❛  I  Don't  Know  Why  You're  Telling  Me.  I'm  Not  Involved.  You  Made  That, 

she  isn't  good  on  the  assurance  that  it  all  gets  better,  gets  more  manageable.  IT  DOESN'T,  but  your  body  adapts  as  it  would  in  times  of  duress  (  times  of  war  )   ❛  in  my  mind,  i  can  save  the  boy.  ❜  an  utterance  between  the  rhythm  of  stabilized  vitals,  tedious  beep  taunting  with  a  drop  at  any  given  second.  she'd  brutalize  herself  if  she  couldn't. 

lyrical sc// @frthestars ( mel )

honey  gaze  scours  the  delicate  clutter  of  tools.  all  foreign  to  her  knowledge  and  oddly  comforting,  as  if  by  some  extension  of  who  he  was  could  quell  pockets  of  unrest.  the  tightness  in  her  chest  loosened,  just  a  little.  she  keeps  so  many  horrors  there,  unearthed  like  a  vandalized  mausoleum.  gloria  follows  the  sound  of  his  voice,  leans  back  into  the  warmth  of  his  presence  behind  her.  her  fingers  hover  over  the  spools  before  settling  on  one  —  a  dusky  blue,  like  the  swirling  sky  of  a  storm.

❛ this  one.  ❜  she  murmurs,  voice  low  enough  to  keep  it  steady.  gloria  focused  on  the  feel  of  it,  every  sensation  of  lips  adorning  skin  and  distracting  racing  thoughts.  ❛ don't  go  too  easy  on  me.  ❜

@medicbled

"here, let me show you something." voice and touch are gentle yet firm as he ushers them to his work desk and tugs gloria down, wooden office chair squeaking in protest under their combined weight. before them stands a rotary vise fixed around a fishing hook and a collection of colorful threads, feathers, flash, and beads kept in organized chaos. there's a storm brewing in that head of hers and this method, distraction and redirection, has always been effective in quieting his own busy mind.

"we'll do an easy one," josef begins, reassurance offered in the form of a squeeze and pecks against the slope of her shoulder between sentences. "pick a thread."

gloria's cool date idea: a fucking nap and you pretend like she didn't drool on you a little bit cause she's comfortable with you.

an non - spicy starter call so a regular one ? ( obvious subject for existing ships that it to be shippy if that’s the direction I go in )

15.     bookcase. // HC @owestwind

BOOKSHELVES// she has a habit, a collection that rivals her record one. two points in her home have dedication to her literature. - a corner in her living room and a good portion of her bedroom. every single book is one she's read at least once before and there are favourites she revisits often. many copies that have seen combat and deployments and gotten her through difficult times. she's a fast, thorough reader and her taste varies, but this is a little snippet of some of her favourites.

the  gun  is  still,  but  her  breath  isn’t.  it  slips  through  clenched  TEETH  as  something  she  doesn’t  trust  herself  to  name.  her  eyes  don’t  waver  and  that’s  the  only  thing  that  doesn’t  betray  her.  everything  else,  every  muscle,  every  nerve  ending  is  listening  to  him.  his  words  coil  around  her  like  smoke  in  a  sealed  room;  thick,  unrelenting,  poisonous  and  holy.

he  stands  in  front  of  her  like  a  revenant.  a  memory  reanimated  into  something  hungrier,  rougher  but  not  gone,  and  maybe  that  was  her  penance  for  unearthing  what  should  have  stayed  dead.  she  watches  the  way  he  leans  into  the  barrel,  like  he’s  inviting  annihilation.  like  he  already  knows  she  won’t  give  it  to  him.

and  that’s  what  tips  her.

gloria  moves  before  thought,  a  surge  of  instinct  and  history.  rage,  ache,  and  hunger  burn  under  her  skin  like  shrapnel  hitting  a  nerve.  she  lifts  her  hand,  the  barrel  close  enough  now  that  it  kisses  his  chin  at  the  juncture  between  flesh  and  mask.  she  knows  he'll  find  her  and  haunt  her, and  she  will  let  him  in  every  single  time.

❛  you’re  right.  i  don’t  want  control  and  i  don't  need  permission  either.  ❜  her  voice  serrated,  low  and  trembling  with  something  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  fear.  her  free  hand  curls  in  his  shirt,  dragging  him  tighter  against  her.  she  wants  to  feel  the  pulse  of  him  and  plead  to  the  man  beneath.

❛  and  you,  what  about  you,  querido?  ❜  she  leaned  in,  her  nose  brushed  his  mask,  mouth  hovering  at  the  edge  of  his  jaw,  and  then  so  suddenly.  CLICK  —  that's  all  it  was:  an  empty  game  of  roulette  she  never  loaded.  a  sound  so  deafening  despite  being  so  small.  She  pulls  back  just  enough  to  look  at  him,  really  look  at  him.  ❛ i  could  always  see  you,  you  know.  all  that  hurt  i  could  sink  my  teeth  into  like  you  tore  into  mine.  ❜

she  holds  a  beat  like  she's  unhinging  her  maw.  ❛  but  you’re  wrong  about  one  thing  ❜  a  push  off  his  frame,  empty  clip  snapped  out  of  the  pistol,  and  the  entirety  falls  to  the  ground.  her  eyes  don't  leave  him,  emotions  too  deep  to  remain  buried  and  twice  as  volatile  as  the  heart  on  her  sleeve.  ❛  i  don’t  want  to  pretend  i’m  better  than  you.  i  want  to  believe  i  wasn’t  always  just  like  you,  but  we  both  know  that's  not  true,  don't  we?  ❜

🔫 [ something tells me it's fucked up but hot though? the one time she can't pull the trigger but should. 🫦 ]

POINT A GUN AT MY MUSE PROMPT. | @waruins

that barrel's not cold. that is what gloria doesn't realize. it's not trembling in her grip. but he can feel the hesitation affecting her. and jigsaw? he feeds on that.

it's not wanton glee or the mockery you'd get from an overperforming circus clown. he has a hunger that lives in the marrow of his bones. the version of him before wouldn't flinch. neither would the one that came back from the mirror.

    ❝ now this—this is the good part. ❞ his voice scrapes out. it's rusted and sharp, like heavy metal dragged across the asphalt. there's a twisted reverence that overrode any delight or scorn he might have derived from his grim circumstances.

his devilish audacity compels him to tempt his fate and step closer. to dare her finger to twitch against the trigger because he invaded her space now, in her head, and still—he’s unafraid of death.

    ❝ oh, go on. ❞ the virtually masked eyes flick to the muzzle that was ready to bark at any second. he wonders what dark whispers it put in her head to make her believe this was the right move. ❝ do it. i’d let you. right here. right now! permission to kill, soldier! ❞

the mask covers the jagged and lopsided grin. it shields her from the ruin, but not the dark dare. his head cocks, wolfish, a second away from acting on the impulse to tear into her for the cowardice alone.

    ❝ i think you want me close. i think you want me to bleed for you. break for you. and maybe even burn you a little and call it worship. ❞ he says it like it was a secret passed between their sinner selves of a previous life. a gospel carved into the wall of some brig.

    ❝ i think this little gun? ain’t punishment. it’s one of our fucked up foreplays. ❞ because it felt familiar. it seemed like some shit he'd be into with a girl like her in his past. his hand lifts slowly—measured, not threatening—fingers brushing against the side of the coal-black barrel like he’s petting it. like it's her hair. his thumb grazes the slide, the tension point of unceremonious death, and he sighs like he's tasted the most exquisite dish for his last day on earth.

    ❝ you don’t want control, gloria. you want permission. you want to see what you are when you stop pretending you're better than me. as if we didn't fly the same colors for our country. ❞ his other hand reaches—not to her, but to his own chest. he taps it once. twice. thrice. firm. he leans in and whispers rot in her ear:

    ❝ squeeze the trigger. i’ll still come back for you, gloria. even if you break me. even if you kill me. i'll crawl outta hell and find you, sweetheart. ❞ then—he steps back. but it's barely an inch away. it's enough to see her beautiful trepidation in her eyes. enough to see if his words led to them softening or hardening. jigsaw grins again.

 ❝ now what’s it gonna be, angel? you gonna make uncle sam proud? or are you scared it’ll feel too fucking good? ❞

Breeding Kink?

WHAT HAPPENED TO HELLO, HOW ARE YOU? MY NAME IS ....HELLLLLOOO?..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................yeah though.

A  PEAK  AT  WHAT’S  INSIDE  THEIR          .    .    .

[  *  ]      writing prompt      )         :             send a number  1 - 30  to take a closer look inside this characters life.        /        below you will find a series of various prompts offering a look inside a characters every day life.        these are meant to invoke character development     &     can also be altered as seen fit to better suit the character in question.         bonus if you explain why it’s there!

01.     pockets. 02.     bag   /   purse. 03.     car trunk. 04.     car glovebox. 05.     closet. 06.     bedside table drawer. 07.     medicine cabinet. 08.     wallet. 09.     “junk” drawer. 10.     pantry. 11.     phone home screen. 12.     frequently used emojis. 13.     to do list. 14.     computer home screen. 15.     bookcase. 16.     cd collection. 17.     calendar for this month. 18.     “secret” hiding spot. 19.     five most recent in contact list.  20.     refrigerator.  21.     home safe.  22.     amazon shopping cart.  23.     bank account.  24.     first aid kit.  25.     five most recent in google search history.  26.     most used playlist.  27.     least used playlist.  28.     five most recent sent text messages  29.     five most recent received text messages  30.     netflix watch history. 

© * ᴵᴺ ᴬ ᴴᴼᵁᔆᴱ ᴼᶠ ᴹᴵᴿᴿᴼᴿᔆ ᵞᴼᵁ'ᴿᴱ ᴺᴱⱽᴱᴿ ᴬᴸᴼᴺᴱ - WELCOME HOME!

❛ fucking hit me already. ❜ / frank ! @weaponid

gloria  doesn't  ask  if  he  means  it.  she  watches  him  like  she’s  trying  to  see  past  the  skin  and  into  the  marrow  where  all  that  rage  lives  coiled  and  choking.  watches  him  like  the  cornered  fox  minds  the  rabid  hound.  she  knows  he  means  it;  pain  has  always  been  an  open  door  between  them.  her  hand  twitches  at  her  side,  she  swallows  down  barbed  wire  and  the  fucked  intimacy  of  it  all.  she  moves  fast,  sharp,  her  fist  colliding  with  his  face  in  a  clean,  brutal  arc.  there’s  no  hesitation  behind  it,  no  apology.  honesty  ruptures  and  lands  with  a  crack  that  echoes  louder  than  it  should.  his  head  jerks  to  the  side,  and  for  a  second,  everything  holds.  suspended  and  sacred.

she's  caught  on  every  hitch  in  her  unsteady  cadence  of  breath.  something  so  much  deeper  than  transactional  sadomasochism  and  ire,  because  it's  never  been  that  simple  for  them.  his  skin  is  hot  beneath  her  palm  when  she  grabs  his  jaw,  dragging  his  face  back  to  hers.  her  thumb  presses  along  the  red  blotch  on  his  cheek,  rough  and  reverent.  ❛  that  hard  enough,  frank?  did  that  knock  some  sense  into  your  fucking  head  yet?  ❜  its  a  clawed  grip  behind  his  neck,  the  other  hand  gripping  the  collar  and  yanking  him  closer,  foreheads  pressed  so  hard  it  hurts.  her  voice  breaks  against  his  mouth.  ❛  you're  broken,  i  know,  and  so  am  i.  i  don't  care  how  many  fucked  up  pieces  of  you  are  left  cause  i'm  going  to  keep  coming  back  until  there's  nothing  to  come  back  to.  ❜