#owestwind

[ujima]

@owestwind liked for small sc.

    ❝ the company you keep has had my interest for quite awhile now. which begs the question: just how does it benefit you to stay among men of their nature? ❞

[revnants]

THE TAPPING OF BLUNT NAILS underscores a quiet intensity to their exchange. eyes meeting amidst silence, vulnerability in a moment's willingness to both see and be seen. the art of being perceived is a skill she's never been able to master. ONCE YOU TAKE A PEEK INSIDE THEIR MINDS, it's hard to ignore the judgmental, holier-than-thou thoughts that play across their features.

❝ there’s never been a true war that wasn’t fought between two sets of people who were certain they were in the right. ❞ @owestwind. FROM, CURRENTLY ACCEPTING.

of course, that's the question, isn't it? when there's blood to be shed the only answer anyone cares about is if it was worth it. BODIES ARE JUST BODIES when there's a purpose to their loss - even better, a victory to carry them into the next life but take that away? suddenly people are looking for a place to lay blame.

❝ a true war also implies a somewhat even playing field. ❞ sure the disconcerting flash of her teeth coupled with the evident red coloring the whites of her eyes further amplifies her message.

[warplanetarchived]

with @owestwind / for buzzy — what on earth is that thing?

"what, this?" buzzy holds up the wooden device in his hand and wags it a little, giving lizzie a good view of its intricate design. "it's a puzzle box. pretty expensive one, too — my friend miriam sent it over and thought i'd like to mess with it and fidget a bit. i like to fidget." turning it over in his hand, the archaeologist takes a few steps closer to where lizzie looms, sipping her drink (wine? buzzy can't tell). he offers the device out in his palm. "looks like the steering wheel of an old ship, right? apparently there's a particular combination to it where you turn it certain ways and it will unlock with each turn, but i haven't figured it out yet." his eyes dart between the box itself and lizzie, studying her reaction to such a strange contraption. "i'm a big puzzle guy, so my friends and family like to send me these things on birthdays and holidays and whatnot. want to try?" buzzy places the steuerrad puzzle box into lizzie's free hand and offers to take her drink for her, in case she wants two hands to fiddle with the box. "don't worry, i won't drink it. i don't even know what you're drinking." he grins. "go on. give it a spin."

[wid0wd-archived]

❛ we should probably get going. ❜

everything natasha knows about the shelby's family business comes from files written down by agents who either never made it out back to base or have figured pretty much nothing. she's always careful with her wordings, treading lightly between acquiring information and working in a gray area that leaves her up at night wondering if she's getting compromised. her gaze lingers on the pictures on display a bit too long - there's a question that remains about who these people truly are, how useful they could actually be to SHIELD. the private contractor trying to get a piece of cake first sure thinks they're worth a lot. "uh, yes. of course," throat clears lightly, gaze finally dropping down to clasped hands. "sorry."

[norgodly]

 ⋆      @owestwind     —    “You don’t have to believe me right now, i just need you to promise me that if things get bad, you’ll put an end to things before it goes too far.”

A black cat stalking.   you have always been a watcher,   you do it even now,   eyes tracing over her every feature as if you could translate a quiver in a bowed lip,   dismantle her tell into your truth.     but you couldn’t—too often led by blind faith—and it says nothing,   all the while,   yours says everything you don’t dare speak.     you cannot deny the brief pang of pleasure derived from her words,    nor can you deny the souring atmosphere following as that familiar feeling inches in;    inferiority sinks as deep in your marrow as the crease formed between brows.    the shelby name comes as a suffocating embrace,   a thumb pressing against windpipe,   a challenge you could never live up to.   there is a sense of expectation,   a call to action when burdened with the heavyweight title,   to do as your told—blindly.    when you close your eyes,   do you still see those flames above railtrack?   let the smoke fill your lungs,   mind in flashbacks mirrors reality as cigarette falls away from lips. 

You’re walking on pavement cracks.   conversations start innocent before they sour,   words get twisted until the truth froths up your throat,   secrets traded in the late evening over nightcap.      “arthur retired?”     barely a question,   a quip that escapes with the plum of smoke.     put an end to things.     she speaks that as if you have any power,   an illusion of such,   a name with no hold.    you had tried,   finger once quivered on the trigger mirrored the dismantle of faith tommy had in you—     “fuck,  lizzie…’m not promising anything.”

[revnants]

THE GOD DAMN STENCH OF NEW YORK, how quickly it embeds itself into his lungs with every labored breath. pervasive the way it spreads, like rot - mold. (everyone on the street's covered in it, blind to their own malodor) it's enough to raise the hair on his arms, set his teeth on edge every time he steps out into it.

❝ if it makes you more comfortable, you could simply think of it as metaphor. ❞ @owestwind. FROM, ACCEPTING.

[COMFORT] the word sounds as foreign as it feels, like the itch of a memory you just can't seem to reach. can hardly recall a time he ever felt truly comfortable : an inevitable side effect of living in shadows, surrounding himself with death and darkness.

❝ think i'd prefer the reality of putting a bullet in his brain. ❞ he always did need to DIG HIS HANDS RIGHT INTO THE HEART OF IT - root out the problem by tearing his way through it. such an all or nothing mentality is necessary in this cesspool they call a city.

[agentinred]

Snow drifted in slow spirals from a sky the color of old tin, the city beneath it blurred into a watercolor of soot and frost. It seemed like a slow start, streets perhaps too quiet that morning, but not entirely empty. They carried the hush of people watching from behind glass, the way they always did when something unusual passed by. Carmen walked through it, her coat moving with the wind clinging to her like a flag caught in a private wind. The Shelby estate rose from the white like a memory built of stone. It was grand but seemed wounded in the way that old money and wartime ghosts always are. Once inside her coat was taken (albeit with visible hesitation from her) as if afraid it might disappear or burn through the walls…at least she had kept her gloves.

Her contact, one Elizabeth Shelby, sat in the drawing room like a woman who had never been anyone’s second choice. The fire behind her burned low, yet she glowed with the kind of heat that didn’t need flames, only control. Carmen watched her for a moment before speaking, because like her, some women demanded observation before engagement, like paintings that refused to be glanced at quickly. When she finally spoke, her voice came as velvet trimmed in steel. Low, thoughtful, unmistakable. “I could have sent someone else. A letter. A whisper passed down a line of hands you’d never see. That’s how this is usually done. Quiet. Distant…” She paused then, not for effect but for truth, “But I’ve learned, that presence means SOMETHING. Especially to people who’ve had too much taken in absence.” She didn't sit. Not yet. Instead electing to let her words take their time, letting them compete gently with the fire’s slow crackle and the faint sound of wind pressing against the windows. Her gaze never left Elizabeth’s. This was not a transaction. It was an invitation—uncertain, yes, but completely sincere.

@owestwind, SC

[castlevowed]

despite being used to the divey // bustling bar scene, a sense of discomfort crept up her spine while sipping on something to ease incessant thoughts. the ceaseless struggles of city life had become harder and harder to bear alone. ever since her parents moved back to italy, maria felt utterly abandoned and engulfed in debt. they had done their part, and deserved to enjoy every bit of blissful retirement. she was an adult now, and too damn prideful to ask for help. i thought you’d like some company, attention averting towards the familiar brunette who takes the empty seat beside her. “we have to stop bumping into each other like this.” flaunting a wry smile, shoulder playfully nudging against hers. “so, what are we feeling tonight? your vast assortment of cocktails always intrigues me.” and this time maria could actually enjoy the woman’s company, rather than too occupied tending to other bar guests.

@owestwind