without emotion was the only justice allowed in Verona.

“But before the trial commences, we bid you to have this one night of revelry -- “

“ -- this one night of debauchery. For after this one night -- “

“ -- you will know nothing but the severity of the punishment that we will inflict --”

“-- for, though Verona has always been at war, we have also appreciated the cyclical nature of -- “

“ -- the battles that have been fought. Such harmony has been tarnished and we -- “

“ -- will not allow this spark of anarchy to grow into the fire that will burn Verona down.”

“So eat, drink, and be merry on this one night. Revel like the Seelies that we know of so well -- “

“ -- for this shall be the last time the gods of Verona will have this chance to do so unfettered.”

The three witches sat upon their thrones, unmoving once more -- content to watch the revelry commence. Music began to stream into the air, slow and coaxing, strings plucking away as the Capulets and Montagues stirred from their shock, murmurs of disbelief and foreboding following. Never before had there been need for the witches’ to intercede so openly, never before had they been scolded by the deities of Verona. Never before had they had a need for judges, for juries, and for executioners of an Underworld law. They wanted their subjects to have one last night of merriment, they said. One last night before someone was put to death like a DOG. Suddenly, all had the need to consume the elixirs and ambrosia that was offered to them for the night. They certainly did not need to be sober for what future the stars above planned for them on this night.

Servant bedecked as imps and brownies carried trays of food and drink towards the uneasy groups of masked Montagues and Capulets, who plucked away at it with little thought to what they were consuming.

They would revel as the Seelies and Unseelies they dressed as often do. They would revel without inhibition preceding this trial of blood and death. They would revel..for it is likely that some might not survive this night.

OVERVIEW: And with that, our first event for DiVerona begins! This is merely a prelude to the climax of the scene, so take heart and try to enjoy yourself while you can. Your character has been given specific fae-like costumes that either tell of their greatest VIRTUE or their greatest VICE. Or, better known in this particular setting as SEELIE and UNSEELIE. Oh, and they have unwittingly ( or wittingly ) consumed either AMBROSIA or FAERIE’S BLOOD. You can all thank the THREE WITCHES for being so courteous and delivering the costumes to your character the morning of SUNDAY, the 26TH.

SEELIE: JULIANA, MIRANDA, VIOLA, ROMEO, OBERON, CORDELIA, HORATIO, SEBASTIAN, OPHELIA, CELIA, VOLUMNIA, BENVOLIO, TITANIA, CRESSIDA, BEATRICE

UNSEELIE: TYBALT, ROSALINE, MERCUTIO, DESDEMONA, REGAN, LADY MACBETH, PORTIA, EDMUND, BRUTUS, HIPPOLYTA, ANTONY, GONERIL

While some guests are more surreptitiously clad than others, it is at your discretion to decide whether or not your character is aware of who they’re interacting with. It is fairly plausible since the witches tend to be rather THOROUGH about costuming their guests. Don’t forget that Alvise Vernon’s rather violent demise is still fresh in many Montagues’ minds, so should any exchange take place between where a Montague and Capulet become aware of each other...it is not likely to end well. Perhaps allow your character to venture outside of the party area and towards the pond just outside. It can be rather bewitching under the moonlight. The trial will take place at 3 AM -- a rather fitting time -- so timestamps for threads may not be anytime after then.

TASK: Enjoy this while you can dear players – the mystery and intrigue of it all is only the first taste that precedes the main course. So why not have fun with it? Show the outfit that the witches (most likely Cinead) picked for your character. The outfit most likely gives a material idea of the personality of your character – no doubt the mask does too. Have fun with it and elaborate as little or as much as you want! For example, is your character more likely to wear Marc Jacobs or Ellie Saab? Vera Wang or Valentino? Slacks or skirts? Why or why not?Please tag your character’s ensemble/ensemble descriptions as #diveronatrial and #diveronatalk and your event interactions as event: trial. There is no deadline to complete the task, so take as much time with it as you feel necessary. Have some run in, some mishaps – but remember, there will no bloodshed or bruised limbs tonight. Save that for the future, hm? Buona notte mi amici.

#diveronaevent #event: trial #date: august 27 #location: forest

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martyrskap · 7 years ago

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BEST PICTURE NOMINEES (2018) AESTHETICS. repost, don’t reblog. bold whatever applies. tag whoever you want and feel free to add to the categories.

TAGGED BY : @missionmade my wife TAGGING : @simnsays @fishsaves @gvinreed @bitterdeviance @detroitreznikoff @bewitcheds @artifilius @programbound n u !! i love y’all <3

THE SHAPE OF WATER : early mornings. art on an easel. being trapped. flashy cars. self-righteous intolerance. speaking volumes without a word. being submerged. learning and adapting. raindrops on windows. bubbles rising in water. cats. taboo desires. tanks of water. kitschy nostalgia. kissing underwater. silence. isolation. golden age hollywood. sign language. scales. egg shells. jell-o. the smell of cleaning supplies. creature features. the space race. red coats. monstrous fairy tales. lab coats. lunches in brown bags.the click of shoes. smog. dance routines. slices of pie. toxic masculinity. chains. government secrets. seeing past flaws. floating aimlessly. needles. greens and blues. deep, inexorable scars. gills. music from the 30′s. retro-futurism. bloody handprints.routines. record players. old movies. love in unexpected places.

PHANTOM THREAD : a doll in a gilded birdcage. butter to bread. the death of a mother. cycles. hidden messages. a disruptive presence. longing. wedding gowns. posh control. post-war. brightly colored socks. inner turmoil. poison. an air of quiet death. hallucinations. family dysfunction. rich fabrics. curses. soft piano music. restrained anger. spinning out of control. artist and muse. dark love. pastels. peace in the countryside. clockwork dynamics. perfection. wild mushrooms. giving up every piece of yourself. rags to riches. ghosts. new year’s. lingering gazes. needle and thread. fine dining. hearing every sound. being ambushed. ego. flowing dresses. a person out of place. defiance. ink to paper. an artist tortured by their art. obsessive personalities. peepholes. soothing elegance. silk. spiral staircases. driving at high speeds. high society.

THE POST : typewriters. newspapers. tense climates. distrust of authority. internal battles. a legacy at stake. secrets. cover-ups. defending what you believe. peering through windows. melodrama. political corruption. behind closed doors. sniffing a scoop. ringing phones. lying for over a decade. cramming and crowding. cold grays. war. fluorescent lights. treason. shuffled papers. the jungle. a weight on your shoulders. fresh coffee. thousands of deaths. burglary. finding your voice. risking everything.propaganda. tough choices. exposure. type being set by hand. workplace rivalries. abuses of power. security breaches. hierarchy. a bed strewn with papers and books. paranoia. orders. clicking keys. redacted files. desk clutter. cigarette smoke. precious cargo. vanished technologies. suspenseful conversations. facing charges. courtroom battles. suits and ties.

DARKEST HOUR : never surrendering. duty. countless negotiations. the flash of cameras. beaches. historic buildings. guzzling booze. resignation. utter catastrophe. bunkers. radio broadcasts. going against the odds. bathed in red light. a sense of humor. allies. shouting matches. small square windows. selfishness. walking with a cane. war rooms. chandeliers. dust floating in air. righteousness. a poor reputation. an elevator surrounded by darkness. a world at war. needing a miracle. interruptions. a last hope. cigar smoke. quoting poetry. photos of a loved one. a single sunbeam. monarchy. vanity. rescue missions. refusing peace. pallid chambers. military uniforms. taking a stand. common folk. suicide missions. drums of war. tears down sullen cheeks. reluctance. complete collapse. evacuations. enveloped by fog. changing history. blood, toil, tears and sweat.

THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI : severe burns. police uniforms. sirens. the calmness of a deer. strumming guitars. grieving. horrifying memories. sucker punches. a lack of respect. facing threats. skin under fingernails. flicking cigarettes. awkward dates. nasty rumors. claustrophobia. lush green pastures. molotov cocktails. the fire of anger and revenge. strangers. no remorse. bashing in windows. the midwest. provoking a fight. pointing fingers. being pressed for time. rundown old houses. grey morality. dark undercurrents. insurmountable losses. cruel laughs. the american flag. dive bars. guilty no matter what. buildings in flames. ambulances. coughing up blood. spitting. chewing on fingernails. one versus many. black and red. not understanding another’s feelings. a mother and child. the pain of others. a quest of justice. abandoned billboards. a hardened gaze. driving to nowhere. small towns. last letters. absurd violence.

CALL ME BY YOUR NAME : heartbreak. unbuttoned shirts. fields of flowers. having to say goodbye. cobblestone streets. rendezvous at midnight. battling temptation. academic paperwork. peeling an orange. 80’s nostalgia. classical music. long walks. ancient artifacts. abundant orchards. shoulder massages. expressive sexuality. remembering everything. staring into a fireplace. dipping your feet in cool water. uncertainty. villa vacations. curly hair. longing gazes. riding a bicycle around. mystery of love. balconies. swimming naked. first times. bathing suits. roman statues. secret sensuality. peaches. piano music. sun-soaked summer. having your nose in a book. just rooms apart. crystal blue water. growing attractions. changing your name. intimacy beyond physical. love affairs. rich wines. finding pleasure in grief. daring to desire. european lyricism. loving father figures. dancing to disco. laying in green grass. awkward adolescence. hands interlinked. sentimental jewelry. connection through identity. the magen david.

DUNKIRK : burying a body. warm cider. narrow escapes. a race against time. a small boat. all hope lost. being unable to come home. taken prisoner. shipwrecks. assuming the identity of someone else. setting fire to it all. smoke rising from a crash. sea foam. seaports. rendered blind. dropping to take cover. land, sea, and air. entangled in chain. toast with jam. suspense. waiting for escape. wounded men. lying in the sand. trauma. blank spaces. sinking ships. commended a hero. cocking a gun. swallowed by darkness. bullet holes.obstacles and delays. a hero’s welcome. planes overhead. the sounds of a ticking clock. bullets ricocheting off metal. people by the thousands. shell-shocked. the explosions of shells on shores. the sound of destruction. rising tides. head injuries. target practice. compressed time and space. the perennial threat of death. oil ignited into flames. lying for the greater good. blocking out the noise. primal dangers. taking command. sole survivor.

GET OUT : deer antlers. suburbs. hypnosis. strange behavior. familial tension. chopping wood. uneasy stares. tears and a smile. deception. fight or flight. blindness. survival.sinking into the floor. watching but powerless. strapped to a chair. plugged ears. a failed handshake. car accidents. sunken places. something out of a nightmare. going hysterical. bingo cards. smoking cigarettes. static on a television set. doing more harm than good. a hint of a smile. a stranger in any environment that is foreign to them. waiting for someone to come when they never will. overturned candles. wealthy garden parties. constantly looking over your shoulder. silence no matter how hard you scream. trances. catharsis. a battle of wills. layers being peeled back. a cup of tea. nosebleeds. addiction. last bits of life leaving a body. black and white photography. sprinting at high speeds. conspiracies. surgery. blankly polite speech. noise of a spoon scraping across a teacup. a deer in headlights. staring at your own reflection. unable to sleep. loyal friends.

LADY BIRD : california landscapes. budding romance. uniforms. consolation. plain and luscious colors. apologizing. boorish sex. prom dresses. secondhand dresses.strong personalities. the theatre. being simultaneously warm and scary. battling depression. 90’s fashion. dreaming of elsewhere. partying. signatures on a cast. living on the wrong side of the tracks. not being bound by any era. rejection. sparklers. thrift stores. high school. identity crisis. a place that looks like a memory. going behind backs. disappointed parents. catholicism. poverty. busy new york city streets. monotonous hometowns. shitty bands. teenage anarchy. drifting in and out of friendships. menial jobs. red hair. self-given names. coming-of-age. a broken arm. excessive drinking. first kisses. cupcakes. smudged eye makeup. strained relationships. screaming in the middle of the street. thoughtful letters. standing out. decorated bedroom walls. having a change of heart. expressing individuality.

#▽ SPARE PARTS. ( character study )

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idorkish · 8 years ago

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Little Munson - Chapter 1

A/N - Welcome back to the story of Angel and Bobby Munson! Angel is finally in high school, which means new challenges for both her and Bobby. I tried a different format for this chapter, I’m trying to move the story along so we can get back into things! I have a lot of one shots that are planned to go with this. That’s the reason it’s short and time jumpy. =D

Tag List:

@mrstellerwinston @howmanywastedmoments @soafanficluvr1 @redwoodog @chaosmieu @khyharah @5sos1dsex @opies-oldlady @queen-ofthe-bikers-soa @mrsirishboru @fortheloveofthesoa @samcrolivesforever @ineedthesons @divathelover @happys-crazy-queen22 @kitkat1690 @sons-of-anarchy-imagines-blr @tellermorelli @juiceboxxortiz @ladyannikki @mybabysons @jade770 @kacilove26

Summer seemed to fly by too quickly for Angel once she started helping Luanne. Bobby had been reluctant to let his young daughter be in a porn studio but he gave in when Luanne, Angel, and Otto assured him that Angel would be confined to two office spaces and that a partition would be put in to make sure she never saw the sets. Angel worked 20 hours a week, all other free time was spent taking cooking and art classes in the community. Angel flourished over the summer. She had saved a fair amount of money she made from Luanne and was able to buy a new wardrobe that would take her through school.

August

Now here she was, a freshman in high school. Her first week had seemed to blur past quickly. Angel had made a couple new friends, had begun to plan out her study schedule for the semester, and even decided what clubs she wanted to try for. All in all, Angel had a great first week of high school. She saw many of the kids from her elementary school but it was different now. No longer would she be picked on. No longer would she have to live under a principal who loathed the club and those associated with it. Angel already loved being a high schooler. By the end of the month, Angel had a good idea of the different clubs she wanted to try out.

“Hey Daddy! How was work?” Angel asked as she rummaged through the pantry. She and Bobby agreed that they’d make dinner together at least three times a week when possible as a way to have time together. Bobby walked up behind her and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Same as always baby. Busy, lots of shit to deal with. What are we making for dinner tonight?”

“I was thinking spaghetti and homemade garlic bread tonight! We still have half a loaf of bread that we made over the weekend. Think it would be good to use.”

September

Angel had finally been introduced to both Jax and Opie’s girlfriends. Angel remembered Jax’s girlfriend, Tara, from years ago. They had once been in a class together until Tara skipped a grade. Opie’s girlfriend, Donna, seemed familiar but Angel had never really spoken to her. Both girls seemed to take to Angel immediately. It was lucky for Angel that she had the same lunch period as Donna and Tara, so she always had people to eat with. Often, Jax or Opie (sometimes both) would skip a class and join them for lunch.

Bobby loved to see his daughter thriving in the new environment. He knew that Jax and Opie would be there to look out for her and ensure that no one messed with her. Since her starting school, he found himself trying to finish more work at home so he could spend time with her.

October

Halloween was creeping up on Angel. This had become her favorite holiday and she wanted nothing more than to just decorate the house and garage as spookily as possible. With the help of Gemma, Luanne, Tara, and Donna, Angel was able to get all the decorations she wanted put up.

“Hi Angel”

The voice made Angel freeze in front of her locker. Angel swore she was hearing voices because it could not be the boy she had a crush on actually talking to her.

“Angel, are you ok?”

Angel turned toward the voice and smiled. “Y-yea! How are you David?”

There stood David Hale. He was in the same year as Opie and Jax and Angel has noticed him when the boys brought him to hang out at the clubhouse. He had always been nice to Angel.

“I’m good. I was wondering if you were going to the Halloween party at the club this weekend?”

“Oh, yea! Of course I am! I”m helping my Aunt Gemma with the setup. Plus, it’s one of the few times us kids are actually allowed at the parties, I’m not going to miss it!”

David gave her a big smile and wide. Angel couldn’t help but blush. “Well, I was...well I was hoping that you and I can hang out at the party. Jax and Opie invited me and I was really hoping that we’d have some time to talk and chill.”

Angel was ecstatic for the rest of the day. When she got home, Angel tossed her bag on the black and fell back onto the couch. Covering her face with a pillow, Angel let out a loud squeal of delight as she kicked her feet in the air. “Shit...what am I going to wear?”

November

Before they knew it, Thanksgiving was almost there and Angel was on her first school break. She had finished all school work needed early on so she could enjoy break and she knew what she wanted to do. “Hey Dad, can I talk to you?” Angel stood in the doorway to Bobby’s office, a wide grin on her face.

Bobby looked up from paperwork that he was reading over and turned to face his daughter. “Sure thing Angel, what’s going on?”

“Well, you know how I was working with Luanne all summer and saving up? I was wondering if, maybe, you know...if you’d let me use some of that money to buy something?”

Bobby chuckled and placed his glasses on his desk. He found it amusing that Angel would ask to use her own money. He had told her numerous times that as much as he wanted her to save it, she was free to do with it what she wanted. “Well, it’s your money kid. What did you want to get?”

Angel finally stepped foot into her father’s office and sat on the edge of his desk. She had rehearsed this numerous times and she felt confident that she could get through this without messing out. “Ok, well I know I can use Jax’s old game system and I have been using it for a couple months now. But it’s crud, Dad. It hardly work from all the abuse he put it through over the years and I’ve had to tape the cords up so many times. So I was wondering if you’d take me to the store so I can buy a new Sega Genesis and some games! They’ve been out for a couple years now and the prices have gone down. And I could afford it all myself and you wouldn’t need to pay for anything!”

Bobby laughed and patted her knee. He had been worried that she was going to want to blow her money on makeup and clothes. He knew that day would be coming but he wasn’t ready yet. The fact that his little girl wanted games was a pleasant surprise for him. “Of course, we’ll go later today. It’s your money after all.” “Thank you Daddy! Ahh, I’m so excited! Maybe some friends can come over too? And possibly, if you allow it...David can come over?” Angel had her arms wrapped tightly around Bobby’s neck as she squealed in delight. “Please? Please please?”

Bobby hugged her tightly and laughed more. “Anything you want baby girl. And as for David, yeah...he can come over. But Jax and Opie have to be here if I’m not!”

December

Before they knew it, Christmas was already around the corner. Bobby had been stressed, wondering what to get Angel and the others. He had let Angel have full run of decorating once more. Bobby didn’t care much for the holidays, but Angel seemed to shine when she could decorate how she wanted. He knew they would be spending Christmas with the club at Gemma’s house once again, but he wanted to do something special for just the two of them. “Hey Angel, how much more do you need to get done here?”

Angel skipped into the room and smiled wide at her father. Bobby turned to face her and couldn’t contain his laughter. There stood Angel, wrapped loosely in string lights and the tree skirt wrapped around her shoulders as she went from pose to pose. “I don’t know Dad, how much does it look like I need to get done? I mean, I am totally rocking this right now!”

Bobby wiped the tears from his eyes as he gripped the seat, trying his hardest to remain standing from laughing too hard. “We’ll worry about putting up the lights later. Go get dressed. And put on something nice, we’re going somewhere tonight. It’s an early present for you.”

Angel bounced in the truck seat. Bobby had made her wear a blindfold and refused to give her any hints. Angel tried to figure out where they were going but Bobby had made sure to make various turns to confuse Angel. “We’re here baby. Take off the blindfold.”

Angel removed the blindfold and stared at the building before them. “Are...are you serious Daddy?” Angel wiped at her eyes as she quietly got out the truck. NUTCRACKER was in bright lights, illuminating the theatre before them. “Daddy, are we seriously going to see it?” Bobby smiled and nodded, holding his arm out for her. “I know you’ve been wanting to see this live. Called in a favor for some good seats. Good present?”

“Oh Daddy! Thank you so much! This is the best present ever!”

Bobby chuckled and pulled his daughter close to his side, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Actually, there’s more.” Angel looked up at him, her face scrunched in confusion. Bobby smiled and turned her to face the building once more. There stood David, with a small wrapped box in his hand. Angel looked back at her father, “What’s...what’s going on Daddy?”

“Well, you’re going to see the show with David tonight. I know you’ve been spending a lot of time together lately. This is my gift to you both. Don’t worry, I’ll be there too. I’m meeting someone here tonight. Now go enjoy and merry Christmas baby.”

Angel wrapped her arms tightly around Bobby’s waist and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you so much Daddy. Merry Christmas.”

#the reaper's angel #little munson #chapter 1 #bobby munson #angel munson #sons of anarchy #samcro imagine #SOA imagine #SOA AU #SAMCRO AU #samcro

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boreborn · 7 years ago

Text

BEST PICTURE NOMINEES (2018) AESTHETICS.

repost, don’t reblog.

THE SHAPE OF WATER.

early mornings. art on an easel. being trapped. flashy cars. self-righteous intolerance.speaking volumes without a word. being submerged. learning and adapting. raindrops on windows. bubbles rising in water. cats. taboo desires. tanks of water. kitschy nostalgia. kissing underwater. silence. isolation. golden age hollywood. sign language. scales. egg shells. jell-o. the smell of cleaning supplies. creature features. the space race. red coats. monstrous fairy tales. lab coats. lunches in brown bags. the click of shoes. smog. dance routines. slices of pie. toxic masculinity. chains. government secrets. seeing past flaws. floating aimlessly. needles. greens and blues. deep, inexorable scars. gills. music from the 30′s. retro-futurism. bloody handprints. routines. record players. old movies.love in unexpected places.

PHANTOM THREAD.

a doll in a gilded birdcage. butter to bread. the death of a mother. cycles. hidden messages. a disruptive presence. longing. wedding gowns. posh control. post-war. brightly colored socks. inner turmoil. poison. an air of quiet death. hallucinations. family dysfunction. rich fabrics. curses. soft piano music. restrained anger. spinning out of control. artist and muse. dark love. pastels. peace in the countryside. clockwork dynamics.perfection. wild mushrooms. giving up every piece of yourself. rags to riches. ghosts. new year’s.lingering gazes. needle and thread. fine dining. hearing every sound. being ambushed. ego. flowing dresses. a person out of place. defiance. ink to paper. an artist tortured by their art. obsessive personalities.peepholes. soothing elegance. silk. spiral staircases. driving at high speeds. high society.

THE POST.

typewriters. newspapers. tense climates. distrust of authority. internal battles. a legacy at stake. secrets. cover-ups. defending what you believe. peering through windows. melodrama. political corruption. behind closed doors. sniffing a scoop. ringing phones.lying for over a decade. cramming and crowding. cold grays. war. fluorescent lights.treason. shuffled papers. the jungle. a weight on your shoulders. fresh coffee. thousands of deaths. burglary. finding your voice. risking everything. propaganda. tough choices. exposure. type being set by hand. workplace rivalries. abusing power. security breaches.hierarchy. a bed strewn with papers and books. paranoia. orders. clicking keys.redacted files. desk clutter. cigarette smoke. precious cargo. vanished technologies.suspenseful conversations. facing charges. courtroom battles. suits and ties.

DARKEST HOUR.

never surrendering. duty. countless negotiations. the flash of cameras. beaches.historic buildings. guzzling booze. resignation. utter catastrophe. bunkers. radio broadcasts. going against the odds. bathed in red light. a sense of humor. allies. shouting matches. small square windows. selfishness. walking with a cane. war rooms. chandeliers. dust floating in air. righteousness. a poor reputation. an elevator surrounded by darkness. a world at war. needing a miracle. interruptions. a last hope. cigar smoke. quoting poetry.photos of a loved one. a single sunbeam. monarchy. vanity. rescue missions. refusing peace. allied chambers. military uniforms. taking a stand. common folk. suicide missions. drums of war. tears down sullen cheeks. reluctance. complete collapse. evacuations. enveloped by fog. changing history. blood, toil, tears and sweat.

THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI.

severe burns. police uniforms. sirens. the calmness of a deer. strumming guitars. grieving. horrifying memories. sucker punches. a lack of respect. facing threats. skin under fingernails. flicking cigarettes. awkward dates. nasty rumors. claustrophobia. lush green pastures. molotov cocktails. the fire of anger and revenge. strangers. no remorse. bashing in windows. the midwest. provoking a fight. pointing fingers. being pressed for time. rundown old houses. grey morality. dark undercurrents. insurmountable losses. cruel laughs. the american flag. dive bars. guilty no matter what. buildings in flames.ambulances.coughing up blood. spitting. chewing on fingernails. one versus many. black and red. not understanding another’s feelings. a mother and child. the pain of others. a quest of justice. abandoned billboards. a hardened gaze. driving to nowhere. small towns.last letters. absurd violence.

DUNKIRK.

burying a body. warm cider. narrow escapes. a race against time. a small boat. all hope lost. being unable to come home. taken prisoner. shipwrecks. assuming the identity of someone else. setting fire to it all. smoke rising from a crash . sea foam. seaports.rendered blind. dropping to take cover. land, sea, and air. entangled in chain. toast with jam. suspense.waiting for escape. wounded men. lying in the sand. trauma. blank spaces. sinking ships. commended a hero. cocking a gun. swallowed by darkness. bullet holes. obstacles and delays. a hero’s welcome. planes overhead. the sounds of a ticking clock. bullets ricocheting off metal. people by the thousands. shell-shocked. the explosions of shells on shores. the sound of destruction. rising tides. head injuries. target practice. compressed time and space. the perennial threat of death. oil ignited into flames. lying for the greater good. blocking out the noise. primal dangers. taking command. sole survivor.

GET OUT.

deer antlers. suburbs. hypnosis. strange behavior. familial tension. chopping wood.uneasy stares. tears and a smile. deception. fight or flight. blindness.survival. sinking into the floor. watching but powerless. strapped to a chair. plugged ears.a failed handshake. car accidents. sunken places. something out of a nightmare. going hysterical. bingo cards. smoking cigarettes. static on a television set. doing more harm than good. a hint of a smile. a stranger in any environment that is foreign to them. waiting for someone to come when they never will. overturned candles. wealthy garden parties. constantly looking over your shoulder. silence no matter how hard you scream. trances.catharsis. a battle of wills. layers being peeled back. a cup of tea. nosebleeds.addiction. last bits of life leaving a body. black and white photography. sprinting at high speeds.conspiracies. surgery. blankly polite speech. noise of a spoon scraping across a teacup. a deer in headlights. staring at your own reflection. unable to sleep. loyal friends.

LADY BIRD.

california landscapes. budding romance. uniforms. consolation. plain and luscious colors.apologizing. boorish sex. prom dresses. secondhand dresses. strong personalities.the ups and downs of adolescence. the theatre. being simultaneously warm and scary. battling depression. 90’s fashion. dreaming of elsewhere.partying. signatures on a cast.living on the wrong side of the tracks. not being bound by any era. rejection. sparklers. thrift stores. high school. identity crisis. a place that looks like a memory. going behind backs. disappointed parents. catholicism. poverty. busy new york city streets. monotonous hometowns. shitty bands. anarchy. drifting in and out of friendships. menial jobs. red hair. self-given names. coming-of-age. a broken arm. excessive drinking. first kisses. cupcakes. smudged eye makeup. bruises gained unknowingly. strained relationships. screaming in the middle of the street. thoughtful letters. standing out. decorated bedroom walls.having a change of heart. expressing individuality.

TAGGED BY @despairled

TAGGING: anyone who wants to do this because i am hella late.

#&& totally LAME ( meme. )

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