#obsluhan

[obsxshoumu-blog]

until it dawns on you.

@obsluhan

If Shoumu is being honest, they are terribly comfortable around Lu.

They feel in him a kindred spirit: displaced, out of place, a collection of splintered personas -- they are not particularly so intense of conversation that they could have coerced such things from Lu in words, but they are able to draw conclusions from the facts presented to them, from the hazy images of his dreams and daydreams. Some certainties do exist: the both of them are foreign to this place, the both of them are not as human as they appear -- even if that latter fact is only known one-sided, for as comfortable as Shoumu is, they still cannot quite bear to explain themselves openly.

Regardless -- this is not, by any means, what has lead to them dozing off in the middle of horror game night. That is, quite frankly, just Shoumu being Shoumu: difficult to frighten or even particularly capture the interest of in their waking moments.

It is a lighter sleep than usual they’ve fallen into, knees tugged close to their body and chin propped on one -- it seems only natural that they dream of a spooky cabin in a forest and everything seems more 3d-rendered than photographic, but no less real. They figure themself smarter than the protagonists of a horror story, however, and so they stay put and let the oddity of the dreamscape unfold at its pace -- they are in control of it, yes, but that renders them no less vulnerable to the occasional surprise here.

(Though it’s a bit hard not to just laugh when they can hear what sounds most accurately like angry ranting thoughts coming from just outside.)

They’re in the middle of staring at an oddly-placed quicktime event symbol, wondering how to press a button in real life, when a shrill noise startles them into waking, sitting up suddenly with eyes open wide and a deep frown across their lips. Shoumu blinks a few times at the monster and then the now-paused screen, soundless -- and turns to look at Lu, fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on their leg as stark-colored, inadvertently heterochromic eyes survey the state of their friend, who’s easily more startled than they are despite having been... well, more capable of anticipating this than Shoumu, to be sure.

“Did that... scare you?”

[obsxchaow-blog]

A Game of Shadows

His hands sting, throb through the layers of gauze and ace bandages like a consistent, annoying reminder that he carved into them hours prior for a ritual. Between the headaches and the flesh wounds he’s up to his eyeballs in acetaminophen. He can’t quite remember how he got like this, two cars whirring past and the afterthought of a sputtering exhaust pipe. It’s a side of town he hasn’t wandered through but it all starts to look the same under the moonlight, every street corner hollowed out, gaunt and crooked like the buildings could crumble down and swallow him whole at any given moment but Chaow’s comfortable, in a sort of way that only settles with time and practice and accumulated apathy; he cares too little while he hurts too much, all mediocre stitches and pallid looking stares at midnight held with strangers. Every passerby observes him the same, with the collar of his jacket hiked up high enough to stop just under the prominent bow of his lips, each exhale accumulating as a thin sheen of fog upon his glasses. They don’t notice the white fabric or the ugly red stains and he tries his best to keep it that way, to leave little room for prying or the obligated are you okay that sounds more or less like a request to keep his distance than a genuine display of concern. Sometimes he wants to tell them that he’s not okay, wants to make their skin crawl with all of the possible ways he’s not okay, bloodied palms and magic fizzling out in his veins, how every few seconds it’s like he’s looking through a kaleidoscope just trying to make sure he doesn’t walk directly into traffic. Sometimes he wants to say he’s not okay but he ends up walking past them in the end, words held like detonators behind his lips, another uncomfortable factor added upon the plethora he’s collected already.  Behind peeling concert posters and rusting nails, muffled bass leaks its way through the seams of an unmarked establishment. The clubs have no name here, he thinks, they’re all secrets and hideaways for people who don’t want to have identities for a night in the middle of their already teeming personal lives. He stands in front of the door for a moment, the green neon peeking through just enough to thread into his hair and lashes, painting a thin stripe on wherever else it can touch just before he dips into a pathway behind the building and the music fades to a faint thrum, barely enough to skim his conscience. In the small confines of concrete walls, the soles of his shoes click against the pavement, an irregular rhythm.  @obsluhan

[obsgyuri-blog]

❖ Bring your hunter to work

[ EVENT | @obsluhan ]

Gyuri and her new “client” walked side by side but there was an unspoken chasm between them. Truthfully speaking, there were many things left unspoken. Most of which pertained to her first night at a strip club, particularly the one where Lu worked. Bars, been there. Clubs, done that. Those locations already got her used to intruding bass lines and breaths heavy with alcohol. She traveled to countless places and seen many things, and yet all in the span of one night shift, she saw so many things she never had before.

She would shove her hands into her pants’ pockets, she had to stay vigilant since her duty was to look after him. Unfortunately, she couldn’t even manage to look at him at this moment. Maybe she should’ve said something more than just the stammering ‘you... you dance good’ she gave him earlier. Either way the window of opportunity closed already, and bringing it up now would just mean she thought about his performance this entire time.

A harsh coughing sound broke the silence. She aimed to clear her throat but it felt like something was stuck in it. ( Possibly the compliments that she owed him but were too flustered to voice. ) 

“So... You always come home at this time? It’s pretty damn late to be out by yourself in general.” She didn’t have to check her watch to know that no good came out of being outside at this hour. It was around this time where she first met him too. ( Further proof that nothing good lurked around this time. )

“Do you work, like, weekdays and weekends too?” Performing that frequently would be so tiring, she thought to herself. Lu, himself, had such a thin and pale frame too. It must have been due to his diet and schedule. Although with the way he carried himself on and off stage, he certainly seemed healthy enough.

[obsxwonho-blog]

28, 32, 38!

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

The one person Wonho would have seen as his best friend was Jungkyu. He currently is very walled off and hasn’t gotten to know anyone else well enough to consider them friends.

Amelie. Without a doubt she is the creature he hates the most.

32.Thoughts on material possessions in general?

He enjoys clothes, but doesn’t put much stock in material possessions. Food on the other hand....

(38 was answered in a previous ask ^^)

[obshaechul-blog]

17, 31, 41!

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress?

- Hae is weirdly well put together with his clothing? He likes collared shirts and slacks, a crisp blazer with some sort of silly lapel pin. Haechul wears some high-top converse for hos footwear, and as always has a huge pair of sunglasses.

Most Prized Posession?

- His locust lapel pin. It’s his absolute favorite, and he wears it all the time. (He’s also just subtly like... this me)

How Misanthropic are they?

-Misanthropy is a dislike or avoidance of humankind? He definitely doesn’t avoid people. He is very social and feeds off of interacting with others, however a dislike of humankind? There is a tinge of that. Hae isn’t like “Ah man gotta destroy all humans” its more a “Oh they don’t understand” sort of thing

[obsgyuri-blog]

@obsluhan:

( continued from ❖ )

“Yeah? I sort of give myself the creeps too. Sorry about that.” A weak laugh- nervous. He carefully folds his hands over one another- curling fingers in so that he can try to hide the pointed claws at the ends of them. He’s not sure why she’s bringing this up, but he knows he can understand. With what he is, she should be scared, right? That’s how that works?

“What is it, though? My job? The teeth?” He sighs. “I guess it might be my eyes. People are always saying that I look like I’m blind or something…” Those aren’t lies, but they still feel like a cover up. Those aren’t the things about himself that make him shiver when he looks in the mirror. Then again, he’s actually not sure what it is that DOES. It’s always so hard to tell. What about him is it?

What about him is the scariest part?

“It’s the way you look... So innocent, but everything you do says otherwise. Its hard to read you, so it feels like you’d be good at hiding things.” Gyuri keeps her tone casual, disinterested even. Her own words, despite how hollow she tries to make them sound, resonates with herself. She’s basically describing herself while trying to profile him.

Sitting in one spot has made her restless so she needed to stretch a little. She leans over and tries to touch the tips of her sneakers. Nonchalant tone and acts help build the image that they’re just regular people sharing a conversation on a bench. But she knows the vibes she gets from this fae is anything but regular. 

“What made you choose this form for your illusion?”

[obsxwonho-blog]

“ put the knife down, hun'.”

He’s struggling to keep his grip on the knife, his palms sweaty as he stares her down.  His worst nightmare is in front of him, close enough that if he struck out quickly he could do it. He could end this here and now, finally avenge not only Jungkyu but also himself. But his arms are weak with fear, shaking. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words don’t seem to be hers. Something is off.. The voice is gentle, beseeching. It carries none of the usual malice and arrogance he had come to expect from her. Something is different but he can’t put his finger on it exactly. His grip loosens as he looks around him. This place... it’s not the Unseelie court. His head is pounding as he looks back at the woman before him. But his vision wavers and it’s not her. Amelie is gone, replaced by a somewhat delicate looking male, who seems concerned for some reason. Wonho glances down to see that the knife, in any case, is very real. It falls to the carpeted floor with a dull thud, and Wonho backs away mutely. There’s blood on the knife, and he isn’t sure who it belongs to.