#kintsgi

@kintsgi​:   GIVE SMOOCH

𝐓𝐎  𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄  𝐖𝐄  𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | (accepting)

          🦴 // it’s a topic of conversation he’s often had the privilege of avoiding, something that he keeps to himself and no one around him would dare bring words to--marrow is an outsider in the high ranks of the atlas military, he was an outsider at the academy, and perhaps worst of all, he’s benefited immensely from a system that actively oppresses people just like him. the conflict that stirs within him, a clash between loyalties that both run so deep they’ve made up a lot of the foundational parts of him, is something that marrow has had to deal with all on his own, something he buries deep down and tries not to touch while he navigates a precarious situation.

          of course blake only means to empower him with what she says; she wouldn’t know the way that it taps into the guilt that he carries with him. for all that he’s been through, marrow can’t help but feel like he doesn’t deserve to relate to her and the other faunus he’s met--something about blake in particular and all the time they’ve been spending together since she arrived in atlas has him questioning exactly what that ‘something’ she’s referring to now could potentially be, though. marrow has seen all the worst that atlas has to offer, worked twice as hard as the people around him to overcome it, and for what? to be afraid to step up and fight for change when that’s what he’s wanted all along?

          icy hues lift to meet felid’s mismatched gaze, an uncharacteristic silence settling over the soldier as he mulls over her words. he feels nervous, a little sick to his stomach, and he’s not exactly sure why--perhaps it’s a reluctance to say anything that might paint his colleagues in a negative light, a fear of realizing his doubts about general ironwood with words. whatever it is, that feeling grips marrow so tightly that he withdraws, perking up suddenly as the more serious notes of his expression are quickly replaced by a cheery smile.

‘All my scars are golden’

~

My life will be a map you can trace Every little part of the story Make it beautiful and golden with grace But keep a little stain to remind me

That even when I mess up, that mess is still me Was knocked off the shelf, but I'm also complete I'm under the weather with no place to be But maybe that's just what I need

- Gabrielle Aplin, Kintsugi

~

          the sirens almost seem to trigger something within the hound, a jarring shift in his energy not unlike the pavlovian response, a term coined due in part to his own heritage. boundless energy once wild and unpredictable becomes hyper-focused on the reoccurring goal he endlessly strives to achieve, adrenaline already beginning to pull through his veins as he prepares for the battle to come. perhaps it’s this tunnel vision that leaves him vulnerable to felid’s unseen attack, her presence nearer to him left completely unnoticed until she’s dragging him in for a kiss.

          he yelps as she pulls suddenly at his jacket, stumbling into her kiss and seemingly delayed several seconds in realizing what’s going on. his tail begins to wag slowly, but it quickly picks up speed as soldier leans into the smaller hunter’s form, chasing briefly after her lips as she pulls away. 

         there’s a fleeting moment where he wonders if he should be flustered or embarrassed--clover probably saw that. vine probably saw it. harriet and elm probably saw it, and the rest of blake’s team. but even all the teasing in the world he could endure and then some is worth her kiss, the shock to his system that sings his infatuation with the belladonna through him all the way to his bones. even the ghastly creatures that line the snowy streets behind him won’t take the wind out of his sails tonight.

          the entire exchange couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but to marrow it felt suspended in time for far longer than that, pulse quickening, another rush of adrenaline drawing a wide grin to his mouth when nightshade speaks.

@kintsgi​   ›   it’s a cruel act , but not one the assassin regrets in the slightest. it’s revenge. the blade previously plunged into lie blood is yanked from flesh , flinging droplets onto moonlit grass below &. not once does blake turn to face her former friend. in fact she’s silent as she wipes gambol shroud off in the grass before placing it back along her shoulders. ❛ an eye for an eye. ❜ she calls , hushed in her tone. ❛ ... don’t follow me. ❜ &. with that , a shadow takes her place &. she flees.   ›   unscripted knife.

they hadn’t been able to dissociate blake with the colour grey for a very long time. in a world comprised of colour, in which it created the very foundation of their society they had since lost the ability to see it with the same vibrancy. living a life distorted by death, destruction, through the lens of a distorted psyche was beyond them. but sometimes, things came back into focus, and ren was reminded that they were surviving on half measures, that their life would never be as full as someone without a semblance that only tightened it’s hold on their neck. so when they sensed her   (   40%   )   they might not have been ready to combat her assault, but they were prepared   —   whether it was to endure or die was a different story. belladonna was swifter, and more driven by the bloodlust of an entitled rage, zeroed in on ren’s person. she swung with precision   (   30%   )   and all the determination of someone who had something to prove.

what could they say   ?   nothing really. their clan had been ordered to strike down her own. it didn’t matter that ren had been elsewhere, that they hadn’t personally been ordered to kill any of her clan. they aligned with the hémù assassins and therefore had to suffer. gods knew that they might done the same if the blade had been in the other hand. a dodge, the spark of blades as jade clashed her own obsidian metal.   (   20%   )   they could barely feel the pain of the attack, semblance closing in on them to send the last of their pain receptors into a deep sleep. they could taste the blood though, still feel the sensation of blood soaking into darkening garb. they knew this was meant to hurt, that they should have seen their own blood dripping off her sword   (   10%   )   and been horrified that someone who had once reminded them how much they loved the colours blue and gold could do this to them. but even when they looked up from the floor to stare at felid’s silhouette, she looks grey. the blood of sword looks an inky black, and her eyes   ...   just different shades of grey.

they knew it was meant to hurt, but now, all at once, they no longer care. they feel nothing.

(   0%   )

the last time they’d seen her, the light had gone out in their eyes, their already dim world was robbed of colour in its entirety. when they met her again in the lush green forest of beacon, they wondered if it would always be the same ? because since her betrayal, they’d never seen the colour gold the same way again. only dull yellows, or light browns.

the rest is grey. grey. grey.

excuse me while i just —