#pistolsmith

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF MY CHARACTERIZATION ?

       the words fell from parted lips like ash from the cigarette she was holding , tumbling into unknown space and landing dead between them. it wasn't a decision she'd taken lightly , or even wanted to consider , but rather one she had made for her own sanity , to preserve her marriage -- and if not that , then at least to clean her conscience. for a moment , it's as though tig hadn't even heard her.

       it takes only one instant for everything to change , distance between them closing , gemma's hands on his chest in attempt to create distance , and calloused fingers closing around her throat. even as her airway was pressed shut , she couldn't truly believe what was happening. couldn't fathom that it was the tig she'd known for all these years who'd pinned her to the wall.

       eyes go wide , heartbeat quickening as she claws at his hand , attempting to pry herself free. she doesn't want to die this way. not now. lips are parted , a silent scream for help and using one last ragged breath to gasp out his name as color drains out of her expression.

                                   ❝   ——  TIG...  ❞

       it certainly wasn't the first time a man had pinned her to the wall and threatened to choke the very life from her eyes , but this one was possibly that which she'd expected the least.  

       something shifts , and gemma sees it in his eyes. horror spreading like a plague across otherwise calm features and the biker goes staggering backwards , regarding the woman with a fear of his own , but gemma's too busy hunching over , sputtering and gasping as air floods into her lungs. her own hand is held up , warding him off , keeping her distance. finally righting herself , she shakes her head , face now a bright shade of heated pink.

                                   ❝   he's my husband , baby. i h —— had too.  ❞

       that wasn't entirely true either. despite claimed  ' honesty ' , gemma and clay each had a slew of secrets , buried beneath good memories that could almost mute the sound of them trying to break free. gemma knew she'd crossed a line when she let tig fuck her in a dimly lit hallway , it was obvious from the moment it happened. and normally she'd tuck it away with those other memories , things that weren't spoken of. but something about it ate away at her this time. something she just couldn't shake.

                                   ❝   ——  no he won't , tigger. i won't let him.  ❞

       who was she to stop the force that was clay morrow ? the truth was , she couldn't have , even if she'd wanted to. and that her husband was more than furious when he'd found out. hurling insults across the length of their bedroom , every name in the book , each of which she may well have deserved. but in the end , she hoped he'd calm down , find some piece before he put a bullet in the head of either his wife , or one of his best friends.

Roleplay-related ask meme

♠ : what is the hardest thing about playing this muse?

@pistolsmith - something like liberation, elevation

It’s a curl of fingers that grips Tig’s clothes, fingernails slipping into the skin of the man’s stomach, pressing hard enough to make a mark -- because he always seeks to make a mark on other peoples’ lives, whether it’s marking them indelible or something that drips from his outline, a smooth clot of ink that comes, spooling into something infinite -- and he runs his tongue over his teeth.

He steps forward, black leather shoes touching Tig’s feet and he reaches up, bending the material just so he could reach the man’s mouth, something like ecstasy finding him, his head shaking as if this is incredulous, their union.

He reaches up and bites Tig’s lower lip as hard as his teeth allow and then, he clasps the broken skin between his lips, sucking on the plumpness of the mouth he has claimed, separating with a small pop and just after this, he kisses him without teeth and tongue.

He is a man of one thousand impressions and masks but here, he seeks to present something savage, something to show that he is not so easily weakened, that he has thirsts outside of power and status.

And he has something hungry behind his bones, this man by the name of Oswald Cobblepot.

Stomach presses to Tig’s and he feels the bite of a belt-buckle, the taste of something like smoke on his lips and he wonders what’s behind this man’s muscle: vapors, metal, and something that’s sharp behind this hell-hound’s smile. 

It makes his hands shake as if they’ve never held something as monstrous as his own beating heart that he’s proclaimed to have torn out, once before.

It has been a long time since he’s found someone like this, and he has no intention of letting him walk away unscathed.

When Oswald Cobblepot kisses you, he always leaves a mark and this mark is a bead of blood on Tig’s lower lip, an impression of fingernails on a muscled stomach, and the memory of fingers that trace up and up to Tig’s neck.

          it's early , so early in fact that the sun was only just beginning to peak up over the horizon , streaking charming's sky’s with vibrant shades of pink and orange. slowly , amber eyes peel open , blinking rapidly as she attempts to bring everything back towards reality. before she can even figure out where she is , she's faced with a giant clawing beast that demands her attention ; pain. it's raging through her skull ( likely from where she'd been struck ) , but even more so than that , the huge section of charred skin over her left breast. she groans and cries out , clutching at her shirt with bloodied fingers as she attempts to tear the fabric away. it's dried into the injury , but she tears it away , attempting to stifle the cries by burying teeth into her bottom lip. the sight that meets her gaze brings far more tears than the pain had. where there had once been a flying crow adorned with the word ' forever ' was now a large patch of fried skin. they'd taken the one thing that tied her permanently to the club , the one thing which pledged her allegiance to the man she loved , to her family.

          sobs wrack her body and gemma rolls onto her back , wincing at the fire ignited within each joint. she's met with flashes of the past , of what had happened. held down and tied up , fabric shoved into her mouth to silence her pleading. it was some bare room ; a storage facility or construction zone. and the men were all covered. eyes which are flooded with tears dance around her surroundings , attempting to find someone or something. it's then that she realizes where she is , dumped on the sidewalk before TM , like some sort of package , just waiting for someone to come along and drag her inside. she's struck then with the hope that it's not clay , nor jackson. she doesn't want them to see her like this. in fact , she doesn't want anyone to see her like this. helpless and in pain. gemma can barely move , she surely won't be able to get herself inside the gates , she needs help ( something she'd never readily admit ) , and there's no one there to give it to her.  

Munday Questions || ACCEPTING

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I’ve been playing Michael since early April of this year, which for me is quite a while for a character like him! :)