#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. 

[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? ”

[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.

[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.   ❞

[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.

[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? ”