kind of a pretty boy.

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the  tumblr  roleplay  community  has  a  habit  of  forgetting  that  people  come  to  this  site  to  have  fun  in  a  safe  place.  if  someone  is  uncomfortable  interacting  with  duplicates  of  their  muse  or  of  their  faceclaim,  that  does  not  make  them  controlling  or  toxic  people.

as  i  mentioned,  people  come  to  the  tumblr  roleplay  community  to  escape  the  pressures  of  everyday  life  and  have  a  little  fun.  let  people  do  that  how  they  see  fit  without  judging  them  or  trying  to  call  them  toxic  for  it.  it’s  their  own  decision,  they’re  not  forcing  anyone  else  not  to  following  duplicates  of  their  muses.  as  long  as  they’re  not  harming  anyone  ?  why  is  it  anyone  else’s  business  ?

i’d  like  to  add  though  that  someone  using  this  anxiety  to  hurt  duplicates  is  wrong  and  is  toxic.  if  someone  uses  their  own  anxieties  to  tear  down  another  muns  version  of  the  muse,  that’s  awful  and  i  am  absolutely  not  condoning  that.

this whole thing was insane. the sheer amount of blood should have suggested he’d have died, or at the very least, been on the way to bleeding out. if anything, however, he seemed fine. he was laughing, didn’t even seem at all concerned by the hole in his flesh, and the whole thing seemed impossible. how did somebody survive something like that? how did somebody seem perfectly fine in the face of it? sarah had never believed in things she couldn’t explain away with logic and intelligence, and this felt like one of those things - it was happening before her very eyes, but there had to be some logical explanation…didn’t there? 

“what the hell is going on here?” sarah demanded. she felt almost frozen to the spot, though her hands dropped down (almost of their own accord), the gun being tucked back into her waistband. what kind of explanation could he possibly give to something like this? what kind of explanation could there possibly be? “who the hell are you?” 

as  soon  as  the  weapon  was  out  of  sight,  he  physically  relaxed.  though  the  bullets  wouldn’t  kill  him,  that  did  not  mean  that  they  didn’t  hurt  him.  confusion  was  clear  on  the  agent’s  expression,  though  it  was  hardly  surprising.  this  was  likely  the  first  time  she  had  encountered  something  such  as  this,  he  would  be  confused  too.  at  her  questions,  he  arched  a  brow  curiously.  

endless  floyd  weatherford  edits  7 / ??

        the expected distaste at having to discuss matters with a bastard never arrives. perhaps he is simply good at h i d i n g it or he doesn’t care unlike others. alayne is used to the SUBTLE disapproval, never direct out of either fear or respect for her father, aimed at her presence. she is pleased to not have to smile through it today.          ❝  there are not many mountains where you hail from, i assume? ❞          smile almost falters when the news is shared. no one makes the journey up to the eyrie unless they have REASON to… she reminds herself that she has no reason to worry. she is alayne stone. still                  ❝  did you manage to find out their name or intention? surely you know my father needs more for the information to be of any use. ❞

it was one of those things that would likely never be solved, that would probably never move forward. nobody else would care to pursue it, especially if it was already considered a closed case. his mother had seemingly died in a car accident, so why would anyone ask questions? but if he wanted to do this, if he wanted to look into it? she’d help him, there was no doubt about that. though she wasn’t really in touch with either one of her parents, she knew they were both safe - her father was off conning, yes, but he was alive. and her mom? well, she’d stayed away to make sure she was safe, but that wasn’t something she could share with floyd, it wasn’t something she could share with anybody. ryker was still out there somewhere. his mom, however, was something they could look into. “then we’ll find something. we can do this, floyd - we can find out what really happened to her. i have a lot of contacts, we can find figure all of this out. we can learn the truth.”

there’d never been a time in her life when sarah felt like a leader, not really. it wasn’t as if she followed the crowd - the wildcard moniker she’d been marked with in her early days as a spy had been given for a reason, she got the job done, but didn’t necessarily follow the rules down to the letter - but she’d always answered to someone. she was well suited to the gunner role, to doing what it took to survive, and make sure the others did too. as an agent, she’d kept her country safe by whatever means necessary; that was one thing that hadn’t really changed. following him towards the exit, gun in hand, she gave a small shrug. “i’m not saying it’ll be easy, but we have a strong squad. we can handle anything.”

what she wanted and what she needed to do had never been the same thing. as a matter of fact, there’d been very few times in life when sarah had really stopped to think about what she wanted - if she’d done that, she might never have become a CIA operative in the first place. life had always been about making smart choices, and this felt like another one. if they wanted to be safe eventually, running was about the only choice they had. “like what, floyd? this is the only we can really assure we’re getting away from all of this. i don’t see what other choice we have.”

Heaving chest gives way to a choppy, soft breath, while the pale, delicate hand caressing the other’s jaw cups the man’s face in her palm. Fingers curled into other’s skin, noses and foreheads touching each other due to their proximity. Her breath hitched, the queen’s supple lips inching closer to the male’s before her throat tightened and face pulled away a few centimeters, hues darting around Floyd’s face. 

They shouldn’t be this close. They should NEVER have gotten this close. They should have kept their relationship strictly professional… but it was already far too late to retrace any steps backward. Were the queen honest, she would say that she had wanted this for some time; wanted to be close with him- but their professional relationship was what kept her at bay… at least, up until this moment. 

As his fingers ran through her un-braided locks with ease, her eyes stay closed as her senses are enveloped by comfort, a sense of protection- things that the man could give her based on their professional interactions, but meant so much more in the silence and closeness between them. 

Slowly opening them again, the woman stares into the other’s gaze, lips lightly parted as if to speak, but instead only stay parted, breath grazing across Floyd’s skin. Hand tightens on the male’s front, the fabric in her grasp clenched lightly, before the soft coo of her voice breaks the silence. 

❝ You are quite special to me as well. ❞

everything  about  this  was  inappropriate.  they  shouldn’t  be  this  close  to  one  another  and  yet  despite  knowing  this  he  made  no  move  to  part  from  her  warmth.  in  this  moment  he  realised  that  he  had  been  yearning  for  this  closeness  from  someone  for  a  long  time,  however  his  choice  of  professions  had  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  be  able  to  trust  anyone  with  this  kind  of  vulnerability.  no  one  but  his  queen.  that  was  a  thought  that  never  should  have  crossed  his  mind.

eyes  remain  closed  to  the  vast  emotions  crossing  elsa’s  features,  allowing  her  touches,  melting  beneath  her  soft  caresses.  it  was  too  much  and  not  enough  all  at  the  same  time.  he  felt  frozen  right  here,  as  though  he  never  wanted  to  leave.  he  had  known  that  he  wanted  to  be  here,  like  this,  with  her  for  a  long  time  now  but  it  was  something  he  had  never  dreamed  of  sharing  let  alone  actually  happening. 

brushing  her  hair  over  her  shoulder,  fingertips  lingering  against  the  snow  touched  skin  of  her  neck.  part of  him  was  telling  him  to  throw  it  all  away  and  press  his  lips  to  the  skin  his  fingers  were  caressing,  the  more  professional  part  of  him  screaming  at  him  to  stop  before  it  goes  too  far.

as  her  fingers  curl  around  the  material  of  his  tunic,  a  huff  of  breath  escapes,  eyes  slowly  opening  only  to  wish  they  had  remained  closed.  she  was  so  close,  their  noses  touching  in  their  embrace.  as  she  spoke,  he  ran  his  tongue  over  his  lower  lip,  gaze  darting  between  her  eyes  and  her  lips.  a  moment  passes,  lips  parting  as  though  to  speak  only  to  find  no  words  would  come  to  him. 

unsurprisingly, her mark looked pissed. sarah knew she was going to have to keep an eye on him, make sure she tracked him wherever he ended up next (given that he wasn’t likely to stick around after that), but she could spare a few moments to deal with the idiot who thought to insert himself into the situation. lucky for him, he wasn’t all that dangerous, compared to a lot of the men she needed to apprehend, but even so, she was certain he’d regret his move if he knew just who he was dealing with. ignoring the comment about the drink, she tugged him away from her target, and with one last glance over her shoulder (he wasn’t leaving yet), and dragged him back towards the bar. “what the hell were you thinking? we don’t know the first thing about that guy -” she did, actually. she knew plenty. “- are you trying to get yourself killed, just so i’ll buy you a drink?”

   𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞,  𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫,  𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.  there’s a natural  to-and-fro  between them,  she’s found    ;     and as she feels his tension subside,  hers follows in immediate suit.

❝     of course i hold you in high regard.     ❞     a beat,  a moment to let the  legitimacy  of her words fully translate.     ❝     i mean,  i’m still  entirely  willin’ to tell you when you’re bein’ a little shit,  but…  i  do  hold you in high regard.  absolutely.     ❞     she doesn’t look at him as her words are offered     ——–     for its a confession a little too forthcoming,  a little too revealing,  for her to have the  confidence  of watching his reaction as her words fall.  maybe it’s her tiredness,  or the not-insubstantial sips she’s already gulping down,  but her  uncommon honesty  prevails.❝     …  i like being away from it with you.     ❞     with you.  two words offered without thought,  without  permission  given.  so unusually forthright that her breath  hitches  in their wake.  she almost wants to remedy that frankness,  but words evade her,  and all she can offer is an awkward,  painfully unsure:     ❝     ——–     …  yeah.     ❞

a  connection  was  building  steadily  between  the  two  of  them,  something  natural  and  unstoppable,  no  matter  how  much  he  pretends  to  think  he  does  not  want  it  to  continue.  at  her  words  he  finds  a  more  genuine  smile  taking  hold  of  his  features,  barking  a  surprised  laugh  at  her  next  comment.  “  i  fear  you’ll  be  finding  that  to  be  often.  ”  there  was  a  certain  attitude  required  for  his  type  of  work  and  though  it  was  mostly  an  act  on  his  part,  it  was  still  one  he  had  to  maintain.

there was no reason any enemy agents would be digging around into their private life - generally speaking, her marks didn’t get close enough to know anything real about her. although there was currently an engagement ring on her finger, that was entirely mission dependent, and it wasn’t as if they were married yet; they weren’t wearing matching bands. still, she knew the kind of mind games weatherford was playing, assumed if she brought up the fact she wouldn’t always be wearing the ring, he’d jump to assuming she was ashamed of chuck, or something like that. before they made it any closer to the car, sarah turned on him, though she didn’t allow the switch to get flipped, not yet. instead, she stared him down a moment. “if you want to remain in our custody, you’re going to stop prying into my life. back off. all it takes is one call to general beckman, and you’ll be shipped off to washington - stop testing me, weatherford. chuck and i are none of your business. got that?”

the mention of torture made him gulp. that certainly wasn’t something morgan wanted to endure, though he still had no real way of knowing if floyd was one of the good guys. there was a chance he was some kind of enemy of chuck and sarah’s, sure, but maybe the risk was worth taking. given that he was offering to untie him and get him out of there, he should probably take him up on the offer, and think about running later, if things went as wrong as he was worrying they might. “okay, fine, fine, fine, let’s get outta here. but i need to talk to chuck and sarah! i don’t trust you, you’re too…” he wasn’t quite sure, but there was something about him. “maybe it’s the accent? or the face, it’s probably the face.”

he wasn’t dead. she’d shot him three times, and he wasn’t dead. for a moment, it seemed like the job was done - but she wasn’t a young, inexperienced agent anymore, she wouldn’t run away before she’d checked if he was really dead. she’d never gone back and checked during her red test; she ran away before she could be certain that her target was dead, but she’d never made that same mistake since. pulling the trigger had gotten easier over time, and now that she was a fully fledged operative, she wasn’t scared in these moments. from what she’d been told he was rogue, she wasn’t shooting some innocent civilian, she was simply doing her job, keeping the world safe.

was he wearing a vest? was that how he’d survived it? that seemed like the only logical explanation, but the sound of the bullets ricocheting off the ground suggested something else; they’d been embedded in his body, he’d looked dead, and now he wasn’t. sarah didn’t believe in anything that couldn’t explained, she wasn’t exactly jumping to assuming he was immortal, and instead figured he must have had some powerful technology, something stronger than a kevlar vest. “what the hell is going on?”

blood  blossoming  over  his  shirt  was  a  clear  tell  that  he  wasn’t  wearing  any  protective  equipment,  that  he  should  have  been  dead  right  there  on  the  abandoned  alleyway.  and  yet  he  was  still  alive,  still  breathing  despite  the  blood  that  had  pooled  beneath  his  body.  wincing  as  he  rolled  his  shoulders,  stretching  his  neck  from  his  slumped  position.  at  her  question,  a  short  laugh  bubbled  from  his  throat.

revenge was the obvious assumption - what else would he want? though she hadn’t known who her mark was, had been young and naive, and hadn’t questioned her orders (she never did), that didn’t change the facts for shaw. she’d still put a bullet in his wife, still ran before she knew whether or not she’d been killed. it was easy enough for an agent to be desensitised to the killing, to write it off as a part of the job, but as soon as it was personal, as soon as it was someone you knew? things could be different. if her red test had been some random rogue agent, nobody would have batted an eyelid - but evelyn shaw was his wife, that made it personal. “i know, floyd. i know,” she said, quietly. how could she not? but she’d never run away from danger before, and she wasn’t planning to start now. “but i need to face this. it’ll all be alright.”

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