( ᵃᵖ ) 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒇𝒕.

{ @cleverminded cont from here 

          trusting this man was certainly tricky business and the longer petyr seemed to ramble, the more ned wished he could have backed away from the conversation all together. the lord wanted to play his part, wanted to use ned, he could see that but he also seemed trustworthy. it was confusing, to stay the least, and ned wasn’t sure what to think until petyr baelish decided to mention his wife. eyes narrowed as ned looked petyr up and down for a moment, shaking his head. “you are a low man if you are to bring my wife into this, lord baelish. this has nothing to do with catelyn.”

            ❛ It doesn’t,   you’re right about that.       Perhaps I should rephrase ------ ?        So that my intent isn’t muddied nor misconstrued. ❜         His wry smile was nearing one of mockery,   cutting Ned’s valour down to something Petyr saw as underwhelming and FOOLISH;   A fine lack of intellect.      The refusal to replace hubris with method.       Honour,  he calls it .  .  . hot-headed pride that clouded the view for other,  more  ambitious behests.

natasha, pierre, & the great comet of 1812 lyrics sentence starters.

@bird-dove-wolf  /  NO LONGER ACCEPTING

He bowed his head,  paying reverence in lieu of apologies —— those would fall upon deaf ears.      Her Tully eyes welled overspilling like the cold waters of Riverrun.       Her voice cracked.       Shattered porcelain.         And too it SHATTERED his heart,   she had become fury and despair all in one fell swoop,  but she would come to understand his antecedent manoeuvring —— Wouldn’t she?        Petyr lulled his head back as if swallowing his FEARS in large quaffs and places a gentle hand on her shoulder,   knowing she may evade him.        But persistence never did.         His softened cadence too is gentle,    as to make himself more forgivable,   more authentic —— If only she knew what lengths he could and HAD crossed to ensure Sansa’s later conquest.          ❛ Hindsight will lead you down a path of regret and self-defeat,  you mustn’t blame yourself —— ❜

natasha, pierre, & the great comet of 1812 lyrics sentence starters.

@gangguro  /  ACCEPTING

His smirk shared the semblance of the bloodmoon’s penumbra —— a curved enigma that PORTENTS something darker,   something all knowing.      She had it too;    In the predatory black of her eyes.       Satisfaction in itself was too fleeting,   it sat & brewed for a while before slipping through one’s fingers as nothing more than a REMNANT barely quelling an insatiable hunger;   Yearning for more and more .  .  . No,   he hadn’t wanted that.       Not the bittersweet illusion but the triumph of shaping ALL that was to be had.

natasha, pierre, & the great comet of 1812 lyrics sentence starters.

@handofhonor​  /  ACCEPTING

@cleverminded

               as  entertaining  as  watching  prey  run  was,  IT  GOT  OLD.  for  as  long  as  he  could  remember,  it  was  all  one  big  game  of  cat  &&  mouse.  some  nights  he  welcomed  the  chase,  others  he  did  not.  such  as  that  night.  shoulder  propped  against  tree,  Vladimir  gave  the  man  a  bored  look  when  he  ran  into  sight.  ‘ lucky  for  you,  I  am  in  no  mood  to  play  with  my  food. ’  he  drawled  in  thick  Romanian  accent,  pushing  himself  off  the  tree  to  stand  straight. 

 the  man  was  taller  than  he  was,  as  most  were,  a  few  inches  at  the  most.  what  the  vampire  lacked  in  height,  he  made  up  for  in  strength.  

 it  took  less  than  a  second  for  his  hand  to  wrap  around  the  humans  neck,  pressing  him  back  against  one  of  the  larger  trees  in  the  area.  teeth  were  similar  to  humans,  only  stronger.  able  to  easily  puncture  the  soft  flesh  of  his  neck.  fingers  tightened  around  neck  as  the  sweet  liquid  ran  down  his  throat. 

 his  bite  was  clean.  one  set  of  teeth  marks  would  mar  the  mans  flesh,  a  reminder  of  the  event.  

 VLADIMIR  STOPPED  BEFORE  HE  COULD  KILL  HIM.  stray  drops  of  blood  trailing  down  his  chin  &&  onto  black  leather.  it  was  rare  he  turned  a  human.  they  were  nothing  but  food  in  his  eyes.  on  occasion  he  found  amusement  in  setting  a  new  born  loose.  with  a  low  chuckle,  he  l i c k e d  a  long  stripe  up  the  taller  mans  neck,  catching  what  blood  still  flowed  from  the  wound,  lips  coming  to  a  stop  by  his  ear.

 ‘ such  pretty  eyes,  they  will  be  even  prettier  when  red. ’

             Hedonism.   The international money maker.   He knew it well, knew that in all men the mind is willing but the flesh is weak. A place to buy & sell sex dolled up as just another neon pit in the bowels of London was his lure to appeal to the nightowls looking for their vice vendor.    A club owner,  Petyr called himself. Scratch away the surface to find a trafficker, and extortionist. He’s accustomed to the seedy archetype ------ Eastern Europeans with hard stares and Louis Vuitton.   Working class burnouts with enough for blow but never enough for their kids.   Middle-aged first timers sweating at the sight of his girls’ bare skin.   Misogynists who left them black and blue.   It’s all behind closed doors but often would it bleed into the streets ------ 3am, the witching hour indeed, he thinks as he ascends the piss-pervaded stairway to his basement lounge;  Greeted by some coked-up subculture poster child with an apparent penchant for lurking on street corners.  Unsurprising.

docile hands neatly folded under burnt gold brocade; a smile that spoke more of serene condescension than any genuine affection curved his lips. ❝not all share your… relish of chaos && confusion, my friend.❞ no threat nor anger lay in his tone, exasperated as it may seem. amber crepuscular rays of the soon-to-sleep sun filtered lazily through the far window, casting a veritable warm halo on the shorter man, illuminating his gentle expression. ❝we have our roles to fill, && you know full well which those are.❞

he would not deign to correct such a mercurial god as his companion; though neither would he entertain the notion of their possible similarities. ❝power is not mine nor yours to give, nor is justice ours to mete out. you know that. our job is to guide from the sidelines, see that these folk do as they may…❞ LORD VARYS, as this form was known, trailed off, umber eyes drifting to throne carved of men’s weapons, men’s miseries. so ugly a thing–to represent power by crushed blades, to seat yourself on weapons that had once caused death. yes, there were many in this world that followed chaos’ siren call. many here who would burn all else for a chance at ruling it.

the man beside him, so conveniently lurking in shadows, being a prime such culprit.

❝chaos,❞ he softly began anew, glancing back to the other man, ❝is a fine thing to thrive on, until you are alone, old && weary. these mortals require, too, a kind hand, a respite from battle, reasons to trust. so we two spiders spin opposite webs, hoping to catch the same flies–to offer them different fruits, both poison in their own right.❞

            ❛ There is little I don’t know, ❜        is his pithy,  facetious as ever.        ❛ Our roles as you say are indeed two side of the same coin but they are ours to bend.     As long as the criteria is met ------ I’ve always considered those fruits to be fecund with ambrosia, apposed to poison.      Are you sure you’re not tempted, or is that mindplay?       Perhaps you’re concerned about not being able to moderate your admission.     Power is almost too easy to imbibe .  .  . Even for one of your sanctity. ❜         Chin pointed to his chest adorned with trademark SILVER MOCKINGBIRD he simpered,    surreptitiously anointing his own mirth in self-affirmation.       Certainly they were bound to their duties as something greater amongst man,     they must carry a particular CONSTRAINT ------ And though chaos,    despite its connotation,    was not to be utilised with such recklessness that he draws suspicion to his end game;    He would instead assess its limitations on those most prone to grandeur and gullibility.      That final PUSH to a mortal’s inhibition.       A suggestion,  an act of blandishment ------ Simple when one’s know-how is worn with such clever guises. 

bold   all   that   apply   to   your   muse,   italicize   the   ones   that   slightly   apply,   and   strikethrough   the   ones   that   definitely   don’t   apply!

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