ᴇ ᴄ ʜ ᴏ , ᴇ ᴄ ʜ ᴏ .

How Kihun is meant to answer that is beyond him. He mulls it over once Violet is finished saying what she wants to say, his thoughts going slow for a time, and he wonders if it’s just because the sun is up that he feels so tired, or if it’s something else. Laying with her like this is never a bad thing, but there are times when it can be draining, if only because he knows that he feels more than she ever could. It’s not that he blames her — he never could, and if he did, he would certainly not deserve to be close to her in any regard — but more that he can’t help but feel himself grow weary of playing charades, after a time. Not that he has to pretend to want to be her friend, or to at the very least be close to her in any sort of simple regard despite all else. “Is ‘fooling’ you meant to imply intent?” Because he doesn’t intend it, that is for sure. He just is what he is, and there’s no changing it. “I don’t think you need to be guarded with me. Or at least I like to believe you do not. If I could spend all of my time in a sunlit meadow with you, I would.”

“well i rushed here as quickly as i could in my delicate state,” keung says, solemn as he can be with the smile still etched into his features. “thank you,” he offers in wake of the kiss to his finger, genuinely grateful to have the ghost of his (minor) pain scared off. if a blush touches the apples of his cheeks as well, keung doesn’t notice; warmed already by being tended to so carefully. it is a feeling that runs soul-deep— and the yellow at the center of his bandaid daisies seem to so perfectly represent that sentiment. if flowers could grow in hearts they would be flourishing in his. keung beams, a sun in his own right; the spitting image of a morning glory unfurled. “let me repay you with a coffee?”

KAISKY: i still don’t know what labor day is exactly for, but i think weekends should last all week, so i’m for it i think KAISKY: any excuse to get drunk on a sunday

since the confirmation of the hybrid’s involvement in the murder, elio’s felt on edge. he’s a sensitive soul even when there isn’t a potential war-starter skulking the streets of his home, his new york, so to expect him to deal with this news well was inconceivable. the upcoming meeting has him wary as well. whatever decisions are going to be made there must be serious if a ‘skip day’ is punishable by death (thus dashing his plans to play hooky with hunny). all-in-all, he hates it. he hates the politics, the tension, the threat. he hates that he feels guilty for seeing friends who are lycans and that he feels weak for abiding by the buddy system so stringently. he raises his gaze over at the vampire who is currently acting as his partner and offers a sympathetic frown and a shrug. somewhere in the back of his throat, there’s a nagging reminder of his constant thirst. it only makes him feel worse, self-imposed blood cleanse leaving him rather hollow and moody. “sorry i’m not the best company right now,” he hums lowly with headphones waiting around his neck in case they didn’t want to talk to him at all. “a lot to think about, i guess.”

             call it exhaustion— call it running into a phantom of a past they’ve tried so hard to run away from— call it a comedown, whatever the case, sometimes collapse is unavoidable. her closed door is an invitation without a lock so he saunters in without a knock of warning in a beeline for the bed. feet kick off their shoes as he crawls under the covers fully clothed without preamble. 

             “vi—” they say half into the pillow after they’ve made it to the other side. “—…” a sigh of an exhale is the only other explanation they give. even if they’d wanted to give the sorrow words finn wouldn’t; has never been one to divulge such things in any language even when he finds the right ones to do the job. violet knows without it, surely, the way they say her name; the way their soul-wavelengths coexist.

she can sense their presence before her door even opens, and she’d swear it’s nothing to do with the supernatural abilities gifted to her. it’s something entirely their own, owed to no one and nothing but herself and finn alone. there’s a power in that thought -- a deep energy that promises cities burning down to the ground with them standing by her side among the ashes, unharmed. they will never come to harm so long as she is around, and if she isn’t around then neither is finn. it’s mutual. they both know it.

the pout of his lip doesn’t even last the entirety of bai’s inspection, a smile splitting his face all too easy at the frown he is given. there is little else that delights him so much as how bai plays along. this game he plays serves as an excuse to seek the pleasantness bai’s company more so than it appeals to his love of adorable band-aids but that much seems obvious so he leaves it unsaid. keung feels the smallest sliver of guilt for the genuine worry he had caused the first time around and hopes gently outward that bai doesn’t think him too selfish for the regular occurrence. “uh-huh, it’s really just agony.” it is a feat that he keeps the smile from tipping over into his voice, leaving it deadpan where his face fails to be.

he’s learned to grow his own ingredients. not like it’s hard – he plants some seeds, waters some plants and showers them with love. célian cares for his roses most – perhaps more than he cares for people. categorically more than he cares for people. they’re beautiful. they have a purpose. since his turning into a lycan, he has been struggling with thinking about what good humans actually bring to the world. there’s no reason for them to be here except to entertain his species, and the enemy’s. what an empty existence. no wonder they all feel so lost.

célian himself has gotten better in this respect. feeling more open, more like himself. nothing makes him more content than this, though. sitting among the rose bush, fingertips gliding over the petals of one. the corners of his mouth twitch. he usually comes alone, so when he feels another’s presence nearby, célian freezes, curious and prepared. nobody knows this particular little garden belongs to him. but he does know that it’s of interest. his flowers are beautiful. his love makes them so. 

jae had stumbled upon this picturesque little plot of land a few weeks ago, immediately falling in love with his surroundings and feeling an overwhelming sense of home. once upon a time, he and his family had lived off the land surrounding them, and though he has not planted a single seed since the day he was shipped to america, he remembers those times fondly. he feels comfortable here, secluded and undisturbed in such a calming way that he’s found himself returning to the flowers and the leaves on a somewhat regular basis, always in the dead of night and with his notebook in hand, ready to scribble lines of poetry and journaling the beauty around him. 

he had no idea the garden belonged to someone, but he’s beginning to suspect it now as he freezes in place, a statue in the shadows, and watches a lycan approach. there’s an air to the person that tells him they are intimately familiar with their surroundings, a strong appreciation and love for the plants here that is more than that of a visitor like himself. it feels as though the moment he is witnessing is private, like he should look away, and yet all he wants to do is write about it and the person he’s watching. quietly he attempts to get to his feet in a bid to leave unnoticed, but he hears the change in the lycan’s breathing, in their heart rate, as they instead become aware of his presence.

bell: answered here uwu

bai: “i have a few, but they all sorta revolve around chance and sharing a drink together. it sounds really simple and i suppose it is, but in the moment it felt so special. he’s very special to me, and those moments in time were so important. each one felt like coming home.” @gamblingsea

violet: “i always have a soft spot for training pups. teaching them how to hunt and watching them play. it can be dangerous, and i have to be on guard to make sure they remain safe, but it is so so worth it to see them embrace who they are and enjoy it. i suppose it reminds me of a time when i shared a similar sense of freedom with my adoptive family, many, many moons ago.”

( KIM HYOJONG. CIS MALE. ) Rumor has it that ( HU “JAE” SUNJAE ) has been spotted skulking around  New York City streets recently. ( HE ) is a ( 58 ) year old ( VAMPIRE. ) They have a good reputation for being ( POETIC & GENTLE, ) but have also been known to be rather ( EERIE & RECLUSIVE. ) They’re known for being the ( OUTCAST. )

y’all know the drill by now. jae is a special baby to me and he’s kinda hard to explain so i’mma do my best….ヽ(◕﹏◕)ﾉ

Dane wants. It’s the sudden, overwhelming type of want that he would’ve given into instantly, once upon a time, but that he swallows down as bitterly as he feels it now. He can’t. He can’t reach out and take Bell’s face in his hands. He can’t kiss his sorrows away, kiss his tears away, hold him until he’s not sad anymore. He’s lost that privilege, and he thinks of the pseudo-commitment he’s made to Namil, the knowledge that he would break his heart if he ever did anything like that. God, he doesn’t want to do that, but God, his throat is closing up tight, and there’s nothing that can be done about it either. His blinks away the flood suddenly in his own eyes, and he wraps his arm around Bell to draw him tight into his embrace. Lifting his chin, Dane rests it on the crown of Bell’s head, keeping him tucked in underneath it, against his collarbones. This is the extent of what he can offer him, and it feels so good he lets a tear slip out and roll down his eyes.

Dark eyes drift shut, and Dane draws in a shaky breath, wanting to explain more, but having to find the correct words before he does so. It takes a few, long moments. “I loved you with my whole heart, Bell. With everything in me. I still do.” He didn’t just let it go, it didn’t just disappear, and maybe it has to be a different kind of love, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still there. It is. He’s his sire, and they are family in more ways than just one, and he can’t let that go no matter what. “I’m sorry.” It comes out on a whisper, ringing true in its sincerity, and he swallows thickly past the lump in his throat that makes it nigh impossible to have his voice work correctly. He really does love him. He does, he does, he does. He needs bell to know it, no matter what.

bell’s tears feel like ice as they roll down his cheeks, carving a path that leaves him shivering despite the heat. he’s aching, throbbing in a way that leaves him feeling hollow, as if the entire contents of his being have been scooped out and taken, tugged and pulled apart until he’s nothing but a shell left on the sidewalk, crying beside the man he once believed to be his forever. he hates himself for it, a little. for being so weak. for being so vulnerable. for having contents at all, or allowing anyone close enough to fuck with them again. he’s been broken and bruised so many times, and people say that bones grow back stronger, but he’d like to disagree. he’s never felt as weak as he’s spent the last year feeling, completely out of control and lost in a way that he’s never experienced before in all of his years. this was more. this hit in a way that he can’t even begin to explain, nor would he try. he hates himself for not having gotten back up on his feet, not having patched himself together enough to not be crying now. 

hearing that dane loved him, loves him, doesn’t quite hold the same soothing qualities he had been hoping for. the but hangs so heavily in the air between them that he can barely breathe past it, suffocated and pinned by it all at once. dane doesn’t say it, but he hears it anyway. he knows that things have changed, even if he can’t yet pinpoint how. another lover, perhaps? another promise, another ribbon, another string that’s stronger than the ones he’s tangled himself up into with dane. something else. something more. he should have expected that. bell’s life has been on hold since he was changed, but dane’s has not. dane has had time to move on, to change and to grow into something that isn’t them. it’s a bitter pill to swallow, but he feels a certain sort of resolution settle inside of him as he does. he brushes the final tears away, and he takes the deepest breath his lungs can manage without shuddering in response.

couldn’t a girl just catch a breath and enjoy a good book, without getting poked and dragged into a conversation by a stranger? she had stalked out into the night because she was so sure she wouldn’t get to socialise. nevertheless, she sighed and closed her book shut and turned to face the source. she nodded along to him, she herself had never liked summer, and always did think it was better at night than the day, but she was sure he had other much more serious reasons to dislike the sun than her.

“go play some board games?” she shrugged, suggesting a light-hearted way to deal with being indoors. she looked up into the sky, “pity we won’t see much now, considering light pollution,” she squinted.

“i fear i may go a little insane if i play board games all day, every day. especially alone. but i will keep your advice in mind,” he smiles, leaning back on his palms and gazing at her through his peripheral. “yes, it is a shame. comforting to know they are still there, at least,” hidden away beneath the city lights, they’re still burning strong. constant. the same set of stars he gazed at as a small child, and the same he gazed at again in london, his only true home. 

a lot of being a lycan involved a learning curve for trixie, but there were some things she had taken to rather quickly. recognizing the feeling that she got when a vampire was near her was one of them. still, it didn’t bother her the way that it might have alarmed some of the older lycans - for trixie, different didn’t mean bad unless someone made it that way. as such, she doesn’t object when the vampire takes a seat on the bench next to her, and listens as he bemoans the length of summer days. personally she had enjoyed summer growing up - it meant no school for stephen and richard, so she was more likely to have playmates when she returned from ballet. as she got older, she preferred summer for different reasons - the cold of winter wasn’t good for her spinal pain. “tell me about it,” trixie groans with a roll of her eyes, tapping at the skin in the crease of her eye to check and see if her makeup had smudged since she stepped outside. “you a constellations fan?” she asks conversationally, tilting her head up to look at the sky, relishing in the breeze that blows across the nape of her neck when her ponytail swings back. “i never had time to really look into it, but i always thought space was super interesting growing up.”