advchanyeol-blog

[advchanyeol-blog]

ireneadv

the tears stop for a second. irene feels like she has control over some part of herself for a second. the fluffiness of house slippers scratch at her toes mercilessly and she wiggles her foot so they fall off.

another drop to the ground, too loud in her ears with his footsteps and water spilling into metal and heat bringing everything to a boil. paper ruffling and ceramic on metal again, and her heart is noisy against white wallpaper.

she thinks she wants to hold his hand and she thinks that she can’t so she clasps her own hands together. she thinks she wants to see his face and she thinks that she can’t so she lifts her eyes towards him. he’s busy over the counter, and she watches his back. she looks at the material resting over the stretch of his body and she looks at the back of his head. everything is animated, everything moving–slow brush strokes over a messy piece of art trying to be fixed. she watches and she thinks that he is the man she loves and she thinks of the forevers she has to spend without him. the man i love. the man i love. the man i love.

images flash of her walking, back on her chair, walking towards him still, looking at him from where she sits, her hands clasped together over the kitchen counter and the same gentle hand on his back–”sorry,” she snaps back, brings them back. “sorry.”

time slows, stops, freezes in it’s tracks and chanyeol is left wondering if he’ll ever be able to get it started again. he doesn’t want to be this, but more importantly, he doesn’t want them to be this. 

he thinks of picking irenes apology up and pushing it somewhere it belongs because she has nothing to apologize for, “i’m sorry,” he says quietly again, his back tensing and untensing, his focus centering in on the parts of his body he needs to control most. hot water and leaves and the amount of sugar she always gets. he sits the cup in front of her and stares at his feet. 

“i should...” 

chanyeol shuffles his feet, works to push out words that he doesn’t want to say. 

“i’ll go, noona, you should... rest.” 

because that’s easier than being here, than dealing with this, and maybe with him away she can sort through her own emotions and not the ones he can’t seem to suppress. 

gooey

[advchanyeol-blog]

[advchanyeol-blog]

advjung

flame materializes at the flick of her thumb and is promptly held against the bowl of the bong before being tossed to the side. she leans back against the wall, inhales, exhales.

“it’s only because you’re fucked up. chill.” her eyes unwittingly follow the motion of his hand.

a lazy glance is thrown towards the fogged up glass. the scent infiltrates her; she remembers thinking when she was a child that there was a skunk always out to get her when she went outside. a small chuckle, then the holding out of the glass to her counterpart.

“have you been training lately?” she squints and rubs at her eyes. “you should be training if you want to get better at controlling that death touch of yours.”

red eyes stare at her through a cloud of  exhaled smoke, and chanyeol’s pretty sure if he had an ounce more control over his bodily functions, he would roll his eyes so hard they pop right back into his skull. he contemplates the possibility of that and purposely takes her turn for her. 

“no,” he says slowly, sarcastically, smiling like it’s funny even though this is something he only seems capable of joking about when his heads in the clouds, “i like being able to accidentally disintegrate my clothes and maybe kill a few people while i’m at it.” 

chanyeol nudges glass back towards her, “keeps things interesting, y’know?” 

and by interesting he means in a constant state of perpetual anxiety which does nothing for his self-esteem or control. 

“besides, if everyone had a boring mutation like sleet,” he teases, “what would the prejudiced people point their prejudice at?” 

one hit wonders

[advchanyeol-blog]

ireneadv

(/ she looks a hundred times better now than she did the last time they were in this position. chanyeol in her doorway, some kind of blue in the air. heart jumps in her chest, gaze wanders to his hands. she smiles )  hey. come in. (/ she steps aside for him to step in and walks back to the couch. sits down and hugs a pillow to her chest, always encouraging for him to take the space right beside her ) what’s that?

(/shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, eyes looking at carpet and cushion and wall and her knees and anything aside from her) i, uh, (/takes a stilted seat next to her on the couch before handing over his little box which is feeling more and more unnecessary the longer he’s in the room) it’s a present. open it. (/clasps his hands together and chews his lip, tapping his foot lazily on the carpet out of anxiety)

gushing gold

[advchanyeol-blog]

advhoseok

He hadn’t thought so far as to determine price tags for the little guys in the box, and it’s evident on his face as he stares at them in thought. What was considered ‘too much’ or ‘too little’ for these kinds of things? Did it matter enough to put this much thought into it, if it would all go to charity anyway?

“Uhh… six per?” he decides, slowly, before seemingly coming to terms with his own proposal. “I think six a piece is fine! It’s a bit lower than their selling price, but they’re not really new, so I think that makes up for it!”

The question he’s suddenly posed afterwards is one that makes Hoseok pause and blink. It dawns on him soon enough, and he offers a smile as he tilts his head towards the couch lobby, heading towards it to both relieve his arms and have a chance to look through all of his cargo. “I’m sure we can figure something out if we look through them, but it depends! What kinds of things does she like?”

“six sounds good,” is automatic from his tongue, because chanyeol doesn’t really care much about the price of a pipe dream. 

stunted legs follow his own personal savior, and chanyeol’s knees feel knobby when they bend to place him on couch cushions. he feels gangly, too tall, like he’s taking up too much space, but this isn’t about him, he reminds himself. 

“uh,” he starts, and then realizes he needs to think a little more.

what does irene like? 

he heaves a heavy breath before frowning, “she likes cute things? and uh, ... oh! she’s had a bunch of turtles so i think she likes those too?”

don’t kill the magic

[advchanyeol-blog]

gushing gold

(msg ) yes yes what is it? c:

(/phone vibrates on thigh, feet move across floor, palms sweat into unforgiving material. the walk to her room is short, it always is, and the gift box in his hands feels like it weighs at least a hundred times more than it actually does. knuckles knock three times on a door, chanyeol shifts his weight from foot to foot, chewing his lip in penance, wondering if his hair’s too messy from his shower or his clothes look too ratty or-) ... uh, .. hey (/fidgeting, a hand holding out a white and red gift box. it looks like it’s from animal crossing, he realizes, and hopes she doesn’t notice)

[advchanyeol-blog]

ireneadv

her hands feel empty, lungs hollow, a little lost. her compass refuses to point north and she turns quiet for it. maybe to wait. maybe to look.

maybe she knows this is how compasses work now, maybe she’s hoping it’ll change. maybe she wants him in every way a person can want someone and maybe she doesn’t know what to do with it.

it’s making her selfish, confused, unkind–everything nature tries not to be.

and her palms are full of trying, mouth full of air. she reaches to wipe tears that fall freely down her cheeks. palms full of trying, mouth full of air.

“okay,” she says, face never dry, hands not yet allowed to stop. “i’m sorry.”

his feet grind unresolved into the wood of the floor, and chanyeol is tired of feeling like he’s constantly missing someone.

he knows the answer, he does, but it’s like calculating the distance to mars and chanyeol doesn’t know how to build a space ship. which is the problem, isn’t it? too much rocket fuel, not enough precision, a space landing that resulted in all the astronauts floating out in open nothingness. 

“don’t...” he starts, but realizes he still doesn’t have anything for this, so he trails off. frowns at the floor. wonders why things have to be this. 

routine guides him, a muscle memory activated out of weariness and fear, brings him to soft tissues with lotion fused into them, a pot to boil, tea bags and spoonfuls of sugar. 

gooey

[advchanyeol-blog]

one hit wonders

his room was designed for bong hits. cold metal floors keep him grounded, even when his limbs start to feel weightless and heavy. chanyeol feels a lot of conflicting emotions, so he breathes smoke out and watches it climb the silver background of the room before sliding dyed glass over to soojung. 

the tv is playing some show made for stoners, but it’s not doing much aside from creep chanyeol out. 

he runs his tongue along his bottom teeth, pulling a face when he’s finished. 

“my teeth feel all fucked up,” he says, wrinkling his nose and reaching up to tap his mouth with his hand only to remember that the gloves prevent any form of physical contact, “fuck.” 

[advchanyeol-blog]

ireneadv

“we need to,” is a quick response, barely having wiped her nose, barely breathing. they say she can die from this, so she opens her mouth and takes air in through teeth.

“i hate this,” she says softly, looking at her own blood and catching oxygen, graces bared in his presence. she means the weakness, the i can’t control this, the we can’t let this control us.

there is a pause. there is no need for explanation.

chanyeol is her home and she has lived in mansions all her life. chanyeol is in the very marrow of her bones and the very spaces between her teeth and he is the hardness in her jaw when she breathes. he is the softness of her touch, the light playing on her hair, the very glow of her pale skin.

“we can’t let this… control us,” she says in confused distaste and cracked resolves, lashes fluttering to the ground, still holding onto him for support. “i really…”

silence, two people breathing in apprehension, hearts thudding in barb-wired cages, and chanyeol’s not sure if he has anything for this. a bleeding nose, yes, lungs that can’t take in air, yes, but this? chanyeol has nothing for this. 

irene is small and familiar in his arms, and it’s second nature to press his nose into her hair. 

she smells like her shampoo and if he tries hard enough, he can faintly smell his cologne. 

god, she smells like a home, doesn’t she? sheets after a long day or the family room couch, “you really what, renie?” 

chanyeol pulls back so he can pace. so he can feel grounded once more, but it only serves to remind him how organic the room is and how organic he isn’t. “what happens when i lose control? it isn’t a hypothetical, irene, it’s a very real possibility that i could.. could...” kill you.

“and i can’t live with that.”

gooey

[advchanyeol-blog]

[advchanyeol-blog]

advhoseok

The plush graveyard at Lotte World was indeed a sad one. Merchandise lost, abandoned after purchase by children and preoccupied parents, never to be picked up again despite their recent adoption from the chilly indoor stores ─ it hurt Hoseok’s heart, really, to know that the selection of poor plushies would forever be an ongoing tragedy, even if he was the designated savior of the entire working staff.

Ones that could be restored were usually shipped out to charity (a volunteer title that he takes with pride and a beaming smile ─ he almost feels like Santa, sometimes), though others, damaged and torn, would almost always find their new home in his personal care. The batch in his arms today happens to be a mixture of both, of which he’d have to sort through later, and despite the tiredness lingering in his limbs, Hoseok is fairly excited to get right to it.

When the door he plans on going through is suddenly opened, he can’t help but blink in surprise ─ the question asked before he could so much as get out a greeting doesn’t help in that regard.

“Selling? Oh, I don’t usually sell them,” but there wasn’t much harm in that, was there? It’d all go to a good cause in the end, regardless. “If you want to buy some though, that’s fine! It’ll all go to charity, if you’re interested!”

“oh,” chanyeol says slowly, eyes already skimming through the box for something irene would smile at, “okay, yea, that would be great, yea. how much?” 

the charity part doesn’t really matter to him, but he thinks it’ll be a nice thing to throw in with his apology when he finally works up the courage to give it. 

chanyeol is quick to realize he has no idea what he’s looking for, “hey, uh, if you were trying to apologize to a girl that isn’t your girlfriend but you, uh, want her? to be? what kind of thing would you go for?”

his eyes are borderline hopeful when he looks up, praying that this stranger sent from heaven will be better versed in this than chanyeol himself is. 

don’t kill the magic

[advchanyeol-blog]

advyoongi

There’s a pause when Yoongi finally steps inside of the common room. He’s quiet, and for a moment the last thing he wants to do is look over at Chanyeol. All of the panicking is bound to have given his friend a less than good impression of him, and that thought is enough to make Yoongi let go of his friend and direct his glance to the ground. He frowns.

“Sorry.” It’s all he says. There’s still a sound outside as though there’s more fire, but he ignores it. This was only a quick hallucination. No need to keep panicking… It’s getting quieter every minute.

He finally turns around- arms crossed and still scowling. He doesn’t know what to say. Other than apologizing, there isn’t a lot he feels like he can do. No, mostly he’s stuck frowning and hating himself for freaking out so much. He looks at his friend now- a quiet sigh escaping him.

“…You got anymore of those? I’m thinking I’m not nearly high enough.”

“no problem,” chanyeol tells him, because it isn’t. yoongi can’t help his delusions anymore than chanyeol can help killing everything he touches. it’s a part of life. who is chanyeol to argue against it? 

clumsy hands fumble around in his pocket before chanyeol gets a good enough grip to hand over his container. 

“keep ‘em,” he says, “they’re great for anxiety.” 

it gets difficult to stand so chanyeol squats, looks up at yoongi with a little grin, “so are you hungry or anything? i’m starving, i haven’t eaten all day.” 

we are the xany-gnashin’, caddy smashers

[advchanyeol-blog]

ireneadv

emotions flood fast, violent, as they always do—pushing tears to glassy eyes and she breathes in so she won’t cry. she swears she tries. she swears she’s breathing every bit of oxygen trying to keep dam walls up but every attempt leads to another bitter end.

tears fall angrily, soundlessly, and she wipes at them frantically, gracelessly. because she doesn’t cry easy the way rocks don’t turn to sand after a hundred years in the water, but there’s a switch here too far from reach. always something that can’t be grasped.

there’s the sound of her somewhere else screaming for him to stop. the sound of glass breaking, but here she says, “that’s not true,” as she closes her eyes too long and blinks them open again, grips the edge of the kitchen island and sits on a chair to support weak legs.

she feels nauseous, like the world is spinning, like her throat is dry and when she reaches to wipe her face her nose is bleeding. it’s one thing to feel, another to feel intensely, and another thing entirely to be overwhelmed by her own emotions. here she figures out she can control input better than output, here she figures out she’s more out of control than she is.

here she’s out of her graces and breathing too slowly too quick, here her vision swims, here she stretches her hand out blindly looking for him.

like clockwork, chanyeol gives in. falls to pieces at her feet like he always has. like he always will. 

it isn’t true, it is, global warming is real, pigs can fly, the sky is vast. chanyeol doesn’t know where to stand anymore. was he ever standing to begin with? was he ever anything aside from bowed at irene’s feet? 

practiced hands guide a napkin under her nose and tired arms wrap around her shoulders. 

“it’s okay,” he tells her, like he really believes it, “we don’t have to talk about this now.” 

gooey

[advchanyeol-blog]

advyoongi

When he’s hiding his head, Yoongi at least doesn’t have to see the flames or the face of the man who’s voice is stinging more than it feels like the fire is. He can hear and he can feel, but at least it’s one sense that he can try to ignore. He doesn’t want to move away from Chanyeol and be forced to give the hallucination the time of day. At least… The hallucination hasn’t changed his friend into something else. Chanyeol is still himself, and that’s worth a small amount of comfort.

But Chanyeol moves and he’s forced to open his eyes again. He stares; fearing burning with the fire. The flames have gotten so much bigger. He takes a deep breath as Cheyeol suggested, but it doesn’t do anything to make him feel any calmer. In fact, it feels like his lungs are burning. He covers his mouth with one hand and does his best to focus on just Chanyeol. He knows the fire isn’t real, but it still feels that way.

“I-” He moves his hand suddenly to try to speak. “I… know it’s not real! It never is! But… It’s still right there! And it can hurt me. It’s done if before. It’s like- like a real fire or a real person. To me, it’s real, ok?” He can’t help his tone of voice as he grabs his friends sleeve. He just wants to run away, but now he feels like he cant move. The fire is much closer and soon it will burn both him and Chanyeol alive. But at least… the voices and the figure have gone away. Now it’s just the fire.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t want to yell. “G-Get inside before–” He stares as the fire seems to suddenly burst up in front of him. He can’t help but jump back at the sight of his friend suddenly up in flames. He stares at himself, realizing that he’s also burning. Suddenly, it hurts a lot more than he’s used to. He doubles over and squeezes his eyes shut. It will go away. It has to go away.

In an odd way, he starts to will it away. The fire stops hurting. The flames get a bit smaller. He opens his eyes and stares forward. They’re not gone… But he can run now. He doesn’t hesitate before he grabs Chanyeol’s hand and pull him inside. He doesn’t offer any further explanation, he just drags his friend away.

realizing that he has absolutely no fucking idea what’s happening, chanyeol closes his mouth with a dull click. yoongi’s panic is almost enough to make chanyeol mimic it, but chanyeol continues counting backwards and forwards in intervals of twenty, and tries to seem as calm as possible. 

panic feeds on panic, right? that’s what his therapist said about anxiety, anyway, but chanyeol doesn’t really know if it’s applicable here. 

so he keeps his mouth closed, his face as calm as he can get it, and follows yoongi wherever it is the other boy feels the need to take them. 

vaguely, chanyeol thinks about more drugs.

we are the xany-gnashin’, caddy smashers

[advchanyeol-blog]

don’t kill the magic

being the one in the wrong is difficult when you don’t feel like you’re wrong.

even still, apologies have to be said, and chanyeol isn’t very good with words. he would pick flowers, but the foundation seems to only have dandelions- which are technically weeds, and he thinks that might send the wrong message- and he isn’t really supposed to leave base grounds. hazardous material, and all that. 

which makes the art of gift giving as a form of apology particularly difficult. 

he paces the buildings, thinking, keeping active to keep his imagination running. gloved hands tug a front door open and chanyeol focuses in on a guy with a box of— what the fuck, are those stuffed animals? 

chanyeol stands, holding the door open, mouth agape, before snapping his jaw shut with a dull click. 

“hey, uh, can i... are you selling those?” 

[advchanyeol-blog]