gaunt

it blooms. it eats. it grins. ( have you no shame? )

[obsbex]

YA GIRL IS BACK FROM HIATUS!! wanna plot? like this!

[obsbex]

PLOT CALL //  i know i’ve been slow with replies (slow with everything really) but if anyone new&old would like to plot please like this and ill shimmy into your message box!!! thank you (:

[obsxten-blog]

switch.

* &. for @obsbex

it occurs to ten (sadly enough) with a twinge of disappointmentㅡthat he really isn’t someone who makes good or, at least a pitiful amount of, wise decisions. and it occurs to him that telling his boss he would be available to cover the night shift (what, eleven at night to like two in the morning? by now he’s sure he wasn’t in his right mind when he answered) falls under his category of ‘chittaphon leechaiyapornkul, what in the fresh hell are you doing?’ that he’s tried to avoid. so all in all, he realises he’s not doing a good job at all with life.

how does it prove to be a bad decision?

someone’s following him. maybe at one point, somewhere in the distant pastㅡit would have just been his paranoia taking over in waves. but after the recent events,attacks and the dim aura that flickers amongst the dark streets of sunseong dangerously, the fae is willing to bet this isn’t any coincidence after all like he had wanted to believe before. and all he can think is that he does not, he repeats, he does not want to die in the same way that the other poor fae had. 

his footsteps speed up unconsciously, gravel and grit underneath his feet as he curls his hands into fists that he knows won’t help him at all. he hears the light footsteps behind him get quicker too, though it’s so minimal he wouldn’t have heard it unless he had been expecting it. that’s the turning point for him.

ten pauses, then makes a sprint for it.

see, it probably wasn’t a wise move in the first place, when he can hear someone behind him attempting to keep up with his pace too. he thinks: christ, this really is how i’m going to die. the lingering taste of bitterness remains in his mouth, leaving a bad feeling.

whilst he’s running, he swears he sees a flash of long locks.

[obsbex]

it’s hunt or be hunted. bex is unsurprised to find sunseong fallen to such foul circumstances, that a game is formed out of the hunt for the supernatural; creatures treated as nothing more than game. 

barbaric as that may be, it does offer a sort of entertainment to a bystander like her.

(not that bex was automatically off the list of the hunted, but little has attempted to approach a reckless, nasty thing like her—if only for the sake of self preservation, or, perhaps, even fooled by the frail image her frame provides.)

which calls to reason why she roams the night, our vile little witch aching for entertainment in the purest methods. nothing like a hunt to bring some excitement back into town—and should any bodies remain salvageable, she could even add some new things to her apothecary. a “win-win”, at the end of the day.

but dreams of any sort of action proves to be futile with the way the fear hangs over the city of sunseong, bone chill in the night perhaps the main reason behind abandoned streets, not a lick of blood or fear in sight. dull.

if she had known it’d be like this, then she would have stayed indoors and studied the magical capabilities stored in a fae’s wings. 

(perhaps, she was even too hopeful to assume that there would be another specimen out and about—waiting for her harvest.)

though our little witch quickly found herself misspoken, if not caught slightly off guard by the parade of footsteps, panicked breathing that passes her by—nose twitching at the distinct stench of faery magic—and a few dozen others that follow close. 

(here, her heart skips. pounds a couple beats harder. adrenaline filling her veins as she inhales, gulps of crisp night air tinted with a metallic fear. has she gotten as luck as to stumble across an actual hunt? has her luck changed for the better in that she would be able to have an upfront view on bloodshed? what a night this turned out to be.)

it takes little urging for her to follow, feet already on the move to follow before she even fully realized the situation. bex follows the small group into an alley (folly was the fae decided that was a good idea), bright eyes gleaming in the dark while a grin, one more wicked than it is charming, twists onto her features once her eyes settle on her prey (their prey, but a scavenger with just as much of a taste for blood is still a predator).

her heart pounds even harder (crazed with adrenaline) at the sight of ten. 

perfect.

[odminsung]

hand it over (and i’ll give you what you want).

[odminsung]

[ obsbex ]

the smile on his face twitches as she speaks, the realization that he was in way over his head, that he was well and truly fucked for at least the next month.

hyerin drops the smile entirely and narrows his eyes into a glare.

he deserves a raise. a promotion even. maybe he can intimidate his superior into getting that trainee brat off his watch and into a proper daycare. hyerin deserves so much fucking more than he’s getting, considering how much weight he’s pulling in this unit.  “fine. but if you make me wear a uniform i’m going to burn this place down with faerie fire.” 

hyerin huffs, before spotting a note pad by the cash register. he reaches over and grabs it, doesn’t care at all that he pushes bex’s arm out of the way in order to do so. taking the pen from his shirt pocket, he begins writing.  “you can have a lawyer look over this if you’d like,” he pauses, before crossing out a word and continuing, “but i assure you this is thorough enough.” he goes silent filling out the rest of the page before signing at the bottom and turning it to her. 

“sign the contract and i’ll start tomorrow night.” 

[obsbex]

unsurprisingly, the first real sign of displeasure on the hunter’s face elicits the first real grin from her own. there’s nothing else to say about bex’s taste for chaos, for suffering, for whatever it takes to put herself at the very top of the food chain—in control—and everyone else below. not that hyerin was agreeing to exactly that, for bex is sure the hunter has her own reservations about her and this little arrangement, but one doesn’t have to be necessarily perceptive to see who exactly won this particular battle.

and the absolute glee that came with watching the hunter succumb to her conditions was one she didn’t bother hiding.

“you can wear whatever you like as long as it’s not neon or flannel.” she retorts, offering a little dismissive wave, uncaring of the other’s dismay with the turnout. “and of course, keep your little gun or blade or whatever it is you hunters use hidden away.” bex grins a little. “i won’t be held accountable if anyone attacks you because you let it slip that you’re a hunter.”

she reaches for the paper with a light hum, retrieving it to inspect the messy scrawl. “there’s no need for a lawyer—don’t you know what happens when you break a contract, word of mouth or not, with a witch?” bex arches a brow, leaning forward slightly to pluck the pen from her hand as she continues, words teasing. 

“i assure you the consequences won’t be as pretty as i am.” 

our little witch takes little time to sign her name beneath the hunter’s, tongue flicking over her lower lip briefly as her eyes rises to meet the other’s. “we open at ten so i expect to see you then, my dear hunter.” bex nearly croons the moniker, coquettish in the way she speaks, seeing no real harm in being a tad more friendly now that they’ll be working together.

“and you’ll have your footage by the end of the week, so long as you’ve been a good employee.”

[odminsung]

hand it over (and i’ll give you what you want).

[obsbex]

obshyerin:

[ obsbex ]

hyerin’s eyes flit downwards, gaze caught by her kittenish lips curving into a feral grin. it only serves to prove that even bex (or especially bex) is as wild as he’d thought, a force of magic better kept on lock and key than roaming the streets like a disaster waiting to happen. still, he can’t quite look away. perhaps he’s been charmed in more ways than one.

“you’re making things very difficult, bex.”  he clicks his tongue, head tilting to the side as he considers it.

“but alright, what about me? i assure you, a pretty young woman outside your shop isn’t going to scare anyone away. and i won’t wear the badge either, so you’ll have no fears of anyone thinking i’m an officer.”

hyerin steps back, hands tapping out a rhythm against the counter. he feels less like the respectable hunter he is and more like a groveling salesman on his last leg, but if this doesn’t work he’ll have little else to offer her. and he’s sure they’d both find the idea of him offering up his body tasteless. 

“so, what to do you say? i wouldn’t mind seeing your face every night.”

she would not be bex if she was not difficult. perhaps the hunter had not researched on our little witch before stepping foot into her part of town, has not extended the care into looking into the vices our temperamental witch are susceptible for. pride, for one, power, for another — but above all, chaos is what she’d like to see when it comes to the city of sunseong. 

oh, how she’d love to watch it burn. to watch it pay for grievances its caused her—which, though not significantly much, still proved to be enough of an inconvenience to sour her opinions on sunseong. 

(but if she’s honest, she’s never needed much reason to be sour — misery loves company, that was the saying, wasn’t it?)

"you?” she echoes the offer with the smallest of amusement, pushing off to make her way around the counter as she contemplates her options. it wasn’t as if hyerin didn’t make a solid point, most would likely look past someone of her stature—round eyes and an unassuming height—but there were quite a few cons to keeping a hunter around her establishment, wasn’t there?

“yes, i suppose a pretty young thing outside my shop wouldn’t scare a fly—that is, assuming you don’t intend to stand out there everyday," bex circles around the smaller girl, taking in the garments she adorned, the weapon she undoubtedly has tucked away within reach, all possible forms of magic she can faintly sense emitting from her frame. “then, it would be a little suspicious wouldn’t it?” she reaches out, fingers ghosting over the badge pinned to her chest. 

“since a pretty young thing like yourself would surely stand out in an area like this, no?” she hums, leaning against the counter slightly to catch her eye. “i think you might be better off taking a side job in here, officer.” bex suggests coyly, a smile on her lips. “that way you can “protect me” and keep a closer eye on this face of mine that you wouldn’t mind seeing.”

a knowing hum, a catlike curve.

“of course, that means as an “employee” you’d have to sign a nondisclosure agreement—” the witch taps the badge lightly, as if indicating to the dsem. “it’d be bad for business if any of our trade secrets were to be exposed.”

far be it from her to invite a wolf in without taking the necessary precautions.

“so? do we have a deal?”

[cvrncge-blog]

❝ night walking.

@obsbex

the thing is, handong never learns from mistakes.

she’s prideful, vain—too confident in her abilities to understand the gravity of some situations. when the news broke out of murder, or violence and terror, her grandmother gave her strict instructions to not leave the shop unless it’s an emergency, she’s given permission, or she has someone trustworthy to keep her safe.

as much as handong loves her grandmother, respects her decision and understand she’s worried for her safety, handong can’t take much of the walls she sees everyday of her existence. she needs outside contact every once in a while; otherwise, she’ll go insane. she tells herself that’s the reason that she ventures out into the evening, eyes looking around for any sight of danger that her grandmother is sure there is—but when handong can’t find anything immediate, she continues on.

she tells herself her curiosity about what’s going on isn’t a driving factor behind her reckless decision, but she knows herself well enough to not believe it.

perusing on the streets as the night gets later and later, handong hums as she sees a familiar form, the aura around them having handong slow her walk as she eyes them in wonder, questions milling about her mind. her tongue swipes over her lips.

“bex?” she questions softly, head cocking to the side as strands of her hair fall into her face. “fancy seeing you here. why are you out on a night like this?”

[obsbex]

there’s little to fear when you’re the one that goes bump in the night. at least, that had been how her mother liked to teach her—armed with a dangerous sort of fear-inducing brilliance that bex dreams of achieving. she’s halfway there, but not yet fully so. 

still, mother had been careful to instill her ideals since her youth, pushing them into the soft backbone, taking care to slip them between each vertebrae: there’s nothing to fear when you have power.

(and because she didn’t have power, our young yejin spent the early years of her youth fearing her)

which places her now, power hungry and driven blind by the ego—perhaps rightfully, perhaps foolishly—walking down the unsurprisingly empty streets of sunseong. indeed, only the foolishly insane ones are out to roam the nights with a supernatural killer on the loose. but bex would have never considered herself insane, not even a lick of foolish—if she’s honest, she might hover closer to those eager to court death.

(not to say she’s any ways wishing for death — but bex can’t help the way the bumps on her skin rises, incoherent whispers she can barely pinpoint, the smell of death (of turmoil and pain and anger) that hangs over sunseong’s nightlife like a thick curtain; the way all of that calls to her)

so, like bees to honey, our little witch drawn to chaos is out and about at (hilariously enough) the witching hour, inhaling the crisp night air and the jarring metallic tinge that accompanies it. but if she was being honest, sunseong has yet to come across as alive as it did now, bleeding—chickens cut off at the head and running about recklessly.

she did love it, just a little.

but a time of chaos calls for abandoned streets and frenzied hearts, leaving bex’s little nightly walk a little more than disappointing. admittedly, she had hoped to walk into a bit of entertainment—something with a little bit of bloodshed, little bit of bloodcurdling, little bit of adrenaline inducing would have gone perfectly with dinner.

and yet, here she stands, ultimately disappointed.

tragic.

even with the appearance of another witch, bex couldn’t find it in her to be too pleased. not when handong looked more well than she would look covered in blood—which undoubtedly would have made this nightly stroll much more interesting. 

“would you believe it if i said i was out looking for trouble?” a small grin teases the corners of her lips, fingers lifting to rub along her jaw absently, eyes turning peer down the empty street absently. “though it doesn’t seem as if sunseong’s nightlife is as grandeur as it used to be,” bex heaves a sigh, tongue clicking. “disappointing, really.”

“but what about you? it doesn’t seem like an hour you’d be allowed out.” she nearly sneers, almost unable to come across as teasing without being wholly patronizing as well.

“don’t you have a bedtime, handong-ah?”  

[odminsung]

hand it over (and i’ll give you what you want).

[odminsung]

[ obsbex ]

“bex.” he repeats, a smile at the corner of his mouth. he hadn’t thought that the honorific, of all things, would be the one she would point out, but he’d also expected she’d be a lot faster to kick him out of her shop too. his eyes follow the movement of her hands- was she considering it? or was she playing him too, seeing how far she can stretch his politeness before she expects him to make a mess of his reputation as an officer?

well, if she cared at all about reputation, then he supposes she wouldn’t have let him in in the first place. 

hyerin leans forward, forearms resting against the counter as he lowers his voice- unnecessary, but it seems everything this girl does is for dramatic effect, and so he’ll play along, even if it irritates him. “between you and me, dsem probably wouldn’t have offered you more than cash up front. and not much at that.”

he pauses, wets his lips in thought. “how about this- i’ll arrange for security services around your shop, starting an hour before sundown till an hour after sunrise. and while i’m sure you have sufficient wards,”

for once, hyerin dreads the talk his superior is going to give him.

“and since they’ll be your security, they’ll be at your beck and call. during that time, of course.”

[obsbex]

“i’m not interested in money.” money has no value to her. isn’t it the nature of a witch to just take what she wants? superficial needs such as money, paper, meant nothing to her. hadn’t her prerogative always been to develop her magic—to hell with everything else? yes, what she could achieve with money certainly pales in comparison to the accomplishments that magic brings her. bex knows this all too well, and therefore is all too willing to compromise morals and twist and bend and break for power.

but the hunter’s proposal still poses to be somewhat interesting. having dsem at her beck and call at a time like this is definitely a bonus, although she couldn’t be too sure of the pros in having hunters stationed on the storefront—it’s more so bad for business than anything, isn’t it?

“not that it isn’t tempting—” she starts slyly, fingers tapping against the counter in thought. “because far be it for me to turn down having the likes of dsem at the whim of my will,” bex manages a grin, a hint of teeth showing betwixt coy curves of her lips. “but it’s rather bad for business, don’t you think?”

she offers the woman a pointed look with that. certainly, she must be willing to come up with something better than that if she wanted the tape that badly.

“i’m sure even in desperate times like this, not a  single soul would even entertain entering a place guarded by hunters.”

so what else do you got?

[odminsung]

hand it over (and i’ll give you what you want).

[odminsung]

[ obsbex ]

bex dances around the word ‘no’ with more eloquence than he’d expected, spitting her sarcasm with a deadpan so dry it’s admirable. he’d been told she wouldn’t cooperate easily, though the warning isn’t necessary. hyerin’s never met a supernatural that doesn’t bitch and moan about hunters needing to keep up their side of the ‘deal’. they’re not on equal ground to be making demands like this so it’s little more than pathetic when they try. 

bex - he wouldn’t associate that word with her. 

he’d also been warned that they really do need the tape, and so he decides he’ll at least make a paltry attempt to negotiate. “no, i suppose it won’t. can’t expect you to follow through without anything in return.”

hyerin steps closer, the fingers of his right hand pressed lightly against the edge of the counter, tapping out an unfamiliar tune. he gives her a knowing smile, looks up at her (god, she’s tall) through his lashes. “so, is there anything the DSEM can do for you, ma’am? i’ll do my best to accommodate.” this last week hasn’t been easy for anyone, but hyerin’s never had so many people coming to him at once, trying to cash out favors. he hopes that with this at least, they won’t need to see each other again for quite a while. 

what a shame. 

[obsbex]

evidently, the hunter seemed to know just what she wanted. or at least, she had assumed so. though one tends to completely underestimate the bounds in which bex’s insatiable need to be in control knew none of. and in this case, it was far easier to be in control (to dig beneath skin and snake her fingers around something valuable) of a single soul than an entire organization.

much less the fact that she cared a considerable naught for the likes of dsem. 

she doesn’t shy away when the other moves forward, unwavering in their locked gazes while her head cocks, filled with the most succulent sense of complacency as she stares down at the the hunter before her. (though she doesn’t deny the way her nose crinkles slight in distaste at the honorific) “bex.” our witch corrects dryly, absent in the way her gaze lowers to the manila envelope, fingers dancing along the edge as she hums in thought. 

“i find little use in empty promises on behalf of hierarchical establishments as outdated as dsem, no,” no, there was nothing the organization itself was willing offer that interested her. (she figures there’s the chances that anything hyerin promises her now on the behalf of dsem would be carried out are minuscule). instead, she sets her eyes on a little bit more realistic, so to say.

and here, bex leans in closer, lips twisting with a coquettish curve. “what do you have to offer me?” 

certainly, something better, depending on how bad it is that she wants that tape.

[odminsung]

hand it over (and i’ll give you what you want).

@obsbex

hyerin lingers in front of a bookcase, eyes tuned into the sound of her speaking to a customer. she’s not quite what he expected - tall and lithe, more feline around the eyes than one would expect a witch to be. he’s not one for rumors, doesn’t know what they say about her behind closed hands, but hyerin, human as he is, wouldn’t even need his wards to smell the magic radiating off of her. like gasoline, burning the hairs of his nose in a way he can’t just ignore.

one book is nearly falling out of the bookcase, probably put back carelessly by a customer, and he pushes it back into place. the solesian guide to basic herbology and potion making for young witches. 

whatever sells, he supposes.

once the door closes behind the customer, hyerin steps away from the bookcase, moving towards the cash register. “good morning,” he says curtly, reaching into his bag for a manila envelope and sliding it over the counter to her. “park hyerin, officer for the DSEM,” he’s careful to avoid the word hunter, knows full well what that word means in these parts, “i have a warrant for the security camera outside, the one connected to your shop. the footage may aid an ongoing investigation.” 

[obsbex]

since the day she was born, doused in magic, she has never lived a life blind. rather, we can say that our little witch was, and still is, a keener for living in the “know”. living with knowledge of each and every thing that went on around her—at least, things that affected her. it had affected her not when the city roared in chaos over the first dead supernatural body. and it had affected her nil the second and third time—up until the werewolf from across the street spilled his innards all over asphalt. 

pathetic.

nevertheless, it does explain the presence of the hunter in her establishment, lurking in the background while she aided a curious soul in the proper method of dreamwalking—as if she hadn’t spotted the likes of dsem days ago across the street. as if bex would even be surprised by the watchdog in her line of vision, moreover the envelope she slides her way.

much less the warrant she presents her.

in fact, she feels little else but the usual sense of defiance that came in the face of an “authority figure”. indeed, what right did this human have to come in and demand things of her?

"if you’re from dsem then surely you would know what side of town you’re in, what you’re dealing with...” her lips curve, “a piece of paper won’t help you here, officer.” her weight shifts, ribs pressing into the counter as her elbow rest on the surface, chin resting on the heart of her palm. “not to say i strive to be against the law,” bex starts dryly, “i’d love to be an upstanding citizen after all, but you know there are things such as rules and common courtesy...” her tongue clicks.

“and whether or not the footage aids your investigation has absolutely nothing to do with the wellbeing of my shop.”

[obsbex]

IN THE BEAUTY

                                                                                                                                 (tw: gore)

look away, traveler, eyes are not meant to see this. mortals are not meant to lay eyes on such an ethereal thing, such an abomination of nature, such a petrifying sight. see, no matter how our little witch boasts (blood pure, magic a birthright laid out for her and her solely) there’s nothing divine about the “magic” that is to occur here.

that is, there’s nothing magical about this. that is, organ harvesting, i mean. 

but bex would not have been an opportunist at heart (a wicked, selfish nasty thing she is) had she not taken this chance. for what better chance would she have than this—to have the fragile delicacy of a fae’s wings offered up to her wandering feet and curious hands—to have sunseong in ruins and ripe for picking?

she might not have been the instigator but the witch was nevertheless prospering from the spoils of someone else’s war.

which leaves our little wicked thing here, knees digging into soft dirt, fingers dipping through sliced skin. rightfully, she will not deny the disgust that rises with the act, the putrid stench of blood and fae magic reigns pungent to her olfactory organs, swirls in her head and leaves her lightheaded, eyes watering, and teeth gritted. but there is no magic without sacrifice, no victory without blood spilt—if she wanted something, at least, when it comes to magic, she would work for it herself.

(or rather, one could say she simply didn’t trust the simpletons of sunseong (read, our little witch’s waning collection of “friends”) enough to correctly retrieve what she needed.)

that is, wings of a fae for its vitality (magic she could harness). that is, the third rib from the clavicle down for its protection (wards she could spell).

the former is easy when it came down to it, something akin to ripping off a bandaid, the dead fae’s wings lay intact beside the two, gleaming in the moonlight despite the fraying of its owner’s body beside it. 

it is the latter that proves to be far more difficult. that is, messy.

there is no clean way to remove a rib; especially with one’s bare hands, when the blood still runs a warm red and the hole in the creature’s chest is not big enough to retrieve the bone. bex has no other option but to tear the flesh apart, exposing more of the innards of the fae to the night chill—intestines, kidneys, missing heart (positively tasteful of those barbaric dogs pressed under the chaos controller’s thumb) and all—to wrap around the bone, slicked fingers sliding along the smooth curve  as she mutters the needed incantation.

it’s just that easy when it came down to it. so long as she doesn’t get caught, that is.

but when have we known our little witch to ever be afraid of something like that?

[obsbex]

“WHY SHOULD I help you?” her brows knit, lips pursed into a small thin line. the mere thought of it is so baffling it almost amuses her. when, more importantly, how did she manage to give off the impression that she was the GIVING TYPE was beyond her. nevertheless, the absolute gall to come to her asking for help is somewhat admirable, even if bex had less than a notion to actually be any sort of helpful. still, a curious mind is often one easily swayed. 

but to her credit, bex is easily versed in the act of seeming uninterested, eyes never once torn away from the magazine she held in her grasp even with the imposing presence of another before her.

 “you know i prefer not to carry out favors without getting anything in return.”

[cvrncge-blog]

❝ satisfaction.

@obsbex

curiosity killed the cat.

curiosity is a central foundation in handong’s being. it’s the founding reason on why she’s so adept in her spell work. it’s the reason why she knows so much. without curiosity, she wouldn’t have delved deep into enchantments, into books with worn pages and smell like blood. without her curiosity, handong wouldn’t be half as talented of a witch as she is now.

talented and malevolent, but that’s another thing altogether.

she watches the form with lidded eyes, arms crossed as her foot taps a rhythm onto the ground. a hum leaves her lips, head slowly tilting to the side, messy strands of hair falling in her features as curiosity, potent as ever shines in orbs of brown.

“why them?” she murmurs, eyes flickering to watch the girl from the corner of them—shifting in place. sharpened fingernails scratch at the lace on her sleeves, picking at stray strands idly as her teeth worry at her lip. “not that it matters. i don’t care about the semantics behind your reasoning. i’d just like to know why.” perhaps it’s to note how horrid they must be to entice the girl to come to handong of all people to practice curses. maybe they had done something catastrophic, or appalling. or perhaps they had done nothing at all.

but handong doesn’t care either way.

[obsbex]

it would be a lie to say she didn’t crave a coven. that years of being surrounded by her own kind didn’t offer some form of comfort. but she was different now, hell in a woman with teeth sharpened, mouth hungry for power. the kind of woman she was now was no follower, ego forged with ire and foolish pride that left her unflinching, unable to back down. 

no, though she missed her mother’s hive so, bex would never be able to join another.

but having the power of witches at her fingertips proves to be useful, as is the exchange between her and handong—reckless nineteen with viable potential to be a very powerful disposable right hand of hers—pliable youth hungry for the sort of destruction bex knows well enough to utilize for what she wanted. 

what was a mere spell— a curse aimed to maim—in exchange for what she wanted?  nothing really.

“if it doesn’t matter then why bother asking?” the older manages a small chortle, dark acrylics carding through pale blonde absently as her attention flickers from the soon-to-be victim to the witch addressing her. had it not been for the fact that bex abhorred getting her hands dirty, she wouldn’t had bothered with the whole charade, hadn’t have to put up with simple small talk in exchange of getting something as simple as this done.

(but she supposes beggars can’t be choosers, not when it is itself blessing already to find someone as easy as handong to manipulate into doing her bidding.)

“but if it sates you so—” for she doesn’t quite care if the girl knows or not. “they have something i want and you need a practice dummy, do you not?” bex spares the girl a coy smile, leaning in just the slightest closer, eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “or rather, i suppose you regularly need even less than a reason to practice those little curses of yours,” she continues, almost snidely (as with most instances of interactions with other supernaturals the witch views as below her—an inherent characteristic, bex is every much a snob as she is a witch raised under the impression that she was to bear her mother’s mantle as head of their coven), though her smile tells otherwise, near encouraging as lithe fingers trace up the arm of the younger, resting on her shoulder to offer but a small nudge.

“go on, show me what you can do.”

she honestly is, very much so curious.

[f-x]

KRYSTAL x NYLON JAPAN

[drlelandsoffice]

The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Tumblr Meme

[mpxset-deactivated20170717]

tigersniper:

Send me some numbers, and I will tell you:

What does their bedroom look like?

Do they have any daily rituals?

Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

Eating habits and sample daily menu

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

Makeup?

Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

Intellectual pursuits?

Favorite book genre?

Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

Biggest and smallest short term goal?

Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Favorite beverage?

What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

What is their biggest regret?

Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

Most prized possession?

Thoughts on material possessions in general?

Concept of home and family?

Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

What makes them feel guilty?

Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality?

What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

How misanthropic are they?

Hobbies?

How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

Religion?

Superstitions or views on the occult?

Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

How do they express love?

If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

[gataash]

fresh.

[obsbex]

obsnoyna:

noyna leans forward, staring into the murky liquid in the jar. its sealed tightly, though the ward on it ripples, air distorting around it with the sticky sweet smell of magic. she narrows her eyes, leaning just a couple inches closer like it would make the dirty green liquid any clearer. whatever she was pickling in there, it stunk of a magic that tasted a touch too familiar to give her anything but an annoying sense of déjà vu.

there’s a sudden noise from behind her, the open-shut of a door, and she jumps, turning around quickly on her heels.

she’s met by an unimpressed gaze, vague distaste and noyna returns it with irritated politeness. she hadn’t been expecting hostility, though she gets the strange feeling the woman in front of her has deigned her beneath even that with one glance. noyna doesn’t think she’s felt so uncomfortable around another person in a long time. 

noyna steps towards the counter, clearing her throat and working up a smile. “you wouldn’t happen to be bekah, would you?” 

first and foremost, she is a witch. make no mistake in assuming that bex would come to accept of an identity of anything else. she is a witch, vixen imbued with magic, tongue versed in incantations, force to be reckoned with—oh, hasn’t she gone through lengths made sure everyone who’ve heard of her knows?—and so, first and foremost, her concern had been in mastering magic.

so, bex has gotten increasingly arrogant in what she had to offer to the world.

(to be clear, we’re talking about drugs—concoctions drawn up by the likes of our own little witch, hungered to be the best in the city, even when it comes to contorting her magic into something the likes of her mother’s coven would spit on. why not? everyone does it, and bex would not be bex if she did not ache to be the best of the best—even if it means damnation.)

so what? if she’s gone off the deep end, if knowledge and magic blessed by the spirits have been utilized in gateway drugs. so what? 

it was, and continues to be, her life does it not? 

(oh, if there is ruin between her and what she wants, would she not drag herself and everyone around her down into hell to make through it? and that’s the thing with witches like her, creatures like her: selfish, corroded, beautiful creatures whose hunger precedes one’s own mortality—bex didn’t give a damn whether or not the world burns so as long as she got what she wanted.)

but being the best, or rather, the path to it, did not come without incidents, without sacrifices and stepping stones—didn’t come without competition. which is what she figures the fae—smelling pungent of a stale, musky sort of magic—awaiting her in the shop when she returned from break was here for.

after all, few tend to come by seeking a witch by her name without a mission in mind.

“quite jumpy for someone who knew exactly what she was walking into, aren’t you?” the witch commented dryly, returning to her usual position behind the counter in a few confident strides to regard the fae, head cocked slightly to the side. 

naturally, she hadn’t bothered to answer the question, seeing no particularly need—if anything, anyone would half a brain could have pieced two and two together. much less a fae.

“can i help you with something?”

[obsxten-blog]

red light.

* &. for @obsbex

she looks normal at first sight—maybe a little too pretty, hair tucked behind her ear almost carelessly, a fairly polite grin gracing the upward curls of her lips as he enters through the door, a spark in her eyes that show something he can’t quite put his finger on but would unsettle him if he looked for too long. he knows she isn’t, though, can feel it in the air that surrounds the both of them in the store, wistfully around them like curtains. 

the curtain settles and drops.

see, ten’s not so naive that he can’t tell whether someone’s inhuman or not and the female employee falls in the latter column of the chart easily. there’s something different about her, more powerful, thrumming underneath fingertips and underneath her skin that’s powerful enough that he, a mere water fae, can just feel. and he wonders whether she can feel him too, feel their similar ambiance that radiates magic.

digits trail over the shelves, over some numerous medicine that he can’t recognise and can’t be bothered to recognise, honestly. a faint throb eats away at the back of his head, gnashing away at him and it takes half a mind not to just pick the first thing off the shelf and down it in one go.

at last he musters up the courage to approach the too pretty employee with the odd aura, and he patiently waits before tapping her on the shoulder, eyes averted to the sign behind her.

“excuse me—… do you know what medicine helps for headaches?”

[obsbex]

it’s called true sight. 

our lovely witch is obsessed with it; the notion of her enemies (anyone, really) laid bare, naked to her eye, vulnerable to her type of manipulation (eager hands, pulling and molding for her own use) undoubtedly excites her. although rarely ever does she find the need in enveloping her entire being in the spell; for being a witch, a damned soul blessed by the purest of magic, came with a sort of advantage in that regard—being sensitive to even a whiff of magic.

and so to say, magic that bottom of the barrel creatures of sunseong manage to scrape up are ones especially pungent. 

for example: vampiric magic reeked, often saturated with a metallic revulsion found only in the species’ penchant in sticking their filthy little fangs into human dermis and piercing major arteries—positively barbaric—bex could smell the faint magic that crowds a vampire from miles away, if the sickly complexion doesn’t give it away first. 

(how pitiful, those nasty things, to have to live like that.)

although it wasn’t as if the rest of the population faired any better—did werewolf magic not stink of wet dog? beast-blooded of whatever blasted hellhole they crawled out of? and fae, fae, well—quite frankly, the mere existence of fae aggravated her to no end.

(born of magic, you say? inherently magic? was that not her birthright? was she not far more brilliant than any egotistical fae? more well-versed? is magic rightfully not hers more than it is theirs?)

oh, does jealous burn bright in our vindictive little witch.

nevertheless, the distinct scent of purity (magic perhaps even purer than her own, an absent thought seeping in embitterment) is one she quickly picks up, as with the chime of the bell tied to the front door—announcing the presence of one (bex has already formed her opinions about this one—read: same as every ghastly blemish of a magical being out there) before he even managed to pry apart his mouth to speak.

here, her shoulders stiffen to the slightest, near imperceptible to the unknowing eye (as with everything in sunseong, one only starts to see once they know where to look), fingers tightening around the jar in her possession, its contents swishing—alive—in according to the surge of irritation she feels.

here, bex mercifully forgoes the unwarranted attempt in capturing her attention, pivoting on her heel to face him, lips pressed together slightly. “what kind of medicine are you looking for?” you incompetent silly thing. do fae even get headaches? the witch can’t honestly say she studied too much in terms of those inherent pride magic beings. but nevertheless, bex finds herself caught having to at least pretend to do her job.

“we have tonics, potions, incense, sage—the works.” she musters a coy curve. “anything helps, so long as you’re willing to try.”

[obsbex]

PLOT CALL because i lowkey tanked my last one... pls,, just like this and ill hit you up