#s-ubtlety

    The familiar jingle of Leblanc’s doorbell inclines Akira to crook their head up from the countertop, curiously facing the entrance. Of course, it’s Akechi--somehow it’s always Akechi, striding into the cafe with his briefcase, eyes aglow, face permanently screwed into a kind smile. It’s odd, Akira thinks, how friendly they have gotten despite his disdain for the Phantom Thieves. Living a double life is exhausting at times, and never is it more apparent than when these two collide.

    [Madwoman]- Something was wrong, very very wrong. Alice would often fall out of her Wonderland disoriented and with a throbbing headache, often on the streets of Islington or in one of the parks should she be so lucky. But this was different. All she recalled was a child-like face with a grin to rival Cheshire’s and instead of a smoky blue vortex she was cast into the dark void. Was this death, finally come to steal what remained of her sanity?

    Suddenly, a light appeared. The light at the end of the tunnel... was it possible that Heaven forgave her for her sins and sought to welcome her to its pearly shores? Or Hell giving her one last cruel taunt before casting her down into the fiery pits she so feared? But, no, this light was eerie... and not pure white... green, a soft green...

    THUD! She was all limbs as the ground suddenly rushed to meet her, instead of cobbles a wooden floor. Groaning, she frowned upon seeing her still in her Wonderland dress and that her hair remained long. What, was this place? Blinking and looking around, she immediatly went on alert when she noticed numerous dolls dressed in dusty dresses lining the walls. Dolls, she loathed dolls with a passion. Her Vorpal blade slipped into her hand as she stood up, dusting off her skirt before taking a few steps. She wasn’t sure where she was and who was here, she may need to fight... “Hello?”

sentence prompts ➝  grey’s anatomy

“To you...” he repeated to himself, glancing at the scene before them. Of course, that was the way of beings like them, if they could even be called beings to begin with. Regardless of how useful or friendly traitorous androids used to be, if they betrayed YoRHa, they essentially betrayed their companions... Almost the same kind of logic behind the mindless destruction of machines. For some reason, something inside of him screamed it was wrong. He glanced over to the Scanner model, showing slight discomfort.

Poetry Starters  :    Accepting!

↳ @s-ubtlety​

“Oh, what is winter like?”

The question slips out absentmindedly as she immediately opened her lilac eyes back up in alarm. Did she just say that aloud? Homura can feel her cheeks starting to burn up in embarrassment. Did anyone else hear her in this peaceful little cafe? Wait, no— Did HE just hear what she said? She was normally so careful with what she said aloud to practically everyone. All in all, she was worried that Kaneki heard her. He was sitting right across from her and this made her panic. Luckily, she was not holding her cup of tea right now. She knew she would have dropped it in an instance. “Um… I mean…” She struggles to come up with a believable excuse.

Truth be told, she has not seen snowfall in what felt like years. Has it been years? Yes, it has. But Homura has lost count. She has forgotten what winter has felt like. When was the last time that she was caught in the middle of a blizzard? Due to being alone and sickly, she did not have any fond memories of winter. Then again, the same could be said about some other seasons. Spring is a perfect example. A bittersweet example. Stuck in this endless cycle of time, the ravenette had just gotten used to the beauty of spring. But it was not always beautiful. It started off like a familiar dream and she will be hopeful that maybe this time will be the last time—

Then Walpurgisnacht would arrive with her colorful circus and dangerous storm. As if to tell her that this brand new timeline should never be considered a dream. It will always be a tragic comedy with Homura playing the role of the fool and Walpurgisnacht the laughing audience. With the storm clouds and rain will come the oh so familiar flooding… In her embarrassed state, she wonders if he would laugh at her stupid behavior. Even in her current state right now, she can still recall the laughter of the Walpurgisnacht. Remember how that witch will always arrive at the end of each month and certainly in her dreams. Even in her sleep, Walpurgisnacht has found a way to torment her. At least she could avoid Walpurgisnacht in her sleep due to her lack of proper sleeping. But she could never avoid Walpurgisnacht in reality. Only prolong her failure and repeat it like a broken record. Even when she was awake, she was always bothered and thinking about Walpurgisnacht. Over and over and—

“I’m s-sorry… I did not mean to, um, say that…” She fumbles over her words and fails to come up with an excuse. If he would not laugh, she could think of plenty of other reactions in her head and dwell on this for ages. Clearing her throat, Homura would start to speak and avoid picking up her teacup. She feared she would start to tremble a little bit with something in her hand. She drops her gaze and avoids eye contact. It takes her what feels like forever to speak again. She refuses to hold her tongue for too long and so she speaks again in a solemn tone:

Poetry Starters  :    Accepting!

↳ @s-ubtlety​

“Would such a world be a better one then?” Her response comes after a long pause as she presses a hand to her weak heart. Even if she feels her own heartbeat, she knows the truth of the matter. She is just a walking corpse and her soul did not truly belong to her or her body. A truth that she had to live with just like the truth with the witches. For once, her voice does not tremble with uncertainty. Her soft spoken voice flows with certainty and her expression is blank. But her eyes reveal her emotions unlike her doll-like face. With this certainty comes heartache and this heartache travels to the male clad in black. There is no hope in her voice. She is not hoping for any form of response back. If she was speaking to Kyubey, she would expect to hear an answer with only logic attached to the words. No emotions. But this quiet passing of words did not include Kyubey and Homura was grateful. Conversations with the Incubator were always the same and they were fruitless.

“If we were all born with an instruction manual… Do you believe that tragedies could be avoided?” She asks as the angry winds seem to calm down. Maybe the winds wish to hear this conversation or maybe it was just the weather on this afternoon. The weatherman called for a breezy afternoon with a low chance of rain. Not that she bothered to listen to the news anymore. She had other concerns to think about instead of worrying about weather.

Poetry Starters  :    Accepting!

↳ @s-ubtlety

“Of course—”

The words slip out of her mouth before she could think of protesting. Her voice is hushed and yet the alleyway insists on making her voice seem loud. Even after the heat of battle, she still cringes at the sound of her voice. But her focus is not on her voice or the volume of her voice. To some, her voice is soft and as sweet as nectar. To the time traveler herself, she has not liked her voice and certainly admired other voices. The wallflower lingers in her spot and does not abandon the stranger to the dead of the night. Even if this stranger was not injured from the Witch’s Labyrinth, Homura still lingers in her spot. Grief Seed put aside for later cleansing, she focuses on the stranger. “Are you…” Hesitation comes right on cue. “Are you sure that you w-wish to stay right here?” She asks in order to be perfectly certain. Once again, she is hesitating to speak. This situation right now was not normal at all.

“In the rain? Your clothes are soaking wet and…and…” She was not quite sure what to do in this case. On one hand, the masked figure was not hurt and very much awake right now. Handling unconscious people was still not an easy task for Homura. But she was not that used to, well, encounters like this. She had so many questions floating in her head about this individual. Truth be told, she got quite confused between who the Witch was upon seeing the masked figure. But she figured it what was what in a quick manner. The attire and the mask, however… That confused Homura even further because she wasn’t sure if this person was human. There was no sign of a Witch’s Kiss. This was something that Homura made sure of that even in the fight.

     He must have looked worse than he imagined if people were suggesting that he needed a drink. His knuckles were bloodied and flecks of blood splattered across the front of his shirt. The dark colour helped to hide that from curious onlookers, but if one were to look hard enough, they would see it. Luckily---for him, not so much the unfortunate opponent of this fight---the blood was not his. Save for a few scratches primarily on his hands and arms, some residual blood smeared on his cheeks courtesy of the other man, and an irritated scowl making his already sharp features appear even sharper, he was unharmed.

     “That is the entire purpose of this party; I believe it was even written on the invitation. Everyone is dressing up tonight to forget their cares of day-to-day life and enjoy a few lighthearted moments masquerading as someone else.”

     He himself was not one much for dressing up, or really for parties in general, but the premise sounded amusing enough if for no other reason than to admire the effort people put into their costumes for the evening.

     When he let slip to a friend that he was meant to attend a costume party, she immediately took it upon herself to pick out an outfit for him. He was not familiar with the film, nor the character she mentioned, but he remembered the name---it stuck out in his mind as something fairly unique. ‘Howl.’ How bad could it have been?

     ...At least it was comfortable.