bits and pieces.

park gyuri ; '87 ; biological manipulation !! formerly advkyungil

[advhyuna]

got nowhere to go (but down)

[advgyuri-blog]

advhyuna:

Hyuna nearly chokes on the momentary reprieve, the muscles in her throat spasming as she gasps for breath. Wide eyes stare, still welling with tears as she wonders if her pleading somehow broke through… but there are no such mercies.

Hyuna trembles, both in pain and fear in pure confusion as to why this is happening – she wants, so badly, to be comforted by Gyuri’s expression and the familiarity of her touch, but it’s so twisted and dizzyingly wrong.

(It’s not beyond her reasoning that this is yet another macabre illusion brought on by the poison’s aftereffects, or that the ringleader is the one lurking somewhere out of sight. But is it? It’s not ending, and she’s unaware of the biological timer set by the poison and how soon it is to tick out.)

(...)

This is the worst of her, all laid out into one twisted image -- mixed up with her puppeteer’s dark pleasures to create something disgusting, wrong no matter which angle it’s viewed from. The hint of her unnatural strength, a body warped in too many ways by her own constant manipulation of its every facet -- Hyuna should not be this weak; in fact, Hyuna is someone Gyuri would call strong without a doubt, but the night has taken its toll on the both of them. The form that takes is just different.

Ah, but none of that matters right now -- none of it but the way her mangled biology responds with such favor to this, the way the thing picking at her brain responds with such excitement at the way Hyuna screams.

And scream she does, indeed -- there’s something backwards about it, the way Gyuri’s wires are crossed by the thing pulling her strings. Gyuri is someone who thrives on suffering for someone else’s wants, masochistic to an absolute fault; she makes a living and a life out of providing others with pleasure, unconcerned with whether or not that would bring her pain. In the end, it’s being useful, being used, that Gyuri seeks -- there’s an irony to what she’s become in this moment, something willing to use and abuse rather than practically begging to be used and abused herself.

It’s easier with Hyuna not struggling, just giving in to the pain -- even the sound of her name rings more pleasantly than not, even though it should be horrifying, the way Hyuna’s crying for her to stop -- Gyuri isn’t completely unaware of that. For just a second it makes her stop, brow furrowing as she sits astride the other woman, breathing heavily. She doesn’t know what that weird feeling is and she doesn’t want it there -- the parasite in her synapses tells her not to pay it any mind, and she can’t resist.

By the time she (it’s not actually her, this amalgam of herself and something else that’s possessing her body) returns to some sense of lucidity Hyuna’s clawing at her, desperately gripping at her clothes -- the horrible mockery of a smile returns to Gyuri’s lips again and she takes one of Hyuna’s wrists into her hand, grip too tight -- too cruel.

“You sound good begging, Hyuna,” she mumbles, not answering any of the half-questions the other woman’s managed; the pain still spreads outward from her fingertips, but it’s dimmed, like Gyuri’s power is losing steam. “Do you want me to take off my clothes? You could just ask,” Gyuri breathes, tilting her head to try to meet Hyuna’s gaze -- despite how her own isn’t all there. The blood and tears staining her face really are so appealing like this, and yet -- Gyuri’s feeling light-headed, and not entirely in a pleasant way now. No, this is far more like -- the faint sensation that hits her when her heart’s not beating quite right, when her blood pressure drops too low for her body to sustain consciousness.

Like a toy who’s batteries are running out, Gyuri slouches -- her grip is still tight and her weight is still heavy on Hyuna’s body, but her expression’s gone blank and her breathing shallow. “C-come on, it’s no fun if you break already,” the tone’s wrong, wrong -- too high, too loose on her tongue -- it’s not her anymore -- but is her puppeteer talking to their victim, or to Gyuri herself? “You’re so good at this, I’m not d-done with you yet---”

It’s then that the current hits her, and at the same instant as Gyuri’s shrieking breaks the air, so does another voice’s -- one far more child-like, harsher and more grating, in the distance. She recoils instinctively, tendons and muscles tensing painfully -- everything goes white as she clings desperately to consciousness.

[advgyuri-blog]

☤ over the counter.

[advgyuri-blog]

advtaek:

he’s tired of being trapped in bed all day. taekwoon strives on routine, and having his routine broken by injury is almost a dent to his pride. it’s suffocating, with nothing but his thoughts and meaningless entertainment means to keep himself distracted. but taekwoon can still feel the strain his bones, can still hear the ringing in his ear—how it’s hard for him to hear anything but ringing in one ear. it’s frustrating, and taekwoon wonders if he’s going to go insane, trapped in here. jonghyun offers him little entertainment past his fretting and worrying (not that he isn’t grateful—it’s just that it’s taekwoon and taekwoon lives off of routine).

he’s flipping through pages of some worn book he had asked jonghyun to bring him—and his eyes flicker over pages but he isn’t reading them. everything is blurry, blending into something that doesn’t make sense and taekwoon doesn’t try, really. he flips to the next page and manages to get words about animals and hunting—his brows pinch in the middle, and he sighs, resting the book on his face. his finger taps on the spine of the booklet, eyes falling shut. he’s twitchy, anxious. being cooped up in a place for far, far too long will make anyone go slowly insane.

he doesn’t hear the knock, but he does hear the faint sound of the door opening and the voice that follows—shifting and sitting himself up with a frown, taking the book off of his face. he blinks at the other, expression confused.  his tongue swipes over dry, cracked lips as he opens tiers to speak.

“hello,” he greets softly, expression questioning. “i’ve been awake.” he shifts his leg, pausing in place when a throb responds in protest. he lets out another exhale of breath, eyes falling shut as he focuses on breathing. shaking his head, his shoulders sag forward as he sighs.

“you’re not one of the nurses.” he comments quietly. she’s familiar in the far recesses of his mind, but taekwoon can’t come up with a name. “were you looking for someone?”

The smile on her lips is pressed thin, but it’s there -- partly politeness, partly relief, mostly trying to mask less pleasant expressions. Gyuri can be intrusive and she knows it well; everything about this is intrusive, really, but she thinks it’s for the best anyway -- despite that, there’s something apologetic in her downcast eyes, something uneasy in her stance as a bit of hair falls into her face.

“I’m glad -- I wouldn’t have wanted to wake you,” it’s idle chatter, almost meaningless -- but it can mean all the world sometimes, too. She fingers her fingers lacing into each other as she looks down at her hands, chest tight for some reason -- nervousness? Perhaps she is nervous -- nervous that she won’t be able to help as she wishes to, that she’ll only continue to ruin whatever she touches. But she doesn’t want to believe that, much as it seems to be true.

Gyuri looks up, caught out of her distraction -- smile becoming a bit broader, through still tense somehow as it covers her teeth, and her shoulders shift in a slight laugh. “No, I’m not,” she confirms, striding closer -- her eyes wander to the book he’s still got a hand on, but quickly come back to Taekwoon himself as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “I’m a volunteer. A potential like you.”

She turns her palms up -- a gesture of openness, a hint of surrender -- and blinks at them for a second before looking back at Taekwoon’s face. “I want to help you -- I think I can,” she says, hoping she doesn’t sound suspect somehow. Her expression is neutral, but she can’t quite disguise her unease the way she normally would.

“Your leg and your ear, right? I can -- encourage the body to heal faster, in a sense. There shouldn’t be any weird side effects or anything -- other than you maybe being a little tired and hungry,” she tries to be honest, a more genuine smile finally showing on her lips at the comment. She should be more confident -- Taekwoon’s a vigil, which means there really isn’t much danger of unusual backlash on either of them.

“I won’t do anything if you don’t want me to, but... I thought I’d offer.”

[exadvnamjoon-blog]

⚙ Grace Period ⚙

[advgyuri-blog]

advnamjoon:

Done with cautious pre-inspection and into the initiation of conversation, barely anything registers beyond the creeping breathlessness of overactive nerves. He’d squeezed words out at a reasonable volume, addressed them to someone else in person, even. The weird mixture of fear and excitement feels a bit like awaiting the results of a major test, and he tries not to fidget too badly when the other’s attention naturally settles on him. ‘Tries’ being the key intention, lips tight and eyes flickering elsewhere like he’s sorry for interrupting the man’s mildly confused inspection of the nearby intersection. Hands already respectfully folded twitch as if attempting to further correct their positions, and he’s stuck trying to hold his ground while somehow not looking like he’s considering apologizing his way out of the interaction. All he’d caught was the motion of being turned to, natural in acknowledgement, but something Dosuk’s learned to find startling at the very least. He catches the faint smile and stares somewhat blankly through the laugh, gaze reluctantly trailing off to a few passersby like he’d already checked out of the conversation. Expression bordering somewhere near uncertainty, he’s less unattentive and more slightly uprooted. He’d long since realized he’s become far more accustomed to normal conversation at distances several times larger than this one, but it still halts his thought processes when nothing more comes of his approach than a few relaxed words in response.

Keep reading

Gyuri is many things -- oblivious is not one of them. Her perceptions of others are terribly keen, and she uses this to their mutual advantage more often than not -- in this case, she can tell quite clearly that the boy speaking to her (he’s tall, isn’t he?) is nervous. There’s something of note there that she doesn’t yet have a definition for, the idea that he’s nervous yet he approached her first -- that he’s uneasy being looked at, looking at her in kind, yet he still makes such an effort to do so. It brings out something warm in her, yet also makes her cautious; only the former of these makes it to her expression, the light way she tilts her head at the boy.

She elects to look away, as well -- she knows good and well that there are people who get uncomfortable under another’s gaze, just as there are people who thrive upon it. People, as it were, are a mixed bag; Gyuri knows that predicting them requires a lot of fancy footwork, first and foremost. But this isn’t about that, about honing some skill of hers -- it’s just about politeness, as far as she sees it, and not making anyone uneasier than she has to.

She doesn’t look quite at him, but glances him over to follow his gaze around. The stranger is obviously thinking; at times like this, Gyuri wishes she were a mind-reader of some sort rather than a biological manipulator, but she supposes she’ll work with what she has. At his offer she just barely seems to startle -- a little surprised at his willingness to accompany her, all things considered -- but then lets a warm smile spread over her features. She doesn’t feel any real need to be afraid of him.

“That would be great, thank you,” she chimes, visibly relaxing a bit; there is still something strange about the boy, she won’t deny that, but Gyuri is hardly the type to be suspicious of someone over their choice of clothing, or their unsure mannerisms. Perhaps she’s a bit too trusting in this way -- perhaps she has some strange misplaced confidence in her ability to defend herself, given years of working the streets the way she has.

“And that sounds lovely,” she says warmly, shifting her weight to her other foot; “I’d hate to be imposing, but I would love to hear any tips and secrets you know. The kids back at my place don’t eat well enough a lot of times --” she knows she’s starting to ramble a little, but somehow, she feels like volunteering a bit about herself might ease the situation. Maybe it will make it worse. She can’t be sure. “-- I mean, the food there is fine, but it’s not the same as home cooking and fresh ingredients, you know? They work hard -- I can’t help but want to spoil them a little.” Gyuri sways on the balls of her feet a time or two, thinking -- there’s an implication there that she isn’t certain will be caught, but she isn’t much concerned for that: if she has it her way, she’ll probably spoil her help a bit, as well.

[advxminhyuk-blog]

Helpful Advice™

[advgyuri-blog]

advxminhyuk:

Minhyuk slaps both hands to his eyes with a slight groan the moment he’s asked what’s going on. He’s just so utterly awful with words and talking embarrasses and scares him way more than it probably should- especially in these cases. So he shakes his head just a little before finally removing his hands. He knows himself well enough. He’s going to either talk forever or just blurt out the problem and he’s pretty sure that the second one is the better option in the long run. So he takes a very deep breath.

“Y’know that guy who’s been my best bro for like… I dunno’, forever now?” He looks at his sister with his brows furrowed. He looks just a tad frustrated, but it’s honestly more an angry confusion at himself than anything. “Well… At first I was jus’ thinkin’ he was cool and then next thing I knew I was like ‘damn that guy’s kinda’ hot’ and now I’ve realized  that, like, I never date girls? Like ever. I’m always turnin’ them down ‘cause like… I just think of them as friends, which is chill I like havin’ lots of friend but, like, I also dance better with guys and have more intimacy with them and stuff? Like the teachers say so.”

He rubs his temples. He’s pretty sure it’s already extremely clear what he’s getting at but he would hate for Gyuri to somehow misunderstand it, so he thinks a little more on how to formulate his words. He frowns and crosses his arms- looking to Bulgogi almost as if he wants the dog to hope. Bulgogi is staring back- at least briefly, before sort of jolting his head away and back to playing with the cats. Minhyuk only frowns more.

“So like… I guess what I’m gettin’ at is that I’m pretty sure I’m into dudes and stuff. Probably have been for a while. And, I dunno, it’s not like that’s a big deal I guess but it’s a big deal for me? ‘Cause I just… I ain’t thought ‘bout it any and it’s weird for me so ‘m all nervous jittery about it!”

She’s perfectly patient with Minhyuk -- used to the way he can be, the way he doesn’t quite get along with his words a lot of times and so lacks confidence with them. She doesn’t really think he’s that bad with it -- he just says what he’s thinking more often than not, which isn’t a bad trait in truth even if it does mean a bit more silly things escape his mouth than most people’s.

As Minhyuk speaks Gyuri just listens, turning away only briefly to deal with the food -- otherwise, she’s attentive and present. Nothing she’s hearing is especially surprising, in its own way; it isn’t as though she hadn’t observed the same pattern Minhyuk’s talking about, with him not dating girls and honestly seeming to prefer men. She definitely doesn’t find it strange -- she would hardly be in any position to call something like that strange, she thinks, and the thought brings her lips to quirk upward in a smile.

Still, she doesn’t say anything until Minhyuk seems to be finished talking -- she’s always polite this way. She doesn’t really have enough spine, in a sense, to interrupt him even if she wanted to -- not that she would. Even after his exclamation she doesn’t speak for a moment, making sure he’s really finished -- there’s nothing really unusual about her expression, either.

“I’m happy for you,” Gyuri says after a moment, smiling a bit more; “Accepting something like that can be hard, right? But you’ll be happier for it, so I’m happy too.” She nearly pushes a plate of rice and meat into her brother’s hands, insistent but not impolite. “It’s obvious, but I’ll say it anyway: I love you the same, regardless of if you like boys or girls or crocodiles for all I care.” She wishes that was more of an exaggeration than it is, kind of.

“Try not to be too nervous about it, yeah? You’ll figure it all out in time -- how to handle it, I mean.” She’s speaking from experience -- Minhyuk already knows that. “I’m here for you no matter what, and I know you’ll be fine in the end -- because you’re my brother.” Not that that has anything to do with Gyuri having anything together -- her gender, maybe -- but that she knows Minhyuk well enough that she truly believes he can handle anything, somehow.

[advxjjong]

i’m blue (da ba dee)→ kj & sk

📢 starter for! @advkyungil 📢 tw– alcohol, language, depression

The lights in the bar were dim. Jonghyun always thought that having the lighting like this was kind of useless. Don’t bar owners know that it’s hard to read when you’re drunk? How does having barely-there lighting help with that? Currently, Jjong is perched upon a bar stool, having thrown back three drinks already and the night was fairly young. He was at a new bar than his typical because according to his usual spot taking off your shirt when you’re too hot is “alarmingly inappropriate”. So he decided to shun them for a short time as a way to rebel against that dumb claim.

Don’t they know what kind of body he has? Ridiculous. 

Anyway, Jjong was at a new bar because he’s being petty. It’s alright in his opinion– it has this masculine vibe to it. The bar had a cherry stain to it and the prices were moderate. He usually got discounts at his usual place but since they’re being dumb he’ll just have to deal with this. 

It was pretty crowded for a Thursday night. Jjong might’ve saw a sign about it being “thirsty Thursday” and that must be what brings people in on any day that isn’t a weekend. Jjong had already talked to several people at the bar already, not quite plastered yet but he was certainly making his way there. The girls he talked to were pretty, a couple of them eyeing him up and down since the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing was showing off his physique quite nicely. Not to mention the fashionably ripped black jeans and expensive looking boots he’s practically screaming that he’s made of money vibe ( when he isn’t, but no one needed to know that ). 

He was spacing out now, not noticing that an acquaintance from the foundation sitting next to him. The strangers he was talking to earlier left to go do something moments ago. Jjong promptly forgot what they said they were going to do not even five seconds after they spoke it, but that was fine. He was certain he’d never see them again for the rest of the night. The bartender he spoke to for a little bit was pretty swamped, but he looked to be in a good mood since his shift was ending soon. 

But Jonghyun was on a different world. He was starting to feel the alcohol now, which was shitty since his mind was starting to wonder to the dark corners he’s hidden from the world. A part of him curses himself. He knew he shouldn’t have changed it up and gotten whiskey– this always happens when he’s drinking whiskey. He has no idea as to why, but he already had plenty of it so far and there wasn’t really much he could do about the glass he was drinking now. Might as well go all in and let the sadness overtake him. 

Go big or go home, right?

[advgyuri-blog]

Gyuri is relapsing. There isn’t a more polite word for it, this way that she’s tracking back to old habits best left broken -- back to a version of herself she’d have been best to leave behind. But for as much as she’s a pretender, an actress, Gyuri really hasn’t changed much throughout her life -- not inside, not beneath her skin and flesh and blood.

So it isn’t surprising, really, that she’d become this way -- after things went wrong, that is, and Halloween broke her facade possibly beyond repair. She doesn’t want to go home and she doesn’t want to see anyone she knows -- at least not anyone who knows her well enough to worry about her, because there’s no sense in worrying about her when all she’s managed to do is hurt people and ruin everything.

Time has passed, and she still feels that way, somehow -- and that’s what ends with her here, drinking too little to excuse such a level of drunkenness only for her mixed-up biology to flush the toxins out faster than she’d expect.

Nights are cyclical like this, then; she drinks, she’s fine, she sobers up and hates herself and the cycle repeats. It’s better than being in her room by herself -- at least she can still get lost in other people’s noise.

She’s been here before, but she’s not much for going to the same places in much of a pattern. Her body seems to reject consistent patterns, somehow -- maybe it’s because she can do her job more easily by keeping things varied, making sure no one sees her often enough to really get suspicious of what she’s doing. Such is the fate of one operating behind the back of the law, she supposes, even if it’s silly because there’s literally nothing harmful about what she does.

Gyuri’s on the downswing of her cycle -- the part where she’s fine, but the dark thoughts are starting to nip at her again -- so she makes her way to the bar, steps stumbling but not quite so badly that she can’t keep herself upright. The strange thing is that right before she manages to yell for the bartender to bring her something (preferably fruity but also strong), she notices the guy sitting next to her -- familiar, which is not a good thing at her current state of mind. It’d be better not to see anyone she knows at all.

She pauses for a strangely long moment, blinking dumbly with parted lips -- but decides to hell with it and calls out a drink order regardless as she settles into a seat at the bar.

[neon-bunny]

[advyongsun-blog]

♛ webs weaved.

[advgyuri-blog]

advyongsun:

One of the very reasons she decided to reside here at the facility is the level of freedom that it gives her. She is still bound by rules, yes, but her skills are not stifled here; there are no supervisors hovering over her shoulder, scrutinizing her every action to make sure she remains in the boundaries of ‘legal’. There’s no one here, in fact ─ no one but a willing subject who all but stepped up as volunteer all of his own volition, conveniently available when she finds herself in a very particular mood.

And she is, in fact, in a very particular mood today. 

Fingers glance lightly over the handles of an assortment of surgical equipment as she holds back a soft hum. She’d cleaned them earlier ─ for no particular reason, given that she hadn’t used them lately, but the fact that she hadn’t has managed to conjure up an urge to change the fact. It’s funny, in some way; even when she doesn’t call him, Kyungil comes along to satisfy her needs before she has the chance to address them herself. 

“I see.” It’s already an agreement of sorts, the simple acknowledgement being all she needs to settle her thoughts. He’s there to be whatever she wants, isn’t he? Of course he is ─ that’s all he ever is. There’s no need to question or interview him over what she has in mind, and there’s even less of one to explain herself; she simply walks purposefully across the tiled floor, leaving the assortment of tools open and on display as she sets a note of ‘do not disturb’ against the door’s handle and locks it.

She hardly turns towards him as she coolly flits about the space, gathering this and that ─ if he weren’t the only one around, it’d seem as though she weren’t addressing him at all. This is a show of excitement in Yongsun: focus drawn elsewhere whilst still wrapping her fingers around the supporting details, managing different facets all at once. Still, her words don’t betray her, the order given his way bearing with it an expectation of him following without her direct supervision.

“Remove your shirt and take a seat on the table. I’ll be taking that offer of yours.”

She waits as if in suspended motion -- this is a habit of hers, whether bad or good she couldn’t say, but she’s already sunken completely into the position she’s created for herself, let her mind go and become blank for it. She’s acting, and yet each of these personas is her as well -- perhaps it’s too difficult to define Gyuri to even say which of these personas would be more real than the others. Perhaps they are all real; perhaps they are all fake.

There’s no hesitation in her movement toward the table; it’s not mechanical, but it is orderly -- just too natural to really feel like she’s being puppeted. This is part of her charm, to seem so natural in her every presentation, to make it so easy for others to pin exactly what they want onto her -- that’s what she wants, too, that’s just how she survives.

She neatly seats herself and pulls her blouse over her head without a word -- there’s no part of her that’s shy for bearing her body anymore. Perhaps there should have been, once, but she rid herself of that too young; at this point, her body holds no secrets despite all its scars. (Even when it did, it was hardly a real “secret”, and a fair few people were happier than not to find it.) She figures she ought to go ahead and remove her bra as well -- so she does, hardly paying mind to the chill that passes over her chest.

“Okay,” she breathes, confirming that she’s done as she was told -- Gyuri holds no expectation, and yet her eyes flit to the things that Yongsun is gathering, following her attentions. Should this not make her nervous, too? But Gyuri has already volunteered herself for anything, and pain is hardly something she fears -- her mutation gives her a rather useful and unsettling ability to control that. Still, it does her well to be prepared, nerves or not.

[advbaekhyun-deactivated20190310]

➟ white lilies

[advgyuri-blog]

advbaekhyun:

(tw: eating disorder) Baekhyun has been watching time go by the past few days, weeks perhaps, lost in a constant loop that makes him feel miserable but that he doesn’t seem to break nonetheless. He wonders, sometimes, what is it that makes him act in a way that his brain disapproves but that his body copes with, accommodating whatever stupidity he decides to indulge in next. He doesn’t want to try to sound dramatic or overly complicated, but it’s almost as if there’s two entities, wanting to do completely different things and between what’s good and what is bad, he will always pick the one that causes more damage. There must be some poetic justice in all of that. (or just blatant stupidity)

The events are like clockwork, precise when it comes to fit into each other, actions justifying actions, routines delayed, people left for later, for when he wants to deal with it, with them, for when he is done avoiding. Tell him he will leave at the sound of the first phone call and he will claim nonsense, but that’s exactly what he does. Exposing his face to the sight of others is a first in some time, no wonder he is met with a certain skepticism, confusion maybe, surprise definitely. He is surprised himself, for having someone call him out in this particular situation. The one on the other side of the line didn’t sound particularly worried but Baekhyun is not surprised given the fact that he arrives to no one else but Kyungil on a street bench. There’s a stupid joke in the back of his head, asking to be let out, something about the man still having every piece in him, but he saves it for another time. 

He takes the older’s observation with a grain of salt. It’s so obvious by simply looking at his face, he knows that, he simply tried to ignore it for the most part whenever he happened to catch his reflection in a mirror. He does look pale, a bit tired (he feels so too, just a little bit) and he’s lost some weight, mostly because he spent five days in an infirmary asleep with nothing but the IV stuck to his arm. He may have messed up his eating routine after that as well, skipped more than just a few meals with the excuse that he simply wasn’t hungry. The thing is that he knows perfectly that it’s a vicious loop, that he can’t allow his body to get used to something and justify it like that, as if he doesn’t know that not eating on day one will turn into not doing so on day two and on day three. On day four he’ll give some leftovers a try but his stomach doesn’t particularly agree with it; he ends up sipping on tea to soothe a stomach that emptied itself on its own accord. 

“I think I still look better than you do.” He retorts in an attempted playful tone. Baekhyun’s eyes go for a quick scan, looking for particularly visible wounds or signs that the man may be in any kind of physical pain. There are none. His gaze goes back to Kyungil, moving his hand from the older’s neck to his arms, allowing Kyungil the leverage he needs to at least sit up. “Is this just a hangover?” he asks, because with them you can never really tell, if it’s one thing it can be another and he wants to be sure. 

“Arm around my neck or piggyback ride? Your choice, hyung.”

It’s a clear case of role-reversal, and as Gyuri manages to put together the pieces of her thoughts it becomes as clear as it is unpleasant. She’s always the one taking care of people; it’s all she knows, all she’s ever been. She made herself that way, too, out of necessity and care alone; she doesn’t know how to let someone take care of her. It’s surreal, the idea that Baekhyun, after everything that happened in that place, would still be the one who could carry her today and not the other way around -- time has passed and she knows it shouldn’t be surprising, considering who she’s talking about, but somehow it still hurts. She’s a real mess, isn’t she?

She manages to smile at Baehyun’s attempt at a joke; it works about as well as could be expected, for both of them. Slowly, she sits up, blinking a few times as she tries to ascertain her own state as well. “Partly,” she says half-heartedly, suddenly aware of how tired and sore all of her muscles are. She probably isn’t ready to talk about this, to face Baekhyun after all of that, and yet she’s had a hard time keeping up appearances lately. “Mostly exhaustion -- nothing new, though.”

Gyuri blinks up at him, everything moving a little more slowly than she’d like; it isn’t exactly that she doesn’t want to rely on him, that she doesn’t trust Baekhyun, but that she doesn’t even know how. It’s all so strange for her; she’s always just had to pick up her own pieces, and yet here are people trying to help her with it. She wonders if they can really do anything to help -- maybe they actually know better than her, that wouldn’t be surprising either.

“I can probably walk myself,” she says belatedly, with a small nod, “I may be a bit heavy to carry the whole way.” She probably isn’t that heavy, but the joke sounds better than the fact that she doesn’t want him to have to do it, she thinks, when he’s surely still recovering too, obviously not quite his usual self. As she reaches up to put an arm around his shoulder she mutters a small “thank you” -- it’s genuine, but something about it feels off on her tongue.

[advjaehyun]

Mechanics of Puppetry

@advkyungil

“ Sweet, sweet boy. Your voice is so very, beautiful.”

( Won’t you scream for me? )

Little girl, who are you? ( Let me tell you a secret Jaehyunnie ~ ) She breathes her words. Sweet child, why does your voice sound like a ringing bell and why does each syllable throb against my temple like hammer to a skull? The world is so very, very loud. 

Her whisper turns into screams ( Who’s screaming? ), blood boiling over, flames licking up moulted flesh ( “Guess, pretty boy ~ Y.O.U.” ). 

B E A U T I F U L. Isn’t it? 

( Huh? )

There’s a sharp whistle. Whistle. Whistle. ( Throb )

“Ah,” Jaehyun stares dazedly at the whistling kettle before him, unfocused eyes staring at and beyond the jet of steam being forced out the little opening by the spout. A finger brushes gingerly against the stitches concealed by his overgrown fringe. He presses it. It doesn’t hurt; Or it’s not giving him a splitting headache at the very least, yet he still winces at the lumpy, uneven sensation. Funny, did he imagine the throbbing of his temples? 

Shaking his head, he switches off the stove, lifting the kettle from the burner as he shuffles over to the marbled counter top where a tea set had already been laid out. 

He fills the already prepped teapot with boiling water from the kettle and lets the mixture of water and leaves sit for a moment or two as he busies himself in the kitchen, scavenging for snacks and titbits. It must’ve been a minute or five when he’s returned with cheesecake and cinnamon rolls on polished platters, and he takes another minute or so to empty out a packet of mixed nuts into a small glass bowl. Once he’s done with that, he pours out the tea into two matching tea cups.

Maharajah Darjeeling. Expensive blend it was. Pricey, just like the cheesecake, and organic nuts. But he supposes he can afford to be generous seeing how he’s planning to break some not-so-pleasant news. It’s rather amusing, even to himself, how much effort he’s putting into setting up, and Jaehyun can’t help but chuckle just the slightest. 

But Kyungil was a nice guy; Easy to get along with, to talk with. If he wants a break, he wants to do it cleanly, amicably. 

Arranging the plates, bowls and tea set onto a large tray, he carries it over to the coffee table in the living room. Just as he settles it down, there’s a knock on his door. “Coming!”

Striding over to the entrance, he heaves the door open, coming face to face with his invited guest. “Hyung,” He greets, a small smile on his face, “Come in.”

[advgyuri-blog]

It’s been a strange few weeks.

It seems like Halloween flipped the world upside-down; it certainly brought out parts of Gyuri she’d rather have stayed hidden – the destructive tendencies, the complete inability to keep a grip on her emotions, the helplessness of someone who only wants others to rely on them. Her nerves still throb with the memory of sinking pain into another’s body and fishing out pleasure, and all she wants is to forget – to wash it away and never think of it again.

That’s not how the world works. The world remembers, in all its little ways, what happened; reminders are everywhere, everyone’s still on edge for it.

But Gyuri just wants things to go back to normal.

She’s an actor who’s lost the script for her roles, forgotten which lines go where; she’s shaky, off in a way that most people who know her at all can feel simply because her acting is usually flawless. But she’s back to following the program she knows, trying to find a semblance of normalcy there; perhaps if she just keeps playing the part as she remembers it, it’ll get easier again in time. Isn’t that what she did when she first trained herself this way?

It shouldn’t concern her much that Jaehyun wants to meet in his room rather than the common areas; there could be any reason for it, and yet with how nothing is quite working the way it usually does, Gyuri can’t help but feel a tinge of unease. She pushes it aside; Jaehyun has only ever been friendly and diplomatic in the best way, after all. A small alteration in routine doesn’t make it any less so.

She knocks lightly on the door once, twice – pauses at the sound of Jaehyun’s voice and patiently waits for the door to open. Gyuri still smiles at the sight of him, one good-natured but not showing teeth. “Hello – thank you,” she echoes politely, striding into the room easily.

Naturally, it seems Jaehyun is an excellent host – Gyuri blinks a few times at the array of tea, cheesecake, and nuts prepared on the coffee table. “Aish, you didn’t need to do all this,” she nearly chides, all playfully, as she casts Jaehyun another smile – as long as things feel normal, it seems she can still act her role just fine. “I’m your noona, I should be the one making snacks, you know?”

[advgyuri-blog]

☤ over the counter.

--- @advtaek​

Gyuri is not a doctor. She’s a bit closer to a nurse, but she’s not even that; she doesn’t have any formal training, really hardly has any informal training to speak of besides years spent at her mother’s bedside, trying to figure out the cause of an ailment that could never be found, trying to alleviate symptoms that she barely could understand. Medical practice isn’t the same as the little things she knows about endocrinology and tweaking the way the body works; most of those she learned just through experimentation, to her own detriment or not.

She tries not to do anything that gets too far into medicine, then; she knows first aid and under normal circumstances, she’d spend plenty of time hanging around the medical bay to take care of small cases like that, and to shadow the more knowledgeable potentials and professionals in some effort to make up for what she lacks.

Normal circumstances haven’t come around for a while, though.

She feels bad, now, for not having been around more at the medical bay -- when she was easily most needed here. That sense of shame (along with the storm raging in her mind, which isn’t yet quiet, but it certainly is a bit number than before) stopped her from coming by for a while, but in time, habit brought her back here, to where she spends a good amount of her “training” time.

The scars from Halloween are still deep, here; there are still people recovering, not even managing that “normal” as well as she is. To be fair, she has an awful lot of control over her body’s condition, perhaps in exchange for how little she has over her mind.

Everyone has it bad -- so many of them do. There’s no way for the few mutants who have some potential for healing to be able to take care of them all in any reasonable amount of time, not without hurting themselves -- and even then, a great many of those potentials are still untrained, like Gyuri. She knows that won’t stop her, though.

She knows Taekwoon, in passing: Hansol’s roommate. She knows the name and that’s enough temptation, when she’s weak as she is with the need to do something positive for a change, to have her knock on his room’s door and slip inside in place of the nurses proper. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, or whatever.

“Hey,” a soft, slightly lame greeting -- nothing unusual about that. “I -- were you awake?”

[advgyuri-blog]

☤ inside out.

[advgyuri-blog]

advbingbing

It can’t be put into words how much Bingbing’s heart comes to ache or how hard it pelts against her ribcage at the sight which she is witness to. The grip onto Kyungil’s upper-arm mirrors that, tightening considerably as thoughts from moments ago resurface; she can’t let go of him, not when she fears the outcome of doing it. It only becomes harder as tears begin to surface and roll down the male’s cheeks; she couldn’t bear to see him like this.

“No, please don’t apologize for anything,” in spite of the attempt given at offering comfort, her own gaze drops as the words leave her lips and her smaller frame draws closer to that of the other, heart feeling as heavy as ever. “It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean any of it,” the tone of her voice remains gentle or at least she aims to keep it like that – to maintain a distinct softness in her speech – while referring to more than the situation at hand.

The information which she has on her hands in scarce, lots of pieces of the puzzle are amiss, so there is very little that Bingbing can cling to; this is what makes it difficult to know where to go or what exactly to say. Her lower lip is drawn between teeth, bit and chewed onto while thoughts swirl in her mind. It is important for her to remain calm, to keep a clear mind and be rational – it’s not easy, neither are things going in a direction that could help her remain in control. Emotions run deep, far deeper than she’d ever be willing to admit and it’s moments like these when there is a clear display of that – when her mind is overrun by them and she becomes nothing more than a bundle of emotions, of nerves.

Metaphorically, she is already brought down to her knees and although she is meant to be the savior in this situation, she relies on Kyungil just as much as he does on her. Hesitantly, she distances herself but without removing her grip from around the male’s arm; one of her hands might remove itself, but the other remains there and fingers dig themselves deep into the sleeve of his shirt. “Kyungil-ah, would you— would you mind coming back to the dorms with me?” a look is cast to the side, from the direction that she came from and as her head turns back towards the other, she speaks up again, “You’re hurting and I… I don’t want you to. I want to help you, please–” again, she begins to plead. 

“Will you let me?” maybe there isn’t any need for such a permission to be granted, but she asks for it nontheless; never in her life would she want to be intrusive, not even if her intentions are good.

Gyuri is a puzzle with pieces missing, a mess of a human impossible to construct from the outside; it isn’t as though she knows the slightest thing about her own self, either, so she’d hardly know how to even help piecing herself together. Her pieces are torn and muddied and incomprehensible, from her perspective -- it seems the only thing she’s good at is making a mess of things, so it should come as no surprise that she’s done the same to her own self.

Did she mean it? It’s so easy to place Bingbing’s words to something without her even knowing it; she didn’t mean to worry her, she didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Bingbing knows she didn’t mean it -- can Gyuri believe that, too? She’s hardly an innocent bystander to her own actions, and yet she’s quite certain that she has no real control over them. She knows she should have control. She just doesn’t. She doesn’t know why she does these things half the time; it makes more sense at the time than it does in hindsight.

She stares at the scrapes on her knuckles, the blood staining her skin -- frightening and cathartic. Is it enough for Bingbing to accept her apologies, even if she doesn’t know what Gyuri’s apologizing for -- if she’s apologizing for everything, does it even matter? She wants to -- she feels a bit lighter, though her head is still buzzing with noise and emotions she doesn’t comprehend -- she really does want to believe her.

Bingbing’s touch is a reassurance, and Gyuri flinches when she moves away -- Gyuri’s eyes roll up to meet hers, wet and unsure. Everything feels fuzzy, a blur of over-strong emotions that she can’t possibly get a grip on -- but at least it’s a little more dull now that she doesn’t have to focus just on herself.

She only nods when Bingbing asks her to come back with her, cautiously shifting in place; her eyes fall back to the ground, finding it impossible to keep looking at her for long. Gyuri feels guilty for her state -- but for once, she wants to rely on her, too. Perhaps she just lacks any other choice.

[advbaekhyun-deactivated20190310]

➟ hepatica

[advgyuri-blog]

advbaekhyun

“Lost.” He repeats as if he’s some kind of echo. His voice sounds cheerful too, maybe because he is overly amused, overly everything given his inebriated state. It’s rather fun except for the dizziness and the inability to control the movements of his tongue as he speaks. 

He never decided to see how long does alcohol and its effect last on him, but he supposes that is a very good opportunity to check. His life is one big and constant experiment. He would laugh at this if it didn’t sound like a terrible joke even for his standards. 

“hyung, what’s gpc?” Not an option, that’s for sure and he raises his head first, pulls his body up next, waits for the wave of dizziness to go away and squints. Everything looks the same at night, he supposes, especially on that particular street with the amount of bars and clubs. 

“lots of neon lights.” If he could think straight, he’d wonder how much more irrelevant can his indications get. He sort of giggles after that, tries not to fall back when he tries to lean against thin air. People keep passing by, unaffected by him or his location, some of them are probably on their way to get just as wasted and no one is there to judge. However, Baekhyun can’t think of the reason why he ended up like that. There are no friends being just as wasted as him because he’s been drinking alone which, in itself, is quite depressing already. He wonders if he’s going to remember in about two or three hours when his body clears out the effects of the alcohol and leave him to deal with confusion rather than a hangover. 

“there’s a giant bear across the street.” He says at last, being that the most accurate description of his current location because honestly, it’s the only thing that grabs his attention and peeks his curiosity. In his normal state, he would have mentioned that the giant stuffed toy is nothing more than one of the many on display at the toy store across the street; the one next to mr. kim’s chicken restaurant. Instead, he leaves it at that and lets Kyungil do the detective work.

Alright, so she doesn’t really know what else she expected from a drunk Baekhyun. A helpful response was definitely too much to ask for; she shakes her head, sighing to herself as she stares down the neon-lit alley. Everything is neon around here; though that does mean he’s fairly close, doesn’t it? Well, this is the easiest area to get to that has a strong night-life from the foundation, so it makes sense. Gyuri’s glad that she’s a pretty sharp thinker if nothing else; it’s a shame she doesn’t know Baekhyun’s patterns just a little bit better to make this easier.

“There are neon lights everywhere around here, Baek,” she sighs into the receiver, setting off in the direction of some of the other bars for the moment; obviously he’s been at a bar, though he isn’t there anymore. Something about being out of lemons. Maybe he got kicked out? Honestly, that would be completely unsurprising -- and probably leave him just about wherever he got kicked from, too.

“A giant bear?” Well, at least that’s somewhat telling. Where would that be? Gyuri wracks her brain, steps not-too-fast as she does so; there are still a fair number of people on the street, and she doesn’t want to run into any of them. A giant bear -- a stuffed bear, or a bear statue? She figures the only place she’s seen a bear statue in Incheon was in Hansol’s room, so it’d have to be the former. A few taps on her phone with Baekhyun on speaker (not that he’s saying much of anything) and she manages to pinpoint the one oddly-placed toy store nearby; hopefully that’s it. She thinks she remembers seeing it before, too, so that helps.

“Okay, I think I’ve got this,” she says, shaking her head to no one but herself -- some degree of mild exasperation, probably. Not that she actually minds that much; it’s just silly. “Stay there, alright? I’ll be there in a few minutes, but I’ll stay on the phone.”

She follows the map given to her by her device, hoping that her chronically bad luck with technology won’t catch up with her tonight -- that’d be a disaster. It isn’t that far nor that hard to follow; Gyuri’s at least spent enough time out here to know the alleys decently by now, for her part. Minutes pass, but soon enough, she’s on the street where she suspects Baekhyun to be -- and indeed, there he is, rather conspicuously on the ground.

“Aish,” she mumbles under her breath, striding over to crouch down beside Baekhyun. “Need help standing up?”

[advsana-blog]

once more || +ski

[advgyuri-blog]

advsana:

she has always been a child capable of letting her moods drag her to extremes. resistance comes low, unreliable; she gives in so easily, always a puppet to her own emotions.

now is just like that. now sees her in tears as though her heart had just been broken, frustration spilling in streaks down her cheeks. now has hands dripping with lukewarm coffee, furled into fists at her side. now has wide eyes turn to the intrusion she registers a few beats too late, salt on her tongue and mind whirring at a pace that she can’t keep up with.

sometimes, her mouth finds direction before her head does. 

he’s not someone she knows very well. she’s seen him around here and there but hasn’t delved into her in-depth methods of research as she’s wont to; there’s too many people around the facility, and there’s so little time to get around to them all. but she does know him, at least─ knows the room he stays in, knows that he has cats that he sometimes takes on walks. he’s never registered as someone to stay away from or be cautious around, and that alone serves as grounds to spill her thoughts as though he were something closer to a friend.

“it’s─ ruined!” it takes her a moment to find the word she’s looking for; while she does, she gestures with her hands, practically flailing at the dripping pages that she’s too afraid to touch any further, lest they fall apart. “i worked all night─ i worked forever, and now it’s─ it’s!”

she’s at the point of nearly tearing into her hair, it seems, with the way her hands uncurl and rise only to curl again. the sketchbook’s pages are spread across the table in the only way she could think would help─ though if anyone asked her in this moment, she’d be certain to deem it pointless either way. 

to her, this one moment feels more like the end of the world. she’s much like a child in this way.

“i don’t know what to do,” her gaze settles on the ground momentarily before looking up again, hovering over her work with a look of consternation. “i─ i don’t know how to fix it.”

all the other times this has happened have never been to this extent; she’s just as lost as she always is right after she makes this kind of mistake, and she hardly ever learns from history.

She hovers with concern, heart still racing more than she’d like -- she instinctively starts to calm it, easing her body into a more optimal state. It doesn’t do any good for both of them to be panicking; she much prefers to be calm in situations like this.

Realizing the situation at hand, Gyuri thinks quickly -- there aren’t so many ways she knows to get coffee stains out of paper, but she feels like if the paper dries, then the markings made on it will at least remain visible. This problem isn’t unsolvable, she feels sure; the important thing is that the young girl she’s with is so horribly upset. That takes priority, along with ensuring that things are cleaned up quickly enough that the task doesn’t grow difficult -- but, one thing at a time.

“It’s okay -- it’ll be okay,” Gyuri tries to assure her, at least believing this herself; she reaches out carefully to take one of the girl’s hands, cautious not to seem too forward but also insistent nonetheless. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry -- just relax, okay?” It may not help that much, but it’s something -- just as is the subtle way which Gyuri’s touch pushes the girl’s biology toward what she hopes will be a calmer state. “I’ll get something to dry it up with, and you should be able to keep most of your work, yeah?”

One thing at a time; Gyuri glances over and turns to the sketchbook spine-up on the table, propping it so that any liquid in the pages will drip down instead of into each other. “Okay? Just wait here,” she says with her usual soft smile before turning on long strides to exit the room.

It only takes a moment before she’s back, though, with a towel swiped from the maintenance closet; she’s sure that’s what they’re there for, anyway. “I’m back,” she offers gently, sliding in with the intent to get the situation under control.

[avtrose-blog]

carry me home tonight

[advgyuri-blog]

joyxadv

“Who’re you to decide,” she snaps, jabs a finger at him and misses his eye by much more than she’d intended. ‘It’s my life, fucking, all mine and shit. You don’t get to decide shit.” Her words are barely enunciated, roll off her tongue before they’re fully formed. It’s a wonder he can actually hear her.

There’s music cutting through her words and she raises her voice without thinking, vomits out her guilt to a stranger. “They… died.” They did, and she killed them. Imagine that, ten years old and already she’s killed more people than people do in their entire lives. Do people normally do that? Fuck if she knows. Joy laughs, a grating sound. “They broke so easily. I didn’t fucking know.”

But oh, she did, she knew, she knew everything. Joy downs the rest of her drink and shakes the glass at the bartender, loses her grip and just watches the glass smash to pieces. “Oh no,” she says, voice artificially high-pitched, then, “I broke that too. But I want more, please!”

She turns to the stranger, tilts her head sideways and his features mush into some strange proto-cubist painting. What must he think of her, she wonders, this mess of a human being. Would he believe she killed all those people? “I think I killed them. I did, ha,” she says, gleeful for a half second, wanting to see his reaction, the smallest relief she gets from her guilt.

It doesn’t last very long. It makes her sick, disgust at herself comes up soon enough. Joy wipes away her tears, refuses to let them stain; she doesn’t deserve them, anyway. What sort of sick asshole mourns their victims. “Oh, you’re still here,” she points out, squints at the stranger a little. “Bye bye,” and she turns around to the other side and vomits, nothing but alcohol and painful dry heaving. 

She just wants to be alone, god, why won’t he just leave.

She instinctively leans back a bit when she’s pointed at so violently, though she doesn’t provide much reaction besides a few owlish blinks; well, perhaps it’s for the stranger to decide for herself, but Gyuri will form her own opinions, too. Or at least she’d like to think so; Gyuri probably isn’t the most reliable person in the world when it comes to opinions of any sort.

At the confession Gyuri leans closer again, eyes narrowing by a fraction -- not in judgement, but in thought, trying to digest the idea as her expression grows solemn. It’s strange how she sort of gets it, but only partly; for a moment, the elder glances down at the drink in her hand again, blinking a few times. Guilt, she definitely knows better than she ever wanted to. Guilt is hard to escape, whether it was totally your fault or not precisely so.

She’s just thinking, for the moment, about what to say -- digesting her own feelings, which is a surprisingly fresh experience. Gyuri never has liked to think about herself or what she’s feeling; she doesn’t really like doing this, either. But when someone admits to you that they’ve killed before, well -- that’s new, too. But how many of the kids at Daybreak are probably like that? Gyuri doesn’t think she’d judge someone for that. She doesn’t think she’s capable.

It’s only after she’s waved away that Gyuri looks the other girl in the eye again, crossing her arms as a faint smile comes to her lips. “Is that supposed to scare me off?” she jests, but her expression falls as the girl vomits. Gyuri reaches over gently, setting a hand on her back and letting her fingers touch at the stranger’s neck; she never has been too shy about applying her power in these quiet ways, and she knows it’s no good to reduce the urge to vomit but she tries to ease the discomfort of it anyway, visualizing all the biological processes in her head.

“You should go home -- I’ll help you get there, okay?” Gyuri offers, gently rubbing the girl’s back. “I don’t hate you for that, you know -- even if you hate yourself for it.” She can’t bring herself to say that she knows the feeling -- but she does, at least a little bit. At least the hating yourself part.

[advgyuri-blog]

** FACECLAIM UPDATE

     — Okay, so this is pretty self evident, but Kyungil is now Gyuri, which means… she’s a girl now! And that is literally all that has changed! No, I mean it, absolutely nothing but her face and pronouns have changed. Her info is all exactly the same barring the fact that I had to painstakingly edit for pronouns like five times to get them all.

Okay first off, why am I doing this?

Because my muse wanted to, honestly. That’s the only reason that’s important. I’ve had this muse for like 8 months now and I only just now realized that they’ve identified as female all along? I’m as baffled as you are, honestly.

Because this will make her easier to write, as she is more comfortably emoting with this faceclaim.

(meme voice) because the rp needs more girls it’s a sausagefest up in here

So why am I NOT doing this?

Because of some nebulous and likely sexist idea that this character (who is very motherly and happens to also be a prostitute and is also emotionally unstable) makes more sense as a girl. These things are secondary notions to my character; I’m more focused on the fact that this is more in line with her actual identity. I worry that people will be troubled by her characterization more due to her being female now (due to some form of double-standards, to be sure), but I’m ready to deal with that.

Because I had some nebulous issue with the character being a dude. The only issue I had is that she wasn’t happy that way.

Because of anything remotely ship-related. Gyuri is such an unholy disaster to ship with that it will literally never happen; this has always been true. Also I, the mun, am not myself female, so this actually makes Gyuri farther from me than closer...

(meme voice) bc i was too lazy to have her actually transition in the timeline of the rp

What does this mean for Gyuri’s plots?

Ideally, nothing. She hasn’t changed one bit; her personality, bio, and power are all exactly the same – except that she’s female now. So her plots should, in theory, remain almost entirely the same, with a few exceptionally minor edits.

I understand that this may make a difference for some plots, though. I’ve tried to go on and message everyone who I have current threads with to discuss what needs to be retconned and changed for this revamp, but I may not have gotten to everyone – if I didn’t talk to you about it and you need to change anything about our plots, please let me know! I won’t be offended, I swear! ;w; Just know that my preference is to change nothing if possible, since my character really hasn’t changed at all.

Thanks for reading over this! If you have any questions feel free to ask me ;w; I hope everyone will show Gyuri the same love they showed her when she was Kyungil!

[advxminhyuk-blog]

Helpful Advice™

[advgyuri-blog]

advxminhyuk:

There’s a wide smile on his face the moment a small ball of black fur comes barreling across the room and into Bulgogi’s legs. He still loves that little kitten, even if he could never raise it himself. Kyungil’s just better at taking care of things, which was totally more fitting for the situation anyway. Kyungil’s always been good of taking care of things. Sometimes that’s kind of a bummer. Minhyuk wishes he was better at doing that, but unfortunately his hands are far better at smashing than snuggling. He shakes the thought off and smiles at his brother again. He doesn’t want to come across as too down. Even if he’s having issues, it’s better that Kyungil sees them as some sort of dorky, unimportant problem than the big, overwhelming way Minhyuk sees them. Just… for stress purposes or whatever.

So he stretches just a bit before laughing to himself. Of course Kyungil’s making meat. It’s what Minhyuk likes to eat the most and more important, he doesn’t really get it unless he comes here. It’s not that Minhyuk can’t cook, it’s that he’s as broke as a one legged table and he doesn’t exactly think six won and about two inches of copper wire will buy him any real food. He’s glad that Kyungil’s willing to buy him food… Even if he’s still nervous about where that money comes from. 

There’s… not a lot he can do about that, though.

He blinks at the next question. It’s a normal one, so it shouldn’t really bother him, but considering why he set this whole thing up, it seems like a good way to get talking. He clicks his tongue a little and shoves his hands in his pockets- eyes moving to his dog. Bulgogi’s on the floor now- flat as a pancake while he lets the cats bounce around him. Minhyuk just glances over at his brother and smiles just a little. Right, he’s here to talk about issues. Man does he suck at that.

“Ah well… Pretty good, y’know? I’ve been doing pretty good in school aside from the occasional trouble with an essay or somethin’.” He nods and looks back to Bulgogi. “But, well… I’ve been thinkin’. Dangerous, I know… But… Can I get your advice? I’ve had the same thing on my brain for a while an’ I’m startin’ t’ get reeaaal tired of it.”

Kyungil is good at taking care of things; it’s a simple fact, because it’s what he’s made himself out to be. It’s what he had to be, so it’s what he is, to the point that it consumes him -- but it’s possible that that kitten that’s playing around the doberman’s legs is the best gift anyone ever gave him, too, because it’s healthier for him to take out his caretaking tendencies on an animal than on everyone he runs into. It’s made him softer; he doesn’t quite realize this.

Minhyuk is out of it, and Kyungil knows it -- but he doesn’t say much of anything yet, just listens and waits. Minhyuk doesn’t always bring things up with him; this is another simple fact of their relationship that may be troubling at times, but isn’t something much can be done about. They both have their secrets, tiresome as that can be -- Kyungil because he doesn’t want Minhyuk to think of him poorly, and Minhyuk for his own reasons that Kyungil hasn’t bothered to analyze. He just takes his time finishing up the food, getting everything ready just like clockwork.

His invitation for Minhyuk to talk goes over swimmingly -- honestly better than he’d have expected, considering that Minhyuk’s been prone to keeping things from him in recent years. And by recent years, Kyungil would mean the last decade or so -- since Minhyuk started growing up, really. Whether it’s because he’s an adult and wants his space or because he’s grown up and noticing things, Kyungil simply hasn’t asked; he can make his assumptions. The elder glances up from his cooking with an inquisitive look, blinking a few times.

“That’s good,” he affirms, offering a small smile; even if he knows Minhyuk is probably struggling with school more than he lets on, it wouldn’t do not to acknowledge when he says it’s going well enough. “You know you can always ask me anything,” he lies smoothly -- well, it’s not a lie, per say, but there are other reasons that his younger brother wouldn’t always ask him questions even if they were burning at him. There’s still that tension hanging between them -- perhaps there always will be.

“Hopefully I’ll have some advice worth giving,” he laughs lightly, placing the grilled meat onto a plate neatly. “What’s on your mind, Minhyukkie?”

[avtrose-blog]

carry me home tonight

[advgyuri-blog]

joyxadv:

The music in her ears doesn’t so much ring as it does scream, drowning out even her sobs and most of her thoughts. God, her head. It’s the sort of angry pounding her brain does in her skull ever so often, when she’s pushing herself to use her mutation, only this is different. At least no one’s dying.

It’s just her.

She slides a hand into her own hair and clenches, trying to relieve the pressure, pulls too hard and it becomes painful instead, keeps pulling anyway. Isn’t that a great representation of her life. The bartender gives her another drink — not the one she’d asked for, she realises, but it’s still alcohol. It’ll do. She’s not too picky about the way she goes, and alcohol poisoning seems as good a way as any.

There’s a weird presence beside her; she turns her head (and shit, it hurts when she does that too, everything hurts, the phosphenes are taunting her) to look at the intruder. “No,” she says, doesn’t shake her head because it feels like a glasshouse in there and the cracks are already forming.

She’s too drunk to register what she’s doing, leans into the stranger and shakes her glass at him. “Good. I was aiming for that.” The inevitable hangover is the least of her worries. “You shouldn’t…” her mouth isn’t cooperating. “Fuck off.” No, that’s not what she meant. “Fuck off,” she says, words slurring into each other, and throws her hand in the general direction of away. “You should, do that, not, not fuck off. You should go away. Don’t be,” she has to take a deep breath. The alcohol is confusing her motor skills and she doesn’t remember to breathe before talking or how to even breathe while she talks. “Don’t be here. Go away. Fuck off. Shoo.”

“This is bad,” she adds, unable to stop herself. “I’m bad, I… You shouldn’t…” Her head is confused and hurting. All she wanted to do was burn away her feelings with some alcohol but it’s only intensified it. “Go away,” she says, finally. She’s just repeating herself now.

“You’ll regret it,” she says, tries to convince him. “Just like,” she gestures with her glass still in her hand, spilling the drink over her shoe. Jinyoung exorcised them from her house but they’re still around in her head. “Just like them.”

He doesn’t expect her to accept him straight away -- he doesn’t really expect much of anything. Kyungil takes it all in stride, just listening with his fingers loosely around his glass as she rambles and slurs -- he’s been there before, more times than he can count he’s sure. Then again, Kyungil doesn’t much wear his heart on his sleeve even when he’s drunk -- he gets out of it and he’s hanging off of anyone who’s got the slightest interest in him -- so it’s not quite the same, but the feeling of it is.

Regardless, he definitely doesn’t move to leave -- that’s just not how he works. He doesn’t even flinch when she gets closer; physical contact is just normal for him, though he does motion to catch her in case she actually falls into him like this.

“I’m not really afraid of regretting things,” he laughs, a tiny bit of bitterness hidden somewhere in his calm tone; is that a virtue or a flaw of his? He has a lot of regrets, but aren’t they mostly things he wasn’t able to do more than things he’s done? For whatever reason, he doesn’t see the point in concerning himself with them -- though he also doesn’t really think he’s going to regret talking to her, which is yet another example of foolishness on his part. “A bit late for that,” he adds, shrugging. Perhaps it just comes with age. “And I’d rather decide for myself if you’re all that bad, anyway. You don’t seem it.” Not that he will -- it’s just not the way he’s wired.

“Them?” Kyungil asks, tone level as he leans one arm onto the bar; it’s loud, but he can hear her fine if he stays close. Besides, she’s instinctively yelling over the music even if she says she doesn’t want to talk about it -- this is to be expected.