#spatflame

Henceforth, Adonis portrayed an elsewise unreasonable evisceration of his innermost doldrums. Insofar that Nadine was a womb-equipped woman of adequate femininity, the contextualization of The Wombly womb-having pregnancy-capable Female was practicable. 

nadine is a straight up BITCH so the fact she’s the nicest one is really sayin somethin huh

          there were many things that cisco would say he was skilled at --- engineering, science in general, naming villains, (good) puns... opening up, getting personal and revealing things that scare him in this universe? not exactly something he deemed in his direct skillset. he stared at the door as though he might burn holes into the wood with his vision, which mind you was not something he was capable of and his brain drifted fleetingly to wonder if there was a metahuman who could do such a thing... but alas, that was beside the point, right? 

           this was the address that she gave and good lord above, he hoped it was the right place. he paced for a moment in front of the door, fist smacking the opposite palm out of nervousness before knocking almost uncertainly. it wasn’t a date or anything --- it was a hang out session, he insisted to himself. after he dropped the bomb, they could do pizza and hot cheetos --- right? he’d gone pretty casual, but when did he ever choose something more formal? a beat leather jacket that had once belonged to his brother, a nerdy grey science joke t-shirt and denim. simple. comfortable. nothing special. 

        was this what muryale called flirting ?  it was spoken with a smile but the words were foreign to her .    the heat rose to her cheeks and inside her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton ,   how does one    return the flirt ?     how does one not shrink back at the mere beauty of women themseles ?      

you really pick the best fcs….whew

         he  too  is  a  wanderer;   finds  it  all  too  easy  to  flee  when  the  world  is  caving  in.   they  call  him  angel - voiced;   if  he  had  their  wings  he  would  never  come  down  again.   as  it  is  he  himself  is  always  too  late;   when  the  lungs  reach  some  point  beyond  suffocation  and  turn  COLD  /  SPASTIC,   only  then  does  he  run.   in  the  after,   when  something  in  him  has  already  died  again.   but  isolation  can  heal;   he  could  not  pretend  he  doesn’t  know  this  truth  well.   how  could  he  fault  her  for  something  he’s  been  guilty  of?   his  heart  is  without  beats  to  waste  on  it;   he  is  so  happy  to  see  her,   cares  little  for  what  others  might  say.   to  him  she  is  PROTECTOR  /  WARMTH  /  LIGHTNESS  IN  CHEST,   a  safety  that  burns  sweet  through  the  bloodstream.

marina     tsvetaeva     sentence     starters.