passion embodied.

independent multi muse blog. selective, low activity, 18+. written by jam.

[embodies]

✧ . * #𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐒. independent and selective multi - muse for characters from a selection of media ( mostly torn out of their respective canons ). usually focused on horror / suspense settings  with a side of fluff to soften the tone. fandoms include but are not limited to : supernatural, breaking bad, buffy the vampire slayer, resident evil, the witcher, & many more. currently more active on @astrophager (sideblog).

CARRD. ASK PROMPTS. INTEREST TRACKER. PLEASE FILL OUT MY INTEREST TRACKER!

current highest muse for : amélie lacroix, mike munroe, maelle, elizabeth march, beatrix kiddo, jesse pinkman. updated may. 2026.

drafts / inbox tracker under read more.

drafts (14):

dean & rogue (5urvive)

dean & fred (stormlit)

faith & jo (stormlit)

hana & ramya (prkh)

dean & lara (croftborn)

jesse & leitha (maurilyan)

dean & theodora (undeyth)

dean & lara (croftborn)

deacon & lara (croftborn)

dean & lara (croftborn)

amélie & leitha (maurilyan)

bellamy & octavia (hous3tour)

yennefer & zoya (stormlit)

donna & ethan (rothaunt)

donna & lara (croftborn)

inbox (17):

arcadeian x9 (beatrix, jesse)

rusthunt (moreau)

amatorial x4 (richie x2, beatrix x2)

croftborn (daisy, elizabeth, donna)

updated 01.06.2026.

[embodies]

UNTIL DAWN 2??????????

[embodies]

and new god of war content oh the roster is being FED

[dailyahs]

[embodies]

KISS AND TELL PROMPTS. ACCEPTING. a kiss that leaves lipstick stains.

@croftborn. elizabeth march.

the countess has a type, one she rarely deviates from and those who don't fit it certainly don't tend to get her time of day. men, men with money, men with status. men with potential : that of adding figures to her wealth, or a handsome counterpart to the wreath of her arm as she walks, or a new plaything, or a new piece on a chessboard she will soon grow tiresome of before knocking it over and starting afresh. she likes them dark haired too, but that is a personal preference she doesn't attribute too much reason to, lest it consume her with a ravenous and forlorn reminiscence. this isn't to say she doesn't stray from this type, although it always elicits a judgmental brow quirk from her prying receptionist : word travels fast in the hotel cortez, and liz knows as much as the bartender as much as the housekeeping. whispers travel the walls, and today they speak of lara croft. a very special guest, indeed.

❛ you'll have to tell me more about your travels. ❜ she coos as the dutiful host, offers drinks on the house — she's come so far, after all — and talks at large over bar cocktails while trying to decipher that titillating concoction of flavours that linger on her tongue. she tastes char on a piece of burnt meat, something acrid and citric like lemon juice, a hatred that runs deep. the most familiar flavour of all is the heartbreak, ice chips in a martini, the sharpness of an olive stewing. elizabeth tastes it all and craves sustenance, and when they retire to privacy after conversations long since due to end, the promise of room service champagne a sufficient excuse, she tastes more.

it is never long before her teeth itch for something to bite : albeit not her preferred method of drawing blood it is certainly a fitting appetiser, an easy way to stray from the sensual dance of kissing alone. her pupils dilate as a nip is swiftly placed into the flesh of lara's lip, tugging at the skin before releasing it entire. the blonde simpers as lipstick melds with ichor, her tongue slicking over the dewdrop of crimson with something of challenge in her expression, and lara doesn't seem entirely deterred by the sight. ❛ you taste . . . exquisite. ❜ she tempts fate with thinly veiled interest, the skein of concealment diaphanous in nature, her eyes glimmering with something not quite short of hunger. the reunion of mouths is rougher, letting that trickle disperse between their tongues and dissipate into wanting palates, and elizabeth ponders between suckling and biting kisses whether or not she wishes to kill lara tonight, or hang onto her a little while longer.

[terrornothorror]

it’s christmas , again

[embodies]

KISS AND TELL PROMPTS. ACCEPTING. a kiss that leaves lipstick stains.

@prophetyse. lisbeth salander.

night city stops for nobody. the gunshots permeate walls as habitually as if they were merely part of the wallpaper, peeling and decaying like a rotten tooth. gang violence never ceases, substance abuse is so commonplace it may as well not be called abuse anymore, and capitalist greed is at an all time high. a certain netrunner has clocked out for the day, sold what information she could glean to fixers and hacked into data systems for the righteous cause of good old corporate espionage. what she earned has already been spent mostly on equipment, rent, and the bare necessities — a pack of cigarettes, a cold six - pack of broseph lager, and a locust pepperoni pizza.

lisbeth's text is sent soon after, barely before her feet are through the door and definitely before shopping is put away. she does not ask for company with any sort of niceties or bribes, instead only presents the option as if it were another string of code to be parsed and input should the other wish it. that doesn't mean she doesn't smile when sabina accepts.

they lounge in the underskirts of the city, off the grid and bunkered down in an apartment they are certainly not to be disturbed in — salander is not the sort to keep company, nor to typically give them the keys to her life when they are strictly business connections. but there is ease to be found in two bodies on a couch and a shitty television show merrily playing, in her arm nonchalantly wrapping around sabina's shoulder and lithe legs in the hacker's lap. there is comfort, a more sparing and scarce commodity than any chrome that eddies can buy. when sabina's mouth tickles at her jaw it is with a familiarity they already feel in each other's presence, and lisbeth lets the trail wander despite feeling rather than seeing the residue it leaves behind. maybe it's nice to feel stamped and claimed, if only for a night. maybe she'll relinquish the smoke on her breath to instead trade air with sabina's lips, to cup her cheek close until their laps are one and the television is sorely forgotten. and maybe they'll repeat it all again next time, pawns in night city's chaotic pattern, but momentarily united.

[nstchaosss]

[embodies]

KISS AND TELL PROMPTS. ACCEPTING. a tentative , exploratory kiss between friends.

@betrayale. beatrix kiddo.

it makes a pleasant change to be on the other side of the bar, not least of all with pleasant company to match. instead of pouring pints she pours her attention into a lawyer with far too much intrigue for a career so meticulous, and while she knows she's not meant to pick favourites, sofie is certainly a standout she likes to see come through the door. it helps that she tips generously, too. she has seen the raven - haired dame buzzed from drinks many a time, but this is the first time she meets her there, riding the high of a number shared on a coaster, deftly slid over to her clientele with a knowing smile.

that smile returns now, watching the flustered flush of crimson rise to sofie's neck and cheeks ( no doubt made more so by the booze ) and beatrix revels in her compliment having such a potent effect. she aims to assuage any nerves however, a hand bridging the distance between them to plant gingerly on a spot that is higher than sofie's knee but not quite her thigh, enough to be deemed friendly and yet reaching for something more, staying there.

❛ it's okay. ❜ she soothes with a squeeze of her fingers, stooping forward as if sharing a secret. beatrix is not worried about coming off too strong, but rather aware of sofie's flurry of thoughts, doesn't know whether to chalk it down to inexperience with women or something rooted deeper. she does know her eyes are wide and inquisitive as a doe's, something innate within herself wanting to pounce on that curiosity and consume it. it's okay, her words repeat as she feels sofie's breath flutter unsteadily over her own waiting mouth, their leaning forms suddenly steepled against one another with only the bar as support, faces close.

it's okay, the blonde murmurs in the space between their lips when they touch, briefly part, collide gently again. she tastes beer and something sweeter, maybe sofie herself, all tongue and teeth and softness, and her fingers lift to gently cradle the other's cheek with her free hand, the other having traversed her leg and finally found her thigh as planned. when they part beatrix is beaming and unashamed, returns to her drink as simply as if they had made casual conversation, keeps cerulean gaze trained on her company. it's okay, her smile says when it reaches her eyes, all easy talk and smooth sailing.

❛ another drink ? ❜

[haleyatwell]

RILEY KEOUGH as DAISY JONES DAISY JONES & THE SIX (2023) Track 1: Come And Get It

[embodies]

KISS AND TELL PROMPTS. ACCEPTING. a kiss shared during a game ( truth or dare, spin the bottle, etc ).

@croftborn. daisy jones.

it is hypnotic to watch, the slow spin of a bottle she had emptied only minutes ago. she can still see the matte print of her lipstick on the rim, rouge on glass — spinning round like a record, baby. naturally this had been her suggestion, beer in one hand and cigarette in the other and readily complaining about the lull in the night. you guys are such squares, she had claimed performatively, but her eyes carry that telltale sheen of a haze certainly not brought on by anything lucid. a couple of rounds of the game go by with underwhelming pecks between guys too hung up on their frail masculinity, a duo that have clearly been giving each other eyes all night, so good for them, and daisy's turn is talk of the night, a drum roll surrounding her as the neck of the bottle decelerates. it nearly lands on graham, which is a close call — billy's baby brother and karen's increasingly serious boytoy, the former is complicated but the latter, well, daisy's a girl's girl after all — but her relief when it lands on lara is palpable in the grin that spreads like a drink spilled, messy and devious.

naturally the crowd hoots with talk of finally, some girl on girl action, and daisy gives a visibly disgusted scoff at the crudeness, the audacity of men no matter the situation. she doesn't know much about lara, but she must be big talk to be here of all places. and yet she doesn't really strike her as part of the music scene, nor is she a groupie : she's not under eighteen, for starters. maybe she knows a guy who knows a guy : daisy has learned all about the strings of fate that bind them, that it's not about what you know, but who you know.

DAISY: i didn't need to know her whole fucking life story to kiss her, so i didn't ask. i stubbed out my cigarette, ignored the rally cry of guys who've clearly never seen a woman, and got to work. that's all it had to be, all it was meant to be.

daisy closes the radius of the circle of sat players, crawls across it really on hands and knees, flares of her jeans dragging across a carpet that is ash - burned and vodka - stained. maybe she should have popped a gum beforehand, but she's here now and certainly in no state to show consideration for other people, an arm lazily finding a perch to hang atop lara's shoulders, the other swinging to match.

❛ you ready ? ❜ she challenges with a brow raise and a nod, cheshire smile fixed and speaking of an inebriation that is so constant it is purely the norm. daisy gets the go - ahead and daren't hold back, skipping from chaste to softly exploratory from the get - go, drowning out the noise of whoops and cheers in the exchange of breaths and drunken hums between them. it is a good long few seconds over the minimum specified time before she pulls away, enjoys the taste of mint that lingers. she can't imagine the wisp of smoke on her breath had been a great trade - off, but doesn't think too much about it when she sees the lipstick that now paints lara's pout, inciting a ticklish laugh from the redhead. ❛ here. ❜ she says by way of initiation, plants a last tamer kiss on her cheek for the road. ❛ the colour suits you. ❜

[ohisms]

‪‪❤︎‬ ˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 & 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 !    (  a  collection  of  75+ kisses.   feel free to specify the initiating muse.   potentially mature content within.  UPDATED 02/25 !  )

finally kissing the person you’ve been pining for.

pulling them in for a kiss while showering together.

a kiss shared during a game  ( truth or dare,  spin the bottle,  etc ).

kissing your lover to show you forgive them.

a coy, chaste kiss meant to say thank you.

an intimate kiss full of relief the second you're finally alone.

wiping away your lover’s tears as you kiss them.

a kiss muffled by laughter in a library, hidden away among the shelves.

lazy kisses on the sofa while the television runs.

kisses while wrapping your legs around your lover.

a quick peck on the cheek as one party rushes off.

a kiss to prove you don’t have feelings for them.

a kiss to convince them not to leave bed in the morning.

a kiss to distract them from stitching a wound.

a parting kiss before one party goes away for a long time.

biting their lip amidst a kiss, drawing blood.

heated kisses while tugging on their hair.

abruptly kissing a stranger to scare off the people following you.

an emotional kiss bringing one party to tears.

a bruising kiss full of desperation and urgency.

distracting your lover from a task by kissing their neck.

standing on your tiptoes to kiss their forehead.

kissing down the column of your lover's neck, leaving marks.

a kiss while being reunited after a long time.

kissing your lover in a moment of sheer joy.

a dutiful kiss with no true feeling behind it.

kissing your lover to take away their pain.

colliding with a wall, then each other's lips.

a kiss placed over their freshly bandaged wound.

a kiss while slow dancing close and intimately.

sharing a spontaneous kiss with a stranger.

an abrupt ,  heated kiss during the middle of a fight.

a kiss motivated by a dare from a third party.

an adrenaline-fueled kiss while standing on the ledge of a rooftop.

kissing them to shut them up.

urgent, messy kisses as both parties scramble to undress.

a kiss to wake your lover up in the morning.

sharing a kiss in a heavy downpour of rain.

kissing your lover just above their waistband.

kissing your partner to seal a marriage.

pushing your love down onto the bed to worship their body with kisses.

a possessive kiss to stake a claim.

a kiss to resolve suppressed ( romantic / sexual ) tension.

a kiss attempting to convince the other party to stay.

kissing the top of their head as you hold them.

a risky kiss between forbidden lovers.

a kiss while hiding away from flashing cameras.

a kiss that means absolutely nothing.

kissing the swell of your lover's breast.

a kiss that leaves lipstick stains.

a kiss shared on a rooftop while the sun ( sets / rises ).

a flirtatious kiss on the back of the hand.

sensual kisses down the length of their back.

kissing them to confess your true feelings.

sneaking off to a public bathroom to make out.

a kiss to forgive one another after a fight.

a kiss on the forehead as the other sleeps.

an  ( accidental / mutually )  drunken kiss.

an unexpected kiss during a fake dating scheme.

kissing your partner after they've given you head.

caging your lover against a wall with your arms to kiss them.

a kiss after receiving good news.

an emotional kiss, relieved to find your lover alive.

crowded, heated kisses in the backseat of a car.

a tentative ,  exploratory kiss between friends.

a kiss shared between enemies during combat.

a kiss that smears blood everywhere.

kissing them even though you know you shouldn't.

kissing your lover after believing you’d lost them.

a kiss after a devastating event ,  meant to comfort.

a possessive kiss in front of a jealous third party.

kisses while pulling them into your lap.

a heated kiss while holding them by the throat.

kissing your lover under the night sky while stargazing.

a kiss to seal a promise that you just made.

kissing your lover lazily first thing in the morning.

holding your lover by the jaw to kiss them.

holding their face, kissing the tears from their cheeks.

a kiss to your lover’s stomach as you travel down their body.

an abrupt kiss that you melt into after a moment of hesitation.

sleepy ,  domestic morning kisses in the kitchen while making breakfast.

a rushed kiss before one party leaves for work.

a final kiss shared while holding your dying lover.

[ryan-coogler-archive]

Jay Hernandez Premiere Interview - Suicide Squad  

[stormlit]

this is not a person that jo knows how to be. for as long as she can remember, she's struggled to make friends. admittedly the kids she tried with were normal, so far removed from the rough'n'tumble life she knew that they might as well have been from mars, but jo had tried, all the same. she'd stripped off the hunter trappings and become a nice girl, save for the knife collection and the cynicism this world brings. it didn't work. these days, her only friends are ash, who invited himself into her life, dean, and her mother. and they fight, most days.

but dean is not, she thinks, just a friend, and that's something jo knows how to do even less. she doesn't know what to do with the butterflies in her stomach, and so she lets them take the first opportunity to shove him away, having to fight her own instincts to pull him back in again. to soften, when that is not something she is. he laughs, and those wings beat a little faster.

oh, god, how embarrassing.

❝ fuck off, ❞ she mumbles with no heat, mouth lifting on one side as she bats his hand away, gaze following his fist. jo snorts, letting her shoulder rest against his. it's not quite how it was — too tentative now, both of them aware that this wall is shaky at best, and liable to throw them both to the ground, bloodied and bruised, at worst — but it's okay. after all, it would be very like a harvelle-winchester spat for them to stalk off, still mad, and then not see each other for months. jo can see the intention, here; two sets of roughened, battle-hardened hands trying to keep this thing, whatever it is, upright, 'stead of knocking it over.

❝ you ever seen one'a those movies? they're boring as hell. wouldn't know what to do with easy. ❞ nothing about life has been anything close to that, and some days it makes her mad, but jo wouldn't change her life. she's never known anything else. teasing, now, gently and cautiously, ❝ you sure do like to make things extra hard, though, winchester. ❞

[embodies]

dean has known playful eye rolls, lashes batted his way and palms shoved into his chest with no real intent to actually push him away. he is no stranger to the mixed signals that speak of annoyance paired with giggles and lip bites, has spent many a night pursuing that flatter and flirt and ended up in a motel room with company that isn't his brother. so why is it any different, he thinks, when jo bats that same ball his way, her demeanour carrying a puerile promise of give - and - take, why doesn't he take ? instead it unsheathes the bravado from his shoulders and opens the way for something softer, kindred warmth enveloping the curve of his jaw instead of gritting it tight. arguments are easy but so is this, these pockets of reprieve from a life they both understand. maybe it is that too, the needlessness to keep her at arm's length because all his dirty secrets are already splayed for her to see. there's no brushing it under the rug, no secrecy in favour for one night of fun.

❛ nah. i leave that to the geek. ❜ crooked smile speaks of knowing, his fondness for his brother always annotated with a spark of slight, his affections wrapped in barbed wire, soft pricks of thorn that don't quite draw blood but warn of a distance kept. and maybe he does like a good chick flick in privacy. jo's remark gives him a curious pause, head turning to her, inquisitive. there are remnants of play in both their words but something more residual and unspoken, as if two conversations were being had at once. ❛ that so ? ❜ it is soft as arrogance dies in his mouth, a gleam in mahogany eyes like sap in the sun. ❛ well, you said it yourself, jo. you wouldn't know what to do with easy. ❜

he wouldn't, either. as much as the picket fence life allures, he is too far gone : knives and whiskey suit him just fine. his shoulder nestles into hers until he swears he can feel her warmth through his jacket, chalks it down to placebo but enjoys it all the same. ❛ maybe i can reel it back just a little, but no promises. once a winchester . . . ❜ dean trails off, pensive to the starting point of this conversation until he returns to its current stillness, a pinprick of dust floating in the breeze, unsure of where to land. ❛ can't go too far, though. don't want you getting bored of me. ❜ now he's cautious, a footstep tentatively tread on an unstable path.

[mancandykings]

CONRAD RICAMORA photographed by Lauren Nakao Winn for Mixed Asian Media

[sunwalks]

don’t get your hopes up, we don’t know what we’re gonna find. ― @embodies, bellamy blake.

“ IT'S GOT TO BE BETTER THAN FINDING NOTHING, ” clarke mutters under her breath, flitting her eyes over her shoulder in a brief glance toward her companion. she can't tell if bellamy is in ark guard or de facto leader mode, just from the gruffness of his voice: but she significantly prefers serious asshole to his KING OF THE REBELS persona -- if she had the right to choose at all. both still grate on her nerves like rusted metal.

brushing more shrubbery from the window of the shelter below, it reflects an off-kilter, ruddy version of herself in the sunlight, speckled with shadow from the tree canopy. she isn't sure if it's just the age on the glass, or if she truly looks so haggard nowadays. ( EARTH KILLS, huh? ) there's no longer any preamble as clarke grips the handle, tugging with all her might until the seal unlatches and it creaks open. her foot is already on one of the ladder rungs when she looks fully at bellamy, hitching her shoulders in a shrug. “ it's at least another shelter from the fog, if we need it. ”

but god, she does hope there's something more worthwhile in this one. not hundred year old liquor, thank you very much.

[embodies]

where he weighs the perils, she considers the opportunities. it ought to be considered a great balancing act between the two of them, but he is more tempted to consider its clash. they can never seem to agree on things, always a counter - argument, a firmly bolstered gaze that speaks of a stalemate : i'm not backing down. her stubbornness irritates him enough to speak of some needed self - reflection. he shares that same damoclean sword, but he doesn't turn the lens onto himself, instead bores his eyes into her back until she turns. still he regards her with a conscious reluctance, doesn't know if the risk outweighs the reward but accepts that they can't go their whole lives unknowing of their surroundings. better to find out now than be caught off guard.

❛ yeah, or a tomb if we need that, too. ❜ indignance follows sharply when she makes the decision to proceed regardless of his input, loathe to follow rather than wait at the entryway to this relic of the old world. their footsteps echo, voices following suit as he squints into the dark space until his eyes adjust. his hand follows the wall for navigation, its grime tangible under a coarse palm. ❛ you think people really thought bunkers like this would do anything ? ❜ it seems wishful thinking as he watchfully roams the primitive space, wonders if they will find skeletons or supplies in its walls. ❛ colour me skeptical, but it doesn't fill me with hope. ❜

[veckati]

freak off

[stormlit]

for too long, long enough that she's not sure how to be around normal people anymore, ylfa had been alone. just a girl in a cabin in the woods, with a patient werewolf and the corpse of her grandma—and a gnawing hunger growing in her belly. time had stopped in there, waiting for her to have no choice but to agree to be bitten, cursed, turned, but the rest of the world moved on. the rest of the world continues to do so, while ylfa grapples with the fact that a girl died and a monster was born in that cabin, and she has no idea who she is.

she doesn't know why the monster hunter hasn't killed her, either. but the longer they spend together, ylfa reassured by him even as she talks his ear off, the more afraid she is that one day the man she's coming to think of as a father will turn around and do it. one parent already tried to kill her, a silver knife the last present from a mother who didn't even mourn her. the little girl — for that's what she is, desperate to find a place, to feel like her story is her own — couldn't take another.

and so she says, ❝ thank you, ❞ because well mannered girls don't get stabbed with a silver sword, and her echoing, ❝ crowns don't grow on trees, ❞ in an undertone has none of the playful mocking it might do, from someone who feels more secure, and she shrugs against his back as she says, ❝ i don't mind, ❞ because she can't afford to be fussy.

safety is relative. she trusts geralt, she likes him, she feels safe with him. she doesn't yet trust that it won't all be taken away from her. she's pushed her luck enough for today, forgetting, for a moment, to be scared. forgetting that the world is not a secure place for little girls who are monsters. if only puberty were the sole minefield she had to traverse. ❝ i can— ❞ she makes a sound like a growl, one hand lifting from his waist to curl like claws, ❝ —and hunt something. i'm real good at hunting. wolf nose. ❞

[embodies]

hunting is not a novel concept to the witcher, although it certainly gets tiresome amidst promise of bounties and otherwise monster slaying as a normality. he typically frequents the taverns, stocks up on light selections of roast meats, baked goods, cheeses, stews in sealed tight flasks. if need be, he forages berries and knows like the palm of his hand which are poisonous and which offer nutrition, which can be ground into poultices and which are little more than a warning sign to passersby with their vivid colours : do not eat. ylfa makes a sound that arches a brow with bemusement, and even roach gives a low nicker in response. there is maybe a need to contribute there that he ought to indulge, and after all, they are not in dangerous woods right now. theoretically.

geralt could just as well track a deer of his own accord, either the old - fashioned way or with a little assistance from the calming sign of axii to make the whole endeavour easier. but maybe there is opportunity for outlet here for a young pup, so he gives her outlandish suggestion a little consideration. food for thought.

❛ is it wise for you to— ❜ he's not so bold as to repeat the noise she made, but one hand departs from the reins to imitate her clawed grasp into the air as gruff voice continues. ❛ when not entirely necessary ? we can just as easily make a stop. i don't want you pushing yourself when you don't need to. ❜ it is said with as much weight as talking to an adult, not so much patronising as encouraging her to thoroughly consider pros and cons, see which one outweighs the other. ❛ if you think you're up for it . . . we can see about finding somewhere quieter. ❜