Metamorphosis

Most men are not wicked. They are sleepwalkers, not evil doers. Chaow Bhuwakul | 19 | Witch

[obsxchaow-blog]

A Type Of Shelter

He’s glued to the screen, eyewitness reports layering over one another, muddled fear and confusion permeating every corner of his apartment. For a while it feels as though that’s all he can hear, the city falling quiet on the coattails of an unanticipated tragedy. No cars thrumming around his neighborhood or citizens animatedly talking on the sidewalks, all of the natural sounds that accumulate from outside of his fourth-story window at this time of the day. Chaow suspects that whether or not people intended to be impacted by this morning’s gruesome events, there was no helping how it would dishevel everyone in some way or another, himself included. There are a million and a half questions flooding in at once but the most prominent thought isn’t even a question at all, it’s the image of something beautiful behind a veil of tears. It’s the sound of home on another person’s tongue and how that, in itself, was one of the most magical things he’s ever come across. 

Chaow thinks about losing it again, the little string of fate that was placed mercifully back into his hands not too long ago, the one he lost as a child. He thinks he’s held on so tight until now but it only takes one moment for there to be no one at the other end. How unfair it would be because he has so many words left unsaid and memories left to share so they could bridge over those years of distance painfully wedged between them. For a moment, he thinks he’s crying again but he’s not sure, not quite sure if he can feel anything other than the mocking thud of his heart in his chest just knocking around and making him too aware of how empty he feels when it echos off of his ribs. “No no no,” he starts, mantra-like and small sounding, voice deciding to curl in on itself. “Please be okay. please. please. please.” He fumbles around with his phone, trying to open up the most recent text from the other. Between every frantic swipe of his finger is the feeling of Ten’s hand in his own, the way his laugh sounds like water gushing over smooth, polished stones. Their feet creating a syncopated percussion as they run without any sense of direction, the sun hot on their backs.  His thumb smears a speckle of saline over the screen, within it lives a rainbow of distorted pixels. He’s shaking but desperation pushes him through, almost getting through the vague text of call me before a he hears the floorboards just outside of his door groan under someone’s weight. 

@obsxten

[obsxchaow-blog]

If Hope Is A Taste ( what’s yours?)

It’s another morning, another day where the sun shines through his curtains and turns his room a lazy blue. Funny how the world goes on as though nothing odd has happened in the past few days, that if not for the constant upkeep on the current situation through frantically sputtering mouths and small articles in the newspaper he would be clueless. Even worse, he would probably be a victim by now with his regular schedule revolving around the night and how it once was a time where he could clear his head. After this, Chaow wonders if he’ll ever look at it the same way. While the lack of sunlight helps his eyes focus and ultimately aides in keeping the migraines away, he would rather sacrifice that comfort to keep a temporary sense of safety. Anything to make him believe he has more of a fighting chance when it suddenly feels like the point of a knife is staring him straight in the face, held by hands more willing to thrust forward than drop their weapon.  He thinks about what chaos would be discovered this morning, the thought swimming dully between flickers of his own plans. If he turns on the news would there be more headlines that sound too similar to the ones he read the day before, saturated with the blood of people he may or may not know? There’s a sinking feeling when he thinks about community now, the creatures he can see trying to go about their lives like everyone else, surviving like everyone else. Existing on the precipice of a human society with his hands outstretched into the supernatural one; he never thought about how hard it would be to see them collide like this.  It’s too easy. The way his hands hover over the green call symbol, thinking about familiarity and a voice that sets his spine straight, thinking about what she would say when he exhales something pathetic, conjured from a place of fear. Timidly, the pad of his thumb swipes across it and he watches the as the screen jolts to another, displays the typical calling... text before it catches a signal and ringing prompts him to raise the phone to his ear. Even after willingly making the decision to call, he still flinches when she picks up. “Hey, Gyuri?” Belatedly, he notices how tired he sounds, like hasn’t slept in days despite just waking up.  “Whats — what’s going on?” And it’s stupid, really, to ask a question that he already knows the answer to, but he does it anyway, perhaps subconsciously searching for a different response. 

@obsgyuri

[obsxchaow-blog]

**munday**

Preferred name: Leon Preferred pronouns: he/him Timezone: PST

Preferred writing style (script, para, either): I like para and script equally. I think, for me, it has to come down to the situation being played out? I slip up sometimes and write novella but not often.

Preferred writing genre (light themes, dark themes, domestic/ship/familial themes, etc): stares into the camera I like stirrin’ the pot

Genres you’re less interested/would rather not partake in (sexual nsfw, violent nsfw, ships, etc):  Whilst not really caring for most nsfw topics ( meaning, I would rather touch upon them lightly or hint to them instead of delving into it ) I will still partake in them if it’s developmental to my character. I’m a big fan of chemistry between characters /eye emoji/

Any other writing preferences (icons, small text, etc)? Definitely a small text user aha.....ha

Favorite color: Mauve ( i sound so pretentious LMAO---blood orange, shut up it’s f**king red.) 

Favorite/lucky number: 32

A song/show/drama you’d recommend: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oxGcr-KrlUA

Fill in the blank: You’re always free to message me about ___!” Dad jokes.

If you could choose a species in Obscura that you’d like to be, what would it be? Why? Probably a beast-blooded of some kind but knowing me i’d end up a changeling whoOPS

What is your ultimate weakness; what makes you feel all soft and squishy inside? MANY THINGS. I AM CONSTANTLY A PUDDLE???

Write the first thing to come to mind in caps: I SHOULD SLEEP.

Three random facts about you: x I quote spongebob at least once a day x I can listen to a song nearly 100 times in a row and not get tired of it  x I am capable of sleeping anywhere tbh even on a rock 

[obsxchaow-blog]

Poppy seed.

He doesn’t know why he’s here, doesn’t know why he’s standing outside of a floral shop in the afternoon with the sun radiating square off of his sunglasses. Lively citizens flood past him, ignore how he leans, without grace, against a quaint little lamp post that flickers to life as soon as dusk hits. Chaow knows this because he’s seen it sputter on himself, waiting anticlimactically in the exact same spot he is now as the windows in the shop go out and the colors from the petals all take on a similar, grey looking hue, as if the shop blew out a final candle before falling asleep. Then the door opens, a boy slips comfortably past it like clockwork and proceeds to head home, a path in which Chaow silently follows for a short amount of time, riding on the tail of his own curiosity and shamelessness before they inevitably have to part ways. It’s not that he doesn’t recognize that this sort of behavior is reserved for questionable individuals, but that he assures himself that his own intentions are pure so when he finds himself nearing this location out of habit, there’s no guilt harbored, just muscle memory and a misplaced fondness he doesn’t know how to stifle.  They don’t know him, and he doubts that they ever will, but maybe he prefers it this way, veiled in secrecy enough that his gestures of care go detached and easily discarded with no name or face to put to them. This is how he lives day to day, anyway, trying to be as intangible as possible to the rest of society that one person feels almost effortless to convince he’s a stranger even when he’s not. Saying he’s a stranger would imply that both parties were completely unaware of each other hitherto introducing themselves but he thinks he knows this individual, knows him in a way that’s a little embarrassing actually; all of the habits people have when they think no one is watching and how it’s hard not to grow a notable soft spot for them in the process. In this case, it’s one that draws Chaow in just to check up and see how he’s doing in the thick of the day when the headcount of shoppers increases nearly twice in size. His eyes fixate on the unique arrangements that bob and mix into the passing faces as they exit the place, illuminating the crowds with pinks and yellows. Spring is definitely the best time for flowers of all kinds, he muses. The assortment is far more bountiful and there’s something inexplicable in the air around this time of year that makes society just a little more romantic, just a little more vibrant in its own right.  If only he could admire it without the colors bleeding into one another after too many seconds spent staring in one, specific spot, trying to dissect past a window that separates the outside world from a busied worker and himself. He can feel the strain bloom full force behind his eyes, an ache that throbs in time with his heart but with the force of a hammer. He winces, belatedly pinching the bridge of his nose as common reaction, though it does nothing to ease how he feels, only allowing him to subconsciously focus on the pain.  Before he knows it, he’s crumbling, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut. It’s never been this bad, not to this extent and never in public before. Faintly, he wishes he had it in him to hurry back home but he can only cover his face and hope no one would have a kind enough heart to be concerned and bother him.

@obsxlotus​

[obsxchaow-blog]

Unlikely Two. 

Gohn

He blinks for a moment at Chaow’s actions, but doesn’t find the strange. Nothing is really strange. Fae are all so different and Gohn is pretty sure that he’s met fae who cover their eyes sometimes just because. Words are more important anyway and he’d rather not have to pay too much attention to body language. Sure, he’s good at reading it but honestly it’s a pain to pay attention when you need to look at what you’re writing. Then again, the worst that will happen is that Gohn might screw up some of his writing’s if he doesn’t look… He likes his neat handwriting though… It’s the closest thing to a voice he can get. [[ c o n t i n u e ]]

It’s more comfortable this way, he thinks, not that seeing a weasel write out the other half of this conversation really freaked him out in the first place, but that it feels far more natural for him to see the individual’s expression during this sort of exchange, one he watches intently from across the table. The contours, the specific length and drape of his eyelashes in comparison to the peak of his cheekbones. Were he to be some random person off of the street, with no magical inclination at all, he would have thought this person to be just as normal as the rest, assumes that this is the case for most supernatural beings that have to hide their true self under a mask just to go about their daily lives without worrying about being taken advantage of or hated by those who refuse to understand.  “It’s not in a sense that I hate everything in existence, just that it’s easier for me to see the negative side in most situations and in most people regardless of origin.” Thoughtfully, he tugs at his bottom lip, eyes refocused on the tip of the pen. “Mostly, I’ve grown accustomed to doubting.” And he has absolutely no idea why this is something he’s sharing now, with a stranger, but the situation is oddly intimate like he opened up a vital part of himself for examination. Now he’s simply handing over a key to every locked door and cabinet. Chaow turns his head, stares a hole into the tabletop for a second and lowers the hand over his eye. “I doubt that people genuinely care like they say they do. I believe that personal gain is the only thing that matters to the majority of this society. I’m not exempt from this either. If anything, I think I doubt myself the most.” The ghost of a smile tests itself out on his face as he leans back in his chair, ringed fingers retreating to meet the edge of the structure they rested upon, nearly falling into his lap.  This time he tries to read the median of two images coming together, tries to see through one and into the other without giving himself a headache, squinting ever so slightly to better his focus. “I don’t hate you, not yet at least; you haven’t given me any reason to.” From underneath the table he crosses his knees, ankle rotating absentmindedly as he continues to stare. “Say —” leaning forward again, it’s as though he crosses the table entirely “ — what is it that makes you hate humans so much, hm?” The volume of his voice drops substantially. “You’ve got them fooled pretty well, I gotta admit. No one could guess that underneath those broad shoulders and pretty cheekbones, you’re a cute, fluffy, little guy.” 

[obsxchaow-blog]

A Game of Shadows

[obsxchaow-blog]

Luhan

The night’s not awful- that’s what he tells himself. [[ c o n t i n u e ]]

He doesn’t know what he’s doing out so late, meandering as the streetlamps buzz and the crosswalk signs beep to warn pedestrians of the oncoming traffic, now nonexistent at this time of night. Everything gets indecipherable halfway through trying to remember his initial intentions like someone took an eraser to it, smudges what were once completely legible into tracks of broken letters, clouded. Chaow plays this off as one of the few times he’s simply traveled out to get some fresh air so he doesn’t feel like a rotting corpse in the stale walls of his apartment, glazed over in front of the eleven o’clock news, but in this part of town nothing feels fresh. It’s all the grime of humanity, pushed into a dark corner and left to fester like a bacterial mold, the atmosphere smells like smoke and sweat and bad decisions; a cocktail of nightmares that suburban families soup up to tell their cookie-cutter sons and daughters so they stay in their beds until sunrise. He remembers a time where this would have scared him, would have made him feel microscopic under the obscure form of his large coat, hands shoved absentmindedly into the trenches of his pockets. Presently, he can’t find it in him to fear the dark alleys anymore, not in a way that normal people do. 

In the back of his mind, there plays multiple scenarios at once that involve him in a compromising situation. These thoughts are like clockwork from the moment he leaves his apartment, defense mechanisms that scare off the self doubt, the tiny voice that wants to be painfully aware of danger and how it breeds itself in places like this — always the ones he’s inclined to wander, somehow, a nocturnal child succumbing the consequences of  his crimson colored endeavors— ignoring how hyper-aware he is of the rats scurrying alongside soot covered bricks, how the gravel and debris of aging asphalt crackle under his shoes like sad fireworks.  As if appearing spontaneously from behind him, there’s footsteps to accompany the rhythm of his own, erratic breathing becoming a symphony in between; in a moment like this the smart thing to do is run but all systems, all forms of fight or flight seem to shut down. Chaow stops at the mouth of the alley where the street mocks him with its false sense of freedom, blue and dusted in fatigue and open for the rest of the world to witness. He pivots and watches as his life swings precariously on the ledge of another’s, frail fingertips.  How those very fingers hold strikingly uncharacteristic claws.  He almost feels sad in the muddied mix of fear and adrenaline flooding belatedly into his veins, causing his pupils to blow out and his heart to kick up against his ribs like an old engine coming back to life. The next thing he registers is how far he’s retreated, back against the wall that the other carves into with an ease, drawing a whimper form his throat, the sound tumbling its way out, burning a trail over his tongue. Chaow wonders if he’s stopped breathing or if he’s grown so unaware of his basic bodily functions that he can’t feel the rise and fall of his chest so he glances briefly at the way he’s jarred out like a knife under the creature, all jagged edges and tensed muscles.  “Don’t do this,” he finally sputters out, like it would make any sort of difference, like he hasn’t seen it in the movies enough to know that begging for his life doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things. True nature has a way with muting out humanity. “I’m,” he fidgets, blatant and uncomfortable as he casts a glance over the sharp ledge of the male’s thin shoulder, to the far wall behind him “my blood isn’t like what you think it is.” A partial lie, holding only small fractals of truth, the days where he would watch beads of red suddenly scorch the floorboards if he concentrated hard enough. In a way, it makes it easier to continue, to keep trying. “Eating me could be the last thing you do.” The shadow that they cast feels formless at first, two distinctively angular forms bent and tangled, but the longer he stares at it the larger it grows, expanding and eating up the color of the ricocheting moonlight with a darkened mass that acquires features he can’t decipher. He only knows it lights another match of terror, overwhelming enough to make him dizzy, weak with it vibrating into his bones. 

[got7-updates]

aseconday

[obsxchaow-blog]

15, 16, 41~!

[ The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Tumblr Meme ; Closed ! ]

15 - Biggest and smallest short term goal?

It’s always correlated to magic somehow, increasing his knowledge or perfecting a particular skill. Every day is a clean slate to build upon, a short expanse of time dedicated to bettering himself. 

16 - Biggest and smallest long term goal?

He’s not someone who thinks about his future often, at least not in a way that has definite objectives. It’s a distant dream of his to find a method to live alongside people without threatening their safety, without magic and his constant gravitation towards it getting involved. Chaow also hopes to one day be versed enough in the art to be comfortable with himself and his abilities, to stop searching for a way to understand and empower himself with it. 

41 - How misanthropic are they?

He likes to put on a big act that he loathes both the human society and supernatural equally. Chaow believes that neither have done anything for him or proven their worth, only that they share their ugly faults, that creature or not, everyone is prone to the same darkness and that he’s seen monsters live under human flesh and the good fated with a beastly visage. He fails to see, however, that without one he would feel incomplete and he takes for granted the little pleasures that reside in resting on the edge of both simultaneously.

[obsxchaow-blog]

9, 18, 27, 36, 45

[ The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Tumblr Meme ; Closed ! ]

9 - Makeup?

Chaow, on occasion, will wear dark brown or burgundy colored eye-shadow if he thinks he’s going to be in public for a prolonged amount of time. 18 - Answered Here

27 - What is their biggest regret

On some days it’s the magic in general: letting it in the way he did where it infected his life like a disease, that he now feeds continuously with his dangerous curiosity and lack of forethought. On other days it’s what he let it do to him: exiled from the people he knows and loves, stripped of the human comforts and ignorance that would allow him to envision himself in a clear, unblemished future as opposed to the one riddled with uncertainty, with constant dangers the more he witnesses it. 36 - Answered Here

45 - Superstitions or views on the occult?

There are not many superstitions that he actively practices, though he internally acknowledges small things like how someone shouldn’t wear black when visiting a sick individual or how stepping out of his apartment with his left foot might help him have a better day, little stories that he’s kept with him since childhood from his relatives. Chaow and the occult are bffs ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[obsxchaow-blog]

Collide & Divide

[obsxchaow-blog]

Jeongguk

Routine is dreary, just as it is unavoidable. [[ c o n t i n u e ]]

Fear turns him to stone, the knuckles wound tightly into fabric feel solidified in their place and as much as the hunter sounds like he’s going to choke-slam him in the next few seconds of unwanted contact, he just can’t bring himself to let go. A crippling fear of being torn to shreds would do that to someone, he thinks. No one wants to imagine themselves under the jaws of a beast and have that be their final moments in the world, so when the man instructs him, he’s met with another plea, mindless and too quick to punctuate. “Don’t let me die and I’ll do anything you want, please!” This comes with an urgent tug of the stranger’s clothing, hoping they would actually look at him, really look and see the desperation carved into the hollows of his retinas, that every part of him couldn’t bare the thought of being left alone to fend for himself against a force he couldn’t possibly outmatch on his own, and it’s his own fault that he got himself in this situation in the first place, but he never thought it would end up like this; a firework temper and his foolish tongue like a lit match held to the fuse. 

The tread gets louder, menacing claws scraping against wet tarmac, ragged breathing of an animal blinded by their rage and instinct. Without realizing it, Chaow’s starting to weaken under his poorly set odds, body shutting down as a cruel way of already accepting that he may die in the next couple of seconds, were this person to ignore him. He lowers his head, eyes screwed shut in synchronization with a clenched jaw and stubbornly trembling bottom lip. He’s afraid that when he opens them again, his former client and now obvious assailant will be far too close for him to avoid.  He knows that he can’t keep running and that he’s losing the time and energy to do so, that if he had a chance then this would be his last and only one, but he’s never quite been someone deserving of another individual’s mercy. Still, he desires it like he desires a lot of things that he’s not worthy of anymore, like a thief going around trying to grab luxuries that have surpassed his level of expertise. He wouldn’t blame karma for taking this opportunity to show him just how the world is supposed to turn, how nothing is as fair as people want it to be. How people like him, who tamper with the unknown like it’s a toy, can only escape the hands of fate for so long before it finally wraps its merciless hands around his throat, and squeezes. He wouldn’t blame the hunter for tossing him aside like some lost cause because he is, he knows he is. His eyes open, gaze directionless as a large mass breaches in his peripheral. Chaow can feel the adrenaline turn to ice in his blood, breath stuttering as it fluxes rapidly in and out of his lungs. “It’s too late! Go! Run!” He demands, voice withered behind his teeth. The hands that were once pulling the other closer for protection begin to shove, body swiveling around from behind the hunter to stand before him with his shoulders back like he’s bracing for a final impact. 

[obsxchaow-blog]

[ Concept of home and family? ] / [ What makes them feel guilty? ] / [ What recharges them when they’re feeling drained? ]

[ The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Tumblr Meme ; Accepting ! ]

33 - Concept of home and family?

Over the years, his idea of both have severely been impacted by his belief that being a witch requires him to isolate himself, meaning that a family is something he can never have if he wishes to continue on the path of magic. Though this isn’t something he mentions to others, he constantly takes active steps to keep the people in his life at a distance, making it difficult for him to become dependent on their presence so if he were to somehow lose them unexpectedly, there would be little heartache or inconvenience. Though, sometimes he forgets that every plan has its faults.36 - What makes them feel guilty?

Not much, presently. He may get in over his head sometimes when it comes to magic but the repercussions of his mistakes have only ever reflected back onto him. On occasion, he does feel guilty for leaving his family without much of a goodbye, but there’s a little voice in the back of his head that says it was for their safety and that eases the feeling enough to not plague him. Something that would make him feel guilty however, were it ever to happen, would be his magic aiding in the harm of an individual who doesn’t deserve it or not having the skill to help someone with it when they need him the most. 39 - What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

While he does have ways of de-stressing, there’s isn’t a specific trick or method that Chaow has to revitalize him when he’s feeling drained. Honestly, he’s always a little tired and it only increases or decreases in austerity depending on what’s expected of him at the time. 

[obsxchaow-blog]

2 & 18

[ The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Tumblr Meme ; Accepting ! ]

2 - Do they have any daily rituals?

 First thing would be turning on his television and flipping it to the news. He likes to stay updated on current events but doesn’t really have the patience to read about it in a daily newspaper ( though he can sit for hours over a spell book— it has everything to do with interests, honestly ) then he just lets the channels run while he showers and tries to look semi-decent. If he has an assignment it’s usually where he puts all his energy into for the rest of the day, but a free schedule allows him to stay in and laze around until he feels like he has to get out of the house for fresh air. When he’s particularly feeling in peak shape, he practices his magic, updates and checks on his tracking samples, and tries to clean his sad, sparse looking apartment. He falls asleep at random and doesn’t have a set time where he feels tired as it depends on what he’s doing into the hours of the night. 18 - Favorite Beverage 

Milk Tea or any sort of sweetened tea

[obsxchaow-blog]

8, 31, 46!

[ The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Tumblr Meme ; Accepting ! ]

8 - Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

Alongside his occasional nature outings to clear his head, Chaow also really indulges in his food, mainly takeout. He tends to order for three people even if it’s just himself, and consequentially tries to live off of the leftovers for as long as he can before the food goes bad or he eats it all. Needless to say, his fridge is always stocked with different, half-eaten dishes, sides and bottles of cola. 

31 - Most prized possession?

A thin, stringed bracelet of seashells on his left wrist that he only takes off when he has to sleep or shower. He made the bracelet with his childhood friend, Ten and as he grew into it he’s re-stringed and adjusted the item to fit him but has never once thought about parting with it. Especially now, when he’s so far from home and that normal part of his life equally feels so distant, this bracelet means everything to him since it is the only tie he has left; the only thing he has that constantly reminds him of who he was before magic and who he still is underneath it all. 

46 - Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

Even as a child, Chaow struggled to voice his ideas and opinions because he could never really make sense of them quick enough to string the right words together that would do them justice. As an adult, he’s gotten better at it, but remains primarily an individual of action. Most emotions can be detected immediately upon his face or through body language and while he is an illusive individual, he really isn’t that hard to read into when given enough of an observation. 

[obsxchaow-blog]

8, 35, 50?

[ The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Tumblr Meme ; Accepting ! ]

8 - Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

His indulgences are trivial but it’s more so a break between the constant up-and-go lifestyle he’s constructed for himself than anything else. Chaow enjoys going to gardens or parks, especially around this time of the year when the flowers are in full bloom, just so he can sit and admire the atmosphere in its simplicity. Normally, he prefers to do this alone as the addition of company really ruins the concept of escaping from his everyday life. One might find him trying to study magic at the same time, since he concentrates the best in this type of environment but to the normal human eye, his books or scrolls would look like an average tabloid. 35 - What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time 

Chaow could sleep his entire day away if given the opportunity, but he often forces himself to get out of the house and do something productive even if it’s going to the local corner store and picking up laundry detergent. He finds that some of the best days are when he has absolutely nothing required of him and he can let himself get away with staying in bed until the sun begins to set, though something usually comes up last minute and he finds himself leaving the comforts of his home anyway. 50 - is this person afraid of dying? why or why not?

Immensely so. Albeit something he knows is inevitable, he’s terrified of putting himself in a situation where it finds him sooner than planned. Just as much as dying, he’s also scared of what will happen to his soul when he dies, since he’s under the impression that he has manipulated with forces not really meant for him to touch, dirtying his palms for the rest of his life and perhaps even in death where he could never truly rest. 

[drlelandsoffice]

The Excessively Detailed Headcanon Tumblr Meme

[tigersniper-deactivated20150224]

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?

[obsxten-blog]

spring day.

[obsxchaow-blog]

Ten

“oh.”

[[ c o n t i n u e ]]

It’s been over a decade and the first thing that comes to mind is how does he tell him? which is sort of pathetic the more he thinks about it because people don’t do this. Normal people don’t think about this when their childhood is sitting right there, living and breathing and god---he hasn’t aged a day, he thinks just as tears begin to prick the backs of his eyes. How does Chaow explain why he’s not living, comfortable and mindless somewhere in the place they thought they would grow old. How does he say he chanced upon magic one day and it’s been both the best thing and the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, ruined his life, ruined any chance of being normal again so now he’s here with nothing but his stupid scrolls and stupid memories keeping him warm at night. 

One ragged inhale; his emotions begin to feel too real, cherry blossoms falling over the water and the useless crying that draws little lines of saline down his cheeks and over his chin. Pride makes him turn his face all too quickly. He doesn’t want Ten to see him cry, never has.  They’re children again and he’s managed to fall over himself while attempting to keep up with the older boy, scraping his knees and hands in the process. His bottom lip trembles but he doesn’t whimper or let the tears fall from where they threaten to spill over his thick lashes, even when Ten asks if he’s okay. They’re children again and they’re arguing over something stupid and trivial like children do, but he has such a fragile heart that the littlest escalation sets off the sniffles and his teeth try desperately to stop his mouth from doing that embarrassing little contortion that it does when he’s about to blubber. He remembers he did anyway, that he ran before his friend could see. 

This doesn’t feel very different, although it is, and he’s scared to answer because he knows his voice would give every answer he couldn’t articulate. It’s that there was a point he stopped waiting and that it was hard to do, but he put one foot in front of the other and trudged into the rest of his life alone, with connections that couldn’t really compare to the unbridled trust of children that naively bared their hearts to each other at an age where it mattered the most. He wants to say: we were supposed to help one another. Chaow wants to say: now I don’t think I’m worth saving at all. Instead he tries to speak around the cotton in his mouth, the fractals of these beautiful, ruined things and it doesn’t quite sound like anything at all, an unhinged tremor from the depths of him, internalized tectonic plates finally colliding. “I did.” It’s the first time in a long time that he reverts to his native language and at first it sounds foreign to him, provides a reason for his chest to ache a little further, for his shoulders to stiffen and make him look like he’s protruding into existence. “I only wished that time would be as kind to you as you were to me.” Chaow leans back, weight onto the palms of his hands. Maybe it’s through the blur of his tears that he imagines wings, like an angel, or more like a figurative dream. Either way, it coaxes forth a sad smile. 

[obsxchaow-blog]

@obsxgohn​

For a moment, he just blinks- eyes wide and he lets the silences settle. It’s not like it’s unnerving for him. He’s beyond used to it at this point. However, he just adjusts the notepad in his hands and tilts his head to the side. This poor, poor witch. It must be very odd for him to see some weird little weasel scribbling away at a notebook in order to talk. Such is the fate of true sight though, and it’s not like Gohn’s particularly aware of it. Actually, he probably wouldn’t care that much if he was.

He taps the pen against his arms- looking at what he had written previously just in case. A distaste for humans is something he can’t help, according to what he has written down. He’s not particularly sure what it is this witch can’t help about himself, but he’s not really sure he wants to find out. Witches have an awfully bad habit of making Gohn angry and he’d rather avoid creating a tornado.

So he just smiles over- not missing a beat. He skips a line on the page and writes calm- hands moving all too smoothly for a human. Then again, he’s not human. Wind is what’s really moving the pen. He holds up the page now- flipping it so that the witch can see.

“You can’t help yourself or you don’t?” It’s written far too fancily. “I sometimes find that I’m not sure which I’m doing…”

“I suppose both hold some truth.” Chaow looks over the writing, eyes measuring up each word before falling back to the face of the writer — a weasel, of all creatures, at least he thinks he is. If he squints hard enough the silhouette of a man starts to fade, shrinking down into a surprisingly small being with tiny paws and beady eyes and every fiber in him wants to start laughing because the world just gets more confusing and more ridiculous as the days pass, but he’s also not really into getting his ass handed to him if the other decides to take it as an insult. Which it’s not, really. He’s just tired. God, he’s tired. “After seeing both sides of the coin for myself, I just tend to hate everything equally.”  He laughs quietly then, but it’s not out of humor.  Putting a hand over the eye that’s doing everything imaginably possible to jumble his ability to have a normal conversation with another person, he exhales, slow and purposeful through his nose. Immediately, the image feels more stable even if it requires him to focus a lot harder on the person and his notepad. He has to say he’s impressed. In a way it feels like opening the largest nesting doll and finding only the smallest one inside of it.