→fuck that witch

You ever just had a really bad day?

Taemin is a horribly expressive boy, and it’s hard to hide the fact that he’s had a rough time when it’s written all over his face. He looks drained. Those boyishly broad shoulders are slumped. His mop of blonde hair’s a mess, and he’s not even exerting bare minimum energy to look at his phone, despite the fact that he’s parked in a subway seat under flickering fluorescent lights on a long ride home. His chest rises with a quiet inhale, falls with an exhale, and he lets the heavy feeling sink into his bones as he all but melts into the uncomfortable seat, arms crossed and hands tucked into his sides, dully staring across the subway car to meet his own sleepy gaze in the black reflection on the window. It’s late night by now. And it’s nearly empty in here-- save for a pretty girl on the other end, and what he can only assume is a homeless man a few seats away from him.

Well-- homeless, or maybe just.. Naturally dirty and smelly? The blonde doesn’t overthink it.

He lets those honeybrown eyes settle shut, and his chin tucks down, effectively concealing the lower half of his face in his jacket-- reminding himself mentally to count the stops so he won’t miss his.

‘It’s really late.. Beautiful women like you shouldn’t travel alone. Where do you work at? I’d love to visit you.’

‘What neighborhood do you live at? What stop you get off at? I wonder if we’re neighbors.’

Taemin is peeking his eyes back open now, expression setting warily as he looks down the car. This man had gotten up and seated himself closer to the girl-- and is asking horribly invasive questions, wearing this.. grimey smile. Slurring. What’s his deal?

The boy’s on auto pilot. He gets up from his seat and his feet shuffle down the walkway, and he seats himself squarely beside her-- his gaze tired, but still plenty sharp as he stares at the unsettling man in question. Taemin settles in. He ain’t moving.

brigham ╳ ⋮  ———— IT’S NOT EASY being a fraud. there’s the constant need to stay on the move , to make sure you were at least three steps ahead of the cops or risk answering to some higher authority. but more than that , it’s the issue of people catching on. pt barnum was right in that there’s a sucker born every minute—but he always seemed to fail to mention that the suckers can talk. && they’ll talk to their neighbors , talk to their friends , && soon enough someone is showing up with pitchforks to your dinky little shop && running you out. it’s not fair , it’s not easy , but it’s a life that comes naturally to brigham—so what can he say? it’s a tough gig but someone’s gotta do it && brigham has it down to something of a science.

as he usually does , brigham had spent some time scoping out this market. upon arriving , he could already sense that something was off. it’s one of the few times that he taps into the ghosts willingly ( && outside of work ) && even those were a bit different. a bit strange && it took some time to parse apart their incessant whispering to realize that this wasn’t a normal market: it was a place that supernatural creatures gathered to sell their wares , find something to eat , && get a little magical advice. maybe a little out of brigham’s league—but he has to admit , the challenge of swindling some supernatural beings was just too attractive to him. they’d catch on eventually ( as everyone does ) && he’s likely going toe-to-toe with some masters of the art he claims to know—but it makes the stakes a little higher && , brigham is hoping , the payoff will be , too.

it takes a bit for brigham to find a suitable place to set up shop: as always , it takes a little reconnaissance , patience that he just almost doesn’t have , but eventually he finds a vacated storefront. in his visits , he’s noted the hours of the lowest activity && arrives to pick the lock. as he lifts the steel shutters , he’s not certain that the occupants have left permanently—but he can work with this. && besides , he hopes they’ll be gone long enough that , by the time they do return , he’ll be little more than dust in the wind , making his way to his next gig.

the next step had been to set up shop appropriately. there were already some prop pieces that brigham could work with && he left the shutters up as he worked , letting the crowds ebb && flow—let curious eyes && talkative mouths do the advertising for him. it’s a tried && true method that by the time he opens his doors for customers ( but has drawn some heavy curtains to maintain his aura of mystery ) , there were already plenty of people stopping by. though the exorcisms && seances are real ( for the most part ;; the fanfare he encourages around it is just for show ) , his fortunes && readings are—less so. but everyone seems pleased or at least feel they’ve come for what they were looking for—&& the money keeps coming so brigham doesn’t particularly care.

as he sees off another set of customers , he has a sense that he’s being watched. as he looks up , he locks eyes with a stranger across the way. taking a pause , he grins && leans against the door frame , tilting his chin in a faint greeting. “ are you looking to talk to some ghosts , too? ” – [  🔮  ]

Oops. Their gazes meet, and those honey eyes shimmer with some interest, Taemin’s posture straightening though he stays seated in that little outdoor cafe chair. Hmph. The stranger calls to him-- asks him if he wants to speak to ghosts-- and the witch fights off the way he wants to snicker at the thought, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards until he gives into a coy grin. He’s spoken to enough ghosts-- they’re usually nuisances, but he doesn’t retort with that, because this person doesn’t know him. It’d be rude to snap back when this guy’s being welcoming. The blonde lets his head tip, eyes flickering down, and with a quick review of the money he’s made by a glance in the cheap pencil case he keeps his tips in, he decides that maybe he’s got enough spare cash to humor this guy.

Fine, then--

“I admit, I’m curious about you.” His voice sounds kind, almost sugary-sweet, and it doesn’t match the sharpness in his analytical gaze. In a quick half-minute, his belongings are packed away into his bag, and he slings it over his shoulder and scoots his chair out, getting to his feet. The march across the way is a short one, and when he gets closer, he furrows his brow curiously. This person’s aura is mundane. Well-- not mundane, but this person isn’t a witch, or a sorcerer, or a seer. Taemin is perplexed. He slides past the fortune teller and into the musty old shop, glancing around-- the baby hairs at the nape of his neck stand up. His subconscious is whispering to him. ‘ ... swindler,’

the solstice celebration, after decades, has become none if not a manifestation of humdrum. he dissects the event to entertain himself, gaze locked on beings glamored in some humane forms, and he wills his eyes to see them as they are in cloaks of façades. it doesn’t occur daily, these occasions, and while he’s used to indulging in trivial galas amidst the rich, he tends to relish in this kind better. being amidst his kin, somehow, tastes foreign and familiar at once. feels like reviving old customs, almost, and for that, he lingers longer than he typically would, basking in the event under the vast firmament of darkness.

his thoughts are ruptured midway. his premonition speaks of something that might sear the peace, permeating past the layers of the security of the event to reach out for a dire necessity. for that, he leaves his standing point at the corner, heading in large strides towards the entrance after setting his drink down on the nearby station. he furrows his eyebrows when it’s proven true three seconds later, in which a seemingly young man tries to break past the barrier of guards, telling them that he needs to reach a certain witcher. no invitation, no entrance— that’s what the guards keep telling him, and when uriel draws close, the stranger is quick to locate him.

“are you looking for me?” he asks as soon as he reaches the crux of commotion. he simply nods when the guards ask whether he knows the person, even when his smidgen of knowledge on this blond man is at its barest minimum. “right, follow me,” he heads towards a tree that shades them from the prying, curious pairs of spectators from the party. realizing that the man is anything but humane, he tilts his head. he might be up to something really bad, or really good… both, sometimes, have similar implications in uriel’s point of view. he listens when the stranger starts divulging the case, and introduces himself as a witch. right, that much, uriel has guessed. “who released the djinn?” he asks, arms crossed. “and what’s your price?”

Tears glisten and fall and a soft voice wavers with the way it wants to break down into little sobs.

Old lady Kim has a soothing hand on a crying young woman, and Taemin is leaning against the large oak counter of the book store, wilted paperback novel in his hands-- but he’s stopped reading, because he’s listening, honeybrown eyes peeking past the yellowing pages. What was a boring day at the shop has been shaken by the way this girl has come running in all messy, and the blonde boy is vaguely annoyed by it, the same way he gets vaguely annoyed when anybody in the city comes running to the old witch whenever they have a dangerous problem. And that usually turns into the same old witch telling Taemin to go and do obscure things-- talk to this person, fetch this item, bring this across town, etc.. Not to say that the little witch is lazy, but.. Sometimes he’d like a rest, too.

‘... tore him apart..’

Oh. Now Taemin is really interested. He folds the book shut and straightens up, brow sort of setting into a slight furrow as he listens to the remainder of this woman’s story. There’s a monster, she says-- and it killed her fiance, dragged him down an alley, and all at once he stopped screaming. Taemin’s complexion pales slightly when the elderly sorceress looks at him.

‘My good boy apprentice will go investigate.’ Kim says, and the young girl sniffles, looking over at Taemin with wet eyes.

Fuck. The lanky blonde sets the book aside and without much more information, he grabs his jacket and stalks out of the book store. There are a few things swirling in his mind-- whether this is a beast or a demon, or maybe just a psychotic murderer, because the city isn’t lacking those. And the fact that he doesn’t want to face any of these. The bravery he used to possess is history, and his cowardice manifests itself as nervous twisting in the bottom of his stomach. He used to be so eager to face things that towered over him. He’d wear bruises and cuts as badges of bravery and honor-- but after that god awful wendigo got a hold of him and he thought he’d be blind his whole life, his bravery had all but left the premises.

Dark street. It’s icy cold here, despite the fact that spring time was bringing warmer temperatures. Taemin followed a trail of nasty energy, and the quiet calling of forlorn spirits, and wound up at the mouth of an even darker alleyway. What time is it..? Ten PM? There’s a swelling of aura and all at once, a large, hoarse yell from the darkness. ‘LEAVE, witch! Or I’ll eat tear you apart the same as any other human!’ A gust of pure dread that makes Taemin’s bones feel heavy follows-- and he stumbles backwards, eyes widening as he tries to get a better look in the darkness-- dibbuk..? No-- no-- it’s a djinn. And it’s damn strong from all the pedestrians it’s been eating.

And so Taemin runs, because this task is bigger than him.

/ / / / / /

“I need to see him--” Taemin’s voice is borderline desperate, but these men are solid and tall, dressed intimidatingly sharp and crowding him. He could blow them away with a hex or a quick incantation, but then he’s sure he’d have every magic-user on him in a second, because this party is thrumming with the energy of powerful people. The witch managed to sneak in-- managed to weave through party goers, gaze searching diligently for silver hair that would only belong to the most most prominent and successful witcher in the city. Admittedly, Taemin is under dressed. This is an event to welcome the beginning of summer, and he’s sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of pretty dresses, clean suits, and masquerade masks. It didn’t take long for security to find him, and now Taemin’s feathers are getting ruffled, his gaze turning sharp and his chest puffing out as he sets his fists at his sides. “You don’t understand! People are dying!”

‘Are you looking for me?’

Taemin’s stance falters and he turns his head, honeybrown eyes landing first on a soft mess of silver hair, and then the face of a man he’d never met before-- only heard about. Uriel. Witcher. “.. Y-- Yeah-- Thank goodness, yes.”

And so the witch explains the situation, aware of all the prying eyes trying to peek in on them. He’s kept his voice hushed, laid out how strong this thing feels, how he can’t handle it alone. There’s no telling who set it free, but it’s turned into even more of an abhorrent, evil spirit than you’d typically expect of such a thing.

Sae can tell that Taemin is suprirsed by a question like this, but the raven was unable to help himself. In the past, it’s been very hard for Sae to become close and trust people, especially witches. However, he feels like he really is starting to trust him. He has to know if the trust is returned, if the care is returned. There is too much at stake in Sae’s fragile heart. Friends are a difficult thing for him to come by and really grasp a hold of.

But the natural way that the witch speaks puts the raven a little at ease, and he finds himself releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was even holding. A soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips and Sae nods. He had saved Taemin’s life a couple of times, hadn’t he? The raven honestly never really dwelled on his actions too much. He just did it because he cared about the witch. “Yeah, well.. I think so. I would not save you if I did not care about you. It’s just.. I guess it has been hard for me to trust people. I feel like I can trust you.” He finds his faze flickering down to the white and portobello mushrooms Taemin put into the basket, curious, but he will wait until they’re back at Taemin’s place to inspect them.

As a gentle breeze steals through the market and ruffles their hair softly, Sae looks out toward the area. It really is nice out, and there are a lot of curious scents and people to watch. “Yeah, I would like that. I have never had a yakisoba bun before. What does it taste like?”

Sae grabs his own pair of sunglasses from the pocket of his jacket and mirrors Taemin, putting them over his eye and eyepatch. They’re black, with a bit of a hint of purple sparkle. Figures. He also stole them, but he hasn’t told Taemin that and probably won’t bring it up unless the witch asks.

Smiling with their arms are linked, Sae leans a bit closer to Taemin. “Lead the way, pretty witch.”

“Mm-- they’re like.. It’s..” The blonde purses his lips as he tries to piece together an explanation, their footsteps falling in time with one another as they make their way across the sunny farmer’s market grounds. “It’s a soft fluffy bread roll, and they split it open and pack it with hot yakisoba noodles-- we’ve eaten that together, yeah? We went and got some with steak in it, if I remember. Anyways. It’s just that, in sandwich form, which makes it better?” A silly grin spreads across Taemin’s face and he steals a glance at Sae through his sunglasses. There’s a slight change in the witch’s footsteps. Something feels a little off-- a sensation creeps up the boy’s spine and it makes him glance over his shoulder, soft brows furrowing together. In the distance-- there’s.. somebody in the crowd that makes eye contact with him. Granted, Taemin picks up on off auras and strange vibrations from passerby on the daily, but this is.. Different. He doesn’t pay it any mind for now. His stomach is guiding him.

The two boys get to the food stall, the weathered face of an older Japanese woman greeting them with a smile, and Taemin’s giving a toothy smile of his own as he orders them each a a yakisoba bun, and then a popcorn chicken to share-- and he pauses then, pushing his sunglasses up to his head as he squints at the drink menu. “.. And two guava strawberry juices. The frozen ones-- yeah--” That finishes up their order, and naturally he doesn’t expect Sae to have any money (Sae is the type to try and pay for things with arcade tokens) so he’s pulling his wallet from his bag and trading a few folded up bills for their receipt.

Lanterns strung up high illuminate streets in red. It's bustling and noisy, and the smell of grilled meat and artery-clogging street food wafts through the air, luring hungry souls and lost humans to their stalls. The night market is busier than ever now that it's warm outside these nights with the coming of spring. There are pop-up stalls all over the place, vendors challenging each other's prices, lookouts on stand by to break up any squabbles that might erupt between magical creatures and the like, and among all the hustle and bustle there's a human-born witch with a pretty smile and honeybrown eyes that glint and shimmer in the dim light, beckoning curious gazes in with little 'come hither' motions of his ring-covered fingers. A fortune teller. Potion seller. Wish granter. Mischief maker. Witch. 

His name is Taemin, and tonight he's up to no good-- looking to make a quick buck off those that want to know, see, and believe. A young woman seats herself across from him at the small round table he's set himself up at, and they exchange greetings. His slim hands shuffle a deck of old tarot cards and in a fluid motion he fans them in an arch along the oak tabletop, and the woman hesitates for a beat before carefully picking three.

And it begins.

He's only here tonight because after switching his lifestyle to that of something more.. easy going and simple, his bank account it starting to see the difference. No more bounty payouts for demons and evil poltergeists getting deposited under the title of miscellaneous commissions-- just the quaint, bi-weekly auto deposit of the paycheck he earns minding the witchcraft shop that fronts as a book store that old lady Kim owns. And that hardly adds any padding to his savings. Fortune telling is time-consuming and a lot more tedious, but it's still safer than fighting otherworldly creatures. Every so often he slips a charm to the person across from him-- a small, delicate pressed flower encased in a small piece of clear resin, and he orders them simply to keep it with them to ward away bad luck, and to come to him for 'curse breaking' sessions the next few weeks thereafter. They're unaware that the charm itself will manifest bad luck, and he's using them as job assurance. He doesn't do this to everyone-- only a handful of people at a time, and only if they seem dumb enough to believe it.

( … )  ❝ have you ever been near someone like me or know anyone who did? ❞ he asks, finding the book the other mentioned earlier. he takes it with careful hands, mindful of not pulling too hard so the cover won’t fall off further. the paper fingertips trace is quaint, old, and colored by time and decaying cellulose. his little button nose though catches on the dust that surrounds it and he ends up covering the sneeze into his arm. ❝ maybe it would be a good idea to give your place a bit of cleaning before we try anything. if you tell me to hold still and i sneeze, i would hate to end up being turned into a frog. ❞

It’s faint, but maybe Taemin’s cheeks dust just the slightest bit pink with warmth when Kibum makes that little joke about not wanting to lose his eyes for the sake of being able to look at him. Taemin, with his scars and shame– he ends up bowing that full head of soft blonde hair, rubbing his hands down his own face as a weary little smile curls his lips. Kibum is a flatterer, huh? He feels the nephilim’s weight get off of the sofa, and in a matter of minutes they’ve found the book of old rituals and angelic spells, which range in things that involve angelfeathers, nephilim blood, or simply the energy of either– and when Kibum sneezes, so does Taemin, his nose scrunching as his dull eyes do a miniature marathon of blinks. “.. You’re right. We should clean– I just– might do more harm than good if I try and help.” He admits with a small laugh that bubbles from him. If he tried to dust he’d just knock everything over.

The next few days that ensue are passing by like a whirl wind. Taemin sits quietly while Kibum cleanses the apartment. All the windows open to fresh night air, every surface dusted, every dead plant thrown away, and the kitchen wiped down– and thankfully, the apartment has lost its musty smell. Now it’s all fresh herbs and incense and brewed tea. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s more than thankful. The energy feels brand new. And the bothersome spirits loafing around the apartment are chased out, too, when the blonde teaches Kibum how to draw out red-inked wards on delicate paper, instructing the nephilim to tuck them in little hiding places around the apartment. No more ghosts!

It’s tough when they start testing out their joined magic.. Kibum isn’t the best at drawing seals, and Taemin doesn’t have all the supplies they need for about half the rituals Kibum believes might help their case. In one instance, the boys pronounce a word wrong and they both end up scorched when the offering they’ve got between them ignites in an impressive fire. In another, suddenly Taemin’s got a set of tall, fluffy ears on top of his head and he’s twitching his nose like a rabbit– cursing out loud and smacking the nephilim’s hands away when the older man insists on checking if Taemin has grown a cotton bunny tail, too. 

Sometimes, their energy is sapped until their eyelids are heavy, and yet nothing comes from the spell. No payout. In these instances, it’s really.. Really disheartening. By Wednesday, the witch feels like he’s doomed to be blind forever. He notes that despite this, though.. He’s grateful for Kibum’s company. He can’t see the slender boy in front of him, but he’s picked up on the nephilim’s lilting tones and little ticks in the way that he explains things and speaks. Taemin ponders quietly if they’d ever be friends outside of this situation. The fact that he’d burned the crescent witch’s mark on Kibum’s wrist makes the witch’s gut twist in regret, too, but he the universe won’t let him take it away until the job is done.

This elusive phoenix feather, proving to be such a pain in Jaejoong’s ass, may well finally be within his grasp. After having no such luck in the store of a much seedier part of town, the witch emerges onto the back alley and wipes his hands off on his jeans. Things inside, well they got a little messy. The witch doesn’t take too kindly to people trying to extort or cheat him.

As he exits the shop, shadows half covering his face, he feels a pair of eyes upon him. Briefly flickering his gaze toward the darkest corner, the witch sets on his way down the alley way, stepping over discarded trash and suspicious looking liquids on the ground.

A few moments later there is a rustling in the brush, and the witch stops to listen for a moment. He tilts his head, watching as the figure of a young man emerges on the opposite end of the alley. They seem completely oblivious to whatever may be lurking, but the only kind of people who come around here are witches and other magical beings looking for things that aren’t usually very legal, so Jaejoong figures he must sense it.

For now, the dragon witch waits in silence. He listens as whatever is hidden in the shadows slinks down along the alley toward the young male taking up space there.

This young blonde boy with all his gently-etched scars told himself he wouldn’t get involved with things like this anymore. He returned to Korea and recovered quietly, and chose a peaceful life at the bookstore, accommodating himself in the smell of weathered pages and wisps of dust. He’d tell fortunes and read cards, sort books and do odd errands for old lady Kim while slowly gaining the courage to be a cheerful brat again, to have friends again. Picking through oddities they’ve got for sale in the basement of the shop while answering questions for curious witches and warlocks was how he’d typically spend his evenings-- certainly not monster chasing anymore. Taemin didn’t want to monster chase anymore.

And oddly enough it’s old lady Kim sending him out, after a young sorceress came to her in tears, shaken up because a demon had stolen her fiance away and ate him. The witch set out that night tracking demon energy to the best of his abilities-- something that gradually fades the longer you don’t use it-- and it’s been months. But he gets a whiff. A trail of dark aura, festering energy, the kind that swells and grows more powerful when it soaks up pain and languish. And he follows it, though the idea makes an icy pit of nervousness clench in his stomach. He doesn’t want to fight demons anymore. No more monsters. He doesn’t want to get hurt again. And still his boots trudge onwards.

He winds up in an awful part of town, and subsequently loses the trail for perhaps an hour. That’s long enough to hurt somebody, Taemin thinks to himself-- long enough to cause damage, and that he should hurry up and find this thing and stop it.

There’s all kinds of energies in the air around here. A faerie tavern, hidden in the industrial landscape of the city-- it’s more common than you think, and Taemin doesn’t bother going in, his steps nothing but careful as he heads into the mouth of an alleyway. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth as if in distaste-- but really, he’s just trying to distract himself from the fact that he wants to turn tail and run. Smells like blood.. Kinda. But it’s too dark to see clearly.

( ... )  “Calling you won’t make much a difference. You can’t save what doesn’t want to be saved. Don’t act like we’re the best of buddies and show up when your council has shit to say. There was once Taemin, where i cared enough for you. Cared enough to whatever bonding relationship we were striving for. However, i haven’t heard from you in months or maybe its longer than that, who knows and i don’t fucking care. This is the treatment I get and the major reason why i do not wish to even get close to anyone because they end up like you. Gone. Summon your council, there will be blood spilled tonight.”

Asher talks like Taemin cares about the opinions of these witches-- and truthfully, Taemin doesn't. Being human born and subsequently non-immortal makes him uninteresting to them. But they are always watching. It makes the blonde boy mind his p's a q's enough, not wanting any uninvited guests to show up at his door. Taemin's never wanted to be a part of any coven, anyway. It would take a lot of breath to explain this to Asher. And something tells Taemin that Asher wouldn't listen, anyways. So he doesn't. It's a broken friendship and maybe neither of them truly want to repair it--

'You can't save what doesn't want to be saved.'

Oh, boy. Taemin's been there. Taemin's been that. And the hybrid keeps flapping his gums, spouting off hurtful words-- talking like he knows what the witch has been through. Honeybrown eyes glint upwards as he directs his gaze squarely on the larger male's face. And he feels his chest flood with a tight sensation that's hard to describe. Their shoulders brush as Taemin navigates around where Asher is standing so immovably in front of him, and he stalks off again, shaking his head. "I don't do the summoning, Ash. They do whatever they want-- just like you." There's a vague sense of nervousness that Asher might not let him leave, but he keeps walking, finally out into the safety of street lights and other humans. He looks back to the alleyway as a crowd of girls walk past him, and he speaks up again.

★ // Anonymously curious –

Taemin isn’t imprinted on a familiar, but often can be caught teaming with Sae on particularly difficult spells or missions. His first familiar was a shapeshifter named Asher (see @ashnbone) and they’d been partnered for years until Asher went missing and their connection eventually faded away, hinting at death. There also was a brief stint where Taemin had bonded to his best friend, Kyungsoo, though it was strained and hard to handle the linked up emotions and mental communication-- the bond fizzled out nearly as fast as it was established. From an ooc standpoint, I have goals and wishes for what Taemin would appreciate in a familiar, but they’re very unrealistic to place on any one person in today’s krp community.

Taemin loves brewing a good love potion. Even though they’re so temporary and fleeting-- only asked for by selfish little high school girls. But they’re a good bit of fun. He’s been known to use one here and there, too, if he’s ever having a particularly lonely week and desires somebody handsome to dote on him for three day’s time-- but! His favorite spell? No doubt it’s the little murmur of glamour he does in the mirror every morning. It makes his skin softer, smoother-- makes the tone take on an effortless glow. It makes his hair silkier and more feathery to the touch. Makes his eyes shine brighter. Makes him prettier. Nothing boosts his confidence more.

His favorite afternoon activity is torn between pouring himself over old research journals to refresh his knowledge in his craft, and pouring himself over his brood of green plants, picking out dead leaves and pruning as needed. He leads a very solitary life for a twenty six year old boy and on his days off, may even go over twenty four hours without speaking out loud.

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐎𝐎𝐃 & 𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐎 𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄 how life worked, he stood staring back at himself, like two droplets of water yet different somehow. With his hands tucked away behind his back. One would think the witch was not paying attention to the words that uttered from the male before him. “I like to think of myself as neutral , nor am i good nor am i evil. Do you think of yourself as such?” The witch asked, welcoming the man to sit and sensed the magic oozing from him. “You and I aren’t so different after all. But it weirdly feels like i’m talking to myself in the mirror. Tell me, look alike ; what brings you over?”

“Lately, I feel as though I’m more bad than good. But sometimes.. I feel more good than bad-- if that makes any sense. People are keen to tell me that I’ve hurt them or that I’m bad, usually. I supposed I’m the type that ends up as the villainous scapegoat when things boil down to the nitty gritty. It’s a tough question to ask anyone. Sorry ‘bout it--”

Taylor’s been in this situation before. It’s funny how life works out-- to be placed in front of another living being that looks uncanny to yourself. His honeybrown eyes flicker with interest and curiosity as they flit all over the different features of the older witch’s face-- and he’s perched meticulously on an old stool, where nothing separates them but a small round table and a deck of tarot cards that are probably.. No.. No doubt, older than the little blonde. He hooks the heel of his boot on one of the rungs of his seat, and he lets an easy, lopsided grin pull across his face-- a slender finger pointing down to the tarot.

★ // Anonymously curious --

It started with spilled blood and ulterior motives. Developed into hot, open-mouthed kisses and a sloppy sort of raw need and want that was always too hard to explain with words. Only touch. He’d think often-- are you a part of me? Are we pieces of each other? He’d think, maybe I’m not complete if they’re not beside me. Playful versus serious. Sharing secrets in a safe space, quelling nerves in each other’s chests. Feeling each other out. Arguments, hurt feelings, getting on each other’s nerves. But I won’t leave you alone. Not ever. He lived for three AM voicemails and blurry photo messages-- as if to say ‘It’s okay. I’m okay.’ Something rushed that turned into love, maybe. They won’t say it out loud. Maybe Taemin never heard it out loud. But Taemin could feel it.

Every so often, if he’s dreaming just the right way, there’s a pair of warm arms holding him tight that feel familiar. And he lives for the half-beat of disoriented bliss as he’s waking up before the reality of an empty bed and a knot in his throat close in on him.

★ // Anonymously curious --

January? February? He can’t remember the exact date-- but it was an impossibly cold night, and he was just fifteen. Everything’s pushed aside in his small childhood bedroom to clear the floor. The entire house is asleep. Silent. 

It’s not a fancy gilded dagger, or beautiful ornate blade-- no-- it’s an old chef’s knife from the kitchen that’s in his shaking little hand, and his plush lips are pressing together tightly as he looks down at his virgin palm. No knicks. No cuts. No scars. Just soft white skin that doesn’t know it’s about to be marred and ruined for the rest of the boy’s life. He summons the courage to swipe the blade across the untouched skin and the too-dull edge tears a line of fresh red plasma to the surface, and the sting of the rip is cathartic. A little witch in the making smears his first offering over a poorly drawn seal on the floor. And from that first offering, he summons his first demon.