#withspite
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@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 . ‘
#╰— BETTER LIVING THROUGH SCIENCE. ⧼ recall. ⧽#╰— COMMUNICATION RECEIVED. ⧼ answered. ⧽#withspite#( riamh = never in irish lmao#also ty for sendin this in !!#if u wanna talk abt their dynamic..... gestures vaguely to my dms )
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@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.
#withspite#; ( ask response )#; ( verse ) 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩. → 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧#when i typed 'should i compensate you somehow' i read it in like a really bad porno voice#' oh no ms vaswani i broke your turret pls no steppy '#i'll see myself out
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@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.
#withspite#; verse: tba#; long post#WIPES SWEAT FROM BROW#this got so long alksdjfalksj SORRY WAS JUST SETTING IT UP#already flirting with him and he's not int he room#widowmaker missed her shot because she was distracted by how hot jesse is#honestly... mood.
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( @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. ❞
#withspite#gonna send this to u as well#bc it doesn't wanna tag u#i did something post finale#so lemme know if you want something different
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@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? ”
#withspite#&. ( verse ) 𝐢'𝐦 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥 » 𝘔𝘈𝘐𝘕.#remember when you linked that cher song in the mcashe thread?#TWO CAN PLAY THIS GAME
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“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.
#sorry for taking so long! I hope u don't mind#withspite#no one left behind... / ask answered.#I am the designer of my own catastrophe / ic.#revenge is the only thing left for me / v. main
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@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
#[out of character] ↠ repositioning#[ask; mun] ↠ blair be speaking#[ask; answered meme] ↠ get out of here#withspite
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@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.
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@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? ”
#:: nabooru ☀#:: u7 refugee ☀#withspite#alkjdsfklas i just did rng for both of us and this is the pairing i got!#fell free to hit me up with questions because i know crossover and all that!#it's on her verse page but idk how well written that is for other people#BUT in short her involvement in the cell games was minor so it's perfectly plausible that he wouldn't remember her xD
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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 !!!
#« 🗲 — 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑬 : out of character. »#// look i am SORRY#// my muse atm is so fleeting and fickle for everyone and everything#// but for the moment she is being added back over there!!
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@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.
#╰— SCIENCE SAVES THE DAY ... AGAIN. ⧼ headcanon. ⧽#withspite#( am i giving blizzard a bit too much credit? maybe! idk.#love her tho )
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@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? ”
#withspite#; suggestive#; ( verse ) 𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙖 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙗𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨. → 𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧#.....yeah he really just went for it
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@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. ”
#withspite#HAVE SOME SOFT MCWIDOW KISSES#you said rainy day and i literally made... the day rainy#I HOPE THIS IS OKAY?#they snuggle.#; ask response#; verse: tba
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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!
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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
#« 🗲 — 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑬 : out of character. »#// azula isn't going anywhere dw#//im just vibing hard over there
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i will make a promo when i have access to photoshop but suki & soon bolin (once i watch more lok) have been added to my multi which can be found here @withspite. azula is also on the blog if anyone was wondering!!
#♡ — out of chara.#//feel free to send a meme!!#//or just drop anything in the ask box or hmu for plotting!!
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