ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵐᵉ ʷᵒᶫᶠ ⋅

BIOSHOCK  SENTENCE  STARTERS

          the  blood  doesn’t  interest  you  .  the  rapt  stinging  .  the  color  of  red  .  it’s  blinding  .  you  don’t  know  why  it  matters  much  .  there  are  far  more  important  things  to  tend  to  here  .  her  ,  for  instance  .  the  color  of  her  cloak  .  the  swelling  of  her  tears  .  she  is  crying  .  why  is  she  crying  ?  is  she  hurt  ?  is  she  hurt  ?  she  is  unscathed  ,  as  far  as  you  can  tell  .  so  ,  why  ?  isn’t  that  what  really  matters  in  the  end  ?

“you’re mistaken.” soft / calm / quaint. it’s held to her chest, tightened by frail arms and an unwavering conviction —– she’s not letting it go. not now. not ever. “this is for my daughter. not for me.” people never questioned when using that word. you don’t need to be related by blood to be family, after all.

@ruinblessed.

                    ❛    …  aylen ?    ❜

                    ❛    what’s  — –  what’s  wrong ?    ❜     O’ FOOLISH SUN ,  do not test the wolf that is backed into the corner .    her fangs are laced with venom ,  her heart wounded and filled with thorns .   perhaps he ought to heed her words  ;  perhaps he should leave .      but he doesn’t .       the initial distrust he had felt for her is miniature now when held against his newfound knowledge   ;  his concern .    ❛    a-are you … okay ?   c’mon , it’s getting pretty bad out here   ;  we should  -  …  we should go back to camp .   everyone’s been worried sick about you .    ❜

          laws  of  the  land  /  chapter  one  :  HUNTSMEN  DO  NOT  LIE  WITH  WOLVES  .  they  never  have  ,  and  they  never  will  .  wolves  are  nasty  ,  vile  ,  ill  -  tempered  things  .  they  will  bite  the  hand  that  feeds  .  they  will  tear  the  mouth  and  gums  .  they  will  eat  you  :  body  ,  mind  ,  and  soul  .  they  are  the  SCOURGE  of  the  storybooks  .  do  not  be  fooled  .

@ruinblessed

     she’s never exactly been the friendly type, so doing something like this didn’t really come naturally to her. she’s always been more guarded than most, an icy exterior almost always present to protect herself. relating to those her own age has always been a challenge–after all, her childhood was spent around adults, performing and showcasing her talents in order to gain the approval from her father’s friends. she knows it would be for the best for their makeshift team ( the remnants left after the fall of beacon ) to have some type of relationship with the girl ( after all, a team is supposed to trust each other ), but she finds forming that relationship difficult, especially since she’s not particularly fond of her. 

     but hey, at least she’s trying. 

     standing before her, she loads a dust cartridge into myternaster. that’s why she was spending time with her: to teach her to use dust. she was almost caught off guard when the other had mentioned she had never used it–then again, she did come from the most famous dust manufacturer company in all of remnant. her world practically revolves around it.

”so? are you ready?”

          the  blade  she  draws  is  not  beautifully  gallant  and  does  not  possess  the  sort  of  force  one  would  expect  from  a  vandal  of  her  stature  (  poised  ,  yes  /  brave  ,  no  )  .  nerves  draw  her  uncertainly  ,  distorted  ,  the  shell  of  a  former  beast  .  lithe  fingers  toy  with  the  ivory  hilt  restless  within  her  grasp  ,  a  grimace  lain  into  porcelain  features  uneasily  .          ‘  i  ...  ’

          DUST  :  THE  LIFEBLOOD  OF  REMNANT  .  however  essential  it  was  to  the  rest  of  the world  ,  it  was  nothing  but  a  lavish  fortune  she  had  never  been  worthy  enough  to  privy  .  too frivolous  ,  too opulent  .  too  good  for  the  likes  of  a  mutt  .  A  MOTHER’S  MANTRA  playing  in  her  mind  again  +  again  +  again  ,  a  sickly  lullaby  record  -  scratching  on  repeat  until  finally  ,  with  the  stiffened  shake  of  her head  ,  she  visibly  wavers  .        ‘  i  -  i  don’t  know  ,  weiss  ,  ’          her  sword  ,  barely  sheathed  and  pitifully  unnamed  ,  lowers  without  so  much  as  a  fight  .        ‘  my  weapon  isn’t  ...  compatible  with  dust  .  you  know  that  .  there  are  no  cartridge  holders  ,  no  room  for modifications  ,  and        ’

a chime of laughter ,  soft & loving  ;  there’s no denying that their banter is one of his favourite things about her .    ❛    oh c’mon ,  it wasn’t that bad !     ❜    face presses against hers ,  something akin to a purr rumbles deep within his chest .   he lights up then ,  a new thought striking him full - force as he pulls back to lock gazes with her , a playful grin stretched wide across his face .    ❛    hey  — –   say you love me .   ❜

     the wolf’s growl is cut short & all that lingers is silence, heavy upon their shoulders. watching the aftermath of such a thing makes it seem like a still-life portrait rather than the present time. a single silhouette doused in moonlight, shadows dancing ‘round her form & disappearing into the night sky. there is no breeze. even the cold snow beneath her feels like nothing.

     all it takes is a sentence - like an archer’s taunt bowstring released, arrow striking true - to shatter the illusion.

          “ i – “ death was always an afterthought. a concept skirted around, danced with as if to portray them as friends rather than enemies. death always chases but the rose carries thorns, thwarts its attempts at retrieving her as she sing-song’s ‘ it’s not my time, ‘ a taunt partnered with her use of the reaper’s own weapon.

     all that seemed to phase her now was the wolf’s sharp tone, near snap of jaws with the declaration she already knows. she tenses. “ i was just trying to help ! “

     recklessness out of concern is still recklessness, & at the end of the day she is no more invincible to the bloodied teeth of shadow & bone than the child wandering through the woods without a bread crumb trail leading home. but that won’t stop her from trying to be. “ i – you ran off ! “ she stands, little red facing the big bad she perceived as a friend. “ you just ran & didn’t even say anything, what was i supposed to do ?! “

          ‘  I  DIDN’T  WANT  YOUR  HELP  !  ’

          A  WOLF  IS  A  WOLF  IS  A  WOLF  .  a  black  dog  ,  a  butcher  hound  ,  a  wicked  warg  of  the  wilds  .  she  has  stories  written  in  her  name  (  countless  ,  hundreds  )  ,  nightmare  scripts  bound  with  bone  and  the  grimmest  fables  ever  told  .  these  are  the  myths  that  are  written  in  blood  :  primordial  ,  cautionary  ,  and  the  very  ,  very  first  .  DID  YOU  REALLY  THINK  YOU  WERE  SAFE  ?  to  climb  into  the  mouth  of  a  beast  ,  to  curl  up  ‘round  her  fangs  ,  and  slumber  soft  /  sweet  .  how  foolish  .  how  naive  .  a  dead  wolf’s  mouth  can  still  land  a  bite  .  silver  like  the  moon  ,  and  her  eyes  are  seeing  red  .  the  strident  snap  of  her  voice  goes  on  to  burn  rust  .        ‘  i  want  you  to  leave  !  i  want  you  gone  ,  ruby  .  i  want  you  to  just          !  ’

          her  words  fall  short  ,  like  a  candle  snuffed  and  suffocating  .  the  cold  winter  wind  knocks  sensation  back  into  her  skull  ,  the  echoes  of  her  bleeding  heart  still  waning  aloft  their  crowns  .  the  land  is  quiet  here  ,  now  .  she  feels  a  maggot  of  guilt  worming  its  way  inside  her  .

          i  want  ,  i  want  ,  i  want  .  her  fists  un  -  clench  .  her  breathing  shallows  .  just  what  do  you  want  ,  you  selfish  ,  sallow  girl  ?        ‘  ...  if  i  run  ,  you  stay  ,  ’        be  safe  .  just  be  safe  .  this  is  all  i  should  beget  ,  and  yet  ...        ‘  you  don’t  follow  me  ,  understand  ?  ,  ’        come  back  ,  come  back  ,  come  back  to  me  .  my  god  ,  my  god  ,  i’m  so  sorry  .        ‘   i  don’t  want  you  here  ,  ruby  .  ’

@ruinblessed

     CLOCKS ARE BEGINNING TO lose their value —– why bother telling time when the world is being engulfed in an eternal night? Witching hours are beginning to overstay their welcome, but naught will persuade them to leave and allow the sun to once more rise. The train is hollow, save for the Noctis, the conductors, and the other four… three. Steel carries them closer to the snowlands surrounding the heart of the Empire, but before they can feel the Glacian’s breath ‘pon their skin they must once again suffer another interruption from scourge’s spawn ( the true reason why all fear the dark ).

     They are stronger than they seem, the imps. Glass pierces the silence and shatters to the aisle’s floor, launching from amidst the shards a winged gremlin. Claws dig themselves through threaded ebon, the daemon’s weight sending the crystal’s chosen slamming against the wall ( his brain nigh rattling about in that skull ). Surprise is promptly drowned by a surge of vexation; he’s long grown tired of dealing with these damned things. Ivories gnash, and in the wake of crystalline fragments igniting in his grasp is the familiar blade known for a hilt composed of an ENGINE. A parry is enough to stagger the creature desperately reaching to slice his neck, and he finishes it off with a heavy boot between the eyes, sending it back through the broken window.

     A war drum plays within his rib cage, eyes frantically darting about surroundings whilst trying to recollect memories of his comrades’ whereabouts. Gladio and Ignis should be up ahead, giving them a chance to group up with Biggs and Wedge.

     But what about…?

          DEATH  has  been  their  crib  -  mate  for  as  long  as  she  can  remember  :  from  mother  to  grave  ,  to  brother  and  further  still  .  it  rattles  at  their  youth  with  a  crumbling  murmur  ,  a  rotting  dissonance  that  claims  lullabies  as  kin  .  it  takes  and  takes  and  takes  and  takes  .  they  are  sunken  and  they  are  steeped  .  what  have  they  to  fear  from  the  night  ?

          everything  .

          she  tastes  blood  .  from  where  ,  she  is  unsure  ,  mouth  long  dry  and  rasping  in  pain  .  her  whole  body  ignites  and  nothing  but  the  fire  can  be  felt  .  how  strange  :  a  scathing  numb  .  the  thought  itself  is  nearly  lost  ,  mind  blanking  in  time  with  skin  .  the  world  sways  ,  but  she  pays  no  mind  to  the  doubling  .  there  is  no  time  for  thinking  ,  now  .  focus  .  focus  .  daemons  to  purge  ,  brother  to  save  .  the  air  feels  clotted  as  she  takes  in  a  hissing  breath  ,  lithe  arm  striking  an  impossible  blow  to  these  damning  ,  hell  -  scorned  things  .  a  smile  :  weary  and  vice  .  surely  ,  it  is  born  from  ego  .  there  is  something  satisfying  in  the  way  their  corpses  succumb  ,  something  satiated  by  the  blunted  kill  .  anger  ?  love  ?

          she  collapses  before  the  thought  completes  itself  .

          the  burning  has  long  since  died  ,  the  heat  of  her  stupor  extinguished  .  it’s  cold  ,  an  afterthought  .  her  body  ?  the  ground  ?  the  fever  of  adrenaline  wanes  and  all  sensation  returns  to  her  ,  a  sharp  ache  stabbing  at  her  neck  .  argent  follows  the  leaking  trail  pooling  beneath  her  head  ,  then  shuts  itself  away  at  the  find  .  cold  and  red  .  she  would  laugh  ,  if  she  could  .

     WHO ARE YOU TO DISTURB THE PEACE & LEAVE WITHOUT A SCRATCH ?

     this is not a fairy tale ( you could never repeat that fact verbatim, ) & you do not carry the immunity of heroes. should your people not hear the snap of twigs beneath your boots, that of another kind surely will. soulless, shifting shadows leaving wispy trails in snow, a warning unheeded in the midst of panic. she bears witness to the disappearance of a girl; jet black fading into nothingness, & she is left once more as the hooded girl lost in the forest. the prey of one lingering near, thud of massive paw signalling arrival.

     it’s too late.

     what big ears, what sharp claws. ( all the better to kill you with !! ) burning eyes & jutted bone remain the only features visible against the blackness that has gained sentience. such a creature is never kind to that of a rose, thorns bared or cloaked by soft petals. the roar shows as much.

     quick turn & hitched breath, movements all too quick with the rush of adrenaline. her body falls with little grace, tripping over boots in her haste, more childish girl than fearsome huntress as the wolf towers over her. it all comes down to instinct – textbook case of fight or flight, fight or flight. fight or succumb to the wolf …

     & then everything is over. chapter end.

     shadows bleed & crimson drips from fangs in the moonlight. silver would meet silver in the silence following slaughter, umbra slaying umbra. like a shadow slain by itself. ( did the stories ever tell of the wolf who was kind to red, even if such would endanger her life ? )

     one breath. two, then three. “ —— aylen ? “

          the  animal  bone  must  be  caught  awfully  deep  between  her  teeth  .  the  pelt  ,  the  meat  ,  the  sinews  .  shadows  are  much  stringier  than  she  remembers  them  to  be  ,  silken  threads  of  black  wisping  out  the  open  maw  and  tender  ,  tender  gums  .  they  taste  like  iron  and  they  taste  like  ash  .  they  taste  like  something  rosy  +  ruinous  .  surely  ,  she  knows  this  too  .

          the  story  is  over  .  the  wolf  is  now  dead  .  so  ,  why  are  you  still  alive  ?

          ‘         you’re  so  persistent  ,  ’        it  shatters  the  still  ,  timeless  air  in  an  instant  :  smoke  with  the  sound  ,  a  blood  moon  ,  and  pain  .  a  hiss  is  well  -  made  from  the  quivering  of  fear  ,  her  fists  all  clenched  and  knuckle  white  .  in  grievance  ,  she  is  frozen  .  she  does  not  turn  to  face  her  .        ‘  ...  you  could  have  died  ,  just  now  .  ’

INDEPENDENCE  .      you  don’t  set  out  to  be  different  for  its  own  sake  .  you  are  more  easily  guided  by  what  interests  and  moves  you  .  you  are  more  concerned  about  what  is  right  for  you  than  about  the  pressure  to  fit  in  .  you  know  the  value  of  selective  irresponsibility  ,  of  forgetting  occasionally  about  being   ‘  good  ’  .

SENSITIVITY  .      you  have  delicate  ,  sensitive  perceptions  .  you  can  be  deeply  moved  by  appearances  :  the  right  light  in  a  room  ,  or  good  food  ,  or  the  texture  of  a  piece  of  clothing  .  expressive  ,  intelligent  language  has  a  powerful  hold  on  you  .  your  mind  works  better  when  it  is  inspired  and  provoked  by  vivid  imagery  .  it  can  be  sad  to  live  in  a  world  which  is  often  so  ugly  and  not  properly  looked  after  .  but  you  know  that  things  can  be  otherwise  ,  and  you  have  the  ability  to  appreciate  the  world  at  its  best  .

heteroromantic  .  homoromantic  .  biromantic  .  panromantic  .  aromantic  .  demiromantic  .  heterosexual  .  homosexual  .  bisexual  .  pansexual  .  asexual  .  demisexual  .  monogamous  .  polyamorous  .  long term relationships  .  casual relationships  .

bold  :  FAVORITES  .  italic  :  turn  -  ons  /  likes  .  strike  :  turn  -  offs  /  dislikes  .

DANDELION  .      scrappy  and  tough  ,  you’re  a  pull  -  yourself  -  up  -  by  -  your  -  bootstraps  kind  of  person  .  you  don’t  give  up  easily  and  you  often  thrive  in  situations  that  others  would  find  discouraging  .  you have  an  instinct  to  serve  others  and  see  yourself  as  most  useful  in  times  or  places  of  crisis  ,  but  you  may  over  rely  on  your  toughness  and  forget  how  sensitive  you  really  are  .

FENNEL  .       you’re  quiet  ,  sometimes  shy  ,  with  a  tendency  to  be  reserved  .  you  have  a  humble  ,  kind  nature  and  often  find  yourself  taking  care  of  others  .  you  can  be  known  to  hold  things  in  ,  and  you  don’t  always  speak  up  for  yourself  .  this  tendency  to  hold  things  in  can  lead  to  disturbances  .

SMELL  .          rot  ,  and  /  something lilac in the early morning  /  a primeval carcass gnawed hard against the jaw  /  primordial burial ground  ,  that is  /  the grave of the divine  /  i found my baby’s little soul trapped in one of the caskets with  /  a cigarette  ,  burnt incense  /  the remaining flesh grown green with age  ,  the gums gone black with plaque and  “  i love you  ”  /  i thought smoke would bring the life back to your eyes  ,  then  /  nothing  ,  nothing  /  honey  ,  you look all the same  /  glassy - eyed  ,  numbed bone  ,  vines all winding  /  the scent of death and something sweet  /  of dahlia buds growing soft between the ribs  .

SIGHT  .          an altar  ,  lamb’s blood dripping scarlet and ire  /  a ritual sacrifice  /  drive the knife through the heart of jeruselum and see a girl wearing fleece as skin  /  see a girl tied to the banks of the sea  /  left to drown  /  left to die  /  the body of a girl rejected by god  /  a virginal corpse  ,  a crack in the ceiling  ,  and the damask shredding pale of light  /  so  ,  the apocalypse comes much sooner than you anticipate  /  it comes in a blur and in something grey  /  comes bleaker than you hoped  ,  slower  ,  unavoidable  /  it comes as a woman for a reaper  ,  so you drop to your knees and pray  /  the sky was a bruising shade of violet  ,  a shattered horizon line  /  the severity of it makes you sick  .

TOUCH  .          something barely feasible  ,  an almost collision  /  a promise of silk never kept  /  moving between velvet and lace and  /  thick and retching  /  something rich and satin between the sheets  ,  but torn  /  you find a knife by her bedside because she can’t sleep alone anymore  /  you find a boy by her windowsill still begging to be let in  /  both feel like wasted potential  ,  but you know  /  it feels like a red light  ,  a warning sign  ,  a flood alarm  /  beware  ,  beware  /  when he slides his hands up her skin without permission  ,  the bile in your throat grows that much thicker  /  she stops  ,  she chokes  /  the knife she holds stings like catastrophe  ,  aches like a girl forsaken by choice  .