stilled souls.

" What's it like being around half-dead people all the time? "

[stilledsouls]

written for @anterocash

Phone in hand, he looks at the list of names on his sheet and sighs. His heart is not captured easily; he is disinterested in small talk. But here he was, having to call every number on the list as a form of courtesy, a check-in so to speak, on the progress of each patient’s journey to recovery. Hanbyul was certain that it would be a painful day, one filled with false curiosity and concern on his part. At least he was spared the cruel fate of having to converse with them face to face, for there could not be a demise more agonising than that.

But alas, there was one name that brought a faint smile to his lips. Just one. After all, he had quite enjoyed the exchanges he had with this particular patient during their stay here. Dialling the number that was printed on the sheet, he waits for the monotonous rings to end and prepares to speak. “Hello, this is Hanbyul calling from the coma ward in Asan Medical Centre, may I speak to Mr Cash, please?” And after a brief pause. “How are your legs doing? Are they working yet?” Because if he remembers anything, it’s how he could abandon all forms of neutrality and be unsurprisingly blunt with Cash as always.

[denouae]

                                                    … and, they say, let there be god.

+   a faceless indie account. multiverse and multiship.      literate and multipara. ◂◂◂ reblog for a starter.

[lupusxdei-a]

abandon all hope ye who enter here

promo cred here.

[stilledsouls]

@needfuldreams​

⸻ “VISITOR HOURS?” Dream didn’t even try to hide his surprise. Oh right, he was in a hospital and noticeable. Of course, now all those funny little rules that humans put out there would apply to him. He had completely forgotten about that. In truth, there were times where he’d forget about the importance of the passage of time as it rarely, if ever, applied to him in any way. “Oh right, sure.” He spoke dismissively, looking up at the colourful centre of his attention for the last couple of weeks. His lips curled into a small smile as he looked at how the young man tried to obviously make himself look more important than he really was, much like pheasant when threatened. It was pointless yet somehow charming.

“I don’t think I’m related to anyone around here. Not unless Delirium had broken away from home again.” then again, his little sister was far too wild to end up in a calm place like this. The Endless rose up from his seat, moving close to the other, his matte dark eyes fixed on the male’s face as if trying to dig through the skin and see inside. “I’m here because…” he paused wondering what to say. ‘because I’m bored’ sounded rude even to him, ‘because I’m tired’ sounded as if he needed help neither which was what Hanbyul was really going for. In the end, he decided to just not finish that reply and simply move on.

“I came alone.” He finally spoke. “I came to speak to you, actually.” The words came out casually as if it was completely normal for one stranger to search for another. “As far as I remember this is when you start work, correct?” Dream tilted his head to the side slightly, like a curious cat. “I was wondering what it’s like to work with people in a coma.” That sounded like a good enough pretext for now. “Your work fascinates me. Doe sit not feel tiring for you to tend to people that cannot show their gratitude in any way?”

Muted mischief sat in the eyes of this man who spoke of delirium like a friend. It was odd the way he spoke— his thoughts fractured into many possibilities, yet none he favoured as much as carefully constructed tranquillity. An occasional pause was offered as he scrutinised, eyes searching for something, and then he stops. Discontinuation; moving on. It was at that moment that Hanbyul’s interest is successfully piqued; for there were secrets locked behind those upturned lips, ones that will come lose with time. And he was more than ready to patronise.

“You came to speak to me?” he clarifies, a tap against his clipboard as he gave the other a look over. “It seems like you’ve been present for more than a single shift of mine, that means you’ve been exposed to many opportunities,” he observes, gesturing towards a couple of nurses down the corridor. “Your curiosities could be easily satisfied by talking to them, but no, there is a reason that you must speak to me. What is it about me that warrants such dedication?” hanbyul inquires, quaint little smile twitching at the corner of his lips. His question toes the line between arrogance and fascination, but he could not be one to care about silly little idiosyncrasies. The morning was just starting to become less dull.

“Your question assumes I work in exchange for gratitude, and that is the first mistake. I don’t expect thanks because those who lie here have a low chance of waking. Their families think of this place as one of healing, but really, I see it more like a purgatory—a place for them to expiate their sins before they pass on. I’m merely facilitating that process,” he shares, a smatter of indifference in his tone as he reverts his gaze to the stranger before him. “It is tiring, but not for the reasons you have suggested. Now that I’ve answered your questions, will you do the same for mine? What are you—a journalist, a nosy student, or a curious civilian? And why do you hold so much fascination for the coma ward? People are usually pulled towards the A&E or neurology. But not you. Why is that so?”

[lupusxdei-a]

midnight dreary | hanbyul x cherry

[stilledsouls]

@eljudnnir

She was hungry.

Well…not hungry enough, but the ghoulah felt that the time was nigh. There was a grumble in her insides, a complaint she could only associate with the incoming wave of craving and desperation for sustenance. She had learned, over the centuries she had spent roaming the world, that though ghouls were by no means a danger to the living, if famished they were a peril to not just the world but to themselves as well, and she had no intentions of losing her senses - or her small, comfortable Korean home for that matter.

Unfortunately for her, whatever comfort Korea offered did not outweigh the fact feeding was always a game of ‘what if’ and ‘what about’. People were not buried here, she had learned, and finding bodies to spare was like discovering the proverbial needle - too many haystacks needed to be tossed and turned, and so much diversion needed to be created in order for her to not be discovered. Living in the body of a scrub nurse, and working at a hospital, however, made her efforts all the more easier ever since Livia ate the nurse’s body after she had thrown herself into the Han river two years ago.

Now, what did being a scrub nurse have to do with feeding? I’m glad nobody asked. It was oh-so exciting (not easy, however) to sneak out body parts (or even go as far as make an entire corpse ‘vanish into thin air’) when nobody was supervising. Late at night, when there were no surgeries to attend or people to see or talk to, when she felt she would get hungry soon, Livia would sneak into the morgue and shove into big, black trash bags whatever she could manage without being suspicious - tonight, for example, a car accident victim had been wheeled in with no hope of being saved. How could he, after all? He was neatly chopped in half by the weight of the vehicle that had crushed into his own.

And to top it all - he was a John Doe. The body had been in the hospital’s morgue for a few days already, and no one claimed him, or his parts. Naturally, Livia being the kind soul that she was, was about to do just that. Don’t worry - you’re not going to be forgotten, or entirely useless, she thought to the deceased Mr Doe. There was no chivalry about it, though. She wasgoing to claim him but not to spare the poor soul of oblivion, but to eat him and nobody would stop her. She packed the upper part of the corpse first and figured it would be safer to take thatto her car first. She pulled the bag along with her and pushed the morgue door open with her foot, struggling only then before beginning her sneak towards the exit, with soft and small steps, as quiet as a mouse.

Death dances near each bed at night, and tonight, it claims a soul. She was fifty-three and a mother of one, but now she rests in the arms of a never ending dream. Her family has come and gone; grief lacing their farewells, their goodbyes drained of hope. And Hanbyul stands by her bedside, watching in silence, because life is the art of dying, and he was just another patron. One that was tasked with completing her last offices because the other nurses were cursed by their own imagination; a fear they harboured towards caring for the dead, their comfort easily prioritised over the respect they were taught to give.

Hanbyul doesn’t mind it one bit. She’s gone now, empty. And it provides him with the silence he’s come to adore. Despite his usual  indifference towards the patients on his floor, he does his best to remember their names and the expression of peace on their faces as he zips up the bag and closes the final chapter of their story.

But death is more than it seems, always a little playful, tricky. And it’s on nights like this that hanbyul learns that death could be synonymous with delight.

“Mystery makes a person alluring,” he remarks as he leaned against the bed he had been transporting to the morgue, his gaze on a woman dressed in a uniform much like his own. He takes his time to scrutinise, and he doesn’t miss the bag that she would surely fail to hide. It looked heavy and large enough to encompass a body, but it wasn’t exactly the right length. “Sneaking a part out like that… are you looking for trouble or creating some?” he asks, a curious smile on his lips.

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t sound the alarm. The police will be crawling all over the place and the last thing I need right now is having an extended shift,” he lilts, expression unhinged and a little charmed. He’s always thought about sneaking unclaimed body parts out to conduct experiments of his own, and it excites him to think that he might not be alone for once. The general public would be content with black and white answers already published in books, but not Hanbyul; he would rather put it to the test on his own.

He takes a step towards her, slow and calm. “I’m not looking to make new enemies, god knows I have enough. I’m just curious, are you taking it home or is it going for cash? The way I see it, you look like you have another round to make so, depending on your answer, I might just lend a helping hand.”

[stilledsouls]

@pnxmbra

[sms: hanbyul]  He told me that I can use an empty apartment when I return.  Claimed he would have it all set up by the time I returned. [sms: hanbyul]   Hope he doesn’t mind me returning late because I’ll probably be here til close. [sms: hanbyul]  Also my dear friend, the terminology is get coffee no matter what.  I only drink Boba and juice when I am here.  Coffee makes me jittery.  See you soon though, ok?

She smiled softly before slipping her phone into her messenger bag.  Even if for some reason Hanbyul didn’t show, she wouldn’t be mad.  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever been upset at him.  Maybe once or twice when they first met.  Goodness he was just as stubborn as she was about some things, but in the end the little similarities they had - Avis felt like those brought them closer.

Gathering up her books and research materials, the young woman sighed as she went to find her landlord.  She explained that she was going out and she wasn’t sure when she would actually be back so he handed her a spare key.  She would have a place to sleep tonight no matter what, so at least there was that.  Now, she just hoped she had someone to pass some of the research time with.  Even if they sat in silence for a bit, just having someone that she considered special near by often helped keep her from falling into a rut.

Hanbyul likens monotony to death, but every so often he finds it dashed by something strange and extravagant. An occurrence he sees more often now that Avis was becoming somewhat of a constant in his life. She was one of the few that would seek his companionship despite his inability to reciprocate to an appropriate degree. But he would try, because it was Avis. And that was reason enough to do anything.

Slipping briskly into a clean set of clothes he leaves especially for occasions like this, Hanbyul throws on a jacket and clocks out before anyone can request for him to stay. Double checking the address of the café, he makes his way there with just the slightest hint of a smile on the corner of his lips.

[sms: avis] Are you still at the café? [sms: avis] I just left the hospital. Will be there in half an hour.

It was always different, and maybe a little beautiful, to meet someone who wants to meet you too; someone who makes you forget all your troubles; someone who doesn’t like to play pretend. But of course Hanbyul doesn’t realise it yet, not even when he steps into the cafe and makes eye contact with the one who extended the invitation to him in the first place. He was truly lacking in many ways.

"I see you've made full use of the table," he comments, gesturing to books and materials covering its surface in an organised mess. "Made any progress?"

[courtesie]

.schadenfreude

[stilledsouls]

@courtesie

she likes to wallow in her sadness. she’s pretty sure one time she read self-pity can be therapeutic.

of course, not all things that are lost are tangible. this hill, this tree she’s sitting under, the swing tire that she hung; they still remain, after all this time. maybe she got rid of the dulled-out pocket knife, but carvings aren’t magically removed once you stop looking at them. she would know.

and, of course, loses don’t need to be tangible for you to feel them. getting older sucks. being a fuck-up hurts too, but only when you think about it. out of sight, out of mind. this is why telenovelas, or bargain bin romance books exist.

but that’s digressing from the point.

below her, the sun languidly bleeds into the landscape of half-forgotten neighborhoods, seemingly in no particular hurry to make its execution clean. was it always like this? they picked this spot because it was barren, but now it feels devoid of all prospective warmth. not all the grass has died, but what remains gleams with a chilly reflective aura of autumn dew.

she doesn’t mean to cry; she’d like it much better if that decision was ultimately left for her to make, but we can’t control everything. in her case, that would be nothing at all. the lines blur. she kicks the ground with the sole of her shoe and finds that it, too, can retaliate. great. now her sneaker is dirty and her bones ache.

and just when she thinks it cannot get worse, a shadow looms over the tree, signifying yet another nuisance to deal with before the day ends. it falters. then, it lingers on in the same spot. the hair on her nape stands with the kind of familiar sense of being watched, being expected to say something.

“god, you can sit here. it’s fine. i promise i don’t bite.”

The messages stop coming, and hanbyul worries. Because he grew up learning that his mother’s silence was her loudest cry, and he felt a tug in his heart, one that led him back to his hometown to unravel the reason behind her sudden withdrawal. While his heart was appeased that her radio silence had been due to an illness, he felt a strong want to stay and care for her. Because what good was a nurse if he could care for complete strangers but not the one who gave him life?

Brows once furrowed in pain now disappear into an expression of calm; her soft breathing an odd comfort to her son’s anxious heart. Hanbyul continues to look on for just a moment longer, taking in the familiar scene of a childhood once past before he leaves to get some fresh air. There was something about returning to your hometown that rouses feelings of nostalgia. But hanbyul knows that it was nothing but a seductive liar; this yearning for something now gone—false. He did not enjoy living here and it was certainly no wish of his to return. But his mother continued to exist in a place he loathed, and perhaps that was the reason he still felt a love, albeit a fading one, for this place. Because of mother.

Strolling along the now quiet streets, his mind is empty but his body remembers, and hanbyul finds himself drawn to the place where the memory of another soul lived. She had been similar yet unalike—an outcast, but one of choice. Those memories of her were nothing but faint whispers in the wind, but he hears her name echoed by the leaves as they rustled and he chooses not to listen because she had disappeared a good decade ago; there was no use being sentimental about things that were gone.

But he’s greeted with a sound that’s mostly jarring to his ears, and he cringes. No, he could not deal with a stranger now, much less a crying one. But the sniffles fade and made way for a tremulous voice, completely resigned with a tinge of exasperation. And he responds. “You assume I want to sit by you, but I don’t,” he replies simply, standing just far away enough to make it awkward for anyone to continue holding a conversation with him; a distance too far for normality but too near for a shout.

“I am going to ask nicely. Please stop crying. You’re going to summon vultures and hyenas out of thin air because honestly, you sound like you’re dying.”

[stilledsouls]

@eterneli ( ✧ continued )

Sunset is a strange time of day, or maybe it’s just Baekhyun who is not used to it.

The last remnants of warmth bathing patches of his fair skin with marvelous rays made out of gold, a rushing breeze turning cold and clouds melting away in shaded of apricot and roseate. Sure the tall buildings surrounding them pollute the masterpiece nature paints every day, but it doesn’t take away mute lull that somehow is resonates in the background.

He wonders if Hanbyul pays as much attention to the skies at the moment as he does, if he even cares to at all. They’ve been throwing words in the wind for a while now and the pianist found comfort on the bed of grass below their feet, claiming that it was more comfortable than the old bench his back had been struggling to adjust to, while the latter remained on the original spot.

The inquiry follows a stretch of silence left after he mentioned the wild minds of those he met at ‘work’ and there is no immediate response to it.

Mostly because he agrees (but not entirely).

“Because you can easily read them?”

Hazel hues never really avert from the skies above, gradually being engulfed by roaring obsidian, but his palms do wanders to thread through prickly patches of greenery underneath his palms.

“I would’ve guessed that makes them harmless rather than scary.”

It makes sense if you think further about it. Both arguments do, actually. He’s just curious to see where the latter comes from, curious to find out more about the quiet man who seems too far down his own hole to let any light shine through.

“But please, do elaborate.”

A quiet exhalation of amusement leaves his lips. It was as if Baekhyun had pulled the words from his mind; a testimony perhaps of how humans were really easy to read. But that didn’t sit well with Hanbyul. After all, he hardly considered himself ordinary.

“Quite so. But what’s frightening is how much courage they lack in expressing themselves,” he shares, a shrug he sends to accompany that thought. “It’s like they are living in a masquerade; always hiding themselves behind those pretty paper masks as they parade through life. You can never tell who they really are.” Hanbyul says that, but he understands why people would rather keep a veil around their own existence. He for one, was constantly scorned for his tactless comments, because he discovered that people had an apparent preference for all things sweet, sugar-coated, and kind.

But Hanbyul didn’t mind. He expressed himself, and that was it. He was different, and he thrived.

“You’re not hiding behind one, are you? A mask.”

The words that escaped were light and playful, but his eyes were searching, truly curious if Baekhyun was one of the braver ones he knew; fearless in expression and finding comfort in meek eccentricity.

“But as a musician, I suppose it wouldn’t be proper to keep your feelings concealed,” he manages a chuckle. “Or at least when you’re playing the piano.” The self-proclaimed violinist knows that much. He knows how instruments have a way of drawing a harmony of rhythm and emotions from the most inward places of a soul, revealing their darkest secrets to those who knew how to listen. “I should come by your shop to hear you play again one day. Maybe we can even play a duet.”

[stilledsouls]

FIVE  SENSES  AESTHETIC. bold  what  applies  to  your  muse. HANBYUL.

SIGHT. small towns. big cities. six thirty curfews.  lights that take the place of stars.  blanket nests. light through the blinds as a wake up call. found family. finding a single star in the middle of new york city.  window shopping. watching something terrible and enjoying it.  growing numb to the sight of injustice. wilted flowers. faded caricatures.  bright, bold colors.

HEARING. crickets and lightning bugs.  car engines and a / c units. a phone call to mom / dad. laughing with friends. jokes that are so bad you have to laugh. the clicking of computer keys.  noise canceling headphones. the sound of silence. muffled music from another room. drumming fingertips on a table.  clicking of pens.  listening to a clock and swearing the ticks get slower. ringing in the ears.  the voice of someone you love. pitch shifted songs.

TOUCH. being held close during a long night. fleeting reassurances. holding hands when you’re scared. brushing fingers through strands of hair. freshly dried clothes. bruises on your knuckles.  silk and satin.  your favorite pet’s fur or feather.  wringing your hands anxiously.  snuggies.  comforters in the dead of winter.  nails against skin. cold metal.  leather in summer.

TASTE. coffee in the morning. tea in the evening.  bubblegum that lost its flavor. alcohol burning the back of your throat.  homemade cooking, no matter what’s made. blood in your mouth. stale air. mint. fresh vegetables.  that processed taste of citrus candy. the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good.  foreign sweets. fast food. bittersweet. sour.  spicy.  sweet. bitter. too much salt on fries.

SMELL. morning glories and honeysuckles.  freshly cut grass. hot chocolate in the middle of winter. nail polish.  acetone.  hospital rooms. smoke (incense). hair spray.  your favorite shampoo /conditioner.  the scent of home.  perfume.  cologne.  mint.  something burning.  wet dogs. copper. metal. unemptied ash trays. something familiar yet different.

tagged by: @serenxdipitous ( thank you bb ♡ ) tagging: @theunwrittens (deirdre) @gallaxians​ (demis) @needfuldreams​ (dream) @eterneli​ @courtesie​ @denouae​ @querenciant​

[stilledsouls]

✧ — tracker. 

hi everyone („• ֊ •„) ♡ i've listed down the threads that I currently owe replies to. i hope i didn’t leave anyone out; please let me know if I did and I will add it in accordingly ! i have more time to work on them now so thank you all for being so patient once again ♡ 

@eterneli @courtesie @pnxmbra @eljudnnir @luxinexitium @needfuldreams @gallaxians @serenxdipitous (x2)  

[stilledsouls]

— i’m terribly sorry for being so slow with replies; I’ll get to them next weekend once this conference event for work is over. thank you all for being so patient  („• ֊ •„) ♡

[lupusxdei-a]

                                                           ABANDON HOPE                                                    ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE

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[gallaxians]

            ᴡʜʏ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴏ ᴏʙsᴇssᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ ?​ © 

[moved-eterneli]

                     byun baekhyun. the raven. private piano instructor & vampire hunter.

                                             —  i.       ii.       iii.   —

[stilledsouls]

@serenxdipitous​

The darkening of the sky seemed to come quicker and quicker, silently overtaking the sun until only the street lights provided guidance home. Chanyeol could have sworn it was only mid afternoon just moments ago, yet the moon was high in the sky and night covered the world in a thick blanket. With a silent sigh he glances up at the clock in the library. It was nearly 2am which means he’ll be kicked out of the library soon. Rubbing at his eyes it’s almost unbelievable that he had spent nearly ten hours in the library studying. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice if he wanted to pass his classes.

It was a lot when you had to wait for your class to be transcribed and sent as a video to you, too bad attendance counted as a grade because it was like he was practically attending twice. He doesn’t get much out of the actual class itself. Sure he gets notes ahead of time, but his ability to keep up with the lesson is probably at 40% and that was giving him a pretty generous percentage. In order not to fall behind Chanyeol has to read the notes ahead of time, make his own during the class of what he can understand ( when the professor doesn’t have their back turned to him or something covering their mouth ), wait for the class to be transcribed, watch the lecture all over again and take better notes, and then study from the textbook doing the assigned homework and projects.

Chanyeol had no life outside of class and the library, he wonders if he should just live in here to save money on room and board, it wasn’t as if he saw his dorm very often. Maybe if he was lucky he’d get five hours of sleep before the next class where he repeats the cycle all again.

A tap on his shoulder brings him out of his thoughts and he sighs a little bit as he’s told the library is closing and he’ll have to head out. Collecting his things he yawns a bit as he makes his way to the bus stop. The walk home isn’t very far, but the night was cold, he was exhausted, and if he was lucky he could get a seat and sleep for a bit.

It seems he wasn’t so lucky. Stepping onto the bus he wedges himself between people as it was pretty crowded. Guess he wasn’t the only one up all hours of the night. Taking his hand off the bar he rubs at his eyes to try and get the sleep out of them while his other hand fishes for his phone. Rather unluckily the bus comes to an abrupt stop as a car tries to cut it off and Chanyeol is wide eyed as he looses his balance and knocks into the man in front of him. Trying to steady himself out he’s unable to manage and falls flat on his ass. Fuck– where was his phone so he could apologize?

The breaks screech and structure of the old bus whines loudly with the sudden lurch, but hanbyul has barely enough time to process all that before someone slams into him, stealing his breath and balance away at the same time. It’s a miracle that only the other had fallen to the ground. Wincing slightly at the pain blooming along his arm, Hanbyul spends a moment to nurse it before turning his attention to the stranger who honestly, looked as if he’d lost his marbles. What was he still doing on the floor? Any normal person would get up as quickly as possible, perhaps adorning a sheepish laugh and smile, or cheeks dusted with embarrassment. Anger was also a popular alternative. This stranger however, was different and pleasantly odd.

“Are you okay?” Hanbyul asks after observing the other for a bit. Wide eyes were panicked and scanning the deck for something (maybe he really did lose some marbles), but when he traced the other’s gaze, he found nothing but bits of dirt and blackened gum. It didn’t help either that everyone was just staring and the bus had started moving again. Hanbyul was sure the rattling and vibration of the engine would do little to ease the panic that the other was going through. Taking a step back to crouch down, he makes sure to hold onto a bar so that he doesn’t join the other in a rendezvous on the ground should the bus lurch again.

Reaching out to touch the other’s shoulder, he repeats his question. “Are you okay?” That was the extent of his concern. No one was offering any help and his nursing instincts somehow kicked in. “Did you sprain something?” he adds, wondering if the other couldn’t stand because he’d injured a limb or a joint.

But silence was his only reply. That, and perhaps a giggle of amusement from those who resided in heaven because he felt the bus lurching again and this time, he hears an uncomfortable crunch coming from underfoot. Oh. The dots are joined and grimaces when he moves his foot and laid his eyes on a phone that clearly looked like it had seen better days. In his stead to break his fall for a second time, Hanbyul had stepped on what was probably this stranger’s phone. Offering the shattered phone up to the stranger with an awkward quirk of apology on his lips, he had only one thing to say; a word that was unfamiliar to his existence.  “Sorry…”  

[stilledsouls]

@serenxdipitous

Chanyeol listens intently to the other create a counter scenario to the one he originally rebutted with. It was always rather interesting to get a glimpse into the other’s mind. He was rather violent, but thorough with is scenarios. Sometimes it was hard to rebut, but when it came to trauma accidents, or well in this case it would be more of an incident since this plan was methodical and thought out, Chanyeol easily countered the other’s attack.

“I think you’ve underestimated me.”

He says back staring down at the other with his full height. He was fairly taller than the other, and that was a good selling point that Hanbyul probably couldn’t knock him out as easily as the thought with the kidney dish. Perhaps if he had still been laying down, but currently he was standing which made a big difference in their little hypothetical.

“But I’m standing now, and it’s actually a lot harder to knock someone out with a blow to the head than you think. A blunt force trauma is different for everyone, a strong blow might knock someone out, but not another. It could take two or three knocks to the head. It all depends on the person. So this factor you have of knocking me out is unpredictable and you’d be operating on chance that your strongest blow can knock me out. Not to mention that your blow will be a lot less heavy hitting now that I’m standing. That extra reach will take force away. You’re better off sticking me with a needle and sedating me.”

He admits before humming a little bit, that left him to counter what would happen after the other sedates him. Pursing his lips a little bit he takes a solid few seconds to try and figure out how to counter the other’s example.

“You know, I had a case of this kid crashing into a tree. She bit her tongue off for a good part. Just hanging on, barely attached. She was awake for the surgery, sewed it back on no issues with that. More so issues with the jaw. But she wasn’t in pain due to the shock and she kept her head down and in towels before arriving here. I think if you were to cut my tongue off if I was under sedation I would wake up in enough shock that I could make it to the ER. Perhaps not run. But I could grab the sheets or something to put around my mouth to catch the blood. There is always the possibility too that if you don’t sedate me or knock me out and still try and cut off my tongue, what makes you think I can’t wrestle those scissors out of your hands to protect myself?”

He asks the other curiously seeming to have found himself lost in this scenario. It seems that his tired brain, even with a second wind, could only focus on one thing at a time. This one thing happened to be the hypothetical of the two of them getting into a big enough quarrel that it would call for Hanbyul to loose his temper and cut Chanyeol’s tongue out.

“I mean also just where are you going to cut on my tongue? The tip? The middle, are you going to reach all the way in the back and chop it off there? Tip and middle are more manageable, the back is where you run into more issues for reattachment. But if we were to go in a fight and you somehow overpower me, then the middle or tip is realistically easier to cut in a struggle.”

When the other chickens out of helping like he was promised, only going to get shoes and socks from his locker like he should have done in the first place when he asked for them, does Chanyeol pout.

“Perhaps I should take the kidney pan from  your hand then. Less temptation to knock someone out cold. Or attempt to. Since you know, everyone’s point of passing out from blunt force trauma is different and unable to gauge based upon just looking at them.”

He shrugs a little showoff-y.  

Taking in the other’s height, Hanbyul then tilts his head and attunes himself to their movements as they babbled on. Chanyeol loomed over him, but with the silence he placed between every counter-argument, it was evident that he felt a certain sense of security in being able to ponder over words to be said. An almost unspoken faith that Hanbyul wouldn’t really attack him. But hanbyul had no qualms about betraying the trust he never asked for;  he could close the gap between them in two strides and slit the other’s neck with the scissors he had in hand. Because god, he really wanted the other to stop talking. The only thing that held him back was the bloody mess he would have to tend to afterwards.

“Maybe I should just stab you,” he cuts in, brandishing his scissors in mock innocence before using it to gesture at the other’s torso. “Your height makes it easy for me to stab you in the liver, or your lungs— wouldn’t be able to breathe or call for help if that’s punctured,” Hanbyul lists casually as he considered the many other different areas he could possibly slash. “It’ll be easier with a knife, but if a scissors is all I have, I’ll make do with it.” Because Hanbyul has inflicted worse injuries with his bare hands and a broken glass bottle, injuries that he had to pay for with a jail sentence. He knew how to weave and use things to his advantage, he also lacked the conscience to care.

“Sure, have the kidney dish if that’s what you like, but I’ll take the scissors with me,” he concludes as he turns to leave. “Please start cleaning when I’m gone. Don’t give me a reason to club you with whatever instrument I can find on my way back. I don’t care if it takes more than a single hit to get you unconscious; I will inflict as much trauma is needed till you pass out,” he warns before making his way, rather reluctantly, down to the nurse’s locker room near the ER. His steps are quiet save for the occasional squeak his shoe makes against the hospital floor that was now worn and uneven from daily traffic of doctors and visitors with different purposes in their steps.

He manages to slip in unnoticed, but it takes him a good couple of minutes to locate the other’s locker. They had so many nurses in the ER, perhaps even room for more, and Hanbyul would give anything to be one of them. But the management’s pride and status would never allow for it, not when he had a history of incarceration that could mar the pristine name of their hospital. Well as pristine as it could get with the stench of corruption wafting in every now and then.

But he pushed these thoughts aside as he pried the locker open with fair ease, and he for once was glad that chanyeol lacked the common sense to keep it locked. Nothing hits or falls on him—thankfully—when he opens the door, and he helps himself to the clean pair of socks he sees sitting on a shelf, along with the only other pair of shoes. Letting it dangle precariously as he held them between his index finger and thumb, Hanbyul makes his way back to his ward and hopes that he wouldn’t be overcome with an urge to hurl them at chanyeol. He better have started cleaning.

[stilledsouls]

@flxriciide​​ ( ✧ continued )

The demoness has heard more prayers in a hospital than in a place of worship. The silent chants and wishes uttered by loved ones over the sick and ill simply burned her ears. It’s like an annoying sound, a buzz that one couldn’t really shake off and it’ll constantly ring in her ears till she gets used to it. Only thing is, she doesn’t want to get used to it. She wants to terminate the source of the buzzing.

As she stood over the bed of a patient, the buzzing particularly loud with this one, her demonic white eyes stared at the person in a deep slumber. Anastasia was trying to make sense of why this person was so …. ‘annoying’ hence she raised a hand to conjure her shadows for her bidding. However, her actions were stopped due to the caretaker of the ward - how heroic.

“I haven’t decided on what to do with her. I suggest you turn the other way and pretend you didn’t see anything here.”

Much like the moon that sent down ghostly lustres to haunt the sleeping, she too was pale, and her gaze was focused on something beyond the realm that he could seek to comprehend. Hanbyul had his fair share of brushes with the supernatural. It was something to expect when he agreed to steal blood from those who were barely living and give it to the creatures who required it for sustenance. For a fee of course. And perhaps she was one of them. Vampires. But his knowledge about them was limited— had they different forms, different looks? What did the different colours of their eyes mean? Because her behaviour deviated greatly from the other vampires, and Hanbyul wanted to know why. Or was she something else altogther?

“I heard your suggestion, but I’m not inclined to listen.” There was an absence of fear, but he knew enough to offer respect for creatures who were clearly more powerful that he was. “You know, you could always have asked if you wanted some blood. I could get some for you; let’s not mess up the area, hmm? Your friends were with me on that, at least.”