#luculcnt

it’s late at night, checked her phone five minutes ago and noticed it was two in the morning. saturday nights consists of everyone in their homes with families or friends gathering in groups to have a good time. lilith’s stuck in a loophole, trying to figure out the disappearance of her slightly younger brother. the idea of him never coming back home to her is causing her to the brim of insanity. she’s retraced about five locations based off of his habits and she’s stuck in this abandoned building where she sets her knees onto the soft cushion surfaced. prayed to the lord above to watch over her, forgive her for the reckless choices and asks time and time again to watch over her brother. 

she meant nothing anymore. 

everything’s rusted, dust to dirt tainted what she recalls to be freshly cleaned every single day. no one visits this location, she’s surprised by the paint job on the windows existing and how this place isn’t demolished by a boulder. this church was left behind but still standing out of respect. “i can’t believe this.” lilith speaks to herself, placing a seat in the front bench. a creaking occurring when seating herself and she’s on the verge of being on her knees. asking where the fuck her brother is, counting every single day and realizing that this was partially her fault for never keeping a better eye on him. 

this is punishment. she’s on the verge of insanity. 

it’s cold and lilith isn’t bothered by the temperature drop, palms digging themselves into her visage. breathing heavily because she wants to scream on the top of her lungs but she’s disturbed by a presence. she feels it from eleven feet away from where she is. 

“be gone.” she grits her teeth, annoyed and familiarity is making her heart race a little faster. “you shouldn’t be here --” when her head snaps to the right to see who it was, memories start to scatter into her head. seulgi and her, they haven’t encountered one another in years. it’s been far too long but to know they haven’t bumped shoulders until this moment was unusual. 

THE WITCH’S BROW PIQUES, amusement never thought to conceal itself behind her blatant smirk, taunting the woman across from her — the one who has rejected seulgi countless times in their past few encounters, attitude bitter and seething. yet here she stands, challenging her despicable ex lover yet again, to no real surprise. she scoffs lightly under her breath as she twirls a thick rope earlier put to use around one of her pale hands, clutching it between rather small digits. ❛ this game you play of push and pull is like foreplay to me, sweetheart. ❜ in one swift movement, invisible to a mundane eye, she’s directly in front of lilith with her free hand grasping underneath the woman’s chin, forcing her gaze forward. the attraction between them has never dimmed, even after all their years apart, but the witch would never allow herself to be taken for a fool by anyone.  ❛ you know that i’ve never had trouble taking what i want. especially you, lily. remember when you’d unravel under my touch so effortlessly? like the most beautiful blooming flower. mine to nurture. ❜ a hum sounds from the depths of her throat, that hand now affectionately ( or so she’d like to give that impression ) brushing the other’s hair back.  ❛ your messages aren’t clear, love. don’t tempt me into something you’ll later vindicate me for in the midst of another one of your outbursts. i’m quite exhausted. ❜

desperation lingers within her body when she’s in the midst of craving desires, there’s no self control when she holds back too long unfortunately. characteristics based off of intimacy created due to her father, considered herself one of the seven deadly sins. and for some reason, she feels the need to always find her way back to the other woman. lilith feels warmth, a sense of comfort despite their issues and the bitterness was based off of the pain she was never able to fully explain until they met once again recently. 

“i don’t see you complaining too much about it,” the woman rolls the words right off of her lips. not flinching from the sense of touch laid across her skin when seulgi places her fingers right below her chin. a simple habit the two shared whenever they speak, a stern look directly at her and she directs it right back, mirroring it entirely before it shifts elsewhere when bringing such a - intimate time in their previous relationship. scoffing softly, nurturing only to be left to wither into deceased petals. 

FOR A PARANORMAL INVESTIGATOR, it’s difficult for any strange occurrences or personalities to scare seokju off anymore, but this woman is surely a living, breathing psychopath before his very own doe eyes. for once that alarmed expression so often assumed of him is actually genuine as he shifts uncomfortably on the leather couch and rubs at the nape of his neck. ❛ yeaaah, uh… i’m only here because i lost a bet, i wasn’t looking for any kind of terrifying reading of my future or some shit like that. can’t you just diagnose me, or something? whatever it is you people do. my friends say there must be something wrong with me. ❜  he attempts a halfhearted laugh to lighten the mood, but when met with deafening silence, he then clears his throat. ❛ not trying to insult you or nothin’, but this is a bit too… intense for my liking. i’m an optimist, doc. ❜

Jennifer didn’t take well to people like him. People who pried in other’s businesses when they weren’t invited to do so. The paranormal was a world the doctor did her best to stay away from. Although she knew that she would fit in rather snugly into the hidden community, it wasn’t one she wanted to be a part of. From what she’s heard, it was nothing but trouble. So to read his occupation in her files had left her with nothing but annoyance. Her tone had dropped, eyes cold as steel as she stared him down. His education had been enough to get him anywhere but where he was now. Her knuckles grew white as she clasped her hands together tightly, the faux grin on her lips becoming less convincing as the seconds passed. With a shaky exhale, she laid her palms against the mahogany desk, eyes curving with her grin. “Do you enjoy whimsical fantasies, Seokju?” Turning her eyes down to the papers before her, she paused for a moment before looking up at the man. “For the sake of diagnosis, I’d like to know what exactly you classify as “paranormal” and why exactly you’d pick such a career.” Leaning back against her armchair, she crossed her legs while boring holes into the patient. For the sake of diagnosis, she wanted to know everything he knew about that world. 

( ☠: Aˢᵏ Gᵃᵐᵉˢ ) 〉 ROUGH TOUCH

「❛ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ」

[ Number generated: 23 ]Your muse roughly kisses mine.

For all the shits that he gave, kissing back was not doubted. It was more instinct than actual desire, body reacting by memory. A broken record than knew how to function without putting much effort, only thing that could reproduce by fault.              Funny how then, he felt the need to push her away.

He doesn’t let it show much, grabbing her hips to pull their bodies CLOSER to one another, all the contrary to what he internally really wants. Because as much as he doesn’t care whatever she dies next day or next moment, he has a role to fulfill  ; as selfish as he is, this is not about him or even them. He plays along,  c u r i o s i t y   getting the best like it always did. Just what is the purpose behind?

It’s not like they haven’t done worse, but kisses? It’s an area he doesn’t explore often. Something about them feeling TOO INTIMATE to his like.

it was just more fabric, her hair still tussled at the back of her head from when she had pulled the sweatshirt on over her clothes. the collar climbs high enough to keep her nose and cheeks out of sight, so reddened it looked like she’d rubbed rouge onto her skin on purpose. of course, it meant that she has to tug the fabric down when she talks lest she loses her words to wool. and while one pale hand reaches up to do exactly that, the other is rubbing the sleeve over her nose to combat the chill of the wind. what she’s left with is a redder nose, and words that are muffled anyway. ( see also: counter-productivity. )

for a moment, nahui wasn’t really there at all. ( or was it more true the other way around? ) hidden in her loafers was a nervous tic in the muscles of her toes, mindless motion filling in for white noise. her gaze does sweep over the other’s features, albeit briefly. guilt was infectious. to the point where she thinks to pitch her upset across the seas.

“ i don’t hate you. why would i? ” that, she can at least say for certain. “ i didn’t like sitting there alone. ” which sounded odd to her own ears considering nahui thrives in solitude. but she wouldn’t call herself an outright loner, per se. maybe a homebody. one without so much a roof than a full head of dark hair. ( her own, she means. ) but the problem with the hours she’d stayed at the half-occupied table for two was the thoughts that kept her company. namely: where is choa? is she okay? has something happened on her way over? why isn’t she picking up her calls? or replying her messages? is she okay? had they gotten the dates mixed up? time? place? is she okay?

there was something insatiable about a writer’s desire to, well, write.

it’s easy and difficult, all at the same time. intentional, and accidental. wrong, and not as wrong. you could scratch your skin raw and the itch still doesn’t go away. but it, at least, stops you from settling for just … existing—with nothing to account for your time on this plain. ( leave your mark, even if it’s a half-assed haiku on the back of a napkin. or something. )

she’s a writer this time round, with glasses that slip down and almost off every time she goes to write something down. ( other times, a photographer. a musician. another passerby who keeps walking. ) they leave marks of their own. nahui doesn’t stop writing even if it’s the same sentence over and over again, with only one word changed when she gets to the sixteenth. and then a new angle where there should have laid line number twenty.

“ i’m not searching for something noteworthy, ” no. she’s just looking to finish ink and fill pages. “ i’m just writing shit down. ”

you don’t have to answer that, she imagines ayeon saying then. a dream is as much of a dream even when she’s awake.

it is not belated realisation but comprehension that sits just beyond her irises when nahui looks to the other. neither can be seen on her features though she holds her gaze all the same. ayeon’s lips were as still as they are now, but her gaze was less questioning in her dream. ( or perhaps they weren’t, what does she remember? ) dreams were strange like that, and they leave us in the morning feeling even stranger. it is an anagram with a million different outcomes, each one making as much sense as the next—that is to say: none at all. so the mind works to fill in the blanks as it pleases, whatever it deems most convenient, most comforting, most compelling of a tale.