hungry and hollow

i conjure a stubborn faith in rotting / that ripens into soil

[raafes]

WANTED PLOTS : EVENT 007

hey everyone!! because i’m going to be pretty busy in the next couple of weeks, i decided to (hopefully) make things simpler and write up wanted plots for raafe for this event.

if you see one you’re interested in, hit me up and we can talk about it!! most of these plots can apply to multiple people at once, so don’t be afraid to ask me about a plot if someone is already listed.

what was once cold and calculating gradually melts back to someone with a wider grin. raafe came too close to death in st. petersburg; it won’t happen again. they feel more at home in this city—don’t forget, it is built upon ancient bones. expect them to be slick. expect them to be sly. there is something different about them, although it’s something you can’t place. perhaps they will remake themself again. not a god, but something godless. 

wanted plots are below the cut.

you’re all cryptids, there’s no denying. but not all of you need flesh to survive. it’s been days since rafa last had a proper meal, and they’re on the prowl for a new face to wear for the evening. are you a cryptid like them—one who needs flesh and blood to survive?—or will you try and stop them, believing there must be some other way? ( name , name ) 

have you ever seen a creature so at home in a city made of bones? perhaps you tagged along with raafe because you wanted to keep them from making more mischief (ex: stealing another person’s face), or because you’d like to explore the catacombs with them, or the graveyards. ( malachi , vicente )  

there’s something familiar about the face you catch them wearing. you don’t want to ask. it’ll wear off before the performances, they assure you, grinning again. they’re baiting you. they want you to say something. this isn’t a game to you, but it is to them. so? will you take the bait and try and chastise them? ( name , name )

they don’t trust volkov. when the vote is cast, raafe chooses to abstain. whatever gets them out of this fucking cage they’ve found themself in. once the meeting ends, you approach them for a discussion. perhaps you voted to trust volkov, or perhaps you’re of the same opinion that this man is not to be trusted. ( name , name ) 

they understand the language—just not quite. they seem looser than they have in the last few days (since shangai, since starlight). and they’ve already made their mischief. dressed in a ghoul’s very best, they intend on making the most of paris for tonight, whether it’s going to a fancy restaurant or simply wandering around unfamiliar streets. ( omari , name ) 

it’s dawn, and you find them sauntering down an empty street. perhaps you and raafe have never seen eye to eye, or perhaps you want to tell them that the change in their behavior does not go unnoticed. you know what game they’re playing—or at least, you think you know. do you think the others would notice if you didn’t make it back to the train in time for role call? ( name , name )

[lifeinpoetry]

my mind gasolined while I ate her in the orchard.

Shira Erlichman, from “The Deer,” published in The Rumpus

[malachileclair]

✉️(rafa)

SEND ME ✉️ FOR A RANDOM HEADCANON OF OUR MUSE’S RELATIONSHIP.

As also related to the event 6 thread we have going on, these two do often go out to dinner at least once in the new cities the circus travels to, something outside of the more nefarious nights they spend out on the town too, and it’s surprising very mundane - or simply mundane for the pair. Dressing in suits and going the most expensive restaurant they can find - it’s more than Malachi at least ever went out when he was still living in Paris. The only place they haven’t gone out to dinner was when the circus was near New Orleans, maybe even before Malachi could even guess about their family history, but Rafa didn’t mention anything about going out so neither did Mal, and he wouldn’t have caught that anything was wrong until it was necessary for them to go out, when they needed to feed, and that night he caught the story of their family, just by looking at them - something recognized.  

[raafes]

oogs‌:

Omari knows better than to expect a straightforward answer from Raafe and he rolls his eyes when he feels the vibrations from their response, not quite enough for him to understand what they’d said. So the unexpectedly gentle touch makes him look up at them, honest words make him hold his breath. It feels like hope, almost - makes him want to ask if they’d ever disappear with him.

“Lay low. What about your family? Aren’t they waiting?” He says instead, not knowing how much weight his question holds. It’s foolish for him to ask anything at all, when he hardly knows how their stories will end. It’s greed, and though he’s never been the greedy one, he finds that he wants to be with Raafe.

He runs one thumb over their lips at the question, puts on an amused smile, as though he’s telling them not to worry. “Not planning on it, no. Things don’t always go as planned around here, though.”

Then there’s something in Raafe’s eyes that Omari can’t quite place, but it’s new and it feels dangerous, almost. But he isn’t ready to answer their question honestly just yet so he rolls himself over so his body is resting on top of theirs, slides the other hand across their hipbone, down to their thigh, hoping to distract.

“It’s a hypothetical question, yeah? Just promise me.”

Sure they are, Raafe wants to lie. Erase the fact that there were people they might have cared about, once. That they might have been someone different, once. Someone weak and wide-eyed and always so so so sorry. 

They eye Omari thoughtfully, head tilting against the pillow as they reply, simply, “No.” Short answer. 

Long answer. “Hunters set our house on fire in the middle of the night while we were sleeping, I made it. They didn’t. I was seventeen.” 

The significance of this confession is not lost to them. Aside from Emmeline, who would only know this because of a vision, Omari is the only person they’ve told. (What a strange feeling.) 

(Ask them if there was an investigation. There wasn’t one, they’ll say, and they aren’t lying. There was no funeral, either. Not when the authorities sifted through the ash to find their bones, stretched out, ghoulish—not the bones of humans, no. And perhaps that means the face Raafe wears now isn’t the face they were born with after all.) 

Omari’s weight is comforting, they think. A kind of tether. They tangle their legs with his, one hand coming to rest along his jawline, eyes tracing the lines of Omari’s face in the dark and reply, “Bullshit. That’s exactly the sort of thing someone says when it isn’t a hypothetical question.” His hands are a welcome comfort, and they hum in idle satisfaction. But still, their eyes watch him, observant. “What are you thinking about, that would make you ask me something like that? Hypothetical or not.” 

[raafes]

oogs‌:

Necks are too easy to twist, chests too easy to jam nearby knives into - he does not come out unscathed (a punch to his eye, an a cut underneath it from the piece of glass his attacker was holding to be exact) but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed up by next week (he hopes). He grabs the broken piece of chair he finds on the floor just before they leave and barricade the door from the outside when they make it out, if only to ensure that nobody follows them. 

Their body speaks louder than their words and Omari feels his breath catch in his throat in the worst ways as he scans Raafe’s body and sees that they’re still losing blood, unable to stand on the injured leg altogether. And logically, he knows that he should take them into a room now, but he sees them speak and he can barely stop himself from stepping forward. 

There’s hardly time to laugh along as Omari’s two hands find their face as he presses his lips against theirs, almost desperate, almost relieved. It takes a moment to find his breath again after that, and if he hadn’t been so distracted by the fact there’s still blood pouring down their leg, he might have been flustered by his own spontaneity. “You’re hurt,” he says instead, wrapping one arm around Raafe’s torso, “lean on me.” 

(As they walk away to find a room he can set them down at, he does not think about the way his eyes had flashed emerald at the kiss, at their promise that this wouldn’t’ be the end of them. He does not think about how he’d let that man get to his face while he’d been watching Raafe to make sure nobody was coming for them from behind - ) 

He locks the door behind him when they reach the room, almost instantly setting down Raafe on the edge of the bed and reaching for the top of their pants to unbutton it, catching himself seconds later. “I - just - get that off.” Omari stammers, disappearing into the bathroom soon after to grab any useful thing he can find.

And he returns with not much else than a used-up first aid kit and a half-bottle of vodka, and settles himself down beside the other. “We go to Xue first thing tomorrow, if she makes it out. You’ll mostly likely have a fever tonight,” he rambles, pressing one hand against Raafe’s forehead for a moment to check, “but I’ll be here.” 

Omari might be trying not to think about the way his eyes flashed when he and Raafe kissed the second time, but they are. It’s what they focus on to numb the pain in their knee while they make it back to the hotel, both of them wounded but alive. (If we were to talk about deserving life, would either of them deserve to have made it out of there in one piece? Omari would, Raafe thinks.) 

From the moment their family died, they have always been alone. Sometimes they wonder if even before then. 

That being said—who has ever taken care of them like this? 

Raafe smirks at Omari’s motion, but it’s half-hearted, exhausted. They do as he says, ignoring the pain in their knee as much as they can tolerate until the pants are off and thrown to the other side of the room. 

They tilt their head at him, “I’ve dealt with worse,” Not said derisively or as a way to dismiss Omari; said more in a tone meant to comfort him. “I’ll be okay by tomorrow, love.”

Observant eyes come to rest on the cut and darkening skin on Omari’s face. Their expression flickers (could it be concern?), and they lift their hand to touch Omari’s chin, tilting his head ever so slightly, “Did you kill the fucker that did this?” 

[rp-meme-glaceon]

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

[bunniesmemes-deactivated2020063]

Send me ✉️ for a random headcanon of our muse’s relationship.

[raafes]

anoracle‌:

Raafe doesn’t have to ask Emmeline what she saw. It’s on her face, in the way she pulls her hands away—and in the final statement.

She’s still lost, can’t you see? She’s still aching, still burning, still smelling flesh, and knowing it’s not present, like ghosts, can’t you see? To smell it now, to feel it now, it feels more prophecy than history, more dreaded, more warning, more like a hummingbird heart. 

There’s a time she can only stare, when their words sound as if they’re arriving to her through water, from across the world, and then their is the words they say, coming up as ghosts, coming up as graves, but now one they’re in together. Together, is the word to remember. And she listens, even as she studies their face, dares to look in to eyes even if she expects to flinch back, waits for it in the way she holds her breath, lungs burning from it. “You’re what?” Breathless, half-spoken at all.

It takes time for her to answer, to say more, for her eyes to make their way around the room, a body a trembling thing, aching. “What you’re saying is trapped, we’re trapped,” she looks to walls, to doorways, for anything, because she wants out now, because she wants them out with her. “I’ve seen enough visions, Raafe, and I don’t mean of this, but you save yourself, we save each other. We don’t wait, waiting’s worse than feeling safer.”

Girl doesn’t expect to be saved, they could know that too by now, from gravesides too, but there is a world to live for.

“God fucking dammit, Emme,” Not yelled, but said quietly, a mixture of frustration and something else in Raafe’s tone. “Yes. I’m saying, we’re trapped.” They can see the cogs turning in Emmeline’s mind, the realization of it. She insists that they don’t wait. 

Saying nothing, their eyes travel behind her to the door. The knob must be as hot as a cast iron pan. Quickly, their gaze flashes to the dirty mattress discarded in the far right corner of the room.

“I have an idea.” They say, slowly, as eyes move back to Emme’s tearstained face. “Maybe not the best idea, but we’re running out of options as it is.” 

Raafe pulls the collar of their shirt up to cover their mouth, motioning for her to do the same. Their voice is raised so it can be heard over the sound of crackling fire and groaning wood, “We’re going to get out of this room and move down the hallway—the fire’s spreading, but the further away from it we can get, then it’ll buy us more time.” 

Raafe shrugs off their jacket, “I’m going to grab that mattress. On my count, you’re going to use this,” They toss the jacket to her, “To grab the knob, elsewise you’ll burn off your fingerprints. Unless that’s something you want. Once the door’s open, you’re going to get behind me, and we’re gonna get outta this room. Get me?”

[malachileclair]

DATE & TIME: February 13TH, 7:45PM LOCATION: St. Petersburg TAG: @raafes

There’s something familiar about this, just it’s appearance, Malachi sitting across from them, suit and tie across his chest, tailored right until it seems as if it was made custom, until it seems as if a second skin. We speak in these same terms for the way he holds his limbs, deliberate down to the twitch, do they seem like oil paintings finding animation? Take a suit to say, he doesn’t plan to climb through graveyards, through dirt and blood. (But there in lies the problems, he expected Raafe to, prepares for it, yet, here they are.)

Such is usual for Malachi, usual in this dinner with the friend across from him, though usually the meal from a restaurant is called an appetizer in sly tones, this one is real, or it seems that it’ll stay that way from the way Raafe sits, how they’ve been the whole night. Like snowfalls, but when it begins to bury a body. A cruel form of silence Malachi might have asked for before, when he thinks they’re going to sing in his ear one time too often. 

Instead, it causes quirked eyebrows and Mal leaning forward in his seat to get their attention, “I’d ask you, if you’ve been drinking without me, but I know the look when you’re drunk,” He doesn’t keep his voice quiet, doesn’t care too, “Or is the drinks we need to start pouring?” He doesn’t ask yet what’s wrong with him, will when he wants to, will when he has to, will if they don’t answer already.

[raafes]

There’s something precarious about the way Raafe’s suit hangs from their shoulders. Loose, but not ill-fitting; it suits their countenance, something long like a shadow. Perhaps, something not made for them, but something that fits anyway. 

They’re slouched, one arm resting on the table between themself and Malachi, chin propped on their opposite palm. Raafe isn’t looking at their company. Instead, looking farther off. 

Of course Malachi would notice the change in his company. Who wouldn’t? Monsters notice these sorts of things, it seems, like the absence of a sharp grin, or when it seems the chaos has calmed. Their head doesn’t turn to look at Malachi more, but their eyes do. “You know I wouldn’t be drinkin’ without you, my dear. Cup’s practically been dry tonight.” They drawl, almost lazily. 

At his suggestion, they hum a single note. “Only if you’re buyin’.” The corner of their mouth pulls up, a bit more on brand for Rafa, and even though it doesn’t touch their eyes in the way smiles most rarely ever do for them, there’s still something odd about it. 

Leaning back, they flip up the menu, eyeing as they halfheartedly remark, “The Stroganoff looks alright.” 

[memeagerie]

WHAT DOG BREED ARE YOU?

We might as well own who we are now?

So we found this INCREDIBLE SITE and basically all you do is post a picture, any picture, and it tells you the breed!! Apparently you’re supposed to use it to find out the breeds of like Real Dogs, but let’s just use it for our amusement!! 

So, just put a picture of your FC in the site, screenshot the result, reblog this post and post the photo!!

[raafes]

[anoracle]

SEND 🌌 FOR MOODBOARD OF OUR MUSES

(Spooky) Emme Leung + Rafa Morceli @raafes

[raafes]

📂

SEND “📂” FOR A COMPLETELY RANDOM YET USELESS HEADCANON

for funsies (in the past), sometimes rafa would attend the funerals of their victims while still wearing their faces. they’d hang towards the back, keep their face mostly concealed—enough so that maybe one person would catch sight of them and think maybe, just maybe, they saw someone who looked suspiciously like the deceased. 

[raafes]

📂

SEND “📂” FOR A COMPLETELY RANDOM YET USELESS HEADCANON

raafe’s parents never let their children have any pets, but rafa would feed leftovers to the stray tomcat that lived in the woods behind their house. they called him fishboy. 

[raafes]

📂

SEND “📂” FOR A COMPLETELY RANDOM YET USELESS HEADCANON

rafa dislocated their right knee when they were eight years old (something about climbing a tree on a dare from their older sister and falling), so now they’ve got a trick right knee. it buckles every so often. 

[malachileclair]

👀for BOTH

send me 👀 for my muse’s reaction to the very first time they saw yours 

lenny huerta: i think really his first reaction would be confusion and acceptance in that confusion, of just where she came from, and being thankful to her for being so kind to his son, and someone a child could think is safe, so that is what he keeps in his mind, that elias thought she was safe their first meeting, and he still remembers and thinks of her as he did then as someone seeming very herself, even if close to sickly and without a voice then

rafa morceli: can we make their first meeting just as fucking chaotic as possible, begin them already as ‘been there, done that’ people in everyone else’s mind, give me the cliche at least once of kissing to hide from people chasing or watching or something close to this, but it’s rafa @ mal, so first reaction is just surprise and he can be impressed at their chaos, already beginning through him cleaning up their messes so they both don’t go down teh gutter

[anoracle]

👀U KNOW!! (rafa/lenny)

send me 👀 for my muse’s reaction to the very first time they saw yours 

lenny huerta: i’m pained thinking about this, the first time she saw lenny she was still terrified of everyone and everything and this was also the first person she really saw and knew close to her age, so u gotta imagine emme’s still present guilt that when she first saw lenny she wanted to run away/thought she was part of every other of her mom’s stories, so when she wants to think of meeting her, it’s when lenny was already helping her out of that shell

rafa morceli: i full support the trend of emme seeing people in visions before she meets them, imagine her having a violent one beforehand, so her first real impression of them is that moment before she sees their face, just their voice in the vision, and first real meeting, she wants to get to know them, is polite, before all pauses hearing them speak and she thinks she’s still in the vision - them being in her head starts then

[rp-meme-glaceon]

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have