#feywonho

1676

( tw: brief gore mention )

he runs. he knows, in his heart, that his sire could be worse, but the blood haunts him. his best friend’s neck cut open with a we don’t need him anymore. kijung, held back as he screams, arms outstretched, pulled away and tossed onto the back of a horse that gallops off to the city. he remembers the sickness in his bones, and the promise of forever, simply to preserve his cherubic face for eternity. he never wanted it. he never wanted his sire, and he hates him, so he runs. 

sometimes, he only gets away for a day or two, always tracked down by a man with senses more honed than his own, merely 31 years of vampirism. then there was the time he stole a horse and rode it all the way to beijing, where he lasted 10 years without his sire, convinced he was finally free. of course, his sire found him then, too, or kijung was brought to him by the evil goblin his sire always warned him of every time he acted out. kijung went quite literally kicking and screaming, back to the man that turned him, now stuck in the city he associated with his escape with the one person he wanted nothing but to get away from.

so he still runs. he hopes one day he will get lost in the crowd, finally overlooked forever, and he’ll keep running until one day he doesn’t have to anymore. yet he always gets found or dragged back, often by wonho, again and again, and every time, he cries, and he begs. please let me go. please don’t make me go back.

this time, he has hope. he found a hooded cloak, and so far, he’s done a good job of maintaining his composure so as to not draw attention to himself due to his nerves. he browses a market, despite the food being useless to him. he appreciates the bright colors and the people to hide among, and the tempting smell of their blood. however, he turns a corner at the end of the market, and there wonho is, like he was there all along, and like he knew kijung was there all along too. 

maybe he doesn’t know it’s him. he has a hood over his head, after all, and-- no, surely wonho knows the scent to search for by now. “no,” kijung whimpers, utterly defeated.

@feywonho

there’s certain triggers, certain childhood memories that can suddenly possess a person into thinking that they’re ten years old again when the world was much bigger and their days much longer. hawon hasn’t thought about how much he hated those mandatory piano lessons his parents forced on him in years. he hated it, hated being told what to do, and what he should be interested in. sitting straight-backed, arms ninety degrees, palms arched was not his idea of a good time then or now.

but he catches a glimpse, just a glance, at the man who used to run those lessons. and suddenly, hawon feels twelve years old again, loudly complaining to his parents about how much he hates piano, how little he wants to go to these lessons. and with all the foresight and maturity that a twelve year old would have, he’s throwing himself out of eyesight.

- Send A Flower : Closed -

…put your muse in their place.

ALSTROEMERIA …pay your muse for something. / send a flower! ❀ / @feywonho / accepting

In retrospect, he’s not sure what possessed him to take up the bet in the first place. Betting games aren’t his thing, and he’s not really a competitive person to want to win just for the sake of winning something. But something about the old vampire’s attitude … it does something to his sense of judgement. He’s never exactly cared if people laugh at him, so it isn’t about that (and Wonho’s not that blunt in his manners, either). Maybe more like a need to prove himself – it’s felt like an uphill climb since their circumstantial meeting.  

Granted, putting fifty thousand won on the line over an arm wrestle might not have been the right venue to try and earn respect.

At least it’s over quickly.

send me a flower; accepting!

Rina was finding herself all over Seoul as of late and honestly, she is just glad the day is late so she didn’t have to reapply her sunscreen. She was doing her weekly runs to a few vampires that relied on her to supply blood, just finishing the last drop off as she walked to the the main sidewalk. The evening was turning cool and she found herself coming up to a neighborhood that she visited weeks ago. Then a light bulb flashed across her mind as she began to make a small detour to the metro station.

to be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once, ft. @feywonho.

the night is quiet. ripples of distance crowd tide in and out, reminding him of the daylight jaunts that he can no longer indulge in, opting for staying indoors most days to avoid the discomfort. he indulges in the solace, the lethargy that laces around his sinews more visceral than physical at this point. the latter, after all, might be impossible for an undead like him, but he doesn’t deny or defy the presence of the psychological weariness. and for that, he kind of attributes this to the fact that he recently walked out of his confines, eliminating one target he had been setting his mind onto. it was fleeting, the kill. he went straight for the heart, staking the vampire. it happened in a rapid succession, and left no trace except for the fact that he felt that he was being watched.

he disappeared before the third party could chase after him, and he could tell from the precision that the person running after him was also a fellow matured, if not master vampire.

tough luck, he’d think. believes that the eyewitness was none other than a competitor, but it barely matters now. he exit the scene unscathed. now, lounged on his couch, he would’ve been startled by the sudden knock on the door if it weren’t for his heightened senses. he kind of expected a guest, even at this hour… well, especially at this hour, given their nocturnal hours. it’s almost too cliché of a story, with the supernatural realm being the most active during these hours, dusk to dawn.