#vairuler

[gulosite]

comforting :3c

send me ‘ comforting ‘ for my muse’s reaction to yours gently wiping their tears away after they’ve been caught crying ( no longer accepting cause i still got four of these to do OTL im so slow )

plot ? thinking of this being a slight alt of rays timeline : he remained sided with the gerudos during the civil war & did his best to help them recover after the war . perhaps because of his great efforts he is made gallilea's bodyguard ?? 100% can message me or ask for my discord to hash out more details if you want !

the demon sat at the top of gerudo fortress , wrapped with a small blanket around him watching the sun set as he ate some of his left over jerky . it was all he ever really ate . he didn't want to take resources from the mortal women & girls who truly needed it . ray had hoped to be alone with his thoughts - he only needed a moment to push them away . he always does but his ear twitches as the steps of another can be heard .

❝ you're supposed to be in bed . ❞ ray doesn't need to look back to know who approaches . he continues to stare off into the distance of the desert , his eye shaded in shadows . the war had happened so many years ago but it still weighs heavy on his heart : so many gerudos perished for no reason but the greed of the hylian king that demanded more & more ... that was when their princess was born . the desert rose . from a young age she had been trained for her rightful place after ganondorf dragmire ⸻ & ray was given to her as her personal bodyguard . none shall harm the princess so long as he stood .

❝ but i was thinking ... the effects of the hylians can still be felt ... those men care little for the harm they've done ⸻ they continue to do . ❞ his brow furrows and the tears build in his eyes . ray turns away from gallilea not wishing for her to be bothered by the mans trauma . it is not her responsibly ! but as the tears fall her hand comes softly to brush them away , the other softly on his shoulder to simply say ❛ i'm here ❜

he turns, looking to her with now a softness in his eyes : she was kind as she was beautiful .

❝ ... but i trust in your father to do what is right for you & your sisters ... if needed you will have my sword forever . ❞

[auberich]

@vairuler​ said:   ❝  every rose has its thorn, and there are no happy endings.  ❞

                                  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐃 beyond the western hemisphere in a vast sea of glistening orange,       sunlight goring twisting films of phantoms coming in        &        out of sight in prolific emptiness his laughter is hollow enough to flood with 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞.        for a moment he watched the limestone escarpments leashing the horizon,       red like a primordial wildfire awaiting the decoction of man.        the ultimate practitioners of war.

                                 the inescapable reminder that he's a plant in an ancient game.

                                his gaze returned to her.        all but divested of fate        &        past with a smile that never meets the eye        &        a face that had grown into a mask the manner a tree will grow bent to a tied sapling.        the antediluvian tradition of bygone civilizations,      the vermiculate blueprint braided in 𝐥𝐞𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 holding the intricate matrix of the world        &        there in every secret from its birth        &        wouldbe death long forsaken for roads        &        the pyres of 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬        &        he cannot find the kindheartedness to refute her claim nor fully fit the cheerful persona over the bitterness that's taken him.        his poison.        this,      before desertion.      before his cleverness sat him under the archons.      fed to him by his father. 

                               ❝      no  —  i suppose there aren't,      ❞        he said lightly,        &        the smile's still on his face.        there had been no happy ending for his once - father,        while he still bore his name,      nor between his once - brother        &        himself        &        not for 𝐊𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐢'𝐚𝐡.       he doubts there ever will        &        the idea toils at an old wound in his chest,      somewhere the child who had no passion to leave his skyless home on the precipices of the abyss,      content to eventually fall in with it.

                               his shoulders are heavy.        the day is bright        &        straining        &        he feels vulnerable,      exposed with too much empty space.        

                              ❝     i naively wrapped my hands around a bunch of roses once.      i wanted to gift them to my mother.        𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠,      but i haven't been able to bring myself to like them since.     ❞        a lie.        he has never attempted to gift his mother flowers nor closed his palms around a cluster of roses        &        yet he speaks the story so thoughtlessly        &        absent mindedly it might as well have been a vague        &        distant memory  —   but not of the selfsame child who miswandered so far in his journey in life        &        so arrived beyond that antique wall from which there was no return,      windowed in another world.        

                             (     he cannot tear the blankets from his bed        &       cocoon himself beneath the frame,      outside of the much too large room as that child would have nor act coy        &        pitiable        &        forgettable.     )        

                             ❝    though i do have a fondness for calla lilies.     ❞      a truth.

[tnsga]

@vairuler​ said:   ❝ and i thought my family was fucked up. ❞

                              ❛     𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐀.     ❜       his steps halt in the polyphonic cold of moonlight.      the ember of the desert’s heart paled        &        clinging to polluted warmth as if to release it would be to expel the last abound breath of glassed lungs alchemized to be excavated from thawing pilasters of salt        &       ice at the nascence of a demon reign unhindered by the multilegged crawl of his name loping from moth eaten maxillas who think themselves fervent gods in their hunger for demise.      who’ll be teeth to her sword if she knows how to call upon them.      when the wisps of an era bygone are dusts        &        scents swirled from sedimentary rifts        &        vermiculate hieroglyphs of a leaf’s labyrinth.      suspended seconds grotesque        &        half mad        &        the stars falling in bitter arcs.      he looks for blackness,      holes in the heavens.

                                 his eyes find her behind an iron shoulder with an absence of gilded stoicism.      like his soul’s been pulled from some foreign geography        &        for a first he is there whole,      attentive        &        corporal in mind but the nature of his thoughts are concrete silhouettes by a dull veil of glaucoma.       ❛    i would not inherit my father’s downfall.     ❜      

[inuyaksha]

@vairuler​ said :     🌷 !

        there’s  a  cloying  comedy  sticking  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth  in  the  sense  that  it’s  the  rotten  skin  of  an  over  ripened  fruit  he  can’t  peel  from  the  inside  his  cheek      &&      mushy  pink  mesocarp  wedged  between  his  teeth  inundating  his  taste  buds  in  tipsy  disorientation      &&      the  sardonic  joke  of  it  all  :  this’s  a  world  away  from  digging  whole  graveyards  in  the  scope  of  an  evening  otherwise  abjectly  untouched.        his  hand  in  constructing  two  or  three  metropolis’  for  the  dead  in  the  span  of  a  week  ,      toiling  through  gore  stained  dirt  where  hours  before  had  been  the  mundane  agricultural  village  bustling  at  the  heels  of  its  𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭  𝐨𝐫  𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐬  ,      the  locomotion  junctioned  at  the  door  of  her  temple  with  the  to      &&      fro  of  unsuspecting  people  thwarted  like  lambs  to  a  pack  of  wolves        &&      his  own  morose  shattered  by  a  foreign  cry  for  sympathy  leaves  the  absence  melancholy  digested  amidst  an  over  saturated  stench  a’  blood  an  abnormality.        the  shovel’s  long  been  ditched  for  the  use  of  his  hands  instead  ,      grimed  wrists  scratched  with  soot  up  under  the  fire  -  rat’s  dragging  sleeves.      they  weren’t  digging  that  deep.      guess  everyone’d  agree  roots  were  easier  to  cover  than  bloating  limbs  ,      flattening  clawed  fingers  on  muggy  soil  far  from  the  equivalent  of  beating  down  pounds  of  clay      &&        —  —  —    —  -

        she  seems  perfectly  content  with  her  own  work  ,      handling  blossoming  stems  with  lithe  fingers      &&      patience  he  almost  envies  but  reciprocates  with  idle  silence  ,      pinching  dirt  off  his  hands  as  he  sits  in  the  company  of  the  sound  of  the  few  birds  resilient  enough  to  withstand  the  torrid  heat  ,    the  company  of  the  equally  calloused  song  they  sing  in  abodes  of  prickly  mesquites  bowing  noonwise  across  sediment.      small  feet  scurrying  in  the  encampment  of  a  few  sparse  shadows  tugging  at  his  ears  ,    drawing  out  precise  trails      &&      locations      —      he  can  tell  when  one’s  fallen  prey  ,    picture  how  it  lays  limp  as  it’s  dragged  beneath  the  sand  to  an  audience  of  ensconced  eyes  who  then  scatter  north      &&      west.      𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜  𝚘𝚏  𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚛  𝚊𝚞𝚡𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜  ,      satiated  with  minimum  necessities  maugre  the  hostility  of  their  smaller  worlds.        his  nose  scrunches  abruptly  ,      &&      with  a  mumble  :        ❛        not  to  say  all  our  hard  works  gone  to  waste  .  .  .      but  i  get  the  feeling  something’s  going  to  eat  them.      ❜

[archaelogy]

      @vairuler​ : ❝ i plan on getting under your skin. ❞

the poison smell of roses     &&     marigolds shivering in desert heat  .      beads of sweat down the petals  .      within the snowglobe membranes you can see small tadpoles of effervescence swim     &&     then slip onto the ecru stone or soil below   ,     skittering fro in many directions all in eventual descent  .      there is a lily livered flower he eyes among the bunch   ,     feebly trying to spring on its feet   ,     isolated in white - stemmed blight   .        ❝       do you   ?       ❞

lacquered in faux surprise he turns his head to look at her   ,     imitating the same sweetness she had spoken with     &&     almost matching in sincerity  .      it falls with a close lipped scoff     &&     he fixes his sights on the flower again  .           ❝          may i ask for what reason   ?       ❞        she’s reminded him of someone he’s known but there’s no talisman on her ear  .      no small basilisk jetting cruor from their eyes in the brushes  .      but he’s certain there are instead a galore of small sand vipers hiding in the infinite griege dunes     &&     each thinks themself god  .        ❝       surely it’s not because i’ve gotten under yours first  .       ❞

[morgunstern]

by  the  time  he  manifests,      rising  like  a  great  serpent  from  beneath  the  sands      &      demanding  that  the  few  clouds  underslung  from  the  skies      &      MIASMIC  from  desiccation  jaunt  to  his  hands  the  sun  had  already  been  expecting  him,      its  azygous  eye  nacreous  through  malignity      &      vigil  against  the  horizon      &      two  esurient  hounds  held  against  elongated  leashes  extending  plainwise,      eager  snouts  inhumed  in  the  soil  trenchant  for  fiends.        even  in  the  expanse  of  its  possession,      dilated  through  most  of  its  demon  reign,      it’ll  fail  to  find  him  for  he  anticipates  it      &      with  flagitious  mirth  he  tantalizes  it  from  outside  it’s  reach.

spectre  ribbon  tugs  his  lips  upwards,      felid  gleam  prehending  slit  pupils.          ❝      it  must  be  so  unfair.      ❞          he  chimes  in  thinly  veiled  delectation,      reverberating  at  the  rounds  of  his  polysyllabic  sentence    —    ALMOST  LIKE  A  QUESTION.        he  feigns  sympathy,      cynically      &      PITIFULLY,      as  such  is  his  intent,      to  infuriate  her.          ❝      knowing  what  you  can’t  change.      ❞

       ☆ @vairuler !

[dethcraft-archive]

            A   GUISE   OF    FLAME    ,   DEATH    &    MAGMA   ALL   INTO   A    MUCH   SMALLER   APPEARANCE.        it   formed   his   mangled   body   into   something   more   of   FLESH   than  scale.     ash   coloured   skin    against    BLACK  ...   black.       it   mirrored   his   true   ,    raw   form   in   several   ways.       (   HE  DID  NOT  HIDE  THIS.     HE  WOULD  COME  AS  DEATH   ,    AS  DESTRUCTION.    )         pupils   were   that   of   a  reptilian    ,    fangs   &   nails   that   were   utter   daggers.        ‘     if   you    believe   that   there’s   an   escape   ,    then   a   FOOL   you   are.     ‘            */        @vairuler​

[sephircth]

HEED     THE     CHORDS     OF     SYZYGY  .               CHOIR     ISANGELOUS  .               aura     of     quietus  .               there     exists     a     fragment     of     HONOR     amidst     portrait     of     stain     glass     ,          distorted          &          shattered  .               amidst     madness          &          odium  .               a     grasp     upon     weaponry     ,          they     fallen     from     grace     ,          with     demeanor     of     storm          /          tranquility     to     𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞  .               distilled     winter          &          the     consumption     of     wildfire  .                         ❛                    ᴅᴏ     ʏᴏᴜ     ғɪɢʜᴛ     ғᴏʀ     ʀɪɢʜᴛᴇᴏᴜsɴᴇss  ?                    ❜                         spoken     saturn     ,          'neath     veil     of     pluto  .               monotony          &          apathy     carved     upon     his     face  .                         ❛                    ᴏʀ     ᴅᴏᴇs     ʀɪɢʜᴛᴇᴏᴜsɴᴇss     sɪᴍᴘʟʏ     ᴍᴀsᴋ     ᴛʜᴇ     ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ  ?                    ❜

    @vairuler    ⁎  * ⁎ ✵ ⁎ * ⁎