craftammo

[craftammo]

𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄    (a  series  of  nonverbal  prompts .   mature  themes  present ,   ‘ my ’  muse  belongs  to  the  one who  posted  the  meme  -  send   “ + REVERSE ”   to  reverse  the  prompts .)

→     𝐈 .    GENERAL

❛   hush .   raise  a  finger  in  a  gesture  to  silence  my  muse . ❛   sit .   gesture  for  my  muse  to  sit  down . ❛   door .   hold  a  door  open  for  my  muse . ❛   tap .   tap  my  muse  on  the  shoulder  to  garner  their  attention . ❛   hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . ❛   cook .   present  my  muse  with  home - cooked  food . ❛   brush .   work  a  brush  /  comb  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   read .   silently  read  a  book  alongside  my  muse . ❛   hand .   hold  out  a  hand  for  my  muse  to  take . ❛   dressed .   help  my  muse  put  on  an  article  of  clothing . ❛   note .   give  my  muse  a  note  saying :   [ content ] . ❛   amplify .   turn  up  the  music  in  the  car .

→     𝐈𝐈 .    ANGST

❛   patch .   help  my  muse  patch  up  a  wound . ❛   night terrors .   hold  my  muse  after  they  wake  up  from  a  nightmare . ❛   company .   silently  sit  with  my  muse  to  comfort  them. ❛   hospital .   my  muse  is  told  that  yours  is  in  the  hospital . ❛   revelation .   show  my  muse  evidence  of  a  lie  they  told . ❛   indulge .   find  my  muse  drinking  to  cope . ❛   downfall .   find  my  muse  collapsed  on  the  ground . ❛   console .   comfort  my  muse  as  they  cry . ❛   nurse .   give  my  muse  company  in  the  hospital .

→     𝐈𝐈 .    AFFECTIONATE

❛   wink .   wink  at  my  muse .  ❛   wrap .   wrap  an  arm  around  my  muse’s  [ shoulders  /  waist ] . ❛   caress .   gently  caress  my  muse’s  face . ❛   tousle .   mess  playfully  with  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   chest .   place  your  head  on  my  muse’s  chest .    ❛   comb .   comb  fingers  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   grasp .   run  to  my  muse  &  jump  into  their  arms . ❛   lean .   lean  on  my  muse’s  shoulder . ❛   tender .   kiss  my  muse  on  the  [ forehead  /  cheek  /  nose ] . ❛   abrupt .   kiss  my  muse  out  of  the  blue . ❛   chaste .   chastely  kiss  my  muse . ❛   good morning .   kiss  my  muse  the  morning  after . ❛   volumes .   gaze  at  my  muse  in  a  way  that  silently  says  ‘i love you’ .

→     𝐈𝐈𝐈 .    VIOLENT

❛   strike .   [ slap / punch ]  my muse in the face . ❛   gun .   wield  a  gun  at  my  muse . ❛   twist .   twist  my  muse’s  arm  behind  their  back . ❛   throttle .   aggressively  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   parch .   burn  my  muse  with  a  hot  object . ❛   take down .   forcefully  bring  my  muse  to  the  ground . ❛   gouge .   wield  a  sharp  object  at  my  muse . ❛  shunt .   shove  my  muse  backwards . ❛  stickup .   yell  at  my  muse  to  put  their  hands  in  the  air. ❛  shoot .   [ fatally  /  non-fatally ]   shoot  my  muse . ❛  stab .   stab  my  muse with a  [ knife / other object ].

→     𝐈𝐕 .    NSFW

❛   surprise .   send  an  unexpected  nsfw  image  to  my  muse . ❛   pin .   push  my  muse  against  a  [ wall,  table,  other ] . ❛   go down .   go  down  on  my  muse . ❛   choke .   intimately  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   belt loops .   pull  my  muse  closer  by  their  belt loops . ❛   skinny dipping .   go  skinny  dipping  with  my  muse . ❛   rip .   tear  a  piece  of  clothing  from  my  muse’s  body . ❛   mark .   leave  a  mark  on  my  muse’s  body  [ specify where ] .

[craftammo]

𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 . 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚊

this is daniela’s art, much as she takes to many of the books in her library or the instruments in the opera house, she is fluid in her motion, every shift of her hand or plucking of her fingers is done with grace and purpose. so utterly contrasted to her personality, always running in circles or stopping abruptly. her mind is a rat’s nest. the cadou did not take as easily to her as it did her older siblings. 

but that lethargic beauty is not seen in cassandra’s handling of the runes, rather it is sharp moves. hands so used to holding a knife and flaying skin rather than rolling bones in a velvet bag. daniela overdramatically sighs, yanking the bag from her sister’s grip.

“ they aren’t going to work with you if you aren’t meeting them half way, cass. “ she gives a glare but still leans close to the thrown items. it is said that nothing is an accident, if a card hits the floor, it must be read there. signs are not always place directly before one like words on a page. the omens are to be found everywhere. “ hmmm… well– this shape here. it is strange. look at the lines. “

her gloved hands trace along the nearly perfect lines of a few bones forming hard right angles. looking like a small rectangle, with a dried lentil within the bounds. 

“ it appears almost as a small coffin. a child within it. “ her annoyance with the caviler handling of her divination tools is lost as she pieces together her prophecy. “ no doubt, a child will be here but it will arrive in a box? hm!  oh– and this one. “ she points to an arrowhead that lay atop a chess piece. “ someone we love is going to be betray us or be betrayed by another they love. “

pale fingers tear the bag from her own and cassandra rolls her eyes, throwing her hands up before settling back into the role of simply watching. whatever delicate touch these divining bones need, she lacks it, “ i tried. i think that’s plenty towards meeting half way. “ 

despite her harsh and scattered throw, her sister doesn’t dismiss it as useless, still leaning in to read whatever has written itself here. all she sees is little detritus against stone, no patterns or symbols to be found. not like in the blood that spills at her feet or along her inner arms... not like the organs spilled onto cold floors, the power of a life rising from the body and beyond into the purpose she chooses. 

as foreign as this is to her, she tries all the same, following daniela’s finger and squinting to make out what she describes. it’s no use, though, “ it seems you’ve got children on the brain, dani. “ she laughs, the sound raspy and buzzing like a thousand wings, “ am i going to be an aunt? “ the question is teasing, but she finds her eyes drawn back to the pattern she cannot see, a small rush of apprehension stirring within her. 

once again she rolls her eyes, another ridiculous notion put forth by her sister, “ dani, the only person we love is mother and she would never betray us. are you sure you’re reading these right? “

[craftammo]

𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 . 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛

      lady dimitrescu seldom ventures into the castle dungeons.   they are her middle daughter’s domain,  where she composes haunting melodies of torment  —-  cracking bones,  tearing ligaments,  and bloodcurdling screams of agony made symphonic  —-  and though alcina has a rapacious appetite for torture of her own,  she isn’t quite so brutal as cassandra.   she draws her victims out for days,  sometimes even weeks,  until the ones who keep their tongues plead for death and the ones who don’t weep and moan until hoarse.   alcina admires her daughter’s passion,  but she simply can’t stand the mess.

      with some reluctance,  it is into one such gruesome scene which alcina steps to retrieve her tardy daughter.   paying no mind to cassandra’s mewling prey,  the matriarch of house dimitrescu grimaces faintly at the indeterminate gore but maintains her flawless composure,  her head at a tilt and a smile on her blood red lips.   ❝  i’ve sent three maids to summon you for lunch,  cassandra.   surely you aren’t so occupied that you can’t join your mother for a meal.  ❞

@craftammo  /  𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀

strength is released from the muscle one little cut at a time, tissue snapping like rubber bands. each scream is another note in the harmony and she closes her eyes to savor it. after all, what is the hunt- what is the kill- without true appreciation of all the victim was? there is no power in the death and consumption of something faceless. 

cassandra may not have daniela’s talent for foresight or expertise with the dried remnants of the once-living, but she has her own skills. ones she revels in. she has transformed the castle dungeons into a bath of stone and blood. the only people who come down here to her do not leave her, even the ones that get up once again, gasping out whispers of her name. 

so it surprises her to hear her mother’s regal, heavy voice echoing behind her. those pursed lips as red as the viscera her cream-colored dress trails through. 

eyes wide, cassandra quickly turns from her project, head bowed, allowing interruption for the first time today, “ i am sorry, mother, i was focused on my work. “ stretched upon a metal table, one of the maids sent only an hour before lays whimpering, pale skin peeled open across her bicep, “ i felt it important to finish the ritual... “

[craftammo]

Resident Evil Village by Jialuan Lee

[craftammo]

𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 . 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚐

“who the fuck is wearing shorts, it’s fucking winter.” he waves off the insult, but cannot help but note that angie and her dear ventriloquist are, apparently, quite the observant pair. it’s a small blessing that he so often isolates himself, out of necessity and spite both - any dalliances would end in tragedy and worse, angie’s chittering voice to rub salt in the wound. the annoyance he can deal with, but the idea of giving the little doll the satisfaction of ammo for her loaded mouth? absolutely not.

for all of his habits, donna is not so different. alone and left unattended up in the mist, the touch of a creator and her subjects something that teeters on the edge of the uncanny, left to stew in her loneliness and madness. they were both so young - he prefers not to think about it. donna may be a victim, but he refuses the entire concept. the contrast between them is mitigated by her vocal vessel, who indulges in his kind of chaos.

“waiting for prince charming to sweep you off your feet? i think donna might have something else in mind.” an amused grin accompanies his words - he’s no idiot, despite how he piles on the cavalier attitude when in company - a pointed acknowledgement, refusal to allow donna to sink into the background. this game they play between them, where he attempts to peak under the veil and she weaves her web to trap him, too many times has he allowed her to shrivel back into nonexistence. it’s getting old. sooner or later, he’ll rip it from her.

“it would be such a shame if donna was too distracted by finding you a handsome suitor. mother miranda wouldn’t be pleased at all.”

she cants her head with a cackle, big eyes blinking with audible clicks, “ weird, huh? wonder who put those wolf boys in those little shorts then. good thing i like a mystery! “ it is angie’s voice that calls out the observations, but donna’s eyes that catch details around the village. another benefit of fading into the scenery, disappearing like a ghost amongst the shadows; she sees more than anyone realizes. 

donna would see even more if she strayed beyond the wall of mist more frequently, but she’s never been one to leave the confines of her comfort. angie is walking, talking proof of that. 

the doll snorts, little disjointed arms extending out as though she is waiting for an embrace, “ they keep trying but none of ‘em are good enough! besides, i could never abandon donna. she’s so pathetic- what would she do without me? “ 

it’s a needed reassurance, a necessary comfort from angie’s voice after her brother’s comment. she’d flinched beneath her veil, grateful for the way it obscures her features. it seems she isn’t the only one making observations... and donna hates to be seen. so angie gets louder, more in his face, more of a distraction as donna shrinks into herself. 

“ hah! as if anyone needs to find a suitor for me. i’ve got them lined up at the door begging for my hand. i gotta send the others out to chase them off! “ she sweeps an arm, gesturing to the rows of dolls sitting sweetly on every surface, all those glassy eyes locked unnervingly on karl. 

[craftammo]

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛 . 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚐 

@blitzkriegers​ said :  gouge . 

mother never lets them have fun amongst each other; too much emphasis put on family and the need to support each other. they get in scraps, of course, but mother always steps in, her powerful voice filling the entire castle and sending them scattering to their various rooms. 

cassandra loves her sisters, but she craves the challenge they can bring. after all, no simpering villagers can ever truly test her and she’s long grown bored of the animals that run wild in these mountains. it has been decades since the snap of a bear’s neck and the warmth of its blood has felt satisfying. even the sweetness of a maiden’s heart held to her lips cannot replace the need for a fulfilling hunt. 

it is a mild day, warm enough that the fluttering wings along her skin can continue to beat in the sun, so she strays beyond the confines of mother’s domain and slips into the territory of her uncle. she knows her mother would be furious, but heisenberg’s wolves are one of the few remotely interesting prey remaining. at the very least, they come in numbers. 

still, it is disappointing how quickly they fall. how mindless they are; so easily cornered. it seems that, while given the strength of animals, they’ve been reduced to the same base intellect. there are bodies strewn around her feet, blood pooling, sticky and dark. 

she raises her blade again, ready to swing down on yet another, trying to find some beauty in this, trying to capture that rush she craves so dearly. the splitting of skin doesn’t come, but the excited fluttering of wasps within the hollow of her chest finds her all the same as her sickle is torn from her gasp, flies dispersing around it to avoid being slashed open and bled out like the beasts she’s killed. 

her head snaps up, eyes wide, teeth bared in something like a grin as she sees who stands behind her, her own face reflected in black disks, “ hello uncle. you know, it’s dangerous to interrupt someone when they’re hunting- they might mistake you for prey. “

[craftammo]

𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 . 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚊

she laughs so hard that gnats escape out her open mouth, moths fluttering upward as she expels air from deep within her facsimile of a body. the nets in the hollow spaces that act as lung, upset by her raucous behavior. 

“ i don’t tell you anything that i do not see! “ she turns her attention towards the bones again, still giggling through clenched teeth. “ this is how it goes. see– “ 

her finger hovers for a moment, as if unsure where to go before finding the wishbone, still brown from the blood that absorbed into it from a lifetime under the skin. the bone slopes over the collection of flanges, arranged in a small cluster. a fetus, ready to pass into life. 

“ no life lay within us, we are but vestiges of rot and decay. “ daniela speaks mostly to herself, as if she sit, bowing over her runes, alone. as if cassandra is not there. “ but these do not lie. a child is coming. “

she rolls her head on her neck and rakes her fingers through the dirt, gathering all her little artifacts into a pile that she then scoops back into the small bag. a quick tug of the strings before she holds it out towards her sister, stifling a laugh.

“ alright, you are going to cast the runes this time, for me. shake the bag a few times then drop them out. “

insects pass from her sister’s lips like secrets, vanishing into the mild air. a stray moth flutters, lost and alone, before it lands on cassandra’s arm and disappears into the shape of her. she wonders if the wasps that form her heart might sting and crawl inside, eating it from within. 

“ maybe you need your eyes checked, dani. even if those parasites could grow inside us, what use would i possibly have for one? “ she scoffs, her slight scowl a contrast to daniela’s near manic laughter. as much as disbelief makes a home in her, however, she cannot truly deny her sister’s vision. never has the youngest been wrong; each blood soaked bone placed so carefully by the fates, each tooth and feather writing themselves across the stone like the word of god. 

it’s been a long time since she has felt anything close to fear, but apprehension itches beneath her breast at this foretelling of a child. it must be significant to show itself in daniela’s runes. 

she watches as the curiosities are scooped back into the stained bag, sighing as it is handed to her. still, she reaches out and takes it. there is a faint rattle of bone against bone as she shakes it, rolling the contents between her fingers, smelling the dried blood that has soaked into the fabric. finally she tugs at the opening and dumps it unceremoniously onto the ledge, “ well? “

[craftammo]

𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 . 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚐

they should be opposites -  silent and mournful, the most real child compared to him, brash and demanding, the favoured son against his will - he should hate everything about her and yet despite her refusal to acknowledge her own existence, there is a fondness for her that is not spared for their other siblings beneath all the vitriol that burns in his chest. 

the poor girl is starved for family and he muses quietly, if only for a moment, if someone as intelligent as her has realised that they’re pawns in this game. would she object, if it meant losing another family?

if he had any sympathy, he might spare some for her, but the wound is old and he cannot forgive any of them for allowing miranda to do this to them.

as always, his attention diverts back to angie - she commands the room almost as well as he does despite her small stature. it’s a jarring thought to imagine her voice coming from donna’s shrinking self. “inviting me into your workshop? i didn’t realise you liked me so much, angie. i hate to break your little heart, but you’re not my type.”

that sharp little laugh again, so entirely opposite of everything donna seems to be. everything about angie is. she’s someone to stand up for her and stand in for her; a sister, a friend, or maybe some version of herself she wishes she could be, “ hah, yeah, i’m no village boy in tight little shorts. “ 

she rises closer, those invisible strings carrying her right into his face, her jaw clacking like she might just lunge and take his nose off, “ don’t worry, you’re not my type either. i like ‘em handsome. “ angie in her pretty dress always meant to marry some dashing man. a little girl’s fantasy. a dream someone else had for her; her family, her father. 

donna, though, donna thinks of the disconnected pieces of the beautiful doll laying on her work table. soft curves, full lips, glittering eyes. the perfect image of a woman, and one who truly could offer companionship. not like the living ones... 

“ you wouldn’t even make a pretty doll. “

[craftammo]

jill is my comfort character so i’m gonna be over at stillaware for a while

when i do come back here i’ll probably be moving manuela onto here rather than her own blog so its all easier to keep track of 

[craftammo]

𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 . 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚊

cassandra married young back in the 50s. even before tying the knot she was dissatisfied, unable to find happiness with the man who had proposed. she’d never had interest in that sort of life; never wanted kids, never wanted to stay home and take care of a man. she never wanted to be with a man at all. 

her husband had a love of hunting and would often spend the weekends out with his friends and a rifle. occasionally, he would bring cassandra along- her purpose to take care of them while they did the “men’s” work, and to help skin and clean the animals. despite the way they looked at her and treated her as less, cassandra savored these days in the woods. she loved the visceral, primal tear of knife to flesh and the beauty of such a complex system created by nature and nature alone. still, it wasn’t enough. 

one day a deer came too close to camp where she was waiting alone. excitedly, she shot it, the thrill tearing through her as she watched the bullet puncture its side. new with a gun, it didn’t die immediately, and so she grabbed the knife she used for skinning and she finished it off. 

that was only the start of her obsession. 

after that she refused to stay behind as the men started out in the morning; grabbing a gun for herself and disappearing into the trees. always she would come back with some bigger or better game than them, and it made her husband furious. he began forcing her to remain at home when he took his hunting trips. so cassandra began to go out on her own and, when he locked his rifles away, she began taking only a blade. 

it was an art to her. a beautiful little game with nature as they each tested each other in equal measures. there was power in the sacrifice and more, still, in the ritual of disassembling the bodies. but her husband could not stand her going against him, emasculating him, and betraying her “duty” to him. 

he tried to contain her, but he had been nothing to her for far too long. all he was in her eyes, was another animal to hunt and pull apart. with only her blade and her hands, she brought him down like any other game. only then did she finally find something worthwhile in him; something wonderful in the spilled organs and the blood adorning her like a gown.

[craftammo]

𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 . 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚐

“i think we both know that they would. they can barely contain themselves as it is. the poor things can’t even fucking go outside - they’d have no choice but to eat her. suppose they’d be picking at it for years to come.” a grotesque thought, but an almost delightfully ironic possible fate given their proclivity for devouring flesh. 

he watches donna, the slight movements as if she’s out of focus and unseen. they are the lucky two, mostly untouched physically by their gift, but she acts like her fate is far worse than that of their unfortunate many-eyed brother. whatever happened to her and her family must have changed her long before the parasite entered her system. there’s no doubt in his mind that miranda has only made it worse, affirmations of her fears so that she doesn’t dare consider that there are other possibilities than miranda’s love.

the chair swings back onto all four feet as he bends over, slipping off to crouch in front of angie and meet her eye-to-eye. so bold and brash despite the little screws that would lock her jaw shut, her old white lace stained and frayed, curls of blonde hair that cling between the cracks of the pulsating cadou inside her. she, just like donna, bears the scars of miranda’s actions.

“i hate to break it to you, angie, but i don’t think those little arms of yours could lift up my boots let alone anything else, ha!”

a cackle shakes her little frame, jaw clicking, “ just look at the way they crawl all over her. almost like... flies! “ she laughs even louder, her limbs jostling as though she hangs from some invisible strings, “ at least she’d keep ‘em going for a while- her ass alone could feed an army. “ 

donna can feel karl’s eyes on her and it makes her hair stand on end; uncomfortable with attention no matter how many years pass or how much time she’s spent with him.

angie, always her savior, rises in the air, hovering right in her brother’s face. she’s so close he can see the cadou peeking through some of her cracks. can see the lovingly hand embroidered edges of her frayed dress, holding all of her together despite the odds. 

boney fingers click as she jabs them towards his eyes, stopping only just short of his dark glasses, “ oh yeah? wanna try me, old man? your head’s so empty i bet i could lift you no problem! “ 

they all know it’s a lie- a sense of bravado angie holds that donna never could. she’s always been all too aware just how weak she is compared to her siblings. 

a disappointment to mother. 

at least angie can embody a confidence donna lacks, “ or should we go downstairs and find something that can? “

[craftammo]

ohisms​:

𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄    (a  series  of  nonverbal  prompts .   mature  themes  present ,   ‘ my ’  muse  belongs  to  the  one who  posted  the  meme  -  send   “ + REVERSE ”   to  reverse  the  prompts .)

→     𝐈 .    GENERAL

❛   hush .   raise  a  finger  in  a  gesture  to  silence  my  muse . ❛   sit .   gesture  for  my  muse  to  sit  down . ❛   door .   hold  a  door  open  for  my  muse . ❛   tap .   tap  my  muse  on  the  shoulder  to  garner  their  attention . ❛   hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . ❛   cook .   present  my  muse  with  home - cooked  food . ❛   brush .   work  a  brush  /  comb  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   read .   silently  read  a  book  alongside  my  muse . ❛   hand .   hold  out  a  hand  for  my  muse  to  take . ❛   dressed .   help  my  muse  put  on  an  article  of  clothing . ❛   note .   give  my  muse  a  note  saying :   [ content ] . ❛   amplify .   turn  up  the  music  in  the  car .

→     𝐈𝐈 .    ANGST

❛   patch .   help  my  muse  patch  up  a  wound . ❛   night terrors .   hold  my  muse  after  they  wake  up  from  a  nightmare . ❛   company .   silently  sit  with  my  muse  to  comfort  them. ❛   hospital .   my  muse  is  told  that  yours  is  in  the  hospital . ❛   revelation .   show  my  muse  evidence  of  a  lie  they  told . ❛   indulge .   find  my  muse  drinking  to  cope . ❛   downfall .   find  my  muse  collapsed  on  the  ground . ❛   console .   comfort  my  muse  as  they  cry . ❛   nurse .   give  my  muse  company  in  the  hospital .

→     𝐈𝐈 .    AFFECTIONATE

❛   wink .   wink  at  my  muse .  ❛   wrap .   wrap  an  arm  around  my  muse’s  [ shoulders  /  waist ] . ❛   caress .   gently  caress  my  muse’s  face . ❛   tousle .   mess  playfully  with  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   chest .   place  your  head  on  my  muse’s  chest .    ❛   comb .   comb  fingers  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   grasp .   run  to  my  muse  &  jump  into  their  arms . ❛   lean .   lean  on  my  muse’s  shoulder . ❛   tender .   kiss  my  muse  on  the  [ forehead  /  cheek  /  nose ] . ❛   abrupt .   kiss  my  muse  out  of  the  blue . ❛   chaste .   chastely  kiss  my  muse . ❛   good morning .   kiss  my  muse  the  morning  after . ❛   volumes .   gaze  at  my  muse  in  a  way  that  silently  says  ‘i love you’ .

→     𝐈𝐈𝐈 .    VIOLENT

❛   strike .   [ slap / punch ]  my muse in the face . ❛   gun .   wield  a  gun  at  my  muse . ❛   twist .   twist  my  muse’s  arm  behind  their  back . ❛   throttle .   aggressively  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   parch .   burn  my  muse  with  a  hot  object . ❛   take down .   forcefully  bring  my  muse  to  the  ground . ❛   gouge .   wield  a  sharp  object  at  my  muse . ❛  shunt .   shove  my  muse  backwards . ❛  stickup .   yell  at  my  muse  to  put  their  hands  in  the  air. ❛  shoot .   [ fatally  /  non-fatally ]   shoot  my  muse . ❛  stab .   stab  my  muse with a  [ knife / other object ].

[craftammo]

you’ve probably noticed my activity has been slow and just wanna let u know it might be for a while 

dealing with some very serious loss and trying to distract myself with more tangible things. i don’t have a lot of creativity rn 

i’ll still be around but expect sporadic or rly particular replies

[craftammo]

𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 . 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚊

.

“ oh– you could at least try! “ she snaps, bone-white teeth slamming against each other as she leers into the face of her older sister. 

cassandra’s talents are many, none move like her on the field. none paint in blood with the skill and grace of cassandra. her blade made strokes to her canvas like a master, a true artist of flesh and bone. snapped tendons and teeth pulled from swollen gums. it was magnificent to watch and there was much for daniela to learn, about restraint, about vision. she was too emotional, too impatient. 

but of the more delicate arts such as this– despite the weight her name carries, the figure of ancient stories, her cassandra sees no farther into the future than her next kill. 

she clears her throat, her emotional carried on the wind like a handful of ashes. daniela presses out the dress along her thighs before tugging on the wrists of her oversized workmens’ gloves before turning her attention to the runes once more.

“ this here, “ her left hand hovers over the cluster of wooden beads. “ i see a tree without roots. like the tower card– a warning to your house and home. “

it is a message that can be applied at almost any moment of the day. constantly the sister squabble like chickens, occasionally, blood was drawn. mother always had to step in, her divine voice sending them scattering to the far corners of the castle, hiding until her lectures stopped vibrating the walls. 

she leans in toward a few bones, small ones. a mixture of flanges and a wish bone from the breast of a chicken. the message was clear but confusion dusts her features as she looks to her sister.

“ there is going to be a child in your future? “ a cackling, deep rolling of laughter as she throws her head back howling towards the sky. “ a child! “

cassandra huffs, rolling her eyes, unfazed by daniela’s manic gaze and gnashing teeth, “ i think they say i’m about to push you off this ledge. “ her tone is joking but, as there always is with the three of them, some truth sits behind the words. not that the drop would kill or even hurt her sister. but it would be fun to watch her fall... 

another time. for now she’s genuinely curious in what these bones and beads have to say about her future. whatever she may think of her sister’s... peculiarities, cassandra would never take daniela’s readings lightly.  

so, as her sister leans in, wide eyes now focused on the scattered pieces, cassandra leans in too. she follows the tracing of daniela’s finger, trying to catch a glimpse of the shapes described, but it is beyond her. 

she scoffs the warning off, thoughts of their frequent fights passing through her mind, but a chill runs along her spine. a shiver that makes her itch to cut and carve. 

cassandra will find some special prey for tonight and she will skin and tan it for herself and daniela. the thought settles her and she focuses again on the continued fortune. 

nothing could prepare her for what comes next from that grinning mouth. for a moment she just stares at her, dumbfounded, before her own laughter mingles with daniela’s. a discordant duet, cassandra’s deeper voice reverberating beneath her sister’s, “ a child? and what interest would i ever have in a child? there’s no sport in hunting one! “ it’s the only explanation that could ever remotely make sense, anything else too ridiculous to give credence to. 

[craftammo]

𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 . 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚐

“this is why i like you girls. you get it.” the musty oppression of their home is one he struggles to adapt to, too quiet for his liking save the distant rushing of the waterfall - a world away from his ticking, grinding gears and churning conveyer belts - but the humidity is more familiar.

“if she keeps growing maybe she’ll knock her fucking head off and do us all a favour.” he laughs and rocks on his chair, head lolling back as his focuses on the grand painting above the stairwell and it’s cracking oils. for a woman who may as well be wallpaper, she stands beautiful and imposing upon the canvas for all to see. a contradiction.

they are two opposites -  a man without a childhood and the girl who never grew up. what an odd little pair they make. 

“so the dolls outside - they been naughty? put out to dry? or were you getting a little jealous, angie?”

“ we’d have to be as dense as moreau not to! “ donna blends so perfectly into the dim surroundings, but angie’s personality always seems so large and jarring compared to the oppressive quiet of the home. such a simple, modest place for a supposedly noble family. in these worn halls the most lavish thing seems to be the clothing adorning her countless dolls. 

and yet angie’s own clothes are discolored and rough; carefully maintained but clearly fixed too many times in lieu of replacement. a child’s toy desperately stitched back together over and over again. a child’s toy for a child who never grew up. 

“ if she did, you think those daughters of hers would eat her like a bunch of cats? “ angie snickers, little jointed hand hovering in front of her unhinged mouth. 

donna doesn’t need to follow karl’s gaze to know where he looks; every inch of this house memorized. along with every inch of that painting... 

a gift. a depiction of a beautiful woman that she is not and never will be. but sometimes she holds angie in her arms and pulls back her veil, staring into it as though it were a mirror rather than lovingly brushed oils. 

she doesn’t turn, instead simply adjusting her veil as subtly as she can to make sure her twisted face is completely hidden. at least angie is here- a wonderful distraction both to herself and to her dear brother. there are no eyes on her when wonderful angie is in the room. 

“ those bitches outside didn’t know when to shut their mouths. you wanna join ‘em? “

[craftammo]

Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters 

[craftammo]

ohisms​:

𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄    (a  series  of  nonverbal  prompts .   mature  themes  present ,   ‘ my ’  muse  belongs  to  the  one who  posted  the  meme  -  send   “ + REVERSE ”   to  reverse  the  prompts .)

→     𝐈 .    GENERAL

❛   hush .   raise  a  finger  in  a  gesture  to  silence  my  muse . ❛   sit .   gesture  for  my  muse  to  sit  down . ❛   door .   hold  a  door  open  for  my  muse . ❛   tap .   tap  my  muse  on  the  shoulder  to  garner  their  attention . ❛   hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . ❛   cook .   present  my  muse  with  home - cooked  food . ❛   brush .   work  a  brush  /  comb  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   read .   silently  read  a  book  alongside  my  muse . ❛   hand .   hold  out  a  hand  for  my  muse  to  take . ❛   dressed .   help  my  muse  put  on  an  article  of  clothing . ❛   note .   give  my  muse  a  note  saying :   [ content ] . ❛   amplify .   turn  up  the  music  in  the  car .

→     𝐈𝐈 .    ANGST

❛   patch .   help  my  muse  patch  up  a  wound . ❛   night terrors .   hold  my  muse  after  they  wake  up  from  a  nightmare . ❛   company .   silently  sit  with  my  muse  to  comfort  them. ❛   hospital .   my  muse  is  told  that  yours  is  in  the  hospital . ❛   revelation .   show  my  muse  evidence  of  a  lie  they  told . ❛   indulge .   find  my  muse  drinking  to  cope . ❛   downfall .   find  my  muse  collapsed  on  the  ground . ❛   console .   comfort  my  muse  as  they  cry . ❛   nurse .   give  my  muse  company  in  the  hospital .

→     𝐈𝐈 .    AFFECTIONATE

❛   wink .   wink  at  my  muse .  ❛   wrap .   wrap  an  arm  around  my  muse’s  [ shoulders  /  waist ] . ❛   caress .   gently  caress  my  muse’s  face . ❛   tousle .   mess  playfully  with  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   chest .   place  your  head  on  my  muse’s  chest .    ❛   comb .   comb  fingers  through  my  muse’s  hair . ❛   grasp .   run  to  my  muse  &  jump  into  their  arms . ❛   lean .   lean  on  my  muse’s  shoulder . ❛   tender .   kiss  my  muse  on  the  [ forehead  /  cheek  /  nose ] . ❛   abrupt .   kiss  my  muse  out  of  the  blue . ❛   chaste .   chastely  kiss  my  muse . ❛   good morning .   kiss  my  muse  the  morning  after . ❛   volumes .   gaze  at  my  muse  in  a  way  that  silently  says  ‘i love you’ .

→     𝐈𝐈𝐈 .    VIOLENT

❛   strike .   [ slap / punch ]  my muse in the face . ❛   gun .   wield  a  gun  at  my  muse . ❛   twist .   twist  my  muse’s  arm  behind  their  back . ❛   throttle .   aggressively  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   parch .   burn  my  muse  with  a  hot  object . ❛   take down .   forcefully  bring  my  muse  to  the  ground . ❛   gouge .   wield  a  sharp  object  at  my  muse . ❛  shunt .   shove  my  muse  backwards . ❛  stickup .   yell  at  my  muse  to  put  their  hands  in  the  air. ❛  shoot .   [ fatally  /  non-fatally ]   shoot  my  muse . ❛  stab .   stab  my  muse with a  [ knife / other object ].

→     𝐈𝐕 .    NSFW

❛   surprise .   send  an  unexpected  nsfw  image  to  my  muse . ❛   pin .   push  my  muse  against  a  [ wall,  table,  other ] . ❛   go down .   go  down  on  my  muse . ❛   choke .   intimately  wrap  your  hands  around  my  muse’s  throat . ❛   belt loops .   pull  my  muse  closer  by  their  belt loops . ❛   skinny dipping .   go  skinny  dipping  with  my  muse . ❛   rip .   tear  a  piece  of  clothing  from  my  muse’s  body . ❛   mark .   leave  a  mark  on  my  muse’s  body  [ specify where ] .