#consillian

with gaeul, things are slow. his action, even as of now, mustering up an answer for sieun–––is at pace with his own pensive thoughts. he’s comfortable talking to her about senseless notions transposed to words, because he feels like she listens. perhaps, anyone can listen, but only a few can keep him comfortable in such conversations with draft as soft as a springtime’s clime.

“it feels like the reality’s been too hard, but i don’t intend to speak for the world.” he passes an airy smile before slouching in his seat, just enough to keep himself within the mannerly realm. momentary lulls also feel untroubled, and gaeul looks out window to gaze at random passerby. the outstart of his life has been at grit, and gaeul doesn’t know where to start when she asks him what he’s dreaming about. he does not want to rhapsodize anything by saying he dreams, when in actuality he simply wishes for things to be at rest.

NEATLY FOLDED HANDS REST in the female’s lap as she eyes the man who speaks, with scepticism coloring youthful features. perhaps, she thinks about it now, her father has been right all along when he has proclaimed that his oldest and only daughter is a little too untrusting, always filled to the brim with suspicions that make no real sense to the elderly man, however often she tries to explain her intentions to him.

sieun, you have to stop fearing for the worst in people to come out. sieun, you cannot let one bad example influence the rest of your life. sieun, do not condemn all for one person’s mistake   aren’t you better than that?

“you think that’d be a good theme? it sounds like something so…” sad? bittersweet? tragic?the female keeps these thoughts to herself, unwilling to share such a personal opinion with a stranger, however helpful he appears to be. though a fellow writer, from what she has gathered, there’s an unique aura he possesses, one which proves to be intimidating enough for sieun to recoil, to keep to herself, to avoid unnecessary chatter. it isn’t really his fault, she supposes, but her own for fearing such simple consequences.

but isn’t it easier to just pretend like all this doesn’t matter to her, as a person? detach herself from the situation at hand and see things from the perspective as a writer, find a new subject to grasp onto and work with. she’s nowhere near to being a professional writer of fiction but one who shares facts with others. while certainly an enticing thought, she finds she lacks the creativity that companies or agents would require in order to see in her a potential author.

not to mention her sullied reputation, though she doesn’t really want to address this at the moment.

“it doesn’t sound like something i’d be capable of writing about.” i’ve learned this lesson already, she thinks. there’s no point in inviting more questions that would invade my privacy.

Heart racing -- no wait. He had no heart but the palpitations in his chest thundered in a response that meant nothing more simple then... Fear. But he was not afraid, yet this strange emotion washed over his form, caused idle digits to drum against the surface of the table. Was this anxiety?

Words that slipped through unsuspecting lips -- his mind had been idle. His words ignorant and his emotions only crippled his thoughts. 

And yet the humming in his ears signaled the other; his awareness only returning after words that slipped through -- it had been too late. (But it was always too late for the mad man, which seemed to be many of his woes).

Hair as violet as the irises that contrasted against the contracting pupils, Blood found himself relaxing his form. “May I?” Had been his question to the empty seat, though he still stood before she allowed him to sit. 

 Angrily, Joo kicked out, sending a bottle tumbling across the ground. Frustrated about what happen to him awhile ago, the situation replying in his head endlessly. The paper he worked tireless on for almost eleven hours  straight, perfecting it, making it well explained had been turned down by his teacher for being only two minutes overdue. Today just wasn't one of his best days. As soon as he awoken at the crack of dawn, he felt as if he day was going to turn out for the worse but once he got his day going, it seem to be smooth sailing. Things were going unexpectedly good for once. He wasn't as tired as he normal would be, he managed to get a decent breakfast in, actually got to his first class on time ( which rarely ever happened ), and he even gifted a monthly bus pass for just simple picking up a piece of trash out side the university's library.  He thought nothing bad could happen to him today, but he was wrong. Just after noon was when several bad things happen to him. Getting his essay rejected was the last straw for him, all he wanted to do was get home to just end the day already.

“She is quite a sight, isn’t she?” His grandmother says as she stands next to him, both of them staring ahead at the stage. Yixing can only hum in agreement, eyes unable to make out the colors of the artifacts the performer is using as she awes the crowd. 

“A ghost, she is a corpse of what was,” his grandmother continues, shaking her head as if disappointed. “It is her magic that is interrupting with mine.” His grandmother raises a hand, stretching it high above her before she begin to murmur a few words.

“Gods of power, Gods of might. Take their pain, Take their fright. Make them all sleep tonight.”

Almost immediately, the bodies in the crowd begin to slump, sleep overcoming every single spectator, some dropping to the floor and Yixing casts his own spell to pause the cameras from rolling. All around the auditorium, the doors close and lock. They are locked inside until Yixing decides to lift up the spell. 

Send “✖” if you think my oc is well written.

[ *clutches heart* N-no… How can you think that so easily? >_<]

         It’s in the slurred words they connect, the hushed tones and the scent of alcohol filling the air. Ah, Hanbyul doesn’t seem sober, yet neither does Jay, twisting another glass between fingers. It’s a matter of minutes when the elder, perhaps a tad more aware of his own actions, drags the drunk boy out of the crowded club. It’s not an easy task, considering the strange babbling Hanbyul greets him with every single step. He could swear he heard the younger male whine but also chuckle. Such a change of attitude, indeed. Usually, Hanbyul is much more reserved, both in the way he talks or the way he expresses himself within gestures. Right now, he seems like a child who needs to be protected.

   But the glint of alcohol filling the man’s orbs adds something oddly attractive to the younger’s face.

Jay finally curls his arm around the boy’s waist, helping him stand with other hand brushing the man’s warm cheek tainted with the faintest shade of pink. Alcohol’s influence at its finest. He suddenly chuckles, rolling eyes as he finds their arms being linked together, their steps light but not exactly forming a straight trail as they were walking. His head is spinning a tad and honestly, he isn’t sure anymore if he’s the one to hold the younger or the other way around. Nevertheless, he hums softly, amused as he tugs on the male’s wrists, dragging him along towards his apartment. Thank God he was still sober enough to recall the way with ease.