#ultraviolext

     something  was  wrong  with  her:  calm  footsteps  carried  her  through  the  streets  with  a  definable  lack  of  the  aimless  grazing  found  in  the  usual  people.  she  did  not  simply  walk,  she  moved  from  place  to  place  with  artificial  intent;  calculated  &  animated,  as  if  she  KNEW  she  were  being  watched  or  expected  someone  to  look.  artificial;  in  the  same  way  the  virus  bound  &  warped  meat  to  match  a  human  visage,  she  was  merely  a  MASQUERADE  of  the  ordinary.  she  smelled  faintly  of  death,  an  odor  which  mercer  were  intimately  acquainted.  try  as  she  might,  she  stuck  out  in  a  crowd;  indeed,  not  a  difficult  feat  when  humans  were  concerned,  but  any  creature  above  the  heard  would  notice  what  belongs  &  what  doesn’t.  that  was  how  blackwatch  found  him  wherever  he  hid  when  they  were  still  in  power,  &  it  was  through  those  very  means  mercer  found  &  eventually  cornered  his  prey.

✨ @ultraviolext. meme. still accepting! ft. @goodluckgokudo yuh.

( txt | 🌹 shiiiiiiiiii! ) i want to believe in my heart of hearts that hideo loves me but lollllll. idk he was so resistant at first. i understand why. but at the same time idk... at the same time, im just as guarded:( then all of a sudden i was done slippin slidin down his doodle and started slippin slidin in love

( txt | 🌹 shiiiiiiiiii! ) often i wonder if he could ever care about someone like me. surely im more trouble than what im worth but!!! god why am i acting like this?! i usually dont say shit like this but im so unsure about where i stand with him

*Phone Call Prompts: still accepting. 

He hums, snagged on the receiver like honey and sap. “So did I,” he murmurs. “They visit you often, too, these awful guests, don’t they?”

Cường waits, and he imagines he hears the weeping song of crickets and mourning fireflies at her windowsill. The moonlight cries on it silver, dusted and empty with fairy-glow glimmers.

Yes, he decides she’s said.

He knuckles his terror from his eyes. Yes, he murmurs back, haggardly thoughtful. Terrible. The citylights twinkle in a carousel smear through his blinds, and his thoughts flitter slowly, thinking of her quiets in their howls, harrowing, terrible, and frightfully foul. How deafening she must find them, unlonely in her long midnights, swaddled by her blankets and the unease of dream--tarrish, sucking as a marsh in its plundering deeps. Empty, he knows, is not a word for what she’s feeling, but maybe, just maybe, she seeks it more than anything.

More than she knows. More than she’d admit.

[’I’m empty already. Don’t you know that by now?’] Imagined.

No, I don’t. Cường curls his hand, and he pretends he’s gripping twined-up starlight licking his fingerbones. I never will. You’re never so empty, you funny girl. No. So empty to go and hovel them there, deep in your bones like guests like that. Never.

He hears her breathe through the static, alive. Cường wants to crawl through and nestle at her side where the sheets bleed cold, nursing all those unsaid things.

His teeth nips his bottom lip, and the clock stares meekly with its blinking 2:04. Such a bad, bad time for haunting guests, and he rids of his own with a bat of his eyes. There’s sweat at his temples. He yet feels their howling, still, but those feathering exhales of hers, her own languid quiet seeping gentle in his skull, pounding, throbbing.

“I don’t like them so much myself. I like your visits better. In my dreams or out of them, I’d wait at my door for you. Even tonight.”

The crickets peal, summer-hot warbling, and oh. Ah. That means all so much, apt to send a skittish soul cowering in the shadows of the night, but that’s just it: they’re never shy, his sentimental, midnight confessions. Never terrified. Never unsightly like his visions, either, and never trembling like her past, those dying, rotten things no words can quell, so--

“It’s okay to cry,” his voice rings, clear in her ear. Cường. “And it’s okay to not. You do or you don’t, just don’t do either alone.” Because I know how they are. And I’m here all the same.

The older man delicately tucked a folded arm against his stomach as he lay down the plate before the woman, his ghostly smile lingering as he straightened his back to step away. Turning to his own half of the table, the Spy unfashioned the bottom button of his blazer before sitting himself comfortably.

“I’m quite pleased you agreed to this.” He purred in the gravels of his tone, leaving his plate and picking up the decanter of red wine.. “Considering everything. Wine, darling?”

His dinner skills were impecable, the dish a fine rich meat with marbling running through the slice and a peppercorn herb crust, all of the usual adornents of sides on their plates but also among the table for extras. 

She seems offended. “Um! I don’t hide! I lie in wait. Get it right.”

“Oh, um, okay.” She casts a backwards glance through the darkened room, eyeing the clutter with newfound suspicion. Being able to tell if she was intoxicated or on some sort of drug was difficult sometimes, but Maria blinks back with searching eyes.