Blue Flame

Rules | Info | Indie OC 

Cremation is his power but most people call it pyrokinesis. There are consequences to all actions. The human body was never meant to withstand blue flame like this. 

This blog is 21+. Written by Ark. 

It will contain mature themes and content, please be advised.  Slow to moderate activity level. 

Just a quick update for everyone... its been a while. Shit is insane, I have a lot going on IRL, with school and responsibilities.

Unfortunately as much as I would love to be here I just don't have the time or mental capacity right now. I am hoping to be back by mid-May!

Huh. It is true, isn’t it? Cường, watching him, is wrapped in a robe of wailing hearts. He’s calm intuition and a man who shows bruises. He’s sat there watching as a great peril nears.

A great, tremendous, swathed in black peril… Hyeok, looking a sharp, spindly shadow, crosses the room in several strides. He drops to his knees. Cường’s yet staring, curious, and he had thought, yes, what a tremendous peril.

Hyeok reaches, and tickling the bangs about their face, raises those brows. The shopkeep’s perplexed. “You,” he broaches in the shuddered parlor, “have strange ideas on what’s pretty, don’t you?” Yes. Absolutely, he decides. Those fire-scorched fingers slither up his pant leg, and soon, that mangled thigh lays bare, exposed for all the questions stewing in the dark. And goodness!, is it an unsightly thing. Cường doesn’t shield it. The far desk lamp settles in its hollows, thick and dripping like molten gold, and Hyeok traces the ridge of it. It doesn’t bleed, he notices. Its gashes split like berries have long since healed. “The flowers I grow are pretty, liar. And the way you change what’s ugly is pretty. But what you’re seeing tonight isn’t very pretty. But you’re an artist, I know. Artists are predictable. So maybe, I think, I know you well.” Hyeok’s pen soon reaches him. It’s a cold felt at first, and he watches as its blue ink bump-bump-jutters where the muscle had woefully healed. There – it is but a dulled, niggling sensation at best. His head cants a little, and he watches Hyeok work.

“It was something hungry. Starving. Wolfish, really.” He guesses the drawing, and they’re far cries from the jaws of a beast, aren’t they? Delicately, his fingers curl with the memory. “Now, I wonder what you’re making it. Daisies, maybe. The sage I plant. Smell it on my hands, right?”

An airy laugh fills the echoing room at the shopkeeper’s comment. Strange ideas of pretty. “Have you seen me?” You have. You know. Look at me, look harder! Normalcy is overrated. Isn’t that why you step into my shop? Curious, curious, everlastingly curious. 

Hyeok meets the wound in a romantic setting. The dim of light, the bulge of flesh and the callous hands that somehow feel soft against white lumped skin. A wound that is old, very old and he wonders when this incident occurred. Were you alone? Left alone? “And how much did it hurt?” He can’t help but to ask, pain scared body giving way. Lips purse instinctively, he listens. Listens as the man goes on to describe what indeed ‘pretty’ qualifies as. Flowers and tattoos and every kind of societal definition. “No!” His voice raises harsh, eyes a shimmering blue as they peek from midnight black locks to meet the man above him. “These things are mundane and typical. Pretty, sure. But not you, not me. Not anyone person.” After all, these pretty things you run your mouth about aren’t what make us tick.

Wolfish. “Was it then a wolf?” Straight to the point, why waste time beating around the bush. Hyeok picks apart the words and listens, listens, and oh- how oddly well he does. You need more time then, to know me. “Guess again.” He says, voice softened with focus and intent. The needle thuds against the mound of flesh, warm and hot and growing darker with the paint of blue. “Sage. Wrong kind of sage.” Boring! Flowers are meant to be grown not drawn. The beauty in the trueness of them doesn’t blend on humans. Humans... are sickly. Aren’t we? His pen shifts and so does his weight, up the thigh and higher above the wound as he pushes the pant-leg away, up and up. He tucks it gentle under the weight of Cường’s leg - perfect. The helm forms of skull, the horns raise from either side, the snout of the creature narrows toward the start of his wound and the man’s body is drawn disrupted by the gash of white skin. Two companions on either side, dark, hungry.... starving. 

The chair swivels. Hyeok sweeps back in a blur of long half-curly locks, and Cường, not at all for the first time, thinks those scars he palms unthinkably fitting. Yes, because this man so comfortable in his dwelling is– What is it? Oh, right: a man who makes impressions. Cường taps the desk. “Uh huh. Apparently, you know me so well,” he starts, leaning over for the pencil. It clatters. He fingers it to and fro, and absently, he rucks his pant leg a shy degree higher. Goodness, that bite wound… “Well, maybe you do, because it’s true. You’re right. I’m not the kind of man to cover my scars. No, but I just thought it thoughtful of you, really.” And are you? “So, do I know you well?”

The rubber sole of his boot drags across the wooden floor to end with a thunk as his feet tuck beneath his chair. He rises, fingers dragging across damaged chips of his work station as he circles around it to meet Cường where he sits, his own fingers prying at the leg of his pants, pulling, aching and oddly subconscious. “Well, I know you just enough to think better of you than to hide scars.” You’re no man of shame. Prideful and resilient, you know exactly who you are, wearer of hearts. All calm intuition even in the face of danger. 

Hyeok kneels slow, callous fingertips greeting the pants ankle width to drag it up, up and up. High enough to greet a wound gnawed deep into flesh. Brows raise curiously, the edge of his lips turning upward hinting a dark nauseating satisfaction. Something so delightful in seeing the wounded, though Cường hides it well, doesn’t he? “That’s a pretty wound you got there.”  No creature he’s met capable of inflicting something so deep. And now he questions how the man even managed to survive. Then again, the same thought probably lingers in the mind of most people Hyeok meets. “What do you think? Do you think you know me well?” Hyeok palms across the white risen flesh, jagged scar tissue all thats left behind. Probably not much left in the way of sensation. The artist fidgets along pale skin before reaching for his pen and beginning to trace lines around the wound. 

“Tell me then, what kind of creature leaves a wound like this and a man still alive?” 

Take a breath, take a whole moment, why don’t you. Marlene, calm and collected, she can’t go spilling her guts out like this all over the floor, regardless of the fact that he’s not quite one of them, not quite one of those others, either. Magic sits upon a strange and undulating spectrum, pulsating and alive, and magic, it felt like, was an art of FINDING NEW MEASURES. Muggles had their science, a new form of magic, and it seems her new, mysterious friend has built himself atop of some internal magic, wandless and terrifying. The shift of her gaze finds another place to fix itself upon the wall, the ceiling; she won’t pander to her own instinct and go about, checking every place, every face, for someone who might be listening in, and how paranoid this has all made her, and yet-

- Her tongue pokes to split between her lips, offering up a more careless version of a smile. “Of course I have what I need to do.” careful. Don’t go telling him everything, now. Even if Hyeok Jae sits on neutral ground, it’s not always about what you spill willingly, nursing the drink she holds and going through it too easily. It’s all water, it all burns the same inside of her, scooping her fingers through her hair to push it back as her FINGER RAISES ever so slightly to indicate that she’s ready for another, please. “You can end what. Me? Them? I don’t think you really understand the forces that are at play here. But then, do indulge me. What would you do?”

Revenge fantasies, for the friends she lost, she’ll take that for now as a start, pressing cool glass to a cheek. It does nothing to ward off the warm heat that emanates off her skin, an alcoholic’s ruddiness affecting her when she really wish it wouldn’t betray that sickness of her. “Besides. This isn’t YOUR FIGHT anyways. I wouldn’t want to see you get entangled in something that might get you killed. I’m a proper witch after all. Tinker toy soldier and all that. But… indulge me. I’ll listen to what you’d do anything, if only have a nicer dream about it all.”

- @vanguardlost​

Marlene teeters on the edge, toys with pain and sanity and the like. Well, here it has you sitting with a wanted man indulging in drinks that feel tasteless. She spins the questions and returns them his way, again avoiding even the slightest bit of information from being spilt. Hyeok knows the way all too well, does it himself from time to time and has seen her do it with him countless. “You first.” He isn’t asking. She has yet to spill even a drop and he, well he loves the exchange of secrets. “Tell me what you’ve planned to do. No harm will come to you here.” Brave words but he feels sure of it, chest all rumble and raging fiery licks of flame.

“You’ve watched them all die. Lost people both ways. Explain to me then what it is you’re waiting for. This plan of yours.” Hyeok digs the knife deeper, twists it. It comes not from a place of his own pleasure for her loss but more from curiosity and a want to know what all of this so-called sacrifice was for. This war she lives in with no end in sight. “If you have what you need to do then what’s the problem?” She doesn’t seem the type to fear pulling the trigger but from where he sits, that’s how it looks. Then again, Hyeok is trigger happy. 

Curly black locks dipped to hide his eyes are pushed aside. Hawk-like blues rest upon the features of her face, sharp jaw and swollen lips. The usual fearlessness in her eyes masked by fatigue. Drained by death and loss. And well, alcohol now as she sips on it like a bottle of water. Hyeok shifts closer, hand on thigh and eyes growing warmer, warmer and hot like the palm on her leg. “How am I to understand when your lips are sealed tight all the time? It’s not about what I would do... Marlene. It’s about what you would want me to do.” 

°｡･:*･ﾟ✧｡･ﾟ┈• @vanguardlost​​​​ ;

          ┈• his  head  was  aching,  neck  stiff  in  a  way  that  only  hurt  if  he  twisted  it  too  far  to  the  right,  and  his  joints  felt  creakier  than  normal,  but  it  wasn’t  anything  he  let  himself  pay  any  mind  to.  he’d  grown  used  to  being  in  pain  long  ago,  both  a  response  to  trauma  and  a  reason  to  stay  alive.  it  kept  him  alert,  conscious,  ready  to  BRAWL.  Besides,  like,  how  are  you  supposed  to  fight  someone  who’s  so  comfortable  getting  hurt?  The  worst  you  could  do  is  practically  a  tuesday  afternoon  to  him.

          he  didn’t  answer,  just  handed  over  the  cigarette  once  he’d  taken  in  the  smoke.  he  hadn’t  asked  before  lighting  it  up,  not  bothering  to  check  if  HYEOK  minded  him  smoking  inside  of  his  apartment.  honestly,  he  didn’t  really  care.

          ❝  how  controlled  can  you  get  it?  like  –  can  you  do  like  tiny  lighter-type  flames,  or  just  bigger  stuff?  ❞  his  back  slouched  against  the  sofa,  hands  busying  themselves  picking  at  the  thick  black  string  sewn  between  his  fingers.  it  wasn’t  tying  them  together,  but  instead  stitched  down  both  sides  of  his  fingers  like  some  sort  of  strange  inseam.  the  thread  was  obviously  worn,  the  skin  holding  it  in  red  and  angry  from  the  relentless  torment  of  his  fidgeting.  it  hurt,  and  he  knew  he  should  have  already  taken  it  out  and  redone  the  stitches  somewhere  else,  but  he  hadn’t  had  the  energy.  ❝  yeah,  you  look  pretty  fucked  up.  ❞  the  words  come  out  sarcastic,  with  the  hint  of  a  smile  curving  at  the  corners  of  his  lips  to  prove  his  admittedly  playful  intent,  however  dark  the  subject.  ❝  um,  yeah,  kinda.  you  always  keep  it  this  cold?  ❞ ✧｡･ﾟ

The smoke fills his lungs and spins his head, blood pressure rising with every smooth inhale and exhale through flared nostrils. People find it calming, the act of smoking. Funny enough how the body reacts the complete opposite. All just mind games. All of life... is just a mind game, after all. 

Tao, his harmless companion sits at his side inquiring. There was so much more to know and so much more to see, clearly a dull life lived. Had he really not seen people with talents like this before? Hyeok starts to raise some of his own questions, too - though decides to keep them to himself for the time being. “Controlled. I could light your cigarette with it.” Is his response, head motioning toward another stick from the pack. Grab it. He demands without a word as his elbow bends, hand raises and finger uncurls to light the tiniest of a blue flame. “Go ahead. I won’t hurt you.” Though Hyeok is certain Tao doesn’t anticipate he would, nor would he mind - too much. Seems life to him has been full of hurt. Well, that makes two. 

“Bigger stuff can get out of control... I’ve been better about it but a lot of it also depends on how much anger I harbour. I can lose it.” Hyeok sits in quiet, watching as the man at his side slouches back into the confines of his beaten black couch to fidget at wounds no longer worth playing at. “You might look just as bad.” Blue eyes linger over to the empty fireplace in front of them, just a ways beyond the coffee table. Reluctantly he stands up to make his way over there, crouch low and begin stuffing some crumpled newspapers (ironically of himself) beneath blocks of wood. He lights it. Probably the only act of kindness he’ll display all year. “Yeah, because I’m always too hot.”

                                 ║▌│█║▌│ █║▌│█│║▌║

◦ ☾—*:･ﾟ◦⇢ @vanguardlost​           ft. NIX

          ⇢ It  was  the  time  of  day  when  the  public  tended  to  avoid  drinking  coffee,  not  a  midmorning  rush,  or  so  late  in  the  evening  that  people  felt  they  needed  a  pick  me  up.  No,  it  was  just  late  enough  to  warrant  the  shop  to  be  almost  completely  empty,  the  perfect  time  for  someone  like  this  to  come  around.  Inconspicuous;  away  from  prying  eyes  and  eavesdropping  ears.  Perhaps  he  had  some  good  sense,  after  all.

          ⇢ NIX  eyed  the  chair,  the  grin  never  faltering  from  their  face  as  they  tried  to  decide  if  they  should  accept  the  invitation  to  sit.  What  a  silly  little  game  they  played,  always  pushing,  always  pulling,  always  fighting  to  see  who  would  come  out  on  TOP.

          ⇢ They  sat  down,  a  certain  poise  in  the  way  they  arched  their  back  and  crossed  their  leg  over  the  other,  an  elegancy  that  knew  it  was  there,  and  refused  to  be  ignored.  It  was  purposeful,  and  they  didn’t  care  who  noticed.  ❝  Tell  me,  HYEOK,  do  people  trust  you?  ❞  It’s  a  leading  question,  one  that  they  expect  a  simple  answer  to  before  allowing  themselves  to  continue.

          ⇢ ❝  A  tattoo  artist  with  no  tattoos..  Or  perhaps  someone  who  can  make  fire,  but  can’t  stop  the  burns.  Or  a  human  in  a  place  like  this.  ❞  Their  voice  was  low,  elbows  leaning  against  the  counter  and  leaning  towards  him  as  they  spoke  in  a  measured,  calculated  voice.  Their  eyebrows  popped  up.  ❝  Doesn’t  instill  much  confidence.  Do  you  ever  get  the  feeling  perhaps  you  don’t  belong?  ❞

          ⇢ They  sat  back,  grinning  again.  ❝  A  team,  huh?  And  how’s  that?  ❞

Nix is just as inconspicuous, more so than Hyeok arguably. They own a shop in a part of town less traveled. Welcome in strangers and stragglers with a smile and a hot cup of coffee, warm and love-filled. Good for the soul. Behind those sharp eyes lies the head honcho of an organized ghoul gathering, head chief! Isn’t that right? 

They sit across from Hyeok, poised and browsing through questions. Blabbering on about trust when the answer itself is already known. Hyeok wasn’t here on a basis of trust. Their relationship was never of that kind. “You know I’m not here for that, nor are you.” They’re well aware of the type of man he is after all, fickle and easily swayed. Untrustworthy to the core but... no less capable. And capable, well that’s what you like. 

His eyes shift to the cooling cup of coffee set beside him. The faint lights of the shop hard to notice during the bright of just after mid-day. Quiet lingers amongst them. The occasional stomp of footsteps from the rooms above making him aware that they aren’t alone. “I’ve never belonged, neither have you which is why you created this place in the first place. So who are you to point fingers, hm?” 

A sip of the warm brew, soothing and bitter. Just like his soul could be at times, such a perfect fit. Their voice echoes on, a team. “You’re being hunted. Does that not concern you in the slightest? You tell me, is it worth having me on the other side?” 

Death ;

A cheery woman’s voice chimes from above. "Game over! Please restart and try again." The old woman holds a baby in her arms and makes to pass it to you. Will you take it?