Scars And Stripes Novels & Stories

It made my skin tingle all over again. I spotted another group of fighters—four strong men this time. Their bodies gleamed with oil from the morning's fights. Sweat mixed with it, running down their muscled chests and arms. One guy had a long scar across his chest, red and raised like a mark of pride from past battles. Another had dark tattoos snaking up his arms, thick lines that looked like twisting ropes. The other two were just as built, one with short blond hair matted to his head, the other with a shaved scalp that showed off his thick neck.

He snarls, tearing off his shirt. His breath is coming in heavy pants, his body pushed to the brink by the effort of holding his wolf back. He throws out both arms now, drawing attention to his bare abdomen: a swath of rippling muscles covered in battlescars. “Why is it you look at my scars and see strength, but find only weakness in hers?”

“I don’t really know much. Whenever they’re there for the meeting, they make all the strippers and bottle girls wear these customized headphones they bring along themselves. As a stripper, you strip to whatever song you can hear through the headphones. As a bottle girl, you have loud music playing. Whenever they want a bottle, your music stops, you get the orders, and then your music automatically comes back on. I don’t know why they do it, but there’s no way you can hear or see anything even if you’re right in front of them stripping. They’re so organized and don’t make too much noise.” She paused, then added, “But there was something about all of them. The few I’ve been opportuned to strip

Sin Frostfire Solutions Carla stood before me in six-inch high stilettos, her pale face containing a bit of shine. Her lips were a deep red, complemented by the blood red dress she was wearing. As beautiful as she turned out in her vampiric form, I still couldn’t get my mind off how Scarlet was humping Jerk in the college grounds. Carla’s lips were moving as she gestured with her hands. But I wasn’t listening. Although I was elated to see her, it was difficult to erase the picture of Scarlet and another man in my mind. Even when I knew there was little I could do to change the situation.

She remembered being told that it wasn’t her fault. She remembered seeing a tall guy standing beside Jace’s grave, his back towards her. He was probably his younger brother whom she never had a chance to meet. She remembered everything. She looked down at the scar on her forearm, there were a few scars on her body that left marks. They reminded her of that horrible night. The one on her forehead was nearly invisible now, but the rest were the same. They didn’t hurt but the memories did, the nightmares did. Her older sister had been her support in all of this, her sister, her parents, Faith, and all her friends.

The natural waist dropped into a sheer fabric with flowers stitched into it. The scars have relaxed and really created a pretty chain-link pattern. Although our wolves really worked on healing me, they are just now calming down and looking like regular scars. I have grown accustom to them to the point that I want to get them tattooed. As a symbol of my strength and determination to not let evil win. Soft music was playing as I paced around this tent. The only thing I knew about this event was the smell of lilacs. “Ready?” Colt lifted the side and stepped in.

They fought tooth and nail as if it was some type of morbid dance between two opposite forces until eventually overcoming what used to stand in front: they defeated them again…or so thought those remaining few who chose life over death. Still panting heavily amid the ruins left behind due devastation caused by Miss Bulwark (*as referred lovingly by Lovato*), both daredevils embraced at last after such intense battle; relieved - although bruised & battered (mostly mentally!)-that also no harm had come upon their little brave soul known as 'Scarlett'. One final thing remained however: The showstopper itself…. A fiery explosion occurred right then when two hearts collide during an affectionate

She struggled, kicking and spitting, but there were too many of them, too many big. "Let me go!" I could hear her screams, her neck parched with terror and rage. A hand clamped over her mouth tightly, stifling her howls. Marcus was receiving the same treatment, his leads hanging loose, his spindly form buried under the waves of my guards. He fought with a wild madness, but it was in vain.

Rosie’s POV At dinner, I held out my wrist across the dinner table, frowning at the thin pink scar that curled along my skin. “No matter how much concealer I use, it still shows.” Chris leaned over, fork halfway to her mouth. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not that bad.” “I think scars from battle are kind of badass,” Tyler said, trying way too hard to sound casual as he flexed his arm, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. “Look—Rogue ambush during my first patrol.”

Hard pass. As I towel off, something catches my eye in the mirror, and my heart drops into my stomach. My back. I freeze, the air turning thick and heavy, like I’m suddenly trying to breathe underwater. My hands shake as I stare at what used to be my back, its now a ruined mess of angry red ridges and thick, ropey scars crisscrossing like a roadmap to hell.