sgnsungwoo-blog

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[sgnsungwoo-blog]

*  ›  text meme !

we thought it was about time to unleash a meme upon the dash! use this opportunity to have fun with your muses, but also to develop them and create new relationships and ideas with others! also, please don’t forget to send some symbols out if you reblog this post. let’s make sure that no one feels like the odd one out and we include everyone on the fun!

we’ll allow everyone to reblog this until december 6th, three weeks so that new members can join in as well. afterwards you are no longer allowed to reblog, but you can continue to answer if you like! ( and yes, you can send multiple symbols in a message! )

send a symbol for…

😟 a worried text.

🤡 a goofy text.

💖 a loving text.

🤐 an awkward text.

 💤 a half-asleep text.

😊 a happy text.

🤔 a nonsensical text.

🙏 an apologetic text.

❎ a text meant for someone else.

🕰️ an early morning text.

🌑 a late night text.

🥴 a drunk text.

🗑️ a text that wasn’t sent.

👀 a dirty text.

⚠️ a scared text.

🚨 an urgent text.

👯‍♀️ a supportive text.

🔪 a hateful text.

😢 a sad text.

😡 an angry text.

👋 a goodbye text.

🔎 a revealing text.

❓ for me to choose randomly

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sgntae‌:

        ° 𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄: @sgnsungwoo / high school, summer of 2014

        “in my defence, he started it.”

        the only overhead light in the room hangs from the ceiling, covered in a layer of dust, flickering the moment he’s seated on his bed. he has half a mind to leave it, but the shortening intervals of brightness is blindingly white, and he almost punches the switch when he reaches it. a wince, grimacing from the bruises that sting. painful reminders. the head of discipline’s voice sounds in his subconscious, fresh in memory, preaching moral theories and how the trick to success is the sole, conventional way of getting through education unscathed. clean. or be doomed for life. spoiler alert: it’s not that serious. 

        he’s back on the edge of his bed, adjusting the table lamp that uses a different bulb –– a warm glow that’s not as functional. the first aid kit is open and sitting on top of their warning letters, unopened and scrunched against the mattress. disinfectant wipes at the ready, he’s reaching for sungwoo’s face, cleaning the edges of any visible wounds. 

        “did you see the look on his face when you were reaching for that tennis ball –– i swear, if i’d recorded it, he could’ve gone viral.” the chuckle that follows triggers the ache on the side of his ribcage, resulting in a distorted expression. “ugh. maybe then he’ll get the attention he’s so desperately after.” a small pile of bloodied wipes is now stacked next to his feet, and he uncaps the cream next. “look up.”

the smell of antiseptic is pungent, hits his nose in a way that almost makes him sneeze. it's only because it's kitae, kitae trying his damn best to play nurse here, that sungwoo manages to stay somewhat still. the scratch under his eye hurts like a fucking bitch, as do the other various cuts and bruises they’ve both managed to catch. it’s damage done, but there’s smug satisfaction in knowing they’d dealt just as much, if not more.

sungwoo snorts, wholly amused, mischief in spades. “in his defense, you didn’t let him finish what he started.” something of a bad habit hojun seemed to pick up, but that isn’t to say they’re any better. self control is impossible in the face of an adrenaline rush and an inability to remember that they say ‘look before you leap’ and not the other way around. later on, he’ll be casually imagining all the ways this was going to go down at dinnertime with little to look forward to in their wake. 

but in this very second: regret? who is she? 

the snort turns into a huffed laugh. “we should’ve had kijoon tag along to film. missed opportunity.” he tilts his chin up on command as kitae slathers on the medication, his skin feeling tingly and balmy with pseudo relief under the spell of menthol. sungwoo picks up on the wince of pain instantaneously, and what’s usually a cheery face turns upside down into a frown in a blink of an eye. “bastard’s got a mean kick, though. and he wore cleats.” talk about foul play.

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sgnolivia‌:

these chips are going to make her throw up but olivia takes them because they’re as good a thing as any to fill the gaping, metaphorical void she’s got rolling around in her skull. she’s either got wild animals for braincells or bojack goddamn horseman dicking around in there. which, makes sense. bojack is a horse.  “you didn’t think about it long enough.” 

her stomach aches approximately two seconds later which. while on brand, is absolutely the worst.

there probably aren’t rocks heavy enough to keep her down to begin with. where would she even finds rocks like that? do they sell them?

sungwoo could probably buy them. he’s got rock money. 

“i don’t think i’ve ever been to the beach,” she says, spraying little bits of salt and potato, forgetting that she’s supposed to swallow before she speaks.

she swallows now. 

“not that it matters, it’s not like i would enjoy it under the intense weight of societal standards,” olivia huffs, folding her arms around her gut because it’s starting to scream why the fuck did you eat that!!! thankfully, it’s drowned out by the other 10,000 signals her half-functioning body is trying to send to her. “jesus christ, existence is wack. i’m self-identifying as a croissant.” 

"huh..." it doesn't take much effort to appear pensive, but anything that requires extended complexity with sungwoo really is just surface-level contemplation. he hums, and for a moment it sounds awfully like the onset of something, until it familiarly falls flat and empty. birdbrain wiring at its best.

he grabs the bag and crunches down a handful. “you haven’t?” something like surprise colors his tone, less of the concerned variety and more along the lines of blatant curiosity. it’s genuine all the same, which is probably the important thing. sungwoo folds the top of the chip bag closed. 

“you could go anyway.” never mind if it’s in the dead of fall, or the million different ways this could go so very wrong regardless of the weather. impulse and enabler tendencies go hand in hand in diverting any and all attention to solid reason. but who said there needs to be a reason for anything, anyway? “who’s gonna judge you?”

lilo

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sgnolivia‌:

@sgnsungwoo

someone has dropped the ball. 

and not a normal ball, not the ‘oh sorry! i forgot to pick up milk’ ball. they dropped the livelihood of five (5) whole living, breathing, shitting creatures off the top of lotte world tower. the ball is gone. 

one of them’s a snake.

this is more helpful than she originally anticipated as it requires no guidance whatsoever. olivia respects this, but immediately pays it very little attention. the cat is all over and cats are nothing like dogs. they’re picky and petulant and confusing and olivia can’t figure out her own moods, how’s she supposed to decipher what a kick-roll-roll-hiss-rub means? 

and how the fuck did a room acquire all these animals, anyway? is there no limit to what rich people can do? are there no bounds?

a distant part of her is panicking but, honestly, her body sends out a million signals at once. panic gets lost in the thrum of it. 

olivia watches the cat watch the hamster. 

“eat or be eaten,” she murmurs sagely, and scratches the cats butt. it’s the only place it’ll allow contact.

the whole reason why this had been arranged at all is in fact, exactly that: he’d forgotten to pick up the milk. arguably olivia had been his first pick by sheer convenience, but his good faith in her ability to stay put was just as valid. 

it also helped that the nearest e-mart was a 10-minute sprint away from the dorms. last he checked before he walked out the door: snake in big tank, lizard in small tank, rodent in cage, cat on chair, dog asleep on the bed—picture perfect and in place, as they should be. 

just when just as he picks up a half-gallon, a tub of rocky road (on sale!) catches his eye. it’s game over from there. ten minutes stretches to fifteen to twenty five, and his milk run no longer is just a milk run but a full-blown grocery haul.

it’s at the half-hour mark that he’s belatedly hit with a rational idea, so he whips out his phone to dial up a number and waits, waits until the other end picks up. “hey! everything okay over there?” in his other hand is a box of color changing jello marked half-off for the day. “and how do you feel about...” he has to squint to read the label again. “foods that have identity crises?” 

yo, ma! is that a f*cking cat?

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sgnabe‌:

“dude. fucking BRILLIANT!” abe whips his torso around, hands searching the floor they’re sprawled out on for his phone. thumbing through four pages of unorganized apps, he manages to finally locate the iconic icon emblazoned in coral.

edit. remove photos. he takes out a few sultry duck-lipped pout selfies and inserts the very same photos sungwoo conveniently airdrops over, then redirects himself back to the app’s home interface where a new face awaits him with e-bated breath. pretty cute. right it is. the next isn’t bad, either. right.

right, right. right. right—

his first match of the day and abe goes giddy, whipping himself back around so hard his hand and phone just narrowly miss sungwoo’s cheek and smug face. “ha! matched. with a total… oh, shit. isn’t this eunah?”

a biology classmate and fellow member of the volleyball team, women’s division, kim eunah. times like this abe remembers just how small seongnam is.

[ eunah ] hiiiii losers [ eunah ] why are u two lying to everyone lol [ eunah ] aren’t u two dating ;)))

abe's on a roll already, the damn go-getter he is. sungwoo hovers over his shoulder, as eager as a kid with an eye on the prize at the claw machine to see where their luck would land them and ooh okay, tall, nice legs, but that hands-on-her-hips pose looks awfully familiar, as does that demonic shit-eating grin—

his face grows solemn. “it’s over, hyung.” he groans. “we’re done for.” 

but it’s too late, eunah’s dm’s pop up with a speed that suggests she was just waiting to clown them with the same old, same old. sungwoo takes the phone out of abe’s hands, and a closer look at her pictures only confirms the worst. the only silver lining out of this? he’s not about to ask for a threesome from an actual grinning, shit-eating demon. 

“should’ve been haeun,” he mutters under his breath, and texts back:

[ to: eunah ] heyyy eunah it’s sungie  [ to: eunah ] 🤔  [ to: eunah ] if you’re that curious why don’t you join us later tonight and find out 😉

superlike

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furball

@sgnjisoo

haru is a 60 pound tan-gold chusky with a slight limp and a perpetually slobbery mouth and the second sungwoo sees her, he knows it’s love. 

of course, he feels the same way just about every time he steps inside this shelter with the new arrivals, but when there’s only so much of him to go around in between cleaning and grooming, this is where jisoo comes in. 

sort of. 

right now, the other’s reduced to a blip in his vision, most of sungwoo’s attention lapped up by a malamute who sits still enough for him to run a brush through her coat without much of a problem. consider it downtime before it’s another round of the dirty work; the row of cages on the other side of the room has been smelling kind of funky. he glances up briefly, and finds the expected: an equally happy guy with an equally happy pup. “you should get him.” 

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@sgnyisae​

( 🖂 ➟ 🙃🙂🙃 ) 👁️ ( 🖂 ➟ 🙃🙂🙃 ) 👁️ ( 🖂 ➟ 🙃🙂🙃 ) saw what you did there just now

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lilo

@sgnolivia

think about that for two minutes and tell me you don’t want to walk into the ocean.

“uh.” 

to his credit, he did give it some thought, clocking in at around 2 minutes and 30-something seconds, which could be wrong, so very wrong, but who’s ever counting? time is hardly linear and cognitively speaking, sungwoo's anything but a straight shooter. still, that’s quite the leap she’s taken there. 

still, he follows suit anyway, jumping another hurdle or three to keep up with the mental gymnastics at play here. 

“beats me,” sungwoo throws back with a laugh. there’s other things he could’ve handed over just as easy. a puzzled look, a “what the fuck, liv,” half a xanax, maybe. he squints at her side profile from his periphery. maybe half of a half instead. “we’re not anywhere close to a beach, so i couldn’t tell you.” there’s an open bag of potato chips in his lap, which he holds up for her to take, a consolation prize. sea salt and grease, by all means, is the next best thing. 

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superlike

@sgnabe

“bro…” he grins. “i know.”

there are a couple of things in life that go together: salt and pepper, pb&j, abe jeon and ha sungwoo in the face of making questionable (but fun!) decisions. you simply can’t have one without the other, which is why this idea seemed pretty fucking brilliant. 

on his phone he’s got the tinder app pulled up to his profile. right where a proper bio-tagline should be reads “i come with a bonus 😉”. 

with a flair that would give any magician a run for their money, his finger swipes away his thirst trap to reveal (voila!) none other but abe’s own equally gratuitous post-gym selfie to accompany it. 

sungwoo’s expression is every meaning of the word pleased as he flips back and forth between the two pictures. 

“you should do the same with yours, bro.”

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oh man its been so long i’ve been in a real slice of life rp but hihihi stoked to be writing with u cuties!!! if i had more braincells atm this would be a lot more comprehensive n helpful but....i don’t :( so just take this forever wip plot page and profile....brainstorming is my JAM tho so if ur down for that too please give this post a like! thanks!!! 

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vibe check! [falls recklessly in love with you]

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Moonbin for Elle Magazine