#caseloaded

'The entire community of monster fuckers lets start there'

ask meme || @caseloaded

LOW | ●●●●● | HIGH

●●●○○ | ATTRACTION "Kurama does what he can with a pleasing visage. He's handsome. He knows it, but what is commercial beauty in a world where I can pick up a fashion magazine and see the same on the front page? Nonetheless, it's nice, unoffending."

●●●●○ | AFFECTION "He has a lost boy seeking affection sort of look in his eyes. I think he keeps people at a distance, but more out of fear than true desire. He would benefit from having a warm hand to lean into. I'm not sure if I'm suitable to fill that role, but I wouldn't mind trying — to offer affection without prejudice, it's a human thing to do."

●●●●○ | INTEREST "Perhaps when he stops telling me what he thinks I want to hear, I'll learn more about who he truly is. I wished he argued with me more, right now, he seems to be shaping his principles into something that he hopes will be palatable to me, that won't make me run away, but I think there's more to him. Does he think I'm fragile?"

●○○○○ | LOYALTY "I owe him nothing and vice versa."

Send my character a ★ and I’ll bold everything they feel toward your character. [Accepting]

⟡ ݁. ⊹ ₊ ask prompt ✦ @caseloaded ₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡

There are moments when Atlas finds it difficult to reconcile the blond's profession with the man standing beside him. More often than not, Kurama seems far more interested in luxury and theatrics than blood and investigations, enough so that Atlas has openly questioned how someone could alternate so effortlessly between an accomplished detective and an insufferable brat. The question had always been intended to provoke more than offend. Then, every so often, the performance falls away, replaced by the razor-sharp vigilance of someone who has survived this line of work for a reason.

It would be a lie to say he noticed the precise moment it happened. Even Atlas, for all his ability to read people, could not have said when the dramatized arrogance disappeared beneath something far more serious. He only recognized it after the fact, when Kurama quietly guided him toward somewhere more secluded and spoke in a voice reserved for warnings instead of flirtatious banter.

...Instead of alarm, Atlas leans toward him, close enough that the space between them all but disappears before he speaks. ❝ And what danger have you dragged me into, detective? ❞

The title leaves his mouth with its usual edge, somewhere between mockery and affection. When it came to Atlas, there was never much distinction between the two. His expression settles into one of practiced irritation, as though the situation is more nuisance than threat. It is easier than acknowledging the truth: that he would follow without a second thought. Were Kurama to go into a burning building, Atlas would be only a few feet behind with no particular motivation in mind.

Worry never quite arrives. Instead, his hand settles against the Kurama's back, guiding him closer until scarcely any space remains between them. The movement is deliberate, intimate enough that anyone watching would be far more inclined to assume flirtation than strategy.

❝ How do you recommend we get out of here? ❞ Atlas asks, his voice lowered enough to dissolve beneath the steady hum of conversation surrounding them. He doesn't step away afterward, he lingers, his gaze dropping briefly to the blond's mouth before returning to meet his eyes. ❝ You could have just said you wanted to go home and have me all to yourself. ❞

The dryness softens into something faintly self-satisfied, the remark offered less because he believes it and more because he wants to see whether he can crack the composure Kurama wears so carefully in this moment. Whatever danger may be waiting beyond them feels almost incidental beside the opportunity to draw even the smallest reaction from the ever-dedicated private investigator.

🤏 "I'm like 7 feet tall. Yeah, it's pretty tough being me." // @caseloaded ↳ Send Me 🤏 And I Will Compare Our Muse's Heights!

" Really? 'Cuz you don't look seven feet tall. "

❝ You know... ❞ Ophelia says softly, her gaze drifting toward the landscape before them, entirely too at ease beside a man so intent on convincing her that he is damned. ❝ My care for you does not change with your choices. I don't choose to be around you because you've done something good, and I don't leave because you've done something bad. ❞

Only then does she look back at him, the endless ocean of her eyes revealing remarkably little despite the kindness that lives within them. ❝ Now, if you were to dognap one hundred puppies and turn them into a fur coat, I might be forced to reconsider my opinion, but... ❞ Her lips threaten the faintest smile. ❝ You do not strike me as that sort of man. ❞ It is an absurd image, deliberately so, but the sentiment remains unchanged beneath the humor.

She has never been particularly interested in separating the world into sinners and saints. Most people live somewhere between the two, carrying equal measure of grace and flaw within them. Whatever virtues he possesses, whatever failings he cannot seem to outrun, whatever selfishness he deems for necessity, none of it asks her to care for him any less. She does not love people for their goodness, nor abandon them for their imperfections. She simply chooses them for who they are.

His final words unravel her composure; her conviction does not waver, he simply catches her delightfully off guard. ❝ Whatever this is between us? ❞ she echoes, the corners of her mouth betraying her before she can stop them.

❝ And what do you think is between us, Kurama? ❞ There is no expectation woven into the question, no mockery in attempt to push him, no anxious pause as she waits for an answer. If they are only friends, then she will treasure his companionship. If there is something else growing between them, she will cherish whatever that may be. His place in her life has never depended upon the name they give it, only that he continues to find his way to her.

A moment passes before her expression softens once more, amusement giving way to something infinitely more gentle. ❝ Maybe it would be better to ask, what would you like it to be? ❞

⋆˙⟡ @caseloaded ✦ continued from here

growing closer (Accepting) | @caseloaded

"It's the smell, isn't it? They say we remember based on aroma. That's why I remember the fish in the can not too long ago. It's foul; can you imagine running amok on your day, you thought 'a good taste filling tuna will fill my stomach.' Smack it open, but it smells like someone shat a fat one in it." He didn't appreciate that memory after smelling decaying rot. Who knows how long the can's been out in the sun for that long. He's not desperate enough to consume it, no matter how much his stomach is screaming at him to eat.

He points to himself over and over. "Not me. Don't smell none of those things. Smelt like a good whistle. They all remember me, cause I'm a hundred bucks on the beach." Except he doesn't look like a hundred bucks, nor has any in his pockets or wallet. At least he's not a fish decomposing in the sun. That, he will not accept at all.

Patience to deal, if not, tolerate another person is self-sacrifice for his own well-being. It's a surprise he hasn't gotten an ulcer from the amount of people he stranded away from. A few he beat up, and two murdered, repressed in the back of his mind. The least tolerable are those with masks. They're proud wearing one without an ounce of honesty. He couldn't understand, if ever he will. It's more welcoming to seek seclusion without people burdening him with their nonsense. He wishes to forget, but they're precious in memory. He sees more, but too much, in others, and worst of all, himself…

That shit-eating grin permeated the air whether he was being serious or not.