#honui

the question catches him off guard. there's a raise of an eyebrow, lips parted on a soft noise of surprise at how blunt the question is. ( joon thought they were on the same page. if they don't talk about it, they don't have to confront it. it's easier to pretend, to use the stage as a chance -- an excuse -- to get close to one another without crossing any lines. because line crossing is messy, and the last thing he needs is to make group dynamics more complicated by giving into... whatever this is. )

but there's a look in her eyes. the way doyeon shifts, unwavering, makes joon swallow suddenly. the question rests on his tongue -- looking at you like what? and he knows he should say it, should laugh it off and play up his clueless nature. but he's not stupid. and she knows that better than anyone else. so, shifting, he shrugs a shoulder. ❛ i think i've always looked at you like this, ❜ he admits, voice quiet. ❛ i just... didn't want to admit it out loud. because saying it out loud makes it, ❜ he gestures in the air, ❛ too real. ❜ there's a pause, his tongue moving to wet his lower lip as he takes a step forward. takes a risk. ❛ do you... not want me to look at you like that? ❜

given the abundance of nightlife in seoul, it should really come as no surprise that she isn't the only one of their kind stalking these streets. their ranks seemed...thinner in this area of the world than what she'd witnessed abroad, though she couldn't place the reason behind it. more capable hunters, perhaps? narae's own past allowed her particular insight into that world, had helped her remain unseen and what passed for alive for her. once, long ago, she had helped to protect others from the very things like her, to heal and bring peace. how she missed those days.

it seemed she wasn't the only one to cling to the past, though. the sense of familiarity on entering the museum was immediate and nigh overwhelming; it was impossible to deny that she was in the presence of another of her kind. another vampire. “ most museums aren't still open at this hour, ” she notes, not approaching the lone other woman in the room any further just yet. “ you are still open, aren't you? ” the question came absolutely dripping in sincerity and innocence, far too much to be genuine.

"Anyone ever tell you how stunnin' you are?"

hari can feel the gentle tug at the back of her head, fingers already tangling in her hair. before she has a chance to protest, hari is distracted by the feeling of her leader's hands searching for whatever it is that she's found in her hair.

❝it might be product from the stylist, unnie, it's okay─❞ hari lowers her phone, the screen no longer as interesting as her own reflection with the visual of the older girl behind her.

there's a noise of surprise that leaves his lips as jay looks down, watches the way yeo-hee settles against his shoulder without much thinking. the action is only slightly surprising, but not unwanted. plus, he can't say he's heard this specific type of compliment before -- the words are enough to have him chuckling softly, head turning to study her side profile with a gentle smile. ❛ thanks, ❜ he states first, tone honest. ❛ i do my best -- i'll be sure to send my mom some flowers. ❜ nose scrunching, jay faces forward once more, ankles crossing where they rest atop the coffee table. ❛ if you want an actual pillow, though, ❜ he presses on, turning to grab one of the smaller, throw pillows off his couch, ❛ i can give you one. or you could always take a nap, if you're tired? i don't wanna keep you awake. ❜

@honui ⊱ 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 & 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐄* ❝ You need relief. I can give you that. ❞

Send 💕 (or “hearts!” if the symbol doesn’t show up) and I’ll fill out the following for our muses:

Have we discussed shipping before?: yes || no || kinda

My interest level overall: I’ve wanted this for so long || can’t wait || I think it’ll be fun || kinda feeling it || maybe with a lot of plotting || I need to think about it || not interested, sorry

How we should do this: jump right in || slow burn || pre-established || build up to it in a thread || anything goes

Spirits cling to her in a shroud, glimpses of light and darkness wherever she goes. Voices on the wind that tickle her ears like chimes, whispering of past lives, and past hurts, and desires for the future and the loved ones they left behind. Gods that guide, and gods that discern with weary, elder eyes, speaking of divine punishment. Since childhood, she’s learned to funnel that energy into a channel, something she can tap into with bells and song.

It still clings like film when her guard is down. The reality bonds her to @honui, being shaped by these otherworldly hands. Utahime wants to make something of her life beyond being a conduit tossed around on a puppet’s strings. Seul-gi hunts, and Utahime wants to, too. The one that holds the keys, the weapons, the upper hand.

She presses her drink to her neck, relishing in the cold condensation. It’s not summer yet, and she feels feverish — this is what always happens when she remains possessed for too long. She shifts in her seat, posture incorrect, worthy of a lashing with the sharp end of a broom, and considers Seul-gi, “Mm, but if it’s a sexy sacrifice, what a way to go,” somewhere, seven feet below the earth, her ancestors turn in their graves, “You’ve never had that fantasy?”