#obsxgohn

[obshimchan]

hospitality

Downtime while working in the hospital was hard to come by; there were always patients coming in or something to be done, especially since Himchan was an intern. So when he ran out of errands and papers, he was baffled. There was work to be done elsewhere, he was certain of that, but he decided to have a short break. It would only be a few minutes, he told himself. It was okay, he had completed all that was expected of him for the day early, and there weren’t any patients who currently needed his immediate attention. It was not necessary for him to pick up where his fellow interns were lacking just yet. A brief break was deserved. 

Five minutes later, and a white styrofoam cup half-filled with orange juice in one hand, and a bagel in the other, Himchan had been relaxing in the break room, enjoying the spare time to fill his belly after the amount of stress he had to face on a daily basis. It was nice, but also felt foreign. He knew it was not normal -- it wasn’t supposed to be happening. He was accustomed to following others around to shadow, completing paperwork for patients, or even conversing with patients. To just sit around and do absolutely none of that was peculiar. And, as much as he liked to rest, he did not like the way he felt that he was doing something incorrect. He could not truly appreciate the time; it only made him feel nervous. With a grumble, he finished off his food, throwing away the now empty cup and trudging towards the front desk. 

It was almost as if on cue. There were two men being brought in, one who appeared to be covered in lacerations all along his body; however, the other was free of any noticeable injuries. A friend? The question posed itself in his mind, though it was soon forgotten. He was more excited to be doing something again, even if he had been the one to opt out of working on menial paperwork to begin with. Maybe it was cynical to be thrilled with the prospect of someone being injured, but this was far more exciting than paperwork could ever be. 

With a subtle skip in his step, Himchan approached the doctor, requesting permission to shadow and assist before following them to a hospital bed. Being an intern, it was frustrating to not be able to actually work on the injury, especially one that did not require too much complicated procedures -- he could only watch as the usual method of applying pressure to the wound, cleaning it, elevating, and bandaging was carried out. It was simple, really, but not yet something he was allowed to do. He did, however, turn to the other man, eyeing him for a moment before speaking. While the injured male was being fixed up, he might as well initiate a conversation with the man who had accompanied him and try to accumulate information that may be useful.

“Hello.” He started slowly. “I am Himchan. I’m an intern and am currently shadowing. Do you mind telling me what happened to your.. friend here?” A tug at the corners of his lips revealed a small, friendly smile. 

@obsxgohn

[obsgyuri-blog]

• • • GREEN: the color of life, renewal, growth, harmony, freshness, and safety. GREEN is also traditionally associated with money, ambition, greed, and jealousy. 

// @obsxgohn

[obsxten-blog]

run away.

* &. for @obsxgohn​

this was, unsurprisingly, not how he had expected his saturday night to go.

he had forgotten, unfortunately, just how large sunseong really was. maybe to natives it isn’t so largeㅡbut ten's not exactly a native and he doesn’t know the streets and districts mapped out on the back of his hand like some people seem to do. and so it’s just a little tragic that he accidentally takes a wrong turn on the usually short way back from exploring the more crowded areas of the city and he’s left stranded in the dark, near some place that he can’t recognize with his phone on zero percent and a strong will to not cry. 

the biting wind that’s growing in coldness doesn’t help either and he regrets for about the eighth time that night, leaving his jacket back at home. he mourns for the sensation of actual warmth and wonders when he had last felt it, seeing as it might as well have been about a week ago. (he’s being dramatic, it was about 4:06pm in the afternoon before the temperature started dropping.) so all in all, he’s not having a good night.

his adidas drag on the concrete floor and at this point he’s not even looking to go home anymore, giving up on the hope that he’s going to get there in one piece. the night is dark, the moon a glowing crescent shape in the black sky. it’s kind of pretty, if he stares at it for a whileㅡwhich he does.

until ... he hears a myriad of barking, a mess of about eighteen footsteps and he turns around in surprise, only to be headbutted by a figure that he can’t even see. ten stumbles and would have fallen completely, if it weren’t for him getting his senses together at the last second.

“ㅡunf!”

[obshaechul-blog]

Locusts??? In My Chocolate????

@obsxgohn

“So today I passed by a vendor on the way to a gig, and he was selling the most DISGUSTING and HORRIBLE thing!” As always Gohn is sitting quietly across from him at the café. Listening very carefully and intently.

“He was selling CHOCOLATE COVERED INSECTS!!!! AND NOT JUST ANY KIND! Well there were a few kinds but THERE WERE CHOCOLATE COVERED LOCUSTS! WHAT THE FUCK! Why would you do that!? Why would you CATCH LOCUSTS and COVER THEM IN CHOCOLATE!?”

Haechul is gesturing very widely as he speaks, very nearly knocking over his own hot chocolate. Arms arcing about to punctuate his point concisely.

“Chocolate is good and all but WHY THE FUCK would you eat a LOCUST?? Humans don’t find it right to eat other humans do they?! Just… Just imagine walking around Sunseong and you smell something sweet and delicious and chocolately… and it’s a FUCKING HUMAN ARM COVERED IN CHOCOLATE! THAT’S NOT RIGHT! And... And when I told the guy that what he was doing was absolutely DISGUSTING he had the gall to tell me that it was really “healthy” and “high in protein.” That’s just not right! Meat is high in protein! Eat a FUCKING COW NOT A LOCUST YOU ASSHOLE!”

He takes a moment to drink some of his hot chocolate. All that anger is really dehydrating.

“But man, what do you think about this it’s just crazy RIGHT?”

Thirst hits him again and he manages to drink the entire rest of his beverage before he gets a response.

“One more thing! He said that if Locusts aren’t my thing then I can try the ants cause they are spicy? Ants? Spicy? We’re in South Korea my man, ants aren’t anywhere NEAR SPICY!”

He stews in his anger for a couple of more seconds before he snaps.

His hand slams down on the table to release some of his tension.

“You never fucking respond, Gohn, what the fuck! I talk to you and ask you what you think to get a response, not to just vent I want a conversation! Why don’t you TALK?”

[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.

[obsxbjoo]

oops

@obsxgohn​

chik-chaa –––

A mistake. Byungjoo could have felt the onset of a cringe miliseconds before the accidental firing of the camera shutter, cue slow-motion look of horror as the sound echoed unbelievably loudly in the narrow alleyway. The effect was instantaneous: three heads turned almost in sync, and Byungjoo didn’t stick around to hear the chorus of unholy screeches ringing off of concrete wall. 

Flinch turned into a full-out stumble, loose gravel becoming airborne as shoes lurched across pavement. Sure, Byungjoo had never been the king of the track team, but he was sure any coach would be proud to see him positively flying through the empty back alleys of beok-gu Sunseong –– though probably having been disqualified for taking off so close to the starting pistol. Internal screaming that blotted out all conscious thought was as good a stand-in for the cheer of actual spectators as any, so much so that Byungjoo barely noticed when screeches became distant and a labyrinth of industrial buildings and warehouses grew around him.

Without thinking twice he dove into the nearest building that offered easy entry, his sneakers kicking up clouds of dust to mark the single pause in his mad sprint. It was, however, in severe lack of foresight, as all the dust-and-probably-asbestos went straight into his face and subsequently into his greedy, air-sucking lungs. 

Trotting out of the self-inflicted cloud of doom, choking on a coughing fit and trying desperately to shield his camera from the blight of lens dust ( while also, of course, mentally berating it for betraying him like this. Whose fault was it that he’d been forced to become a temporary Olympian anyway ? Condemned to death by airborne particles ? ). He rubbed at watery eyes and patiently hacked up a lung, confident that he could apply for a hard-earned gold medal in long distance sprint and sure that he would never, ever attempt such a herculean feat ever again.

He froze, however, as his nose was filled not with the scent of cancer in powdered form, but rather the smell of blood.  

... Ahem. Byungjoo had stumbled a bit further in than he’d anticipated.

“ That’s –––  a bit illegal, isn’t it ? “  he wheezed out, hands on his knees.

[obshanah-blog]

-- surprise

@obsxgohn

As the clock turned to one am, the star studded night begin to glitter beyond her window. Inside sits Sooah, her hair tied back so only a small pony tail clings to the back of her head. Her face focused in writing something as the plant that sat across from her glowed with a dim, almost ethereal, light.

It had been a particularly productive night for the woman -- well, at least that was what she'd like to believe. She had finally gotten further into her research of finding some sort of cure for her mother’s ailment. They were only small advancements, but in her mind it was still something. Her petite hand gripped on to her pen, scribbling down the properties she needed to adjust in order to be used ( enhance it’s toxins by 2.89%, clip its leaves and put in water for ache relief ).With one note finally complete, she placed the potted plant aside and pulled a weed closer to her, this time it’s of silver colour. It was one of her proudest collections, she was sometimes unsure whether she should even touch it,it’s just so... beautiful.

Just as she took a sip from her cup of tea, a loud crash was heard from her bedroom. Almost spewing the drink back into its cup, Sooah placed the cup back onto the table as her senses enhanced.

Among the mixed scents of herbs, there was a particular smell that didn’t belong yet familiar. This didn’t mean she would let down her guard. Gripping her pen close to her chest, she made careful steps towards her bedroom, the silence far too heavy on her ears. One hand slipped on to the door knob, turned it slowly and winced at the what felt like the deafening sound of the creaking door. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room it landed on unfamiliar silhouette who sat on the floor, busy with its hands. Sooah took a deep breath as she stepped inside, her heart pounding loudly against her chest.

“Stop where you are!” She commanded, a sliver of determination in her tone, “If you make a move, I will not hesitate to call my friends. And trust me, they can do a lot of things to you -- none of them good.” Sooah was never very good with confrontations, or threats, and this fact only made her even more nervous.