୨୧╼ Violet Was No Stranger To Disastrous Events. Whether Misfortune Was Big Or Small Could Cause

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grabbing you by the throat

random asks. ୨୧ always accepting

are you flirting with me? /j 

hey angel! <3 <3 <3

i got a late night quesadilla, and i have 0 regrets. now i am re-energized and vibing. gonna get back to writing. feel free to hmu. <3 ur girl has a bazillion ideas.

୨୧╼ plotting call. who wants to plot out dynamics and relationships with my morose babe? willing to adapt her to basically any media - and create unique verses.

So many feelings Pent up in here Left all alone, I'm with The one I most fear I'm sick and I'm tired Of reasoning Just wanna break out Shake off this skin

I, I can't Escape myself

the tags some of ya'll writing in my promo are making ur girl tear up.

☢ ╼  WALKSWASTES. a tri-muse fallout rp blog ft. lucy maclean, courier six, and lee moldaver. as explored by phantom ( she/her & 30+ ).

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୨୧╼  Thanks to faux documentation crafted by Violet’s brother Klaus; she was able to exist amongst monsters. Even if being in their presence alone made her stomach churn. Yet she did not have the luxury to avoid them, she would do what she needed to survive. At least long enough to help the resistance accomplish something. 

       The poor manner in which he spoke German actually made Violet giggle. Languages not taught from a young age were difficult to learn. She did not judge him; the effort was appreciated. “It is quite alright.” Though her accent was still present, she spoke English clearly. “I am not good at what you do. I have read your file, very impressive.” When he inquired if she was Violet, she offered a curt nod. 

       Violet took a key that hung around her neck and used it to unlock a door clearly marked ‘Employees Only.’  Once inside she locked the door behind them, before she led them down the stairs. Slender fingers flicked the light switch. The room illuminated to reveal a workshop filled with various tools, inventions, and weapons. “The Nazis have made astonishing progress in technology. It is my job to take salvaged equipment apart, figure out how it works – and repurpose it for our cause. Do you have a preferred weapon type?”  

Blazkowicz's standard issue boots' heavy steps, taken in similar cadence to an army march, were unmistakable. His eyes, cold blue, narrowed as they scanned the establishment. Contact's supposed to be here. He caught sight of a few Nazis five pints deep and scowled. Felt like he was gonna throw up in his goddamn mouth. Of course he hated the bastards. But if he killed them now, he was a dead man, too. And if he were a dead man, they might never learn about what in the goddamn hell them krauts were doing in that big honkin' castle of theirs.

When he was addressed, he wiped the scowl (and the glare that had been directed at no one) clean off his face, and turned around. He wasn't in disguise -- uniform wasn't done being custom-tailored for him -- and thank God for it. If he had to spend any more time than he needed to in that thing, he might just do something he'd regret.

That must've been her. Sure looked like the description. Tall, slim, braids, pretty face, dark hair.

"Yes... let's," BJ responded in German. He could practically hear Agent One chastising him now: 'your German? Frankly, it's atrocious.'

"Sorry. My German isn't very good. Better at the whole, y'know... other parts of my job," he whispered once they were clear of any prying ears. "You Violet?"