i don't need this life.

HORROR  AESTHETICS :

bloodied knuckles.    tear stained cheeks.    rust.    a busted lip.    claws.    fangs.    a bloody nose.    chattering teeth.    a dark space underneath the bed.    scratching noises on a wall.    creaking metal.   fog.    dancing under moonlight.    blood dripping lips.    heavy breathing in the dark.    a feeling of unexplained dread.    a figure in a dark corner.    dirty peeling wallpaper.    a bloody handprint on the wall.    sobbing in the dark.    bite marks on the skin.    eerie whispers.    a hood covering a stranger’s eyes.    the growl of a hidden animal.    the sound of a blade being sharpened.    a deep   ,   dark forest.    walking on the streets alone at night.    a cobweb-filled   ,   abandoned building.    eyes darting in paranoia.    a heavy beating pulse.    the feeling of being trapped.    struggling to get out a scream.    boards covering broken windows.    a quiet graveyard.    a gas station in the middle of nowhere.    a road that never ends.    heavy fog rolling in.    the scent of blood in the air.    eerie old photographs.    walking along train tracks at night.    a chill going up the spine.    gathering crows.   a dusty   ,   dimly lit study.    mist over a deserted cobblestone street.    ghost towns.    shadows around a campfire.    the sound of chanting.    church bells tolling.    an orange harvest moon.    a broken down carnival.    a dirty stuffed animal abandoned.    wiping bloody hands on fabric.    nightmares.    waking up in a panic.    a power outage.    heavy lightning storms.    a secret trap door.    the feeling of being watched.    fear from trauma.    a ouija board set out on a table.    an eerie doll.    a scream of anguish   &   pain.    withered plants.    a room that’s been forgotten   &   gathered dust.    owl eyes in the dark.    curled  ,   dead tree branches.    a ritual altar.    flickering candles.    a lantern held up in the dark.    fear of being followed.    creaking floorboards.   repressed   ,   horrible memories.    clenched teeth.    soft   ,   echoing piano keys.    an old book covered in dust.    many pairs of glaring eyes.    stumbling in pitch black darkness.    being stranded in the middle of nowhere.    tarot cards on a table.    a trail of blood.

   repost,  do  not  reblog,  with  the  information  of  your  muse,  including  headcanons,  etc.  if  you  fail  to  achieve  some  of  the  facts,  add  some  others  of  your  own !

name.    andal brask nickname(s).    andal, brask, hunter, sniper alias(es).    nah, he’s not creative enough for one of those age.    appears in his late thirties species.    guardian    /    light - bearing  human gender.    cis  male orientation.    pansexual, panromantic

class.    hunter subclass.    bladedancer, however can use solar light if he needs to - has never tried to use void alignment.    well, he is/was the hunter vanguard so... i’ll leave that for u to figure out

interests.    gunsmithing, sniping, general diplomatic tactics and being an all round Good Guy, perfecting his sniper rifle, fallen society/customs profession.    hunter vanguard / before that hunter scout/sniper, general nuisance to society  body  type.    ectomorph, short, stocky and generally built more for speed than strength hair.    dark  brown, looks to always be cut with his own knife, never really styled unless it’s pushed out of the way with a headband skin.    tanned, appears to be of latino decent  face.    worn, scruffy features, always has grime on him in some way or another whether that be gun grease or from the wilds, always has stubble of some form goin on too height.    5′9    /    172  cm antagonists.    various enemies of the vanguard and hostile races, himself colours.    deep red, black, gold, white, gunmetal grey, seaglass green fruits.    big fan of curry dishes or anything easy enough to make with limited resources. he’s not picky, just give him something cooked and he’s happy drinks.    anything carbonated alcoholic  beverages.    only really drinks socially, tends to go for the harder spirit types - is a fuckin lightweight my dudes smokes ?    nah drugs ?    nah, only painkillers when he returns to the tower after taniks because his connection to the light is much weaker drivers  license ?    probably, he likes to be Official

          they’d been picking away at this house raid for what felt like days, andal in the back with scout rifle primed as he picks off the stragglers and cayde up front and center with solar light burning all who came too close. the hoards felt never ending, impossible to keep track of as the two of them run their ammunition down to nothing more than dregs of what they once had. sniper can feel his light beginning to grow exhausted, can tell he’s slowing down when the kell eventually shows himself - when cayde throws himself into the fray followed by a call from the human demanding that he watch his back, to come back safe as andal stays in the background - taking shots to keep his exo safe. 

          the relief that washes over him in a hot rush is palpable as familiar figure emerges from a shower of ether - the sniper rushing forth only to skid to a halt as shock rifle blast silences the room. everything falls still. andal’s heart stops, chest lurches and breath catches as the two of them take in what’s just happened at the same time. a sympathetic pang in the hunter’s chest lurches him forward to catch the taller of the two before he hits the ground. “no no no no, no six?--fuck--sun...sundance?! sunny.. gal i need--no-- no c’mon--” the noise of vandals surrounding them is distant in andal’s mind as he cradles the exo close to his chest, hand flat against his stomach in a futile attempt to stem whatever’s happening. tears distort his vision, voice catches and the hunter’s chest lurches every time cayde takes one of those gasping breaths that struggle to fall off of voice modulator between them. “no no no, please--y’ can’t do this ta me--we--six... stars, cass- cass do somethin’ -- no, no-- listen, i don’--i don’ care! y’ gotta do somethin’ cass!--” 

        a blast, narrowly skimming the sniper’s back is what lurches him back into the present, what has him looking up from the mess before him, what drags his vision away from those flickering blue optics on his friend’s features to the barrel of a gun pointed at his face. cassidy’s voice rings through his mind, acting on instinct, andal’s hand is only half way to his sidearm when arc energy fills his vision-----

         air hits his chest all at once, seaglass gaze snapping open as a cold sweat sticks undershirt and armour to the hunter’s chest - his frame lurches upright, voice nothing more than a hoarse shout as he’s thrown from his perch atop golden age ruins, crashing into the dirt with a small whimper. pain splits through his vision, breath won’t catch in his lungs and andal’s left no option but to curl in on himself in the rubble, pulling tattered cloak around himself and shivering as tears soak into skin and every inch of his being aches with the same feeling it always has since he woke up at the bottom of a pit full of rubble. battered frame shudders, trembles in the cool night air beneath the stars as the former vanguard sobs quietly to himself. 

         just a dream. just a dream. just a dream. cayde is alive in the tower. he has to be. there’s no other option. andal made sure of that. made sure he’d be safe. he’s fine, he’s fine he’s fine... just needs to breath--just needs to calm down--- there’s a nudge at the back of his head, familiar warm metal hovering close as the sniper’s chest heaves, as knees are pulled up to his chest and those same tears find the concrete beneath him. he doesn’t notice cassidy hovering nearby, doesn’t feel her close anymore. not like he used to. he can’t feel the light either. the buzz of electricity is gone from his veins as battered and bruised frame twitches, heart racing behind cracked ribs.

         the hunt needs fine tuning, adjustments and changes that simply cannot wait. even if it has been years since he looked down her scope, even if it will be years until the next time he looks down the holographic scope of his prized possession. cassidy scolds him in the back of his mind for thinking in such a way, tells him that there’s always target practice off the top of the wall. but it’s not the same. being cooped up in the tower wasn’t kind to a hunter, perhaps it was even cruel, but andal wasn’t in a position to complain. he’s the vanguard. they need him here in the tower. cooped up in a metal box with a few windows to show him what he’s missing out on.

          still, he supposes he has cayde whenever the exo isn’t off causing trouble gods know where in the solar system. still has those blue optics and warm grin on metal features that he can read better than most people. even as he has to take a deep breath, in through is nose and out through his mouth, set his sniper rifle aside on the desk and turn to face the exo with a brow raised. the movement that carries vanguard to place himself between exo’s thighs is easy, smooth and effortless as andal looks to those blue optics through his own fringe. smirk is lopsided as hands find worktop either side of cayde’s hips and the bladedancer pushes himself up close. “oh really now?”

          “hey--gimme... hand me one’ve those fancy solar grenades--jus’--jus’ real quick--” they’re pinned down, as usual, a fallen walker’s dead husk the only thing between them and the hoard of angry eliksni that andal can vaguely translate as calling the pair of hunters every name under the sun. that fits. sounds about right for when the two of them get let out of the tower unsupervised. cassidy is screaming in his ear - something about arc and solar not being all that compatible. funnily enough. the hunter ignores her and turns back to the exo slumped down beside him.