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GUILTY VS INNOCENT

RULES | You can only say guilty or innocent. You are not allowed to explain anything unless someone messages you or asks you. Repost, don’t reblog!

Tagged by: @stilledsouls​  Tagging: - ?

hey, hello. i don’t have a lot of threads going on, hence my lack of activity.

however, i’ve set up a plots page, just to get you a little interested in plotting with me. please message me if you'd to plot/get a starter/anything. thanks. hope you are all well. 

clementide:

he nods, but her words only echo in his mind, fading as soon as he hears them. steps back, gripping onto his skateboard just a bit tighter. not due to fear, but rather, embarrassment and confusion. fool, inconvenience, bother, such words are all he hears, as his cheeks begin to flush a faint pink. he doesn’t speak to women often. or rather, doesn’t speak to people other than the ones that plan on paying him. and an awkward shuffle upon being reminded that he looks like a mess. a fool.

“...what?” he blinks, awakening from his brief stupor. “no- i.” he mirrors her, brows knitting together. “you physically can’t fight the paranormal,” he mutters, deadpanned. “unless you’re saying that due to my attire, in which case...” the blank expression changes into one of humility, as he looks down at his ragged jeans, and his raw palms, both looking worse for wear. “please excuse the blood,” he says apologetically, as if it’s something that can just be easily forgiven and forgotten. “i...i fell.” he’s not proving his case by much, if any at all. alas, it’s all he’s got. “off of my skateboard.” that’s better.

he’s never been in this kind of situation before. his mouth opens to ask when his client will return, but it quickly closes upon realizing that she had just said it. opens it once more to ask if they’re neighbors. and closes. “--um. yeah. he hired my services as a medium, but... ah. yeah. um.” the chewing on his lips, a few more empty filler words, stammering, eyes darting around. “would you be able to tell him that i-- cain, was here, asking for him? i’m sorry for wasting your time, miss. i really thought we were going to meet today.” an empty laugh. “i thought i was late, too, considering how he said it was an emergency, so i came as fast as i could...” and he turns his free hand palm up, exposing the wound on his hand for the both of them to see.

hey. still here. trying to get back onto the cain train (haha, get it?). anyways. i’d love to plot with all my mutuals. i might be messaging some of you, but it’d be much easier if you come to me. if we follow each other, there’s a 100% chance that i want to rp with you. so. come. 

sitting across an empty chair as you have dinner.

getting excited over completing your third sweater this week at 1am. 

finishing that bottle of wine, and reaching underneath the bed for a new one.

staring up at the ceiling as you lay in bed, allowing your tears to openly pour down your face onto the damp pillow.

taking your dog on a walk in the forest, and falling asleep with him in your arms on a cool bed of moss. 

no one is looking for you. 

the greek godly parent quiz. 

Your godly parent is HADES: The God of the Dead and Wealth, Lord of the Underworld.

Children of Hades usually are isolated and used to doing things alone. Your solitary existence makes you susceptible to being very wary about strangers, and while you appreciate and crave kindness, you might feel offended as you believe you don't need any special treatment. Children of Hades appear calm and quiet, but can be passionate with joy, love, or rage when situations arise. Because Hades oversees law and conduct, children of Hades tend to have a set definition of acceptable morals, and require a lot of help to change their perspectives. You are extremely protective of the small circle of people that you trust, and any insult against them is an insult to you, which you will not forget anytime soon. Despite being honorable, misunderstood, lawful, intelligent and hardworking, children of Hades can have a darker side too, warping these traits into cunning, ruthlessness and deviousness. More often than not, the good rules over the bad, and children of Hades operate in grey areas to ensure that they achieve their end result.

Qualities

Solitude, intelligence, diligence, protectiveness, honor, lawfulness, bitterness, cunning

clementide:

( kkt : jieun ) ...i was just kidding.  ( kkt : jieun ) um.  ( kkt : jieun ) i don’t know. maybe you should leave? i didn’t prepare for this.

clementide:

( kkt : jieun ) um. hmm. the last time a client experienced the same thing. well...

( kkt : jieun ) are you sure you just want to ignore this?

he vies for your soul everyday, you know that.

as your legs dangle from the edge of the rock you rest on. the beast you call abel by your side, looking up at you with wide, pitiful eyes. the calls have been getting more frequent, it’s noticed. he’s beginning to invade what little dreams you have. 

he always thinks about you. and how you’re going to end up in his domain. how you belong to him. (but you don’t. you can’t. you won’t.) 

you overlook the river. in the forest you always go. your latest ex-dream brought you to this specific spot (you woke up with a gasp because your foot touched the edge of the water), and it just. stuck. the sounds of the rushing water, the chirping birds. the simplicity of it all allows you respite from the world which you inhabit. a little reminder of what God has left behind for you. a little reminder not to throw away years of hard work for worldly pleasures, fleeting pleasures. you’ve already been hurt by such things, haven’t you? 

you stare into the water. it’s nearly crystal clear, and you see the fish rushing with the flow of the river. you think about how cold it is, and what it’d feel like if you just. jumped. ‘go ahead.’ a little voice says in the back of your mind. ‘no one is watching.’ 

there’s no one to hurt you here. not now, at least. 

dear boy. you climb down from the rocks, barefoot and filthy. you decide to go for a swim. 

you wish to be a simple man with a simple life. 

and in some ways, you are.

you wake up, have breakfast, go to work, and return home. a classic cycle. it is with no doubt a humdrum routine.

but what happens in between those things are what makes your life very un-simple. (blood. holy water. tears.) 

and you, little one. born again from darkness and light. baptized by blood and fire. you were never simple. 

you have simple desires. the desire to live a long life, to be happy, to be in love. yet you know, deep down, such desires are so unfathomable that the mere thought of them makes you laugh until your shoulders continue to quiver, long after the air in your lungs has escaped you, until you can no longer produce sound. 

the realization of it all sinks down into your flesh, rests in your bones and makes its home in your heart. it forces its way into the crevices of your mind and forces you to continue to strive for these foolish desires. despite it all.

what are you doing here?

you’re walking in the forest again. it’s nearly pitch black, save for little luna shining her beams on your skin. what are you doing, little one? go home, lost one. before it’s too late.

and yet, you continue to walk nowhere, nothing in your mind but white noise. ‘no one would look for me, anyways,’ you think. and you are right. so you keep walking. one leg in front of the other as you trudge uphill, looking as if you have a destination. not now.

familiar breathing stops you in your tracks. you look up. and there he is. your little beast- the one you call abel. he stares at you from the top of the hill, with those eyes, full of pity. wrapped in a blanket of brilliant light. it brings tears to your eyes. so you stare back up at him, as if asking for forgiveness.

there is liquid trickling down your mouth. it drips onto the dirt floor. you lift your hand to your lips, and the darkness spread over the back of your hand, along with the taste of bitter copper, it all frightens you. you look up, eyes wide and afraid. he looks back at you, devoid of the emotion he once so freely gave you. your precious little beast.

‘abel.’ a distorted voice. it’s not you. it can’t be. but it is. ‘what have you done to me?’

what has he done?

‘i have done what you deserve.’

your knees buckle. the blood expels from your nose and mouth.

oh, you who deserves. filthy animal.

blood fills your cupped hands, and you raise them high, an offering to your beast. ‘what do you want from me?’ you cry. a spray of blood and bile erupts from your stomach, it taints the ground. your teeth begin to stain, and your mouth overflows with something akin to black tar. you try to scream, but you only choke.

‘i ask nothing from you. i have only shown you your true nature.’

you fall.

he runs to the address, looking like an idiot as he runs a skateboard tucked under his armpit. jeans with fresh blood on the knees. raw palms. and like all other jobs, he keeps repeating the main bits of information in his mind. occasionally mutters them aloud.

“32 year old male, works at his family’s restaurant five minutes away from his house, currently single. he’s been hearing knocks right above his bed as he sleeps, and reports seeing his dead brother at night.” ‘is he lonely?’ he wonders. the mind in solitude can be a dangerous thing. makes you see things that aren’t there. that’s what’s the case in half of these situations: loneliness. or creaky pipes. and he isn’t qualified to fix either problem, though he has tried (and failed). “is he lonely, like me?”

…

he presses his back against the wall, head meeting the cool metal with a gentle thud. his eyes close just as the elevator doors do, and with the feeling of being pulled up, his body rests as his mind begins to wander. ‘32 year old male. single. knocks. male. single. knocks. male. single. alone. lonely. lonely?’ fingers grip the metal railing. and he does it again: he goes off to conjure up some alternate world where he and the 32 year old are friends, despite the latter having no face to match the voice behind the phone. as friends, they invite each over to their apartments, they have dinner, they go out and drink, like friends. they speak about their boring jobs, their families, their relationships (or lack thereof), and their deepest, darkest secrets. because that’s what friends do, right? right? right?

the all too familiar automated female voice surprises him, telling him that he’s reached his floor. he rushes out of the elevator to stand near the stairs, lips pressed together as he takes a deep breath. scanning the floor, there’s a drop in his stomach upon realizing that he doesn’t know the apartment number. there’s a futile effort of patting his pockets and not actually looking in them, as he knows that he never actually wrote the address down. never needed to. and now it’s come back to bite him in the ass. there’s a 50/50 chance, as there’s only two apartments. so he steps in front of one, and without much thought- knocks on the door. three times, just like he said he would, and immediately steps back. he straightens his back, and takes the time to remove his cap, running his hand through his damp hair. he’s never been very insecure about his appearance (openly, that is), but there’s no time to dwell on such idle things- as the door is opening. a deep breath, and he wets his lips, and opens his mouth to speak.

“mr. kang hyun joong? i’m the medium you hired. my name-”

but this isn’t kang hyun joong. far from it.

“...oh.”

contractions.

pricking your finger with the knitting needle. you pinch your finger to watch the blood flow from the puncture. tiny red bead. you watch for five minutes. 

looking into the mirror, tilting your head up, running an index finger down your neck. then your hand. and you squeeze, just before the darkness around the edges of your eyes get too close.

holding a soft pillow against your chest at 03:00. you can’t stand this feeling. you grip the damp cloth. and squeeze.