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nana: i'm not a scammer
nana: ❝ here's the thing about junhui: they lie almost about every single thing in their life.
Description
I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.
“Close your eyes.”
Junhui’s eyes fell upon the back of their mother’s head, the lady sitting in the driver’s seat with her hand tightly holding on the wheel. There was a tear that rolled down her cheek, one that Junhui could barely see even in the rear view mirror. Trees passed by all too quickly outside the car, as the vehicle sped through the road. They could feel their breath hitch in their throat, and their gaze moved to the front. There was another car. They knew what was coming next.
And so, a seven year old Junhui closed their eyes. That was the last time they saw their mother alive.
The news of their mother’s death spread far and wide back in their homeland, China. The star of China, Wen Jiayi, has met her demise in a car accident on a lone highway bridge on the way back to her residence. Everyone had deemed it a miracle that Junhui had managed to survive the accident ― even more when they were relatively unscathed.
some thought it was a miracle. junhui thought it was a curse.
weeks later, junhui was flying over to seoul, where their relative on their mother's side moved to. but wen jiayi and her family had somewhat of a bad blood, so to speak, so junhui wasn't exactly accepted into their home either. they were an outcast, and their relatives weren't afraid to show it. at home, junhui would eat their meal alone. at school, junhui would sit by themselves and watch other people instead.
they didn't really notice it, when they started watching the world as though they were watching a film instead of participating in it; as though they did not walk the same path the others did; as though they had the world beneath them and all they could do was watch from afar.
junhui never truly felt that they belonged anywhere.
at first, they resented it. it was the only thing that they knew to feel after the grief from losing their mother. there was nothing different between them and the people around them. they were all mortals, breathing with an organ that pumped blood throughout their veins.
and yet, why did junhui feel as though they were meant to watch the world without them in the picture?
there was a void eating away at their chest, the emptiness ironically too heavy to bear. they were fourteen when they had first realized that company was something that could be bought; that their face was something they could use to get the company that could possibly fill the void in their chest.
company in exchange for money. a pretty face to accompany another lonely, longing soul.
but even that wasn't enough. mere company was lacking. just talking couldn't do it.
when junhui turned eighteen, they turned to ― a body in exchange for company; pleasure to cover the void in their heart.
but even then, even so, nothing they did had done anything to even make the emptiness in their chest lighter.
and it all spiralled from there.
junhui wanted to fill it up, fill the void, make it less empty. but alcohol, drugs, and didn't do anything ― they were nothing but temporary fixes to a permanent problem. they were nothing more than futile efforts in trying to feel alive, when in reality junhui felt so, so dead that there was rarely ever a light to their eyes ― if there was even one, in the first place.
it was this nothingness, however, that landed junhui a job as a fashion model. emptiness was a model's trait, this one particular man would say. he revelled at junhui's beauty, at the emptiness they held behind their eyes. models were blank canvases, they were alive only because someone else had breathed life into them.
the man thought it was fitting of junhui.
junhui couldn't find it in themselves to deny it. at least through this, they were somewhat alive.
but come junhui's 24th birthday, and they were just about ready to end it all. the emptiness they had to carry each day became more and more unbearable, even when they thought they had already gotten used to it (what was there not to get used to when every single morning, they were greeted with the fact that they were not to walk the earth the same as others did?).
there was nothing tying them to the living. there was nothing to live for, nothing to look forward to. wen junhui's existence was nothing ― a mere void that existed to breathe oxygen and use space that didn't even truly matter anymore.
"close your eyes."
junhui remembered their mother's words, and wondered if the void would have disappeared had they closed their eyes that incident seventeen years ago. and so they decided.
perhaps it was time to close their eyes forever.
drugs were easily bought, but the cashier that day seemed to have known what they were planning on doing that night. junhui, with the dark bags under their eyes, the messiness, the unhinged eyes ― wen junhui was a disaster waiting to happen. instead of only the drugs, there was a piece of paper slipped into the bag. and junhui would have ignored it; would have simply taken the drugs they'd bought and died with too many of them inside their throat―
―but something told them to go to this city of wonder instead, as so peculiarly spoken by the cashier. junhui would deny that there was hope sparking inside their chest, small enough to think it was never even there.
and yet they found themselves arriving at the city anyway. after all, what did they have to lose?
Junhui's personalities differ with each persona they come up with. think of them as a blank canvas, and each color painted over such whiteness is a new personality. sometimes they're red — sly and cunning, almost always taunting and has arguably the dirtiest and foulest mouth. sometimes they're orange — friendly and cheery, bright and overly positive. sometimes they're pale blue, almost as pale as snow — cold, the calm before the storm. they are a mixture of so many personalities, some of which they've read from novels, the others from what they've observed from others.
but in reality, junhui's a simple blank mirror whose colors reflect those who dare to gaze within. they are cynical and arguably bitter, having already lost sight of what life is supposed to be. they feel no hatred nor anger — just emptiness, a void within that longs to be filled.
novels, books — documentaries (any sort, really, but leaning more into crime and fashion) — movies, films, drama — animation, comics, manga, webtoon — puzzles — flowers — video games — coffee (always black, they can't take milk most times) — art — music — theatre — fashion.
overly positive mindsets — people who keep poking their noses where they don't belong — the past being brought up — being confined to a small room — being restricted — summer (they hate sweating).
writing prose (poetry, short stories that they keep to themselves) — solving puzzles (though they used to be bad at it, only getting better over time) — reading books of any kind — watching (be it people or films) — styling their own outfits — dancing in the rain — painting (though there are very few people who have seen said artwork) — watching theatrical plays.
nothing really. what's there to live at life when nothing gives them emotions that humans would normally feel?
bites, plays with their lower lip whenever they're deep in thinking — rolls their eyes unconsciously (they don't mean anything with this, most of the time) — running their hand through their hair.
one may call them an pathological liar. rarely ever speaking the truth outright, said truths are often hidden within carefully thought out lies — drinking, they do not really control themselves when it comes to alcohol — smoking. they smoke rather frequently — drugs, but though his most frequent ones are tranquilizers.
they say khaos is the beginning of everything — they, who existed first, have looked upon the world, so empty, so lonely; and thus they decided to breathe life upon the earth. and yet who was it, at the end of the day, that was forgotten, name lost in the winds of time?
yes. that god is khaos.
important。 Try to have something in mind and read my profile before actually talking to me about roleplaying. I am open to brainstorming, but please do not come to me completely empty-handed. Reading my profile is important.
•.*★ writing and plotting style。
writing style。 3rd pov only. My length ranges from a single paragraph to a whole novella, depending on how high my muse is for the thread. I do get carried away often times, but it doesn't have to be mirrored.
plotting style。 I prefer plotting over winging, even if it's just a small backbone of what we're supposed to be doing. This is why you should read my profile first and come to me with an idea in mind. I often do the same.
Starters are based on who seems to make the most sense to start. If it makes more sense for my character to start, then I will write the starter, and vice versa.
•.*★ activity and reply speed。
important。 I rarely ever poke people, and do not like being poked. 10 days. Please only poke me after 10 days. I usually know who I'm writing with, and if I haven't replied to you yet, that means either of the two things: a. I don't have enough muse for it yet, and; b. I'm busy. Often times, it's a mixture of both. Please don't use my replying to other threads faster than yours against me. It's a simple matter of which of the threads I have more muse with.
I'm usually fast with my replies, sometimes with regardless of the length. But again, it depends on the muse. We can always drop/pick up our thread(s), but make sure you communicate with me. Also know that I might be active in the chat infrequently or a lot. I'm not a very consistent person when it comes to this.
•.*★ location preferences。 I definitely prefer the rooms to keep the rp active! If it's not possible to get a room for it, then walls we go! My PMs are only for OOC business. Please don't post on my walls unless I allow you to.
@wen_geminhui (official ig).