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HIATUS NOTICE

Things have been really bumming me out in this website lately. I’m really not the type of person who mopes around. I truly am the most ‘I don’t give a fuck’ person you will ever meet. I’ve made friends that I’ve kept for years and pretty much keep to myself in that regard, sans a few recentish new exceptions. That’s just the way I’ve always operated. That’s the way its always worked for me. I love to write. For me, its a hobby. For others its more of a lifestyle. Writing is like an escape for me. If I’m working long hour hospital shifts, its the best way to escape constantly thinking about it. It got me through unemployment in the pandemic. But I’m going to be real honest with everyone… Its not fun anymore. Not recently. I won’t go into details. Its whatever. I’m a person who forgets about things that hurt pretty easily, I think its why I’ve gotten so good at keeping people at arm’s length. I’m gonna be real honest with you. I’ve been here for so long I’ve grown a thick ass skin, so when something bums me out, it really fucking bums me out. But regardless, I’m going to put this blog and some others, on a hiatus. I will be back when I don’t feel like garbage every time I open the dash. In the meantime, if you do want to write or reach out, hmu on discord. Ask for it. I’ll give it to you. Be kind guys, to your friends and to the people you love. No matter how aloof or hardened your friends and your acquaintances seem, we all have feelings. Stay safe 💛

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𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴 𝙸'𝙳 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁.

ONE ( ALIAS / NAME ):   Liz

TWO ( BIRTHDAY ):  August 18

THREE ( ZODIAC SIGN ):  Leo

FOUR ( HEIGHT ):   5′7

FIVE ( HOBBIES ):    Video games, writing, cooking, research 

SIX ( FAVOURITE BOOKS ):  The Da Vinci Code, The Great Gatsby, and I haven’t read like fiction consistently in so long that I don’t really know atop of my head aside from those two.

SEVEN ( LAST SONG LISTENED TO ):   Letters From The Sky by Civil Twilight

EIGHT ( LAST SHOW WATCHED ):  Hightown

NINE ( INSPIRATION FOR MUSE ):  Isa was originally created for an original supernatural role play, she was a werewolf contract assassin who would kill witch hunters for a living, but was from a very well known family of werewolves who worked hand-in-hand with a famous witch coven. I decided that deviating her story and making her a little more related to crime and crime-based muses could fit well for indie.

TEN ( MEANING BEHIND YOUR URL ):  All of Isa’s contract targets have a code/number.

tagged by: @unecrth tagging: @j-reau, @preymend, @dottirmikaelson, @klarsynt, @operativae & whoever else wants to jump on it

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Ana de Armas by Thomas Whiteside for The Sunday Times Style (January 24, 2021)

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ANA DE ARMAS Defiende tu Primavera 🦋

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why are we suddenly killing off our oc’s help

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preymend​:

@targetcode​   /   ♡’d for a spicy starter!

Isa  is  making  it  difficult  for  Clara  to  maintain  her  focus.  Her  eyes  are  saying  so  many  things    —    things  the  medic  isn’t  sure  she  wants  to  hear      (  especially  after  having  the  woman  nearly  die  on  her  couch!  ).      But  her  wounds  are  almost  healed,  thanks  to  Clara’s  persistence  about  taking  it  easy.  Still,  her  face  is  a  distraction!  She  should  still  be  livid,  should  want  to  keep  as  far  away  from  Isa  as  possible.  Yet,  when  her  fingers  hook  through  the  belt  loops  of  Clara’s  pants  as  she  pulls  her  closer,  there  is  no  hint  of  resistance  on  her  part  as  her  arms  wrap  around  Isa’s  shoulders  and  kisses  her  for  the  first  time  since  before  the  incident.          “  I’m  still  mad  at  you,  ”          she  whispers  against  her  lips,  not  truly  meaning  in.          “  but  we  can  argue  about  that  later.  ”

“ I know. ” –– and with basis. She’s given Clara every single reason to distrust her ( she shouldn’t trust her!) and more importantly, Isa should be finding every excuse to stay away from her now. Clara knows too much, has seen too much, and that alone makes her a target for anyone who’d want to come after Isa after the events that unfolded a few weeks ago. And yet, despite Isa’s better instincts, she can’t help but kiss Clara back, to let her hands wander from her belt loops, to her waist, touching her like she’d almost believe she’s having a very vivid daydream. But Clara feels real, and tangible, and the skin underneath her shirt feels the same and it makes the tension in Isa’s shoulders momentarily loosen, like she’s deflating into her, and she thinks that maybe, if only for a moment in a single moment of bliss, it might remind Clara that she might have lied, but there was something she could never fake. Not this. “ I’ve missed you ––” She says, through the persistence and heaviness of their kiss, burying her face in the crook of her neck. “ You can be mad if you want, but I’ve missed you so much ”.

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storiesmade​:

❛ it’s okay. ❜  she’d rather have her by her side in bed but having isa’s presence in her home still warms her heart. it’s been too long since lena let herself be this open, this vulnerable around someone else but with isa — she trusts her with her life and more important, with her heart. she walks up to the other woman, getting around the desk and behind isa, settling her hands on her shoulders and leaning in to place a kiss on the top of her head.  ❛ what are you working on? ❜ but a closer look is all she needs to see it. a sigh escapes her lips, wishing that her brother could simply disappear from their lives. one way or another, lex always gets his way.  ❛ can we just forget lex for a night? just — forget the target on my back for a night and come back to bed. ❜  her tone is almost like a plea, a naive wish that they could just pretend there was nothing to worry about outside of her house’s walls.

Its about perspective. About what had ultimately gotten her here. Perhaps, not particularly slipping into Lena’s bed on the regular, but the circumstances that had made a mutual understanding become a partnership, and a partnership become something that could spiral out of control if Isa wasn’t careful. There was red on her ledger and blood on her hands that she couldn’t simply rinse away. Lex Luthor had found her through a complicated string of connections that were only available to the most powerful people in the world. It was only a matter of time before he came back to collect, either with Lena’s head –– or her own. She considers it for a second, looks at the laptop and presses her fingertips against the lid; she’s about to close it, call it a night, stuff the papers away and follow Lena back to her bedroom –– she reaches out for her hand, momentarily taking a hold of her fingers, like she’s about to rise from the chair and follow suit, but it stalls her just long enough for Isa to wonder... “–– Have you ever wondered how he found me?” A beat. She opens the laptop again and points at her public record. “ –– This... This is new. This was all you. But before this, there was not a single trace of me anywhere. Not a birth certificate, a parking ticket, a fake passport with my picture and a different name, nada. How?”

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@storiesmade​

Perhaps Lex might be nothing but a simple thought in the back of Lena’s mind at the moment, but for Isa, who had slipped out of Lena Luthor’s bed a little over half an hour ago, he’d been like a pebble in the back of her shoe that she just couldn’t shake off. She’s wearing one of Lena’s robes, sitting on a chair in her office, guided by nothing but the light of a laptop and a pile of papers she’d dug from Lena’s locked desk, in a sealed manila folder, frustrated but otherwise unbothered by the sound of footsteps coming closer to the door. She doesn’t need to look up to know who they belong to, neither does she need to hide what she’s doing from her either –– she merely rubs her temples, scribbles something on a blank piece of paper and puts the pen down before she looks at the doorway. “–– I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry”. 

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MUSE AESTHETICS repost don’t reblog.   bold always applies.   italicize sometimes applies.

✹ SUMMER ✹ — cold drinks after a long day, hiking in the woods just outside the city, swimming in a lake, spontaneous picnics, the warmth of the sun making you drowsy, the buzz of insects flying by,  blooming wildflowers, the scent of bark and leaves, snapping twigs in half, a blade of grass between your teeth, light sunburn on the tip of your nose, barking dogs, rosy cheeks, children laughing in the distance, sunflowers reaching for the sun, fresh ice tea, resting your head on someone’s lap, warm yellow, the sound of waves crashing

☁ AUTUMN ☁ — cool breezes that feel just right, piles of leaves, rust red, oversized sweaters, knitted blankets, pumpkin spice, the scent of freshly baked goods, open windows letting the fresh air in, cold cheeks and hands, rain boots, carving pumpkins, soft scarves, a comforting embrace from an old friend, the scent right before a storm, wild mushrooms, ripening berries, a cup of hot tea, purring cats, blueberry muffins, braided hair, wearing your partner’s shirts, an alarm pulling you from slumber, burning candles

❅ WINTER ❅ — the crackling of a fireplace, hot chocolate with marshmallows, the smell of fresh cookies, fuzzy socks, beanies pulled over your ears, a strong pot of coffee, dark clouds gathering on the horizon, the sound of wind shaking the house, melting ice, snowflakes in your hair, melancholy afternoons, curling up with a book while the world stands still, cough drops on the nightstand, excitedly giving gifts, long coats with deep pockets, pale blues, flour on the tip of your nose, warm soup, stubble turning into a beard, the scent of leather

❀ SPRING ❀ — the smell after it rains, waking to the sound of birds singing, the crack of thunder, soft pinks, energy drinks or protein shakes, the scent of fabric softener, tidying up, the sweet taste of fresh fruit, competitive spark in eyes, sand beneath your feet, sweat on your brow, catching your breath after running, light green, frosted cupcakes, electricity in the air, forbidden kisses,  the sharp hunger after a work out, daring romances, high ponytails, unexpected storms, picking flowers, running barefoot in the grass, iced coffee

TAGGED BY :  @preymend​ TAGGING :   @j-reau​, @dottirmikaelson​, @shcftingpieces​, @apexhe​, @cosmiicsouls​, anyone else who wants to do it!

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who is going to give isa an older-ish woman she can be a hitwoman for but also bang

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isa @ @klarsynt​

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@klarsynt​

“I wasn’t supposed to ask any questions ––” Not the right ones. There’s a door with four bolts and bullet proof windows and a military grade handgun on the table next to a first aid kit that she’s recovered inside this safe house she could barely call a house; a cottage, or a shed, or something akin to a room inside walls no one was supposed to find and no one was supposed to know where it was. Not even the people looking for him, and now, not even the people looking for her. Isa tilts his head and presses a gauze to the underside of his bleeding chin, pushes his sweaty hair back with a surprising amount of gentleness for a woman who had just tried to kill him not even a mere twenty-four hours ago. “And to be honest, I never had a problem with it. You stick a needle between the leader of a human trafficking ring’s toes, he has a heart attack two minutes later, and you leave thinking you made the world a better place. This is the first time they... You’re not like the others”. 

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preymend·:

The  barrage  of  thoughts  flashing  behind  her  eyes,  trying  to  make  sense  of  everything  that’s  happening  in  the  moment,  is  relentless.  Isa’s  body,  although  slender,  is  sturdy.  With  all  of  her  strength,  Clara  makes  it  to  the  sofa  with  the  other  woman  in  tow  and  places  her  down  as  gently  as  possible.  Her  body  is  a  mess  and  a  mild  wave  of  panic  crashes  over  the  medic  as  she  deliberates  how  to  locate  the  source  of  all  this  blood.          “  Fuck!  No  te  muevas,  mija    —    quédate  aquí.  ”          As  if  Isa  could  go  anywhere  in  this  state.  In  a  series  of  seamless  movements,  Clara  glides  through  her  apartment  with  precision,  picking  up  everything  she  might  need  for  what  awaits  on  the  couch.

          Kneeling  beside  the  other  woman,  Clara  begins  cutting  off  what  shreds  of  clothing  are  haphazardly  draped  over  Isa’s  body      (  nothing  she  hasn’t  seen  before  and  she’s  not  about  to  ask  for  permission,  considering  the  state  of  her  ).      Surprising,  delicate  touch  draws  Clara’s  focus  as  she  looks  into  the  woman’s  eyes,  searching  for  some  sign  of  understanding.  There  isn’t  one.  The  obvious  wounds  are  easy  enough  to  treat,  but  she  can’t  account  for  internal  damage.          “  Talk  to  me,  Isa.  Tienes  que  estar  despierto,  ¿tato?  Dime  .  .  .  dime  qué  pasó.  ”          She’s  trying  to  remove  the  emotion  in  her  tone  that  will  make  her  voice  tremble.  She’s  seen  this  kind  of  brutality,  she’s  prepared  for  it.  But  not  with  Isa  .  .  .  Dios,  not  like  this.  Continuing  to  work,  cleaning  affected  areas,  and  stitching  up  gruesome  lacerations,  Clara  is  now  in  a  groove.          “  Isa  .  .  .  háblame.  ”

The couch is soft. Its the first thing, and the only thing she notices when Clara finally puts her down. The rest makes her feel hazy and disoriented, like she’s in a trance –– Clara is somewhere far away, muffled distantly and by the pain she’s not even sure she’s feeling anymore. She’s been taught to be numb to it. To put her hand over an open flame and let it burn through her skin and feel nothing, to be broken and rebuilt again and again until she feels nothing, but it doesn’t equate to blood loss. Hypovolemic shock is not about the pain, is about the way your body feels cold and hot all at the same time, about the way the room spins and she loses the feeling in the tip of her fingers when all she wants to do is reach over to Clara and answer her questions, when she feels herself slipping away in a black hole of nothingness and losing her consciousness. She has to stay awake, if not for her sake then for Clara’s ––

¿Dime qué pasó? And all of a sudden she’s there, stumbling through the hallway of that corporate building, picking up a semi automatic rifle from a guard in military gear that she’d just put a bullet through his skull (she hates collateral damage), and wiping blood from her hands on her dress and then –– Bros' oruzhiye! It was supposed to be easy. His name was Anton Turgenev, a middle aged Russian official involved in human trafficking in third world countries, and money laundering in the United States. She was supposed to make it look like an accident. But it had gone awry. Someone had given The Agency the wrong intel, and by the time Isa had managed to eliminate an entire floor full of Russian guards, she had made it out with a bullet through her shoulder and a knife to her gut. 

––––––– When she comes to, opens her eyes, she sees Clara again, and just like instructed, she dares not to move. “Remember I –– promised we would have di... dinner tomorrow?” She laughs (coughs), looks away, tries to hold in a breath. “–– Screwed that up. Sorry”.

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operativae​:

► @targetcode​

      It had been a few months since his last job, but that never bothered Riley ( formerly Owen Jones ). He knew well the ebb and flow that came with his line of work. That was why when he was given his next target that morning, he wasn’t shocked or caught off guard. All of the specs on the scientist came through in the usual, brief and seemingly vague encrypted email. It wasn’t Riley’s lot to know why his target was chosen ; he simply had to carry out the act and get paid –– trusting that his superiors knew what they were doing. As time went on, he was finding it harder and harder to blindly comply, but he pushed his own emotions aside and got down to researching the best strategies.

A few hours later, just as the assassin was jonesing for a break, he heard his next door neighbor return home. Isa was friendly, witty, and drop dead gorgeous ; a conversation with the brunette was just the break he had been looking for. After grabbing a carton of beer ( one that just two bottles shy of being a ’sixer’ ), he headed to the door next to his and gave it a knock.  ❝ Hey Iz ! Care to help me polish off a few IPA’s ? ❞ he asked through the door before putting a charming, roughish smile in place over his features.

There is always some sort of eerie silence coming from the other side of Isa’s door. Sometimes, the buzzing of the television is enough to alert her presence –– its a game show this time. An old rerun of Jeopardy (she hasn’t seen it –– she doesn’t get a lot of chances to, but she is now), from the reflection of the mirror in the corner of the room where she sits, perched up on the desk as she reads the information she’s sent on her ‘work’ laptop, furrowing her brows while she screws on a silencer to the barrel of her handgun. [ The 1952 novel that begins off the coast of Cuba, & ends on shore 3 days later. ] Isa smirks, types her credentials on her computer as she puts the gun down –– “I’ll take The Old Man and the Sea for all the money’s worth, Alex”. –– and hits the enter key just as she hears the tap on her door. 

Despite the way it startles her, it’s instantaneous and practiced how quickly she moves to log out and hide her laptop in her living room drawer, the gun behind a compartment behind the walls, behind the curtains. She opens them, to let the light inside her living room and grabs a towel from her storage closet to wipe her hands before tossing it towards the kitchen before making her way to the door. “Coming!” She opens the door then, after looking through the peephole and at the beers in his hand –– with a smile on her face. As far as she was concerned, Riley was harmless, and that alone was enough to put her at ease, so she steps away from the door and nods for him to come inside. “I’d love to, yeah. I have some time in my hands. I do have a work thing tonight but I’m sure we can make until then”. 

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today i felt significantly less like someone clocked me in the head repeatedly which hopefully means i will finally be around tomorrow to write. i had to up my topamax to 75mg a day and i’ve taken more pain killers than i would’ve liked but at least i had a very considerate decrease in light sensitivity and could watch television without the subtitles (which means i could watch it at a normal volume) so, maaybe i’ll see y’all tomorrow!

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i need one of those: “do you even know how to fly this thing?!” situations with isa where she has to commandeer a helicopter and she just glares at the person sitting next to her the entire time she’s trying to drive lksmdlfksnldkf

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genuine question are you latina?

yeah!