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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@fukogi-blog
ooc. i still owe things, heh. but i’ll be heading out for a bit– or rather a few hours. i’ll be more reachable on discord 028.#0069 ( since tumblr mssg is wack ) if you’d like to plot something for our muses or just talk cos h-hewwo !!!
the heat wave blasted my Internet so I’ll be mobile / discord till it’s fixed .-.
ooc. i still owe things, heh. but i’ll be heading out for a bit-- or rather a few hours. i’ll be more reachable on discord 028.#0069 ( since tumblr mssg is wack ) if you’d like to plot something for our muses or just talk cos h-hewwo !!!
"He's not coming." Is it about Kaede's flame? Kittykat's crush? Who knows.
‘ why ? ’
her foul temperament is similar to a child — happiness and irritation were easily reached without warning. a pout starting to form, bottom lip starting to jut out. there is no timid compliance that allows the statement to go past her. kaede was too secretive and catherine was all too personal. although catherine had her fair of secrets her moral philosophy was simple: what’s yours is mine.
‘ are you going to see him instead ? ’
a selfish creature through and through. she simply desired to see and to assess. there was no interest in taking.. not yet at least. after all, catherine was kind enough not to follow kaede around to find out why her roommate came home late flushed and glowing. that was a generous act of benevolence on her part.
@aestuavis liked for a pre-established starter !
tension hangs between them in the deafening silence that does little to alleviate the mood. the unspoken truth looms over as an incurable plague: they are near, they are coming and they must hide. at moments like this roman wonders if a blessing from their Great Creator would have rid them of their problems for a blissful moment. they wonder if she would bear their burden that they carried every time a hero is born but they do not let such thoughts eat at them. they do not dare see her consumed by the curses that blessings entail. if the creator allowed humans to cruelly devour her soul as gluttonous demons then it was their duty to keep her safe.
they are weak. half-spent on cursed nightmares from the death of many, half-full on memories of a time forgotten by man. they can only offer this tortured soul a smile of flimsy reassurance. a gesture that carried the weight of their cataclysmic guilt. but that is not the extent of their kindness. it continues, an extended touch of their palm on her face, caressed and cherished — a repeated ritual between the two. a sign of comfort between comrades.
‘ they won’t find you. i promise. ’
a childish promise. an unholy prayer.
lamb.
to see perspective through her eyes were far from capable. nobody in their right state of mind could ever have the mental capacity to even comprehend her actions, her reasonings, her. her eyes lost all emotion and if he had to describe it, he was looking at a corpse. catherine wasn’t catherine anymore. perhaps she never existed in the first place. she was so far gone in the black hole that was her sanity and it was as if he was getting pulled into it along with her.
”i did not— !!“
before he could finish, a flurry of knuckles pummeled into his face. one after the other. the sudden violence was more so surprising than painful and he found himself defenseless. frozen in shock, it took two or three hits for him to register what exactly had happened. in attempt to jerk her away from him was useless, her nails had pierced into his skin. sharp daggers into bruised flesh like a predator successfully capturing its prey.
even with an arm attempting to barricade, the effect did not falter the force of her punches. he could taste the blood in his mouth, the stinging pain spreading from one swelled cheek to the other, the vision blurring in his right eye. “catherine, STOP. this is insane! you DON’T love me!” this was not love, this was nothing like love. this was a stepping stone to murder.
she was a lion that pounced onto its prey—the lamb, him.
continuously twisting words into the vulnerable spaces in her heart, he only widened the gap till all the love he had given her was flooding out. can’t he see the damage he was doing ? she was crazy in love ! nails dug further into his skin until it broke while her other fist showed the extent of her affections for him. blood sprinkles onto her knuckles as she wounds those plump lips of his. that is until marco spoke and dislodged the held breath that almost choked her. moist air is heaved onto his face as she ceased the punishment of her love for him. hands now clung to the collar of his shirt as their gazes were now locked, a prison for them both. there was nothing but adoration in those eyes of his, right ? he’d still love her, even now.
only he could love her when no one else could.
‘ sweetheart, don’t say that. marco…baby, THIS IS LOVE. ’
her words are mangled out of her, coarse and barely audible. she has reverted to a beast, an animal deprived of love ━ his love. her nose pressed against his as she closed the distance, the tips brushing and the scent of alcohol and smoke was a comfort brought during this tense moment. love was an intense rush of feelings that twisted and changed over time or rather love was how she saw it when she wanted to see it. her love was a storm a ━ no. a hurricane that softened for no one, he’d either try to compromise or see that this would only end into one of them being severely wounded. who would it be ? him or her ? not her, she only had her sweet marco. if she lost then she would lose everything.
‘ love is crazy ! ’
this was her admission, her reason. a plea for him to consider. her mind began to warp and terrifying thoughts entered: stop! stop before i have to do it all over again, stop before the site of you all bloodied becomes so enjoyable.
roommate.
Kaede could risk the loss of some privacy in exchange for cheaper living conditions. In this case, Kat was much more nosy than she was used to. Between the housewives and the elderly that had nothing better to do than to waltz into her practice with the slightest of sniffles and complaints about their neighbors, children, pets, daughters, and sons in law. Kat was more intuitive. Kaede found herself watching her complexion and cherry picking words.
They weren’t friends. They just shared a living space.
Which was all the more reason why what she had been doing when she was dropped off in the nearest parking lot was of no concern to Kat. Still, Kaede’s lips curled into a smile, lipstick faded with time and eyes begging for rest. Unlike Kat who was bushy-tailed and bright-eyed at this time in the night. God, it was past midnight, wasn’t it?
“It’s been the usual, but a cup of tea would be wonderful.”
Her throat did ache, maybe a cup of tea would make her mood a little better.
the fact that kaede casually skirts around her query does not escape catherine’s seemingly friendly gaze. instead, it flared her interest into an insufferable degree. her eyes reflected a hint of abysmal curiosity, a glint of obsession about to bloom. in order to keep her true nature hidden she abandoned kaede for the kitchen, better to complete the request and see how much she can ween out of her slowly, even if it tiptoes the fine line of their arrangements as roommates.
‘ yes, ma’am ~ ’
footsteps light as she makes her way to the stove and hands glide to the kettle shortly after. within her grasp within a matter of moments as she hummed a tune while she filled it ━ just enough for two. eventually, it is placed it atop of the stove, the dial turned to the number four to boil the water slowly. meaning that kaede was left to be catherine’s plaything for a few minutes.
‘ soooo, you’ve only been to work ? ... must be tiring ! ’
an innocent enough question and seemed like small talk. however, the cat-like smile that hid whetted-teeth which craved answers gave her away despite her attempt at it being masked under the guise of faux-concern.
asianmovie:
Millennium Actress (2001)
comfort.
“Come now, you’re overworking yourself, dear.” Such a young man always reminded Malaika of her own son. Goodness, sometimes they reminded her of her passed husband, which spurred on a feeling aching in her chest, spurring her into protecting and prolonging his life. Both he and his son always did use caffeine as a substitute for a proper nights sleep. “I’ll take you home. You can rest in my son’s old room until you feel alright.” If the Sin of Gluttony was known for anything, it was her strength and how easily she picked him up by his shoulders to at least stand straight.
‘ shall i call you mom– hm ? ’
a humourous tone accompanies his words, no resentment to be found despite their minimal contact. no hint of the internal agony that burns on his shoulder. her touch is synonymous with being branded, a constant reminder of their difference – between himself who lacked love and someone who is love personified. ( a mother, a mother ! ) it ignited him to take this imagined misery and hold it close for she painted him in tints of pink with her proposal. who was he to refuse her offer ? this is kindness – meaning it was love. this realization caused him to escape his own comfort zone to relax her, a nudge of his shoulder against her own. a touch that sparks an inferno of unrelenting pain as punishment.
‘ just for a couple of hours then. ’
ooc. sorry i’ve been slow. will be getting to ooc messages & owed replies/starters.
@solmyth liked for a pre-established starter !
adoration seeps into every grief-ridden part them, their gaze fixated to the source of such warm emotions. her every action was comparable to the moon: her stride was a lunar path to follow which shone sheer brilliance, her subtle smiles are all eclipsing and the way her laugh drowns gospels of the holy. her existence would be considered blasphemy but she is a resurrection of their forgotten happiness. they would protect her with the last of their power. her luminescent existence would not dim as long as they were around.
‘ what are you so excited about, lady eun-ji ? found a new place to travel ? ’
affection is laced carefully in each word and their usually dull expression brightens to match her own. a genuine expression laced with motives of soothing her, a smile curved on their mouth into an awkward and tired smile produced by good-intentions.
conoscenze.
Yet again, after a mere, simple—so to speak—conversation with her mother, the only one of the two that graced her with some sort of answer, Min-Seo weakly finds herself in a state of utter, boundless panic. She hates it when it’s like this. She really, really does; she despises feeling like being run over wouldn’t be so bad after hearing either one of her parents’ voices, just as much as she gets angry with herself for being so weak when it comes to confronting them in general. She’s shaking. And sweating and trembling and she barely can stand, but it’s not as if she can break down in the middle of the busy road, with people watching. Thousands, and thousands of people with eyes that could fall and witness her misery— She’s an hopeless case, she knows. Which is why she doesn’t expect anyone to notice her, curled up and closed-off like a shy and terrified animal; everyone is busy, everyone has everything else to do. It’s reasonable and completely understandable, she muses to herself, as restraining her whines becomes more and more painful; I would do it too. A pathetic show like this isn’t worth anyone’s time. Breathing hurts, and she doesn’t understand why. (Or, rather, she knows, but she is too harsh on herself to let her admit it. After all, children shouldn’t feel so frustrated with their parents.) Are you okay?
The sudden approach hits her like a truck. She thought that stiffening her shoulders and keeping her gaze down would be the perfect camouflage, but apparently she failed at being unnoticed. Before she can scold herself once more, though, other words follow. You’re breathing heavy. Her mind is confused, disturbed, as the pattern has been broken—even if just with a mere question—and her already panicked status begins to hit the dangerous peak that is terror. Oh no. “Hhh—I… I—” though her expression is seemingly normal, her heavy breathing and her trembling hands do say otherwise. Every inch of her facial skin is pulled at its fullest; not letting any emotion flex through. Don’t make the situation worse. “I-I’m… ah… ahhh… I, I’m sorry—” these are all the words she can breathe out somewhat coherently. What is she supposed to say? “I’m fine?” That would just be more pitiable, wouldn’t it? “I-I’m, r-really, really sorry, ah…” her breath hitches; her chest hurts. This is horrible. You’re horrible.
overwhelming colours consumed her, they wrapped around her neck to stifle her incessant cries — squashed before they could come to fruition. she had warped into the visual representation of chaos, her words being outshone by her own feelings. his gaze narrowed as if that would help him see past the fog of despair. in the sea of her emotions, he is being overstimulated and he wondered if he would be devoured next. she is a reminder of his mother: her words, her colours, and her fears. this realization brings him back to the age of ten. his duty to save her is ingrained in him because of his mother.
from memory, his body moved and he recalled each action he had done for his mother that he would do for this stranger. would it help ? maybe not. but he simply goes through the motions. a hand gently seeking hers in retribution and kindness. gloved hands are offered palm upward almost in an offering, not to cage — to cradle if she allowed it. he does not want to be forward in his advances he simply wanted to help and this always helped his mother. he knows that her touch will burn him, it will bring forth a pain that is unlike any other. he is prepared and he hoped that even when he wore protection it would offer a minuscule of comfort.
images of HER are overlapping and that in itself is terrifying but he continued. there was no room for hesitance and he wanted to help. the role of caretaker stepped forward and for once his face wore kindness on every corner. no hard edges, only soft lines to relax her if she looked at him. he spoke softly — gently. no hint of anger or cruelty to startle her. those colours, he’d take them as his own and hopefully, she’d be doused in white instead. in safety, in protection.
‘ it’s okay. all is okay. just breath with me, yeah ? inhale, exhale. ’
“How do you feel about her?” “When I hear her voice, I hear the rest of my life.”
Maxwell Diawuoh, Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #1 (13/366)
@luckyfae liked for a plotted starter !
another night was being spent in the dreamscape of a lost lamb that roman had grown fond of, as they do with most humans. she was confused despite her aloof appearance and roman simply wanted to guide her as if they were her shepherd ( IF ONLY ) . they simply wanted to save this child from her suffering that their Creator had left upon her. if they had the will they’d bless her but she’d be cursed with a death that comes with such affection, as every human has. roman must fix without heavenly blessings instead foretold whispers are replacements. these sentiments were enough for from to continuously do nightly visits of guidance. this was one of them.
they drift and drift until they reach her. she’s somewhere far within her subconscious which has too much fog and darkness circled around them. they offer a brilliance of light simply by being with her, it gives sight to a place of nostalgia- of what earth once was. their tired hands moved and gesture toward the forgotten world turned to ruin.
‘ do you recall this place, child ? ’
gentle-toned as they were soft-hearted, there is an age-old warmth that does not falter. they would love humans even as the hymns of destruction play loudly in their ears as penance. roman was patient, this was their duty. to watch, to help and to protect.
like this for a plotted starter from my new oc, roman !
lamb.
he felt absolutely sick but he could not look away. an almost-stranger stood in his home, uninvited and practically half naked. how long was she in his house for? what was she doing in his home before he got to this point? god only knew and it almost made him want to vomit at the sheer possibilities. he felt so violated, so disgusted, so fucking livid. fingers furled into his palm, knuckles turned white and his expression twitched, red splotches all over his face.
calm down, marco, calm down.
a repeated mantra that soon lost its hold on him the longer he stood there, frozen. ‘you gave me a key’. he very well knew that was a god damn lie. those are his talents so her lies were child’s play. as she closed on in, he took one step back before stopping in his tracks. no, do not back down on her, do not let her lead you into a corner.
“i did no such thing. there’s only one key and it’s in my hand.”
his hand that held them followed suit of his other hand, gripping it so tight to display his anger. “so you break into my place?!” and here is how it all went to shit, here is where he knew what was going to happen but he. was. just. so. fucking. pissed.
“you’re a fucking psycho.”
his words were a proverbial knife that had stabbed at her heart constantly, the fractures now became fissures that had no means of closing. if his plan was to murder her in the cruelest way possible. it worked. death cloaked her, darkness now painted the sweet disposition as she canted her head to the side. sanity had fallen off and the devil had come. only madness ran amok in those flat eyes, the type of madness that leaves no one unscathed. the vision played out before her was him being verbally abusive to her, while she was the meek kitten who had tried so hard to please.
‘ you gave me a key. ’
she repeats the statement with a stubbornness that does not match her victimizing thoughts. another step closer, a hand shot out to grab his wrist as the smile that was previously on her face had warped into something else entirely. a caricature version that was tainted with blight and rot. a corner of her lips lifted into a snarl but with the remains of fabricated happiness is in there.
‘ you’re such a fucking idiot, this is what i do for you and you have the fucking nerve? YOU’RE SO SELFISH. SO FUCKING SELFISH. ’
with her free hand, she balls it into a steady fist which no sooner rained down on his face without remorse. one acts as handcuffs as the other implements punishment, knuckles touch his soft skin over and over. until it is bruised and battered to her liking. in a way it was sensual – this was intimate for her at least, her mind on overdrive to alter things. this was for him, this was the proof of her love. this was love in it’s purest form.
‘ i do this because i love you. ’
it’s said in between hits and gasps, this was ecstasy.
pretty eyes.
“Yeah…I guess you’re right.”
It only serves to solidify his reaction. For all they had been through, Ed couldn’t imagine his life now without Al. They were the foundation that served to hold each other together, even in their worst moments. As for what those moments were…? Well, she seemed to be curious about them - but he’s unsure how much he can say.
Things about their encounter with homunculi is probably out of the question. It’s not Ed’s goal to introduce that all to the public and cause mass hysteria. The very fear of human looking creatures that could hide among the populace but were completely inhuman is far too exploitable to allow exposure to their political climate. Things about people they had met, though, that might be a start.
Nina.
“So many…it’s too many to count, really.” So many faces he knew that have died. It’s hard to imagine that at least a good chunk of them aren’t slightly his fault. He blames himself for not being able to save her the most.
“…There was a little girl we met once. Bright, kind, just the nicest you could imagine. Her father was a state alchemist, and his research was turning up more dust than it was profit. He was desperate to impress during his yearly examination again, so…” his fingers knit painfully into the surface of his pants.
“He experimented on his own daughter. We saw what the result he reached was when we came to his house that day. It was horrible. I’ve never seen something so terrible…”
the atrocities he speaks of fuel her inner story writer. the details are sparse but catherine had a vivid imagination with supporting facts. from his body language, she can see as clear as day: heartache weighs heavy on his chest, guilt burdening childish shoulders and the never-ending grief colouring his eyes. she had deduced there was a tragedy turned horror story. the bonds of family so easily torn apart in the pursuit of knowledge. she understands the father too well, understands the desire to achieve beyond your abilities. but that’s not what she chooses to convey.
taking a moment of silence to properly form a replica of sympathy, society’s rules are her foundations on how to interact. her lips part and she hopes to speak gospels of comfort rather than being snake-tongued.
‘ oh my.. that’s horrible. i don’t know what to say.. ’
a delicate hand covers her mouth as if she was disgusted but in reality, she’s hiding a ravenous smile. lids flutter shut, giving the image of a woman hiding from his horrendous words.
‘ was she able to be saved... ? surely the other state alchemists could save her, right ?! ’
provocative words masked in a tone of despair, she grieves as a mother would but she lacks such maternal instinct. a hand reaching out for his, a claw-like grasp that is empty of warmth.
meal.
he’s surprised by the approach, simply because it’s not normal. who stands outside of a bar an hour after closing–in the back alley of all places? fear and paranoia churn inside the pit of his stomach, but he tries to hide it with a smile. he tries his best not to make a wrong move, worried of accidentally falling into the lion’s den. to get mauled and murdered at night in an alleyway felt like a scene right out of a horror movie. marco swallowed thickly as he regretted making that comparison. there was something about this man, he couldn’t quite put his finger on. the thought lingered, falling on the tip of his tongue and unsettling uncertainty piled onto his mess of emotions. it wasn’t until the man’s expression formed along with his question–marco remembered. catherine. time slowed in that moment. CATHERINE.
every single thing about him was the same as hers: the grin, the tone in their voice, the aggression. strangely enough, that discovery eventually calmed him. he knew the game (of cat and mouse), he knew it to a t. he remembered exactly how to play it. his smile was believable now, a cheerful tone played into his response. “no i don’t think we have! i’m marco.“ his act was exemplary. he left no room for conversation in hopes of leaving as fast as he could. “i have to say.. you’re meeting me at an awkward time, sir. the bar is closed and i’m heading home.”
he made an attempt to scoot past between the man and the dumpster because the alley had offered no kindness to his situation with how small it was. he managed to make it through, his way of escaping was so close, but not without wincing as blood bled through his white work shirt. his arm had been cut by glass shards peeping out of the garbage pile, leaving a cut large enough to form an open wound.
his first mistake.
brave words are useless and fall away, drowned out by the screams of corpses. they hold no meaning to a dead man burdened by ghosts. they haunt him and rid him of any normalcy or sleep, the dark shadows underneath his eyes only a hint of their existence. the heavens are too cruel to a lesser being like himself who has only known death as if it was a parent and maybe it was. for he was a glutton who could only gorge ( a sin, a sin ! ) and the divine were never meant to be kind to a child that GOD only gave falsehood to as a pitiful consolation for his suffering. if vincent was catastrophe then this stranger was the second coming of christ.
and it becomes more prevalent, this man was his salvation. his body would be this sinner’s bread that sates his voracious appetite and his BLOOD ? his blood would be the wine that weakens all thirst. for it blooms against the purest of white and that is enough to stir the demons that lurk within a holy man. greed overwhelms him and who’s to say that he is not the most human of them all ? driven merely by emotions and human instinct. his body launches forward, sluggish only from his malnutrition. even in his weakened form, he remains dangerous, for his prying hands reach for a man-made messiah.
‘ save me. ’
he begs, he pleads as if this alone would be enough but what he sees is not marco. he sees a vision of white light and forgiveness. he sees blessed food and his fingers coil around the arm that continuously blossoms crimson, he shakes and the tremors almost seize him. his grip is weak but the intentions it carries are not.
