#withspite

[nochtsisin]

@withspite​.  open prompt.  /   ❝ do not mess with me right now. ❞ / from gabe/reaper!!

‘  riamh  ,  ‘  irish  lilt  remains  low  ,  tone  dripping  with  irritation  at  his  attempt  at  a  threat  .  never  had  she  feared  him  and  she  would  not  start  now  ———  there  are  few  things  ,  even  fewer  people  ,  that  she  truly  feared  ,  but  more  importantly  ,  she  has  worked  so  long  with  him  that  to  fear  him  now  would  be  absurd  .  so  ,  if  he  expects  her  to  leave  after  being  made  to  wait  so  patiently  for  him  back  in  her  lab  ,  he  will  be  sorely  disappointed  .

no  ,  she  stays  in  the  doorway  from  which  she  had  called  to  him  ,  hands  clasped  behind  her  back  and  posture  as  prim  as  ever  .  silence  falls  as  she  studies  him  carefully  ,  the  watchful  eyes  of  the scientist  taking  in  whatever  data  she  can  garner  on  his  current  state  .  

‘  while  i  know  it  isn’t  enjoyable  ,  the  procedures  we’ve  established  have  kept  you  STABLE  thus  far ;  delaying  them  could  be  rather  detrimental  .  though  i’d  love  nothing  more  than  to  leave  you  to  your  . . .   brooding  ,  i  believe  it  would  be  in  your  best  interest  to  accompany  me  back  to  the  lab  .  ‘  she  begins  turning  to  leave  ,  movement  slowed  as  to  wait  for  a  response  .   before  one  comes  ,  however  ,  she  opts  to  add  in  a  low  murmur  :  ‘  it  wasn’t  easy  saving  your  life  ———  i’d  appreciate  you  not  let  all  our  hard  work  go  to  waste  .  ‘

[kinslayr]

@withspite​:  “  you broke it.  ” sym @ pouty arrow boy

sentence starters

 his  first  reaction  is  to  be  indignant  to  a  fault,  to  hide  the  broken  pieces  like  some  sort  of  child  that  had  shattered  his  mother’s  favorite  vase  -  or  even  more  accurately,  a  husband  who  had  broken  the  good  plates  in  his  effort  to  seem  extraordinary.  hanzo  was  not  used  to  shame,  and  he  was  certainly  not  used  to  a  woman  making  him  feel  embarrassed  -  so  imagine  his  surprise  when  that  firm  tone  reaches  his  ears  and  he’s  attempting  -  no,  scrambling -  to  hide  the  broken  pieces  of  her  turret  behind  his  back.  he  wishes  his  cheeks  did  not  immediately  inflame,  wishes  that  he  could  look  her  in  the  eyes...  but  situations  like  this?  oh,  he  was  a  piss  poor  liar,  and  it  showed  in  the  way  he  clears  his  throat,  backs  himself  to  the  nearest  wall,  and  keeps  his  crimes  hidden. 

                   hanzo  shimada  was  scared  of  one  thing  and  one  thing  only:

                                                                                    satya  vaswani. 

                                  “ i  have  no  idea  what  you  are  talking  about. ”

a  haughty  sniff  upon  proud  features,  head  held  high  and  averted...  but  a  piece  of  the  now  busted  turret  falls  betwixt  his  legs,  hanzo  curses  in  his  native  tongue,  and  the  jig  is  up.  still,  he  attempts  to  maintain  his  dignity,  that  redness  having  found  his  ears and  even  a  bit  of  his  neck.  how  is  it  the  one  person  whose  haughtiness  was  comparable  to  his  own  was  the  one  that  suddenly  got  to  see  him  as  a  bit  of  a  disaster?  this  was  karma,  truly.             “ ...yes,  fine.  it  appears  to  have...  fallen  apart  under  my  touch. ”  no  sense  in  insulting  craftsmanship,  when  it  had  been  impeccable. “ should  i...  compensate  you  somehow? ”  perhaps  this  was  all  a  master  plan  of  his,  or  perhaps  he  didn’t  think  he’d  get  this  far  -  regardless,  he  has  fixed  her  with  that  piercing  gaze,  hawk-like  eyes  finally  meeting  her  own...  with  only  a  modicum of  humility.

[veuvebise]

@withspite

SHE IS A MACHINE, BRUTALLY EFFICIENT AND UNENCUMBERED by human morals that would keep most from pulling the trigger. The removal of feeling, the slowing of her heart rate, further honing of her body... it all served to make her a better weapon, a better killer. She obeyed without question, she pulled the trigger without question, and sometimes - she even enjoyed it (as much as she could). The Widowmaker’s current state allowed her to exist in a limbo that bore no consequences for her human psyche, no concern for her past, only her present. At Talon’s behest, she killed and killed and killed, seeing the change of history at each pull of her sniper rifle. This would be no different - or so, she thought. 

When Amélie had been given the order to dispose of Jesse McCree, former Blackwatch/Overwatch agent, she had hardly bat an eyelash at the provided dossier. Inwardly, however, curiosity had bloomed. She remembered him of course, she remembers everything from her days with Gérard, few of the agents included. The cowboy stuck out vividly in her mind, charming, vivacious, even daringly flirtatious. A wink and a tip of his hat to a married woman... well, she had enjoyed it. Had enjoyed that Southern drawl and politeness that came with it. Gérard had seemed to especially like him, too, something about ‘a heart of gold.’ Those memories did not leave her, but they did not haunt her either. Emotion was not attached to them - even if she knew they should make her feel something. 

Every machine has it’s rusty gears, it’s un-oiled cogs and displaced screws. Amélie didn’t recognize the proverbial blind spot she had for this gun-totting, belt-buckle wearing, cigar-smoking idiot until she had her sights trained on him, has her fingertips upon the trigger. He is, perhaps, the most dangerous mark she’s ever had - the one who could end her as easily as she ends him. But that’s not what she notices, as she stares at him through her scope, visor allowing the adjustment to the night time darkness and her body remaining chilled despite the Southern heat. On the contrary, instead she notices how finely he’s aged - how that rugged handsomeness and exuded combination of warmth and slight danger is still prevalent in all that he does. And that distraction... it makes her sloppy. 

      She actually misses the shot, and all she remembers afterwards is pain. 

------------------------------------------------------------------- xxx

When Amélie comes to, it’s not in a morgue, not in a Talon hideaway, and not in her own home. She expects to be either dead, or in intense agony, but instead... she feels like she’s floating. Eyes that have been shut for what feels like an eternity slowly peel open, amber hues adjusting the bright, diffused light of... the bedroom. She blinks once, twice, and a third time - fog in her brain toiling away at her awareness. It takes a good several minutes for her to grow aware enough to truly assess where she is, starting with the bed, the walls, her clothes... Her clothes. Eyes squint almost accusingly down at the large shirt (definitely not hers... is that plaid?) hiding her svelte frame, stuttering briefly on the side of her abdomen - where most of that dull pain is coming from. On reflex, she moves to reach down her right arm to peel back the hem of the shirt-dress, only to find that it will not budge. 

“ Merde. ” She tugs again, and again. When each attempt gives her nothing, her head tilts and she finds the object of her placation: one hand, cuffed to the railing of the bed. Somehow, it only being one felt more insulting than both. Slowly, she sits up, relieving a bit of the pressure upon her shoulder to press her back against the bed frame (wincing, as she does so). Mile-long, dark tresses fall about her like a curtain, and an impatient huff blows them aside, while she exams the blankets warming her chill body. Rustic, country... and to be quite honest, they smelled nice. The shirt smelled nice, the room smelled nice, the bed smelled nice... all of it was masculine, earthy. She knows where she is in an instant. 

           “ Jesse McCree. ” Her voice is lilting, even with it’s rawness from sleep. She purrs over his name, sensuous, dangerous... like a Siren’s call, beckoning him to her side. “ Where are those Southern manners? Terribly impolite, restraining me to the bed before taking me to dinner. ” She shows no fear, feels no fear. On the contrary, the thought of a challenge is exciting. 

[maiicabre]

            (         @withspite     ;     for   azula  .         )

         ---   contrary   to   popular   belief,   mai   doesn't   hate   azula.   no,   she   doesn't.   not   even   after   days   being   locked   up   in   a   prison   because   she'd   saved   zuko.   but   one   thing   did   hurt.   that   azula   never   knew   her   well   enough   to   see   why   she   did   it.   to   love   someone   so   much   that   you'd   betray   anything   to   save   them.   because   seeing   them   die   would   be   more   painful   than   keeping   your   ties.   the   cup   of   tea   shakes   as   it's   placed   on   the   ground   right   outside   azula's   cell.   ❝   i   brought   you   tea.   ❞      it's   said   rather   cooly   as   mai   takes   a   seat   on   the   bench.   why   is   she   here?   maybe   because   she   wants   to   think   that   just   like   zuko,   there   was   more   good   to   azula   than   she   thought.   ❝   prison   seems   boring.   ❞

[calamitiess]

@withspite for ghostie murder man with the big guns

so  get  your  gun,             and  kiss  your  wife,                  and  lock  up  your  daughter;                 don't  let  her  fall  in  love  with  the  pale  rider

the  crickets  are  alarmingly  loud  tonight,  almost  drowning  out  the  nearby  tabletop  radio  in  the  roar  they  generate  from  the  woods  behind  her  mansion.  ashe  has  learned  it  to  be  peaceful,  to  be  a  lullaby  to  lull  her  to  sleep  at  night,  and  yet it’s  hard  for  her  to  process  such  things,  when  that  impending  dread  has  settled  deep  within  her  bones.  it’s  nothing  particularly  stifling,  no  coming  knowledge  of  her  demise  or  despair...  simply  that  she  should  be  on  her  toes for  the  remainder  of  the  evening.  perhaps  it  was  simply  paranoia,  but  she  sat  outside  her  bedroom  regardless,  basking  in  the  cool  southern  night and  allowing  the  breeze  to  ruffle  the  lace  of  the  nightgown  and  robe  hugged  tight  to  her  svelte  frame  (black,  of  course,  like  the  rest  of  her  wardrobe). 

painted  fingertips  flick  lightly  at  the  cigarette  in  hand,  a  bit  of  ash  trailing  off  the  end  and  away  with  the  breeze.  she  brings  it  to  her  lips  again,  sucking  gently and  allowing  the  warm  nicotine  to  roll  through  her  system  like  a  drug.  paired  with  the  three  fingers  of  whiskey  sat  before  her,  it  was  hard  to  say  how  well  she’d  be  sleeping  tonight...  but  something  made  her  suspect  she  wouldn’t  be.  that  came  with  the  territory,  of  course,  her  head  was  filled  with  deadlock  business  -  and  more  than  lately,  the  affiliations  that  had  begun  with  that  dreadful  organization  talon.  when  they  had  come  requesting  a  tenuous  alliance...  ashe  had reluctantly agreed,  if  only  because  she  knew  it  wouldn’t  end  well  for  her  gang  if  she  hadn’t. 

and  now  here  they  were,  a  year  into  it,  and  her  unable  to  sleep. 

                                  inside,  the  clock  chimes  midnight,  and  the  crickets  go  quiet. 

she  smells  him  before  she  sees  him,  the  ominous  odor  of  something  both  sweet  and  masculine  and  deadly,  all  at  once.  to  ashe’s  credit,  she  doesn’t  bother  turning,  only  puffs  lightly  at  her  cigarette,  before  carmine  eyes  glance  towards  the  wisps  of  dark  smoke  weaving  across  the  ground  in  her  general  direction.  curious  gaze  remains  fixed  while  he  solidifies,  and  those  silken  red  tiers  split  into  a  bit  of  a  smirk  at  his  appearance.  it’s  hard  to  keep  her  bravado  with  reaper  around,  but  ashe  is  a  master  at  playing  the  game  -  and  she  would  never  let  any  man walk  all  over  her,  let  alone  death  himself.

                 “𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞  𝐭𝐨  𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭  𝐚  𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲  𝐚𝐭  𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭  𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭  𝐚𝐧  𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧,  ‘𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲  𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧                             𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬  𝐢𝐧  𝐡𝐞𝐫  𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭  𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.  𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭  𝐜𝐚𝐧  𝐢  𝐝𝐨  𝐟𝐨𝐫  𝐲𝐨𝐮,  𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐞  𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫? ”

[muretoflores]

“Aren’t we supposed to be working?” || sentence starters || @withspite​

“We  are  working.”  

The  words  come  out  in  a  low  growl  and  though  his  face  is  hidden  behind  his  mask,  you  could  practically  feel  the  frown  tugging  at  his  face.  Irritation  set  heavy  and  rigid  within  the  wide-set  of  his  shoulders.  Too  often  he  was  paired  with  this  annoying  little  rat,  every  time  sombra  never  failing  to  make  his  blood  pressure  rise  considerably.  You  would  think  he  wouldn’t  tolerate  her  teasing  behaviour  or  endure  any  of  her  taunts  or  prodding,  but  he  knows  that  she  is  useful,  an  asset  one  could  say,  and  so  he  resists  the  urge  to  really  snap  at  her.  He  is  sure  she  knows  how  she  is  playing  with  fire,  that’s  fine,  one  day  she  would  be  burned,  greedy  fingers  for  knowledge  venturing  too  close  to  the  flames.  

Until  then  he  will  endure  and  use  her  skills  to  his  advantage.  Sombra’s  expertise  with  computers  is  near  unparalleled  after  all,  and  damn  useful  even  with  her  fickle  sense  of  loyalty.  Even  so,  though,  in  moments  like  these  where  she  is  grating  at  his  nerves  that  doesn’t  stop  the  clench  of  his  teeth  and  burning  glare  sent  her  way  from  behind  the  bleached  bone  of  his  mask.

“Ever  heard  of  a  stakeout?”  He  asks,  leaning  back  against  one  of  the  wooden  shipping  crates  they  had  taken  up  post  behind.  “Have  a  bit  of  patience,  Sombra.  The  action  will  be  happening  soon  enough.”  They  just  have  to  wait  a  bit  longer...  if  the  both  of  them  could  make  it  that  long.

[muertemismo]

@withspite said: 🍓 jesse mccree said pls dad mutuals send me a 🍓 and ill compliment u!

DAD PLS im c r y in g but so we doN’T REALLY talk that much ooc like, i mean we DID for a few but i would LOVE TO TALK TO U MORE AND GET TO KNOW U BETTER!!!!! from when we have talked, u seem like a super fuckn chill person and i was LIVING for everything we were coming up with for these two Dumbasses -- so grabby hands don’t hesitate to boop me for my discord or sumn because i would ABSOLUTELY be down to talk to u some more!!!! uwu your writing btw -- amazing. my replies have been Shitty atm bc i’m going thru it irl, but from what i’ve seen on the dash and what WE have.. i am just VERY EXCITED to continue that w u and even do MORE w u. gimme.... all the plot ideas for the angry dad and the wildin cowboy

[unferal-archived]

              @withspite​     .        liked  for  a  starter  . 

it’s  a  strange  thing,      to  see  the  future  existing  before  you  while  the  present  is  cradled  to  your  chest.        bulma  doesn’t  understand  the  finer  workings  of  it,      has  done  little  more  than  decide  to  come  to  terms  with  it   -   to  simply  allow  it  to  be  without  questioning  too  much.       because  trunks,      be  it  the  baby  in  her  arms,      or  the  young  man  in  front  of  her,      needs  her.        motherhood  had  come  easy,      and  there  was  little  she  wouldn’t  have  done  for  her  son.        in  any  version,      any  life  time,      any  iteration.        settling  the  now  sleeping  baby  into  a  bassinet,      bulma  is  quick  to  shuffle  closer,      eyes  narrowed  as  she  casts  a  sweeping,     concerned  glance  over  familiar  features.        “      are  you  alright?      ”        a  probing  question  as  she  extends  an  arm  to  sweep  long  gray  locks  out  of  his  eyes,      “      he  isn’t  here,      if  that’s  what  you’re  wondering.      ”        her  relationship  with  vegeta  is  complicated  at  best,      no  matter  how  many  times  she’d  wished  it  were  better,      even  if  just  for  their  son’s  sake.        he’d  been  furious  again,      stormed  out  and  left  without  hesitation  or  an  ounce  of  intention  of  letting  her  know  where  he  was  headed.        so  she’d  decided  not  to  care.        to  not  allow  him  to  take  up  more  of  her  headspace. 

“      are  you  hungry?        i  can  fix  you  something  to  eat.        or  if  you’re  tired,      i  can  get  you  a  spare  pillow  and  blanket.        whatever  you  need,      trunks.      ”        her  voice  is  soft,      calmer  than  it  is  for  most   -   because  he  deserved  the  gentility,      and  she  had  no  interest  in  waking  his  younger  self.        not  when  she’d  been  doing  so  much  on  her  own,      and  vegeta  had  a  way  of  setting  off  wails  that  kept  her  awake  for  days  on  end.        “      sit.      ”        it’s  not  a  question,       nor  even  a  mere  suggestion  but  a  direct  instruction   -   sweeping  motion  to  the  couch  behind  her  before  she  settles  down  onto  the  soft  cushions  herself.

[risingsouls]

@withspite​ liked for a starter! ★

           “ Heh, you can’t hide it from me, kid. I was there. I know you’re the kid that beat Cell all those years ago. I’ll keep your secret if that’s what you really want. ” The Gerudo’s painted lips lifted in a cheeky grin. “ I bet you’ve gotten quite a bit stronger since then, haven’t you? ”

[brutalishe]

hello my loves, sorry for the inactivity on here! i am making the temporary decision to move azula to my multimuse account. you can now find her over @withspite !!!

[wolfkept]

hello everyone!!  i am making the executive decision to temporarily move sokka over to my multimuse!! i just simply don’t have enough time to run his solo blog fulltime at the moment, but if i start to get him really going again, i will be reactivating this blog!  again, i will be moving sokka to my multimuse, which can be found @withspite​ !!!    love u all <3

[nochtsisin]

@withspite​​  unpopular opinion.  /   ❝ 🔥 ❞

i’ve been outta unpopular opinions since ever ago so i’m just gonna talk about moira. something i’ve noticed people confused on and questioning is how she’s such a fucking nerd (her dance emote, the anime sprays, the anime references, her dance emote) but also a sophisticated, brilliant scientist who speaks so eloquently and shit. and while thinking about this does kinda give me whiplash because its such a wild combination of traits and interests, i think that’s kinda the point maybe? she’s a character who’s core theme really is duality and from her abilities to her design to even all This, that shines through.

so, i think the point of the devs making her this sophisticated bitch BUT ALSO making her a huge nerd is to continue with that theme but ALSO i really like how, unintentionally or not, it gives her that bit of humanity that people kind of ignore for ‘oh she’s just the evil scientist ok cool’. it’s nice, it humanizes a character who has like ONE positive interaction with another character in the entire game and is hated pretty much by all the rest.

[kinslayr]

@withspite​ for une jolie petite ballerine

the  night  has  dawned  long  ago,  streets  of  the  city  at  the  base  of  hanamura  alive  with  activity.  it’s  rare  these  days,  he  finds  himself  here  -  this  is  certainly  more  of  genji’s  scene  than  his  own,  but  this  is  an  indulgence  he  partakes  in  greedily.  much  of  this  city  is  his,  much  of  the  buildings  are  his,  and  yet  he  knows  few  of  the  local  clubs  by  name,  even  less  the  owners  outside  of  those  who  owed  upon  their  debts  or  provided  their  establishments  for...  more  illicit  activities.  perhaps  these  were  not  the  best  places  to  take  her  on  nights  he  could  escape,  but  they  were  not  picky  -  him  especially  so.  how  could  he  be,  when  he’d  been  enamored  with  her  the  moment  she  had  set  foot  upon  that  stage?

ballet  was  not  his  interest  of  choice,  and  for  the  most  part  he  usually  found  the  elder’s  selected  entertainment...  lacking  in  the  department  of  what  interested  young  men.  this  time,  though,  this  time  something  had  been  done  right  -  because  from  the  second  she  moved  upon  that  stage...  the  graceful  flow  of  water  and  flex  of  a  svelte,  sinful  frame...  he  had  been  enraptured.  his  father  hadn’t  noticed,  but  genji  had,  and  were  it  not  for  his  prodding,  were  it  not  for  an  incessant  need  to  pursue  what  he  desired,  perhaps  he  would  have  let  the  ballet  company  take  their  leave  without  the  dragon  having  sunk  it’s  claws  into  that  beautiful,  beautiful  dancer. 

but  alas,  he  had,  and  so  here  they  were  -  the  engine  of  a  sports  car  far  too  expensive  to  not  be  flashy  idling  roughly  in  the  lot  outside  the  club.  people  know  his  car,  his  plates  -  they  don’t  park  near  him,  and  they  don’t  look  at  him.  he  was  royalty  here,  and  it  was  a  burden  he  bore  with  pride.  darkened  hues  fixate  upon  the  woman  in  his  passenger  seat,  left  hand  drumming  softly  at  his  steering  wheel.  the  right?  it  sat  nestled  upon  a  slim  thigh,  pinkie  and  ring  finger  tracing  patterns  only  a  few  inches  away  from  the  apex.  his  nostrils  flare,  and  the  engine  is  cut.  without  the  roar  of  the  v8,  it’s  easy  to  hear  the  bass  of  the  nearby  club  bumping  in  time  with  flickering  lights. 

he  has  eyes  only  for  her  though.  his  gaze  is  heated,  almost  hungry,  and  it’s  as  if  the  dragons  beneath  the  rolled  up  sleeves  of  his  dress  shirt  are  writhing  in  want  for  her...  but  he suppresses urges  that  go  beyond  feral.  instead,  the  hand  upon  her  thigh  remains,  and  he  leans  inwards,  the  ghost  of  a  kiss  pressing  over  where  her  ear  met  her  neck.  a  slight  inhale  -  oh,  she  smelled  divine. “ would  your  company  approve? ”  it’s  a  purr,  a  sinful  lilt  of  that  molten  gold  voice. “ spending  your  nights  out  with  me...  someone  with  such...  connections. ”  up,  his  hand  travels,  just  barely. “ but  you  like  that,  don’t  you,  amélie? ”

[veuvebise]

@withspite​​:  17. a kiss on the underside of the jaw. fOR A RAINY MCWIDOW DAY WHEN U FEEL INSPIRED

SPOTS TO KISS

IT HAS BEEN YEARS SINCE SHE’D SLEPT comfortably, without the prevalence of nightmares or the LACK of safety haunting her dreams. She is not sure she KNOWS what a TRUE rest is until she wakes up, MORNING after MORNING in that stupid ranch home, with a strangely light heart and unimpeded mind. Before ending up in Jesse McCree’s care, Amélie had slept little - even in her days BEFORE Widowmaker. Four or six hours, here or there. There were things to be done, training, dancing, then came a different sort of training, murders... a BUSY schedule, one that left little room for REST, and even less room for PEACE. Now? She had all those things, and so she slept. A lot. The strange FEELING of safety coupled with a body worn out in other ways let her REST in a blissful, wondrous state. 

She wakes SLOWLY to a rumble of thunder, the PATTER of Southern rain against the windows. The sound is EPHEMERAL, and entirely pleasant - coupled with the slide of a WARM body curled against her chilled frame, PILED beneath a mountain of frayed quilts - she is ALMOST at peace, almost happy. As much as she COULD be, anyway. She thinks he must still be asleep, with the level breathing, the RISE and FALL of his chest against her back - so she allows svelte fingertips to traverse his human arm, almost TENDERLY brushing coquettish digits upon rough, but entirely warm flesh. She finds, OF COURSE, that he is indeed very much AWARE of her wakefulness as she turns her head just slightly. Golden topaz meets warm amber and as opposed to speaking she simply BLINKS at him, before wiggling the curve of her frame BACK further into his warm body, as if DARING him to try to escape her now. Into her web, he went.

They remain like that AWHILE, or at least Amélie does, drifting in and out of a comfortable doze only to be awoken by the warm, tender brush of soft tiers along the curve of her PERFECT neck, over the sweep of strong shoulders. THIS is an even more pleasant sensation to grow conscious too, and she does so with a HUM, revealing her throat to the rough pass of his facial hair in the process. A month ago, she would be MOCKING him for being tender at all. But now? She basked in the QUIET affection like a house cat in a ray of sunshine. Lips parting with a breathless sigh as those soft tiers trail upon the cut of her delicate jaw, the kisses so WARM they force something to STIR within her - something long, long forgotten. Instead of reflecting on it, however, she allows her hand to fall backwards, arm curling around that handsome face so artist’s fingertips could lace within brown tresses. She cranes her neck further then, using the leverage to instead press her lips full to his own - not at all chaste (when was she ever?) but still SWEET in it’s own way, filled with QUIET longing and a request for MORE from him, if only for a little while longer. When she parts from him for air, for once the TONE of her gaze is less ICE and more MOLTEN, and her voice a SUMMER breeze, instead of WINTER wind. 

                                             “ Bonjour, cowboy. ”

[calamitiess]

𝐎𝐋𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐄.     laughter  loving.    sweet  smiles.   dressed  in  silk  and  satin.    flower  in  their  hair.    sees  the  world  as  a  runway.    unapologetically  sexual.    the  sea  washing  their  ankles.   in  love  with  love.   stirrer  of  passion.    cunning  concealed  by  painted  lips.   secret  daggers.    doves.    revolution  in  their  kiss.    delighting  in  the  waves.   flirtatious  winks.   strolling  along  the  beach.    staring  wistfully  from  a  balcony.   this  is  how  to  be  a  heartbreaker.    wants  to  be  adored.   gets  turned  on  by  danger.

𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎.      glitz  and  glamour.    art  galleries.   turning  the  volume  up.   being  made  of  gold.    neatly  organized  music  sheets.    notebooks  filled  with  poetry.  bathing  in  the  sunlight.   the  powerful  urge  to  create.   collecting  vinyl  records.    beautiful  cover  of  wonderwall.    playing  multiple  instruments.    tasting  like  sunshine.    healing  touch.  speaking  in  prophecies.    smile  mingled  with  wrath.    shunning  lies.   sporting  shades.    hanging  out  at  music  festivals  with  their  friends.    sleeps  naked.   arrow  to  the  heart.   paint  brushes.    probably  has  a  tinder  account.

𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒.      armed  for  battle.    wants  to  raise  a  dog  with  their  significant  other.    soft  spot  for  children.   gives  piggyback  rides.   scarred  body.   blood  on  their  hands  and  face.    willing  to  fight  the  world  for  the  ones  they  love.   fights  against  injustice.   warm  hugs.   well  worn  combat  boots.   boxing  gloves.    bandages  wrapped  around  bruised  knuckles.    fist  raised  in  protest.   ignites  revolutions.   fear  is  a  prison.  more  sensitive  than  what  their  tough  shell  would  have  you  think.   exhausted.   damaged  goods.   force  to  be  reckoned  with.   red  roses.    curses  under  their  breath.

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒.     keen  sense  of  a  hunter.   freckles  like  constellations  on  their  skin.   piercing  eyes.    disheveled  braid.    moonlight  peeking  through  the  shadows.   the  calm  of  the  forest  at  night.    lying  on  the  grass  and  staring  at  the  stars.    mother  doe  and  her  fawn.   protecting  their  kin.    the  moon  shimmering  on  a  still  lake.  quiver  full  of  arrows  resting  against  the  bark  of  a  tree.    running  with  wolves.   bonding  while  circled  around  a  campfire.   not  being  much  of  a  people  person.    arrow  hitting  a  target.    popping  egos.    patience  on  3%.    touches  heaven  and  returns  howling.

𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐀.     discerning  gaze.    unreadable  face.    quiet  museums.    owl  perched  on  their  finger.    armor  that  intimidates.    eye  for  architecture.    plays  the  sims  for  the  sole  purpose  of  building  houses.    studied  the  blade  while  everyone  else  was  busy  getting  laid.    big  fan  of  logic.    loves  brain  teasers.    ancient  buildings.    sweaters  in  neutrals  and  cool  colors.   hair  done  up.    can  kill  you  with  their  brain.   heads  to  the  library  often  to  research.    sharpened  pencils.    abs  that  can  cut  steel.   stoic  statues.  pottery  classes.

𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑.     soil  covered  hands.   smile  that  can  bloom  flowers.   skin  loved  by  the  sun.      being  the  mom  friend.   can  lift  you  and  your  friends.   flowers  kept  in  the  pockets  of  overalls.   takes  pride  in  their  beautiful  garden.   speaks  to  their  plants.   leaves  rustling  in  the  wind.    stalks  of  wheat.    picking  fruit.   greenhouses.  heart  as  strong  as  a  mountain.   values  simplicity.    daisies  dotted  across  a  collarbone.   curls  crowned  with  flowers.    folded  pile  of  sweaters  in  warm  hues.   pulling  out  fresh  baked  bread  out  of  the  oven  and  the  smell  wafting  through  the  air.

𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐒𝐔𝐒.     drunk  shitposter.    on  their  sixth  glass  of  wine  before  you’ve  even  finished  your  second.    seductive  smirks.    untamed  curls.    rich  fabrics  on  dark  skin.    sleek  furred  panthers.    theatre  masks.    stage  productions.   receiving  a  standing  ovation.   rose  caught  between  their  teeth.   being  the  baby  of  the  bunch.   wild  parties  that  last  from  sundown  to  sunup.    creeping  vines.   inspiring  loyalty.   grand  opera  houses.    masquerade  balls.    rolls  of  film.   shattered  chandeliers  with  broken  glass  scattered  across  the  wine  spilled  floor.    pouring  champagne  into  flutes.   lives  for  the  applause.

𝐇𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐒.      the  calloused  hands  of  someone  who  knows  labor.   sweaty  brow.    flame  burning  in  their  eyes.    inventive  mind.    broad  shoulders.    steampunk  goggles.   nuts  and  bolts  stored  away  in  little  boxes.    ashes.    striking  a  match.   blueprints  for  future  projects.    fixing  up  a  busted  up  car  and  giving  it  cool  upgrades.   wrestles  with  bitterness.    work  boots  have  seen  better  years.   wrinkled  plaid  shirts.   iron  melted  in  blazing  fire.   huge  jackets.    crafting  masterpieces.    greased  stained  overalls.    fascination  with  robotics.    pain  is  fuel.    stack  of  weaponry.    even  their  muscles  have  muscles.

𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐀.      resting  bitch  face.    dressed  to  the  nines.    cows  grazing  on  a  pasture.    cool  rain.    loving  and  hating  fiercely.    hand  clutching  a  string  of  pearls.    large  chandelier  with  glittering  crystals.   plays  the  sims  for  the  sole  purpose  of  killing  off  their  sims.   romance  to  realism.    pictures  of  the  sky  while  flying  on  a  plane.    files  that  under  fuck  it.    downs  glasses  of  wine  as  they  relax  with  a  scented  bubble  bath  and  netflix.    like  their  selfie  or  you’re  grounded.    knows  57  convenient  ways  to  murder  a  man.    dark  eyes  that  penetrate  your  soul.    marble  and  gold.

𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐒.     devil  -  may  -  care  smile.   always  up  -  to  -  date  on  the  latest  technology.    will  steal  your  french  fries.    does  it  for  the  vine.   shitposter.    puts  googly  eyes  on  everything.    meme  hoarder.   long  drives  on  the  highway.    ma  and  pop  diners.   spontaneous  road  trips.    folded  maps.    fingers  dancing  across  the  keyboard  of  a  laptop.    shooting  hoops  on  the  basketball  court.    chatting  up  strangers  as  you  all  journey  to  your  own  destinations.    goes  jogging  in  the  morning.    mixes  redbull  with  coffee.   menace  on  april  fool’s.    hoodies  and  sneakers.

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐍.      storm  with  skin.    colorful  coral  reefs.    waves  crashing  against  the  shore.    stroking  the  soft  fur  of  a  cat.    their  heart  pounding  as  their  horse’s  gentle  trot  speeds  into  a  gallop.    tousled  locks.   clothes  smeared  with  paint.    owns  several  sketchbooks  yet  always  yearns  to  own  more.   leather  jackets.    fondness  for  diy  projects.   handwriting  that  flows  across  the  page.    nimble  fingers  playing  the  strings  of  a  violin.    velvety  singing  voice  that  haunts  your  dreams.    mood  as  ever  -  changing  as  the  sea.    the  roar  of  a  motorcycle.   compass  with  a  spinning  arrow.

𝐙𝐄𝐔𝐒.      thunder  in  their  heart.    running  on  coffee.   flash  of  lightning.    unnatural  charisma.    eloquence.    badass  in  a  nice  suit.   aficionado  of  history.   force  of  nature.   lenny  face.    nightmare-filled  nights.   proud  arm  around  their  lover’s  waist.   high  -  rise  buildings.   planes  soaring  through  a  cloudless  sky.   technician  on  the  piano.    maintains  order.    strong  handshake.   juggling  multiple  events  on  their  busy  schedule  with  ease.    expensive  watch.

TAGGED BY. @blutraces    <3 ty bby, this was fun. TAGGING. @coyotefaced, @muretoflores, @withspite, @muertemismo, @ekodrois @finalwhispers @soldierwatch @vsor @vaagus and you, reading this!

[brutalishe]

hey homies, i have been super active on my multimuse of late! there’s some fun muses (inc suki) over there so if you need to catch me, that’ where i’ll probably be!  //  @withspite