man o' war @gswhan - Tumblr Blog

Hey, hello, hello! I am Sera and you have no idea how ecstatic I am for this place to finally be open ahhh!! ( As a local horror enthusiast... ) I’m going to be reading up on everyone’s information first and then stirring up some plots with you guys! Anyway, without further ado, allow me to introduce you all to the epitome of The Hermit, YOO HANGYEOL (aka Han), the elusive lighthouse keeper up on Hongsi Hill. Find his profile here! I highly prefer Tumblr dms for the sake of my own organization but if you'd like to add me elsewhere, my tag is seracha sauce#3256.

#gsw:intro #um.... yes hello #im bad at writing intros #ill greet and read everyone's things in a bit #i just got home

sunhee

( ... )

“Maybe I can just glue it back together? I don’t know how these things work, do I just put the cables together or will that electrify me?” She asked with a chuckle “Maybe I shouldn’t do anything that can cause a blackout or something” Because it would be her luck to leave the entire city with no power just because she tried to fix something she didn’t know.

With his newfound ( temporary ) stay at the apartment building, Hangyeol found himself pacing the halls more than he would care to admit. Acclimating himself to an unfamiliar ( and yet a tad recognizable from his occasional visits ) location had his nerves standing on end, frazzled and frayed at the edges like an exposed wire. He folded one arm across his middle, the other poised against his chest to grant his teeth the nail bed of his thumb, index knuckle pressing on his philtrum.

In his haze, the lighthouse keeper hardly took notice of the woman trudging down the hall with a precariously placed lamp in her hands. Not until their shoulders collided and the shattering of tempered material broke his daze. He watched in relative silence as she salvaged what she could from the scraps on the floor. A bent wire dangled from the chipped base ( presumably from where he accidentally stepped on it shortly after it fell ) and the bulb hung loose from its original location.

"An exaggeration," He states plainly, pursing his lips. "Unless you were the cause of the outages last week. If the wires are hot and exposed or tangled up wrong, the worst that would happen is a burnt outlet and bustled bulb. It's an easy fix if you have electrical tape and an industrial glue gun." He straightens his posture, arms crossing once again after he places the remainder of the lamp into her box.

"The lamp looks kind of old, anyway. Why not just get a new one? You'd be better off."

#t / broken pieces #sorry for the wait on this it got lost in my drafts #also i hope its okay i made it set more recently #... bc the dialogue was almost like foreshadowing i find it funny #ohsunhee-gsw

bnmxfld

I’m not used to being loved. I wouldn’t know what to do.

F. Scott Fitzgerald (via bnmxfld)

#muse.

Hey, guys!! I just got off of my hiatus officially........ just to get sick a couple days later. -.- I’m going to try to go back to see what is waiting for me replies and plotting wise and try to get back to everyone asap! Thanks everyone for being so patient. Also, holidays are coming up so I should be around a bit more ( after a whole day of cooking ), so I’d be down to plot anything new with someone if any of you want to! Definitely don’t hesitate to hit me up. I love you all~

#ooc.txt

myunghwa

the only convenience store that was still open and hadn’t been ransacked served as temporary shelter. perusing the aisles for whatever she could scavenge, relief washed over her when she came upon her favorite hermit ( not that she knew all that many ). “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” he had crossed her mind when the power went out. but numerous other repair requests remained unanswered, his resolve to cut all communication strong. besides, considering the entire neighborhood lost power, there was likely little hangyeol could do. the thought of paying him a visit had occurred to her, but for once, she wasn’t deliberately seeking him out. the familiar face ( even one that often wore a scowl around her ) was just welcome serendipity. “what is that saying? ask and you shall receive. i was just thinking about you.” not exactly, but close enough. if flattery would soften him towards her, in this moment, she’d try it all.

A certain inescapable irritation washed over Hangyeol. A strange ailment put him out of commission for a week, his recovery only blessed by the full moon ( and cursed after by violent circumstance ). The power outage greatly limited the functionality of the lighthouse, forcing him to tinker with the less than modern technology that had long since been replaced. There would be no way of contacting ships or ferries on their way to the island, warning them not to come. Radio static filled the airwaves and the beacon no longer shined. Far be it from the keeper's thoughts to fall under the conclusion that the island was cursed — and more specifically: the lighthouse.

He ignored the announcements from the island leaders, ignored the frantic urges to simply remain at home and wait for power to be restored. He had no doubt this was something supernatural in natural. A punishment doled onto the naive citizens who have been a bit too greedy. Or, perhaps, a test to see who would handle crisis with grace, who would follow, and who would crack under the pressure.

Fortunately, the reliable old man running his favorite convenience store kept his business running. He had the brilliant idea of hauling out much of the frozen product outdoors, settling the containers and drinks into the freezing snow as a buffer for the expiration dates. Hangyeol pushed inside, nearly colliding with a familiar face.

"Oh, it's you," Unlike their previous interaction that left them on a sour note, his tone was absent of disdain. Rather, he found himself surprised that Myunghwa did not hole herself into her apartment or rush to the hospital to take in the last breadth of power. Until the situation improved, regardless, Hangyeol was under the assumption that the young woman would certainly be struggling with the hardships forced upon her. He would be subject to lying if he could not admit that he was quite worried about her in particular. Other acquaintances of his had more chances of fairing well under these circumstances.

"You haven't been able to call me and pester me about fixing something for you. Is that what you were thinking about?" He gave a hum of discontent. "You look a little... frazzled."

#gsw:eclipse #gswmyunghwa

juhwan

confusion was natural. expected in fact, given the younger man’s acerbic tone and contrived swearing. such a thing should be blasphemous in a place like this, especially for such a faithful devotee. which was why his next request rung even more sacrilegious. “are you drunk?” it took a lot to surprise juhwan. and tonight, hangyeol’s request managed to do just that. regaining his composure after the other’s verbal assault ( and preposterous request of physical assault ), his words were calm, embodying the serenity of their surroundings. “i’m not punching you. especially not in the middle of a shrine.” hardly suggesting he would were they elsewhere. “shouldn’t you be a pacifist?” if even hangyeol was picking fights, what hope was there for the rest of them?

Of course, Juhwan was correct. Such a threat was not in Hangyeol's nature. He prided himself on his subdued disposition, his ability to remain calm under pressure and amidst chaos. He was taught and practiced the concept of keeping a level head, that this too shall pass. However, there were times in which mitigating circumstances drove one to such a point. The hands of Death had the lighthouse keeper in its cold grip a mere week ago and he would not shirk this new chance at life. Nor would he allow the bizarre nature of his flesh to go unchecked. The politicking man seemed capable enough of doing some damage if pushed to such a point, despite the pristine visage of his typical demeanor.

He turned his back to the shrine, feet eager to depart from a holy location. The silent violation of the precepts consumed the barrier around his very core. He could not confess nor admit, nor did he lay enough trust into Juhwan to speak of the ills he wished to forget. ( That his hands killed, that it was forced upon him out of necessity of preserving his own life. Someone so unworthy. ) The question of what his mother would think lingered on his mind, weighing heavily until the pressure was too much to bear.

"I am not drunk. This is not... This is not about the pure pursuit or thrill of violence, Juhwan." Preposterous and strange, indeed. Those words contradicted his earlier request — no, his demand. The other man's befuddled reaction should have come as no surprise. He responded as any reasonable and composed individual would. Hangyeol curled his lips upward with disdain, irritation... resentment of self. Should he be resigned to such a fate of death once more, he would do well to retain his honesty before his last breath.

A puff of air passed the threshold of his parted lips. "I do not know how to explain this to you... not in a way that would make any sense." White flag in hand, Hangyeol raised his arms halfway in surrender. Nothing would come out of him being his typical cryptic self. ( Perhaps he should save such a thing for when he was far older. )

"Think of it as a science experiment. I'm testing something out."

#t / absinthe #gswjuhwan #... listen he literally woke up and chose violence

a difficult moon // @gswsieun

NOV. 9TH, 4:30PM — Hongsi Hill Lighthouse

The moon persists. Even in the light of day, the blood red sphere made itself known to the island. It hung in coexistence with the sun on the other side, diametrically opposed, one unable to exist without the other.

Hangyeol attempted to shake the sight from the night before from his vision. It appeared when he closed his eyes as easily as those large tentacles knocking him to his feet those months before. Fantastic, he thought to himself, an enemy eliminated and another is bound to take its place, no matter which protector makes itself known. The lighthouse keeper remained steadfast in his faith in whichever deity presented itself to restore peace. He wondered what place they had in fulfilling wishes, and what their motivations might be.

But he did not have time to ponder upon his swirling thoughts for too long. Footsteps tore Hangyeol's sentimental gaze from the window. He turned slowly, cautious in his movements.

The actions were far too swift for him to predict nor prevent; even with the amount of training he had. A force threw him to the ground and pinned him against the uneven floorboards. Sharpened nails pierced the exposed skin of his arms, striping them with blood that the assailant was all too happy to lay eyes upon. Teeth were soon to dig into him next. He exhaled a cry of pain, grimacing while he writhed violently until he managed to break himself free.

He left a sanguine trail as he inched away, and with distance between himself and the other he could finally ascertain his suspicions in clear view. Old Man Choi was on his hands and knees, tongue and fingers scraping against the ground to ingest every drop of the crimson gold he could. Hangyeol took advantage of the distraction, scrambling to his feet. His hand released its hold on his arm to grab for the sheathed tactile machete hanging on the wall.

The soft crunching of grass underneath his feet lasted for but a few steps out the door. Old Man Choi, now more animal than man, barreled toward him once more, hands grasping, mouth chomping like an angry dog. He used the encased weapon as a shield, shoving the flat edge into the sharp rows of teeth. This thing was no longer a human, now driven by some visceral desire to end another's life and feast on the red essence of life. The former lighthouse keeper became exactly what his young employee assumed him to be.

Would he, too, succumb to a similar fate?

"Stop this! What the fuck happened to you?!" Hangyeol shouted above the snarling; perhaps on the sliver of hope someone would hear. Anyone.

#t / a difficult moon #gswsieun #here we go #this got longer than expected.

absinthe // @gswjuhwan

I can't die? No, no that's not it... Did I die already?

Hangyeol stumbled along the main pathway that cut through Turtle Park, his usual route as the sky grew darker and less people decided to stick around. A chill still ran through his body. Or perhaps it was simply the now cold air, the specks of white dotting the ground and crunching beneath each step. He brought his hands to rub at his eyes, knuckles digging into the corners until the stinging dissipated. He clenched them closed and opened again. Indescript colors dotted his vision.

( The image still rang clear in his mind: a thick layer of slimy substance spread across his skin, fibrous and gooey like the guts of a persimmon. The feeling of sharp nails across his flesh, a sharp pain in his arm, then nothing. No scars or marks left behind. Wiping away blood revealed nothing. )

Dimmed overhead lamps enveloped the lighthouse keeper's erratic behavior in a thin layer of darkness. He wandered to and fro the main island road before ending up here for what seemed like hours, desperate to find someone and test the limits of his transformed body. Desperate to conclude that this was truly real and not the manifestation of too many days in isolation.

A faint smirk echoed across Hangyeol's lips as he approached Eunjong Shrine, pleased to see the candles and fire fueled lamps still illuminating the inside — even more so to find exactly who he was searching for. There were notably far better "targets" of experimentation; ones more prone to violence. However, Juhwan did not seem anything of the type unless provocation led him to it, and it is precisely why Hangyeol chooses him in his fit of compulsion.

"Hey," He spits out the greeting with a vitriolic tone, louder than he typically would. "You fucker." Forced. Hangyeol is not the sort to actively seek out conflict or violence. This is well-known, even for all the suspicion his occupation brought with it. The wind shifts around him all the same.

"I want you to hit me... hard as you can."

#t / absinthe #gswjuhwan #i am sorry han what? what??

Super late post because I cannot sleep to say sorry guys for leaving some of you hanging. I had to go on sudden hiatus and with everything happening irl, I kind of had to extend it since I am having a hard time and. It has been difficult to find motivation to write replies. Anyway. I'll be back around shortly and I'm slowly getting back to plotting, and with the new event coming and all that is happening with my characters, there will be plenty more new things to talk about. I'll be refreshing all of Han's threads for new ones if anyone wants them! ( Sihyun's will stay though. ) Thanks everyone for your patience and understanding, especially since I might be acting a bit off/sad during this time. ♡♡

#ooc.txt

feral-ballad

Anna Akhmatova, 1953, tr. by Judith Hemschemeyer, from The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova

#muse.

soohyun

( ... )

The man looked vaguely familiar, but the island was so small that he wouldn’t be surprised if they had run into each other before, despite Soohyun’s past few months as a relative recluse. His eyes caught on the book the man had been reading, which fell a few feet away from where the man landed. He picked it up, stomach turning when he took in the giant squid on the cover. How…apt of a book to be reading.

“Don’t try to get up on your own yet. Check your limbs for any injuries or else you could make it worse.”

The hiss of pain seeps from Hangyeol's grit teeth like steam through the neck of a tea kettle. He remains on the ground, square on his back with his limbs outstretched in each cardinal direction. No shocks of severe injury echoes through his body. The swelling throb of a broken limb or forming abrasion is absent from his tensed muscles. Only a bruise remains on the metaphorical stage of his ego, having been forced to take such a tumble in the presence of another.

By some miracle, Hangyeol is alive. Perhaps the way down was not nearly as tall as his anxiety warped mind interpreted. Something is amiss. A fall from a tree branch would have at least resulted in a fracture, maybe a sprain if lucky. His left arm throbs. He can still feel the squirming sensation against the epidermis.

"I'm fine. Stop fussing over it. I have had much worse." He mutters through a strained throat. His esophagus and lungs are temporarily drained of space, a result of the wind quite literally being knocked out of him. He brings himself to his feet immediately, acting in defiance to the other man's valid concern and shirks the polite gesture with the shake of his head. His hands brush at the bright green blades of grass sticking delicately to his clothing and visible skin. Fortunately, there is a relative absence of dirt.

"Don't bother calling for help," The lighthouse keeper scoffs. "Hardly anyone comes up here anyway I would be dead before the paramedics arrive. Why are you here?" He gestures to the tree. "This is my spot." Of course, the claim brims with falsification. Only within the past week did Hangyeol discover the small alcove with the large tree. Who was he to proclaim possession over it?

#t / timber #gswsoohyun

sieun

( ... )

“Sieun, can you ask your friend if he wants something to drink?”

He can speak for himself, Sieun retorts in her head before circling around him until she positions herself behind him. “Would you like something to drink? I should have asked you myself.” While the older woman was trying her best to be welcoming, Sieun knew that this was an excuse to continue supervising them. “I haven’t hosted anyone in awhile. Thank you, Ms. Jang.”

“Trust? Why, that’s an interesting word...”

He muses the response with a quirk of his lips upwards — some bastardization of a smirk, twisted and characteristic of a man with no belief in his own words or actions. Surely, he trusted Moon Sieun enough to make himself present at her residence let alone wield a pair of scissors so close to his head. Her existence presented itself as something of a challenge to pin down. Unhinged, eccentric, and no short of endless surprises.

Their first meeting was comprised of a loud scream. She threw her head back and bellowed away as if no one was listening, full of frustration and hostility. When she returned next, she only wore a smile, saccharine and brimming with ideas that he should have never entertained.

When Sieun inches toward him, he takes two steps back. A voice trapped in the depths of his mind shouts that there is no telling what this woman will do. And yet, here he is; cloth tied too tightly around his neck, back pressed uncomfortably into a luxury chair and, he, too stubborn to say anything about it.

Hangyeol raises his head, peering around Sieun until she moved to assess who stood at the doorway. The same middle-aged woman who greeted him at the front with a crooked grin. One full of knowing something he did not.

“I am just fine not having anything. It’s not like I would be able to drink anything in this state. I move my head a centimeter and my ear will get chopped off.” Perhaps a bit overdramatic but his lips had the tendency to weave such exaggerations in Sieun’s company — being a language she clearly understands. “But thanks, Ms. Jang.” He echoes her empty sentiment, waiting until the woman departs to glance up at his stand-in barber. Temporary, should he have any say in the matter. ( At least it was surprisingly cheaper than the real deal. )

“Who is she, anyway? You’re all rich enough to even have a maid, huh? Figures.”

#t / barbershop of horrors #gswsieun #i love the thread name so much

harang

( ... )

“Who am I even going to tell?” Harang slivers the edge of his thumb nail between his teeth as he thinks. There’s follow-up questions in his head, a tangled mass of them that becomes hard to pick apart. The who would even hear about it if I did tell?, which he smooths out with his own answer, that maybe Han’s scared of reputation and more people coming to kick up dust near the lighthouse. But then there’s — why are you even staying, what noises, what was he writing down?, and none of it dampens at the curiosity that had sparked into a flare the moment Han had tried to hide everything away with too much urgency.

“I won’t. Tell, I mean.” He bites down at his nail and doesn’t stop until he feels it sting. “But you know, just staying there and doing absolutely nothing doesn’t make you safe, either.” He pulls his legs up to balance his heels against the edge of the rock, splays his fingers out across the hilltops of his knees to keep from picking at them. “Just because you don’t know what someone’s doing, it doesn’t make you safe from it. That’s not how it works.” Harang knows that for certain.

The rhythm of his heart softens with each step away from the lighthouse. Dread that weighs so heavily on his shoulders lifts enough to grant his body freedom from whatever binds that tethered him to location. The sea’s rich and dark blues become more visible, peering over the green hills and kissing the rocks along the shore. He pictures himself riding on the waves, albatross tied to his next with a chain noose, the bird’s eyes a glowing golden beacon like the tip of the lighthouse. His chest resumes pounding.

A shift presents itself in Hangyeol’s gaze — as if wary their conversation is being eavesdropped upon. He does not know the extent of whatever disease it is that Mr. Choi possesses. For all he knows, it could have bettered his previously damaged hearing. His stamina certainly improved over time, going from overwhelming demands of the younger to lift, climb, and carry at his behest. There would be no use for training if he proved incapable of doing so, sure, but the previously frail old man with a slouch hoisting himself up upon a rope like a man brimming with youth did wonders for curiosity.

Harang’s skepticism of the outlandish claims are not without warrant. Should Hangyeol, himself, take the time to ponder on the situation, placing himself in the position the other man is in, perhaps he, too, would raise his brows and question the sanity of such statements.

“Thanks. I mean... I don’t know. The rumors about him — and me — are already bad enough around here. The last thing I need is people getting nosier than they already are. He keeps a rifle up there, you know, and I don’t think he would hesitate to use it like I would. There’s always been a thing with lighthouses. Some say people can just go crazy up there... snap. I don’t know if it’s just that or something weirder. I want to find out just as much as you do.”

He lifts his hand, elbow propped onto the arm folded across his center. It takes little time for teeth to find the edge of his thumb, his canine idly chewing the nail plate, just gentle enough to not break. His lip twitches, settling to place his hands in his pockets. The unconscious mirror of Harang’s own habit jolts him back to earth, if only for a moment.

“What exactly are you trying to say though? About me not doing anything about this? You think that... maybe he might...” His eyes dart again. The behavior is increasingly uncharacteristic — from the stoic man Hangyeol presents himself as to an internal simper based on deeply buried traumas. For once, he seems afraid. The conclusions his mind catapults to are nothing short of extreme. “Th...that he might try to kill me or something like that? That I might have to kill him...?”

#t / brine #gswharang

qalcium

Visit Original Link

Thornapple- 아지랑이

#aud.#han's fav band next to radiohead #perfectly describes han's inner feelings this one

myunghwa

( ... )

the credit card, along with her purse, were set aside after dashing his hopes at a quick fix. the ever-present smile faltered. her brow furrowed in confusion at the bandaging around his hand. “you’re hurt?” she questioned, truthfully not expecting an answer as to how. likely the question would remain an observation, acknowledgment that she’d noticed. instead, myunghwa loitered, waiting to see if he’d tell her to shoo. but it seemed hangyeol deserved more credit than she gave. if she’d learned to somewhat manage his moods during these house calls, perhaps he’d gleaned just how persistent she was. which was why, rather than asking her to let him work in peace ( which she wouldn’t have ), he instructed her to hold the screws. “where did you learn how to do this kind of stuff?” screws taken, her personal questions were always couched in nonsense so as not to sound alarm bells.

The least Myunghwa could do was be helpful, he thought this to himself on more than one occasion faced with her... dilly dallying, one could say. ( That was putting it lightly. Stalling proved a more apt term, easily raising Hangyeol's burgeoning suspicions. ) A scoff pressed past lips pushed out in befuddlement. Her audacity to waste his time increased by the minute, and he should admire the sheer determination and mere ability to have done so often with little more than the occasional complaint. However, the typically docile lighthouse keeper was bound to reach his breaking point. He was a fish too large for its tank, and Myunghwa the girl tapping incessantly against the glass, saccharine mischief painted on her face.

And yet he returns each time, true nature he hides too strong to prevent him from helping someone.

His lips curl into a scowl. "You know... Would you at least mind being quiet while I try to do this? It's like every time, you're content to chit chat my ears off talking so much about nothing, while you pretend to care about what I have to say. It's not like we're friends. I'm just your repair guy," He stands, towering over her even with his back turned. "I learned all of this by doing it myself and not waiting around for someone else to come along and fix it for me. Maybe you would have some useful skills if everyone else didn't do everything for you... but I guess that's what money gets you."

The retort is punctuated by the tumultuous thrumming of a drill. It does well enough to mask the bellowing growl of frustration seeping from his lungs behind clenched teeth. And in that moment, he prays to Buddha, pleading for his anger to dissipate like perfume on a spring breeze. An image of a peaceful waterfall in a deep forest fabricates in his mind— Gone. Her voice cuts through the meditation because he allows it to, expects it. Hangyeol should consider it an instant shot of karma for his insolence, for allowing the repressed anger bubbling within to leak out in all its vibrant reds and bared teeth. ( Read: cosmic payback for being a jerk. ) Perhaps genuine, perhaps taken out on whomever convenient.

Regret comes later. He already sees it outlined in the path ahead. Sorry, he wants to say, I was just wrongly upset because—

The false veil of darkness he molded for his own protection manifests before he can stop it. Predictable, that one who forces a behavior soon adopts it sincerely. He knows the saying: he who gazes into the abyss. "I think I'm done here," The ominous tone holds multiple meanings. He places the unscrewed door against the wall and brushes his hands off. "There. Now you won't get stuck if you don't have a door to do it with."

#t / fixer upper #gswmyunghwa #he is wrong for this #apologize!!!!!!! han!!

reality check // @gswoori

OCT. 28, 6:03AM — sunrise diner

Hangyeol much preferred to be alone. Serenity settled its way in solitude, and he sat on his lonesome, nursing a cooling cup of tea. His only companion would be the rising steam and the quiet hiss of his own breath. Few and far between did any building grant him the opportunity. Not even his visits to Eunjong Shrine could be marked with silence. Always existed the presence of others. Footsteps crunching on gravel, a soft mumble under one's breath, the incessant sniffling of the chilling weather.

When he found no peace in nature, a surprising sanctuary always peered over the horizon. The end destination of his mechanical off schedule in Seomyeon — Sunrise. Nary a soul lingered around the diner in the earliest cries of morning. Not while the sun was still only beginning to shine. Lest on a Friday. One or two stragglers, perhaps, and Hangyeol would be among them.

He slides into his same seat; the one furthest from the door, tucked into the last window. His eyes travel to the counter, a habit of searching for her. That year ago, those months past she tolerated him, he would have felt a small smirk dance across his lips, pleased to see the tired waitress he once found an inkling of kinship with. The one he eventually found easy on the eyes, regardless of the disheveled appearance after a hectic shift. That did not mind his few and far between words.

Now, he wears a frown and averts her eyes when she nears, raising the menu as if the entirety of the staff did not know to prepare his order the moment he walked in. ( Five egg whites, two pieces of toast, five sausages done up crispy and a foggy cup of Earl Grey. Then, of course, a piece of their famous persimmon pie. )

He still maintains the barrier through the thinly laminated paper, refusing to look up even as Woori places the cup of tea and glass of milk in front of him. And yet, for the first time in months, he speaks first. "Hey," Their typical greeting. His hands tremble. Not sparked by nerves but a strange rumbling in left arm and chest. Why do I suddenly feel like I have to puke? "Are you okay? You know..."

#t / reality check #gswoori #:)))#hi

luthienne

George Seferis, from Collected Poems (tr. from the Greek by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard)

[Text ID: If I chose to remain alone, what I longed for / was solitude, not this kind of waiting, / my soul shattered on the horizon, / these lines, these colours, this silence.]

#muse.#sorry for the slowness in plotting! the past week or so has been insane for me schedule wise.#replies will be done soon as well those are my top priority rn

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