merrily, merrily, merrily

life is just a dream on the way to death.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

you are invited to a bonfire at deadwicks. please, do bring something to burn.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

quiet.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

Gunwoo released his hand very slowly. He brought the other up to his nose to stop the single trickle from reaching his lip. God, his head was cracking open, but he didn’t particularly care. He didn’t care. What he did care about, what mattered, was that Junho had slipped into comfort and stayed there. He was nervous now, because of his bloody nose, but Gunwoo just laughed a little.

“Aah,” he apologized. “Apologies. Sometimes, it...” he trailed off, waving his hand. “It causes that. It’s nothing awful.” He reached out for a tissue from a box on the bench. “One of the disadvantages of using your brain so freely, I’m sure.” He leaned back into the chair and smiled. It swung around him, a simple birdcage with a simple man inside.

“Thank you,” he said, pushing back his hair once his face was clean. “For trusting me.” It was a powerful moment for many. Gunwoo knew some people wore their hearts on their sleeves but others kept them behind their teeth and still others buried them deep out of self-preservation. To be given so much trust was an honor and should be treated as such, no matter the person on the other side of the table.

In the silence, he wasn’t sure of what to say. It was comfortable once the wash of Junho’s discomfort had faded, like two old friends in rocking chairs on a front porch. They didn’t really have to speak and Gunwoo wasn’t sure he wanted to. Let Junho come back down, let him calm.

When he wanted to leave, Gunwoo would mix a bag of tea to take with him.

[advxjongkook]

Verge of Ethereal

[phxgunwoo-blog]

[…]

“Help yourself to a drink,” he said, trying to keep his voice light as he walked about, gathering the requested items into a cardboard box. Tea blends and trinkets, decorations, that sort of thing. He had no idea who the man was that wanted them–or was it a woman?–but it didn’t matter. He just wanted to get everything put into the box and dealt with. 

The void was getting uncomfortable.

[advxjongkook]

Jongkook’s eyes followed the guy’s movement, an inscrutable expression as he observed him. The way the man’s breathing changed when he stepped near, and the subtle change in his face when he read through the note, Jongkook took that all in silently. Was he uncomfortable with human contact? 

He nodded his head in response to the guy’s offer, dark orbs staring at him for a few more seconds before retracting his gaze back. Perhaps due to the nature of his job, he rarely gave trust to others, especially people he didn’t know, much less consuming food or drinks prepared by others. Even if they had no reason to harm him. He glanced at the list on the table, a stray thought entering his mind. 

The guy had to be an experiment; there was no way any ordinary human would set up shop in a void zone neighbourhood and still survive. He looked at the list on the table, guessing that his power probably had to done something with the mind perhaps if he disliked being in close contact with other people? Or a similar illusion user like his dongsaeng?

For that split second a murderous intent flared from inside of him, because if there’s anything he loathed, despite being so apathetic most of the time, it was being tricked. But that intent disappeared the very next second and went back to the usual imperturbable stance when he realized he was overthinking. It didn’t matter as long as he gets the stuff written on the paper. 

[phxgunwoo-blog]

Gunwoo staggered at that raw rush of violence and gripped the shelf he was perusing, wide eyes staring at the wood while his breathing tried to regulate when the split-second passed and only calm remained. It was similar to when his ghostly visitor dropped in. One moment it would be silent, the next, a flood of emotion Gunwoo couldn’t even hope to untangle, then silence once more.

He wanted this man to leave.

He wanted him to leave and so he did his work quickly, quietly, with focus. Gathered the things that were requested, wrote out a short invoice for the shop owner, tucked it all into a cardboard box and offered it back to the tall stranger whose entire being seemed cut off from any feeling at all.

“Tell them I said hello,” he said, pulling his arms away as soon as he could. “And, if they like that rooibos tea, I’ll make a large batch for them by the end of the week.”

[phxgunwoo-blog]

zebra stone, bloodstone, moss agate

[hematite, jasper, obsidian]

how squeamish my muse is: extremely. gunwoo can’t take -squishy- things. gel, very thick cream, eggs, soft fruits, anything very soft gets him gagging very quickly. worse if it’s warm. and there are sounds that make his skin crawl, and he definitely can’t touch butter or mayo with his hands, he’d probably flip out.

what my muse would be like as a parent: ...he would try very, very hard.

which of the seven deadly sins my muse would be: wrath.

how my muse sees themselves as part of the world at large: he doesn’t. gunwoo feels very disconnected from the world at large (most of the time, and his own doing) so he doesn’t really see a place for himself in it.

what gets my muse excited: performances. other people’s elation, new tea, new gloves.

if my muse has a high or low opinion of themselves: neither, really. gunwoo sort of thinks that his life is not #blessed but he’s not really cursed either. he could have it so much worse, as he reminds himself on a very regular basis.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

quiet.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

Junho’s resistance, his paranoia, disgust and disdain, did little to discourage Gunwoo’s focus. Serenity, he thought closing his eyes and remembering the feeling of calm and peace while his fingers closed over Junho’s and invited him into that feeling, encouraged him to feel it, also. The flow went two ways if Gunwoo could focus hard enough. In the safety behind Deadwick’s doors Gunwoo had the power to control the movement of emotion, could allow the person he touched to share in his thoughts and feelings. Serenity. Gentle happiness, that Junho had accepted his offer and hope, that he would find comfort where Gunwoo offered it. True sympathy and understanding: Junho’s life was difficult, in a way that was different from Gunwoo’s own struggles but that did not invalidate his pain.

The feeling of not being alone, despite all evidence to the contrary. Gunwoo’s memories of the carnival, the facepaint and incense, the warmth of old comforters and the company of someone he’d loved. These were the things he strove to share with Junho, who felt alone and trapped and hated everything about the situation he was in, and possibly himself, despite all evidence to the contrary. But now was not the time for self-inspection. Now was the time for self-indulgence, quiet comforts and offered friendship, if it would be taken.

No, nothing Gunwoo offered was a threat. None of it had any hidden intention. He was not that kind of man and never had been. He’d been accused of being many things: a simpleton, naive, weak, but there was no measure of a man Gunwoo took more seriously than the size of his heart and how much he cared. He was the man he’d needed when he was a child, he was the man others needed now, even though he rarely sought them out. Most of the time, they came to him. Sehun had been the exception, not the rule. Junho was the rule. Junho, sitting across the small, round table, with his hand folded into Gunwoos while the older man let calm wash over them like warm water.

I just want to make people happy, Gunwoo had whispered to the woman he called his grandmother after a bad reading; one full of anger and disappointment and betrayal. I just don’t want to hurt anyone, but you said I can’t lie.

You can’t lie, she said, and the feeling of someone running their hand through his hair was echoed to Junho. It hurts to be honest sometimes, doesn’t it? But the truth should always be said with love and care. Always.

“You’re always welcome here,” Gunwoo said, his voice rasping across his lips. Even as he pulled himself out and away, as he left the other man with the feelings he’d meant to gift him, he could feel his skull starting to split, could feel his nose starting to bleed. “Always, Junho.”

[phxgunwoo-blog]

send me a crystal and i'll tell...

abalone: what kind of situations compromise my muse emotionally

aegerine: my muse's opinion of the supernatural

agate: how my muse calms down

blue lace agate: my muse's favorite form of communication (verbal, letters, texting, etc.)

fire agate: if my muse is brave or cowardly

moss agate: if my muse has a high or low opinion of themself

amazonite: what kind of situations call for my muse to be dishonest

amethyst: what my muse would most like to be able to shape-shift into

ammolite: how lucky or unlucky my use is

angel aura quartz: my muse's opinion of LGBT+ issues

apache tears: a sadness headcanon

apatite: a headcanon about my muse's intuition

apophyllite: my muse's religious/spiritual beliefs

aquamarine: where my muse feels most calm/relaxed

biotite: the biggest problems my muse is currently dealing with

bloodstone: how my muse sees themself as part of the world at large

calcite: my muse's social tendencies (introverted vs extroverted, parties vs one-on-one conversations, etc.)

carnelian: an art-related headcanon

celestite: how my muse deals with anxiety

chalcedony: the saddest my muse has ever been

chalcopyrite: how my muse deals with ending relationships

charoite: who my muse looks up to

chrysocolla: a money-making headcanon

copper: how I think my muse will end up when they're older

coral: how my muse views the natural world

diamond: a sex headcanon

dolomite: a sleep headcanon

emerald: how my muse tells someone they love them without words

fluorite: what my muse's room looks like

fossil: what my muse's dream job is

galena: what it's like to be in a relationship with my muse

garnet: what my muse's perfect partner would be

gold: my muse's financial situation

hematite: how squeamish my muse is

hiddenite: how much of an "inner child" my muse has

iolite: my muse's drinking habits

jade: if my muse would ever cheat on a partner

jasper: what my muse would be like as a parent

kyanite: an anger headcanon

lapis lazuli: where 'home' is to my muse

lodestone: what kind of people gravitate towards my muse

malachite: what my muse as a child thought they would be when they grew up

mica: what my muse views as their worst personality trait

moonstone: my muse's opinions on outer space

mother of pearl: if my muse tends to lift people up or bring them down

nebula stone: how good my muse's memory is

obsidian: which of the seven deadly sins my muse would be

opal: how creative my muse is

pearl: a mental health headcanon

petalite: what my muse would do if they found a wallet on the street

pyrite: a physical health headcanon

quartz: how my muse thinks other people see them

rhodonite: if my muse prefers elegance or convenience

rubellite: if my muse has any 'triggers' that inspire painful memories

ruby: a happiness headcanon

sapphire: if everyone my muse knew was hanging off a cliff and they could only choose three to save, the rest certainly dying, who they would choose

serpentine: how my muse would seduce another [alt: how my muse makes their money]

silver: if my muse prefers masculinity or femininity

tsavorite: if my muse believes in destiny or fate

ulexite: how empathetic/sympathetic/compassionate my muse is

unakite: what my muse's ideal pet would be

verdite: my muse's ethnicity/family history

zebra stone: what gets my muse excited

zoisite: does my muse believe everything's going to work out for them in the end or not?

[phxgunwoo-blog]

quiet.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

“Nothing I say should surprise you,” Gunwoo said, easily reaching for the deck with his gloved hands, picking up the cards and struggling not to flinch. It was a storm in there, inside Junho; resentment, stress, anxiety, fear. The feeling of being used, being worthless, of wanting things resolved.

He closed his eyes and took a breath, letting it out slowly. “Whatever it is that’s got you so anxious, I’m sorry you can’t do anything about it,” he flipped a card onto the table. The Devil. “It must feel like the walls are closing in.” He could feel the echoes of hands on his body, could feel disgust blossom through his gut and wondered what it was exactly that Junho was so out of control of, what made him feel so damnably helpless. He was a Champion. “I can’t advise you on that. But...” he trailed off, and gripped another card, flipped it. Inverted Two of Cups. “I’m more sorry that the people who are supposed to be there for you, aren’t. It’s a struggle to be trapped, even moreso when there’s no one to help you escape.”

Gunwoo flipped the third card. The Star. A chance of light in the dark, and he almost let out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you feel at peace here. If the tea and company pleases you, you’re more than welcome to spend as much time as you’d like. I unlock the doors at sundown.” He swallowed, took a breath in. “I know you don’t trust me. You don’t trust anyone, really, but I’d like to...” he swallowed. This was unwise. It was unwise but Junho’s ache was his ache, and if he could help, if he could pass a bit of serenity to Junho’s troubled mind, then it would be worth the nosebleed, the migraine, the pain that would surely come like whiplash. “If I may. I’d like to offer you a moment with my gift.”

He flipped one last card (Page of Cups, representative always of himself) and set aside the cards. He eased off one glove, setting his hand palm-up on the table. "If you would like to accept.”

[phxgunwoo-blog]

quiet.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

[...]

“I was unaware of the fact freak shows still existed,” Junho murmured, flipping one of the tarot cards over with mild interest. His diction naturally crude regardless of intent, “Consider yourself a luckier batch of experiments, then, with the fact you were even granted a chance for an investment.” A look at the surface of the card, despite the vintage illustration printed on the surface, the doll master lacked the knowledge to take his curiosity further as he resumed his drink. “Do you offer fortune telling as well?”

“Yes, I suppose I am.” His cooperation had probably been the only reason he’d been allowed to do such a thing. That, and he was mostly harmless, according to most. Spreading the influence of his power made him weaker, and it damaged him emotionally and physically to do too much with it, so he was deemed harmless despite his own very private knowledge that the opposite was true. And as for fortune telling:

“I do,” Gunwoo replied, ignoring the callous description of the carnival when there was no malicious intent behind the words. “Are you interested in a reading? You’ve been handling the deck.” He motioned with one gloved hand and tucked the other under his chin, looking curious but not rudely so. Such a strange one, Junho-called-Marion. Such a curious little mystery.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

quiet.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

Government or Neutral?

Human or Experiment?

Gunwoo answered these unconscious questions as he settled back into the bench and hugged his mug in his hands. “The building is much older, of course,” he said, watching Junho fiddle with the box of cards. “But when I was--... When I came. It was for sale, so I... Made an investment, I suppose.” The one hitch, that one pause as his eyes slipped to one side in thought and memory: when I was taken, when I was brought here, dragged kicking and screaming or else just sobbing like some lost child, it didn’t matter the how, only that it happened. Humans could come and go as they pleased. Experiments could not. And they nearly never came on their own. Perhaps Gunwoo was not as careful as he could be with the information but what was the point? Marion had the resources to dig, if he wanted, and what was the point in denying him the information in small hints?

“But when I started decorating, I tried to used my home as inspiration. I lived and worked in a traveling carnival for most of my life so I thought... It would be nice to bring it with me. Most of it, I brought with me.” He made a motion to the prisms and trinkets, the lays of cloth and the boxes of tarot cards. Interesting that Junho had chosen that one, out of the three on the table. It was not closest to him, but it was the first his eyes had found. Very interesting.

“Though perhaps there is a touch of fantasy novel, yes. A guilty pleasure of mine.” Gunwoo smiled, the silly boyish smile that showed his gums before he took another sip of his tea to hide it.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

♡♝

Junho’s tension had been unbearable when he walked into the room an hour before. All light shifted to focus on him, it was as though he were a lighthouse and all rage and discomfort was spreading him from his fingertips but now, now laid out on the couch with his head in Gunwoo’s lap he seemed contented, his dreams easy. Gunwoo wouldn’t go so far as to say he had influenced that, but he had been running his fingers through Junho’s dark hair and humming under his breath, easing him down into sleep from where he’d been high on emotions. Let him sleep, let him sleep, let him sleep; Gunwoo would hold his nightmares away.

Gunwoo hadn’t anticipated falling asleep too, head dropped to his shoulder, one hand cradling Junho’s head while the other rested on his chest. But there was something curiously comfortable about it, something that felt like they’d been doing it for ages. Outside of the shop his companion was Marion, he was a champion, a monster, but in here. Inside the walls of Deadwicks he was just Junho and Gunwoo rather enjoyed his company much, much more.

[advxjongkook]

Verge of Ethereal

[phxgunwoo-blog]

[...]

“Do you offer other things aside from tea mixes here?” He asked casually, his eyes trailing from the assorted strange talismans lining the shelves to all the books and jars. No matter how he observed, it certainly didn’t look like an ordinary shop to him. His coworker hadn’t mentioned anything about what he should be expecting and he thought it would be just some typical store selling all kind of tea blends and herb spices. But apparently it did not seem quite typical as of now.   

“Several,” Gunwoo replied, taking in a short breath when Jongkook stepped too close for his comfort, void of feeling and that was somehow just as disconcerting and uncomfortable as the opposite. “Give me a moment, I’ll get these for you.”

He spun the chair, climbed out easily and lifted the list. He clenched his jaw when he touched it; confusion illusion what is real who is real who am i you them and he felt a headache ringing at the back of his head like the toll of a churchbell. If he could do this quickly, he’d be all right. 

Though he did drop the list back onto the table, determined not to touch it a second time. Even through the lace of his gloves, it was too much.

“Help yourself to a drink,” he said, trying to keep his voice light as he walked about, gathering the requested items into a cardboard box. Tea blends and trinkets, decorations, that sort of thing. He had no idea who the man was that wanted them--or was it a woman?--but it didn’t matter. He just wanted to get everything put into the box and dealt with. 

The void was getting uncomfortable.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

quiet.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

“How long has it been since this shop had been established?” Junho murmured before he brought the mug to his lips, inhaling deeply to evaluate the scent yet again before he fluttered his eyes closed.

“Fives years, or so,” he said, sitting down with his own blend of tea: something light and relaxing for his stomach and nerves. “But I’ve been blending teas since I was a teenager.” It had simply been one of those things the woman he’d called his grandmother loved to do: make tea, make remedies, make pastes to be slicked over palms or sweaty foreheads. Holistic, people had called it, but it had seemed like magic to Gunwoo, who hadn’t known any better until she’d told him the secrets. 

“I find the hops flower is a good addition to the passion flower, for relaxation. It’s good the tension in the neck, also.” He pulled one leg up against his chest and focused on giving off a feeling of contentment and nothing more. Marion--Junho--seemed the type to be more than a little cross if he found he’d been manipulated in any way, even by accident, so Gunwoo tried to be careful. As long as they didn’t touch, he should be all right. 

They. Should be all right.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

quiet.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

“Of course,” Gunwoo nodded, carefully looking over the man in the chair. He took in the way he sat, back straight and shoulders inflexible. Gunwoo spoke as he walked to plug in the electric kettle on the shelf, wanting to keep his body busy while his mind tripped over itself trying to understand the signals it was reading. “Something with passion flower in it?” he ventured, walking to the cabinets to take down a few containers. His layers of clothing floated around his body, light fabric and all in shades of grey or blue. He looked like a ghost.

He brought several jars to the table, a glass mixing bowl and long, small-cupped spoon. He found a comfortable seat on the bench and hummed to himself as he opened the jars and measured out their contents, one at a time.

For relaxation, for a Champion called Marion: passion flower, rose hips, hibiscus. Lemongrass, a single sprig of mint, and one cluster of hops flower. After a moment of consideration, Gunwoo got up to grab a small jar of dehydrated lemon and added two small pieces to the blend, stirring it up and bringing it up to his face to inhale. Mm. Floral, slightly fruity, good for relaxation and specifically for relaxing before sleep. He bagged enough for a cup and placed it in one of the mugs, getting up to get his kettle.

“Try that,” he offered, setting the cup in front of Junho before filling it. “Let it steep for a few minutes, and tell me what you think.”

[phxgunwoo-blog]

[phxachilles-blog]

💫 A WILL IS A DEAD GIVEAWAY

[phxgunwoo-blog]

Gunwoo almost laughed. The sound started to bubble up, so close to hysterical, and he choked it down. Hide? Hide. This close there was nothing to be done to hide what Gunwoo already knew, not when the echoes of Sehun trying to close himself up were like the sounds of gunshots in a canyon. Not when the barest hint of something close to disgust was tickling just beneath the surface.

…because it hurts him…

The emotion didn’t have a name, but Gunwoo felt it well enough. Something close to disappointment and worthlessness. He’d felt it before, he’d feel it again, and in the poisonous mist that was the Minduelle district it was hardly the most painful thing. Painful was the child hiding under their bed somewhere near here. Painful was the old woman, hugging sharp picture frames to her chest so hard their sharp corners bruised her skin. Gunwoo had rarely been so close to someone else as to experience their physical pain but like distant sobbing, the emotional pain ached nonetheless.

“I feel everything,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie. Many times Gunwoo cursed the breadth of his power, even more so the range of his control. It was neither right nor fair that he had to suffer through the agonies of every inhabitant on this goddamned island every time he stepped outside his shop, it wasn’t fair when he couldn’t make any of them understand what it did to him, and that was a selfish thought, it was. And perhaps he had come because he couldn’t stomach the thought of a child killing himself, because that was the scene as he viewed it. A child, powerful and confused and afraid, about to take a step to splash himself on the pavement like a Jackson Pollock painting because no one would reach out a hand to help.

Even before he’d been dragged away in the night, all Gunwoo had ever wanted to do was help. No more girls letting go of the trapeze bar mid-flight. No more boys stepping out in front of trucks. Sometimes he wondered if all the experimentation had done was amplify everything he was.

“I feel everything. Even when you… It doesn’t matter.” He left his hand extended, slipped off his glove. His fingernails were smooth and rounded, his hands pale. “Please come down.” Sehun was no longer on top of the ledge but he wasn’t off of it either. Gunwoo didn’t want to press in physically, didn’t want to crowd him, but he wasn’t relieved just yet. He wasn’t. Because it hurts him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m… I’m all right. It’s just.” He frowned delicately while attempting to find proper words. “I’m not here because you’re hurting me, Sehun,” he said, careful not to blame the young man for what he was experiencing. He couldn’t control that. All the telepathic control in the world would have trouble hiding from someone with such intense clairempathy at such close range.  There were only inches separating their skin. “I’m here because you’re hurting.”

[phxgunwoo-blog]

quiet.

[phxgunwoo-blog]

Aah, Gunwoo found himself thinking, setting aside his book and pushing his hair from his eyes. Aah, it was so rare this kind of person made their way into Deadwicks. It would have been a treat if not for the lingering feeling of unwellness in his belly.

“Consider my presence obtained,” Gunwoo replied from where he sat, carefully shifting to look at the man he knew as Marion, but whose name was Junho, as he observed the tea shelves. The jars were all labeled in his spidery writing, slanted right, the letters tall and narrow and sharp. The echos of Allegretto slid through his mind like the sight of stars twinkling in the distance. “Are you looking for a specific tea?” The touch of curiosity beneath the wraps of agitation, the secret little joy did not pass Gunwoo’s attention; it stood out stark as a bright light in a dark room.

He slowly stood out of the chair. He was tall, though not as tall as his guest, and significantly less… Broad. Or perhaps that was the illusion he preferred to cast: that he was narrow and small and harmless. His life was much less dangerous when he took such precautions. “Please, make yourself comfortable. There are blends on the table, if you’d like to sample.”

Gunwoo focused on giving off a feeling of quiet warmth and companionship in silence. The old, well-loved chairs and clean rugs, occasional bright, soft light for reading purposes, all of it was meant to make someone feel comfortable and safe. Gunwoo knew what feelings to draw out of people. He knew how he wanted them to feel and he preferred to do as little work as he could to make someone feel… Open. Or at least less immediately agitated.

“Or I could mix something custom for you, if you’d like.”

[flonnexph-blog]

whisper

[phxgunwoo-blog]

“Don’t,” Gunwoo hated how the word gasped out, how it clawed its way up from his throat when Seyong took another step closer and everything he was started to press in on Gunwoo like a stone on his chest. Loyalty, ferocity, the touch of sadism present in everyone in a position of power, he was just like every other uniformed asshole in jackboots that Gunwoo had ever had the misfortune of encountering.

“Don’t come any closer.” He attempted to reel in whatever stray whispers were moving in through his head and out again, to clamp down tight on his mind and everything in it. With the fear and panic coming around the island from the Minduelle district it had been difficult to keep any semblance of control over himself. So much emotion. Too much, and he had to go out in it to resupply soon. What a nightmare.

Seyong’s curiosity was bubbling over. It was radiant and bright and childishly insistent and Gunwoo felt his eyes cross as he sat on the landing and held his skull in one hand and tried to remember how to breathe properly.

“If you insist on staying, keep your distance.” He wanted to have force to put behind the words but all there was was the gentle sound of an almost-please. Desperation. It didn’t look good on anyone but he knew how pathetic he looked when he was brought so low.