#He's hyperventilating even thinking about it

[keirareidss]

wc: 0.9k

The injury was brutal. Three broken ribs and severe bruising. The unsub had cornered you, attacked you. You were found beaten up and hyperventilating by Derek about 15 minutes later after he caught the unsub.

He slung your arm over his shoulder, helping you walk out of the building to the ambulance waiting outside. Hotch, your boss, your boyfriend, the love of your life, had seen you, nearly in tears from the pain, walking out of the building and left mid-conversation with Rossi to rush over to you.

When he tried to pull you into his arms, you winced and pulled away, a hand to your stomach, the pain piercing.

"What happened?" He demanded, looking to Derek.

"I don't know, we- we split up, I found the unsub making a run for it I-"

"Are you okay?" Hotch cut off Derek, looking at you. You nodded but Aaron could see that every movement was strained. "I've got her." He murmured to Morgan, taking your arm over his shoulders and leading you to the ambulance. You were taken to the hospital but treating broken ribs wasn't like treating a broken ankle or a fractured wrist. There wasn't a cast they could put on you, so they focused on pain medications and home treatments.

Your boyfriend boss gave you two months off of work, two weeks more than you would need to heal, just in case. He brought you home, settling you in the bed.

"Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm okay." He sat down next to you, his hand finding your hip, rubbing gently up and down.

"You should rest." Aaron murmured and you nodded. He helped you lay down, pulling the covers over you, promising he'd join you in a bit.

Unfortunately, rest never came. You closed your eyes, you slowed your breathing, you tried to shut your brain off, but every nerve in your body was thrumming. You felt the dull ache in your torso, the pain sharpening and lingering every time you moved even an inch.

At some point, around two am, you huffed, your eyes opening. Hot, frustrated tears prick behind your eyes. You want to scream. Aaron was sound asleep next to you, probably thinking you were as well.

You were minutes from breaking down crying when you felt him stir beside you. Maybe all your huffing and pained gasps had woken him. You turned your head to find him opening his eyes, looking at you. His sleepy expression quickly became concerned when he realized you were still awake.

"Honey? Why are you up?" He asked softly, his voice raspy from sleep.

"I- I can't sleep. It hurts so much." His gentle voice and his worried stare immediately broke you. Fat tears rolled down your cheek, the corners of your lips turned downwards.

"Hey, hey it's okay." At the sight of you crying, he immediately pushed himself up onto one elbow, leaning closer to you and raising a hand to your face, cupping it gently as he brushed the tears away.

"It's not okay. I- I can't- it hurts." You whimpered, the quickening of your breath as your crying grew worse making your ribs hurt even more. Aaron felt helpless. He wished he could take the pain away, take it upon himself if he needed to. But all he could do right now was try to calm you down and get you to sleep.

"Okay, I know, shh, it's alright." He tried placating you, brushing your hair away from your damp cheeks, his other hand rubbing up and down your arm softly. "Just try not to think about the pain."

"I can't." He tried to think of something else he could get you to think about.

"You know, Jack has a soccer game in a few weeks."

"Really?" You sniffled, looking up at him, his hands continuing their movements, one caressing your arm, the other cupping your face, brushing over your cheek.

"Mhm. If you feel better, we can go watch him."

"That sounds fun." You mumbled, your breathing slowing down.

"Yeah. I was thinking we could take him out for ice cream afterwards as well. He's been doing really good this season."

"Yeah." You breathed, the pain easing up. Hotch went quiet for a few moments, sensing you were thoroughly distracted.

"Can I get you anything? Pain meds? Water or tea, maybe?"

"No, I just... I just wanna sleep."

"I'll grab you some NyQuil." He shuffled out of bed, noticing how you stayed terribly still, trying not to feel that sharp pain in your abdomen again. He felt a tug at his heartstrings. He hated that you had to go through this. He should have been there. He shouldn't have let that man hurt you. He shouldn't have let you go into that house in the first place.

He was back with the NyQuil quickly, helping you lift your head with a hand behind your neck, tilting the small medicine cup upwards, the liquid pouring down your throat. You sigh as he slips back into bed, getting close to you, touching you as much as he can without causing any pain.

"Is this okay?" He asks, an arm over your waist, the other curled underneath his pillow.

"Mhm." You hummed. You fell asleep a few minutes later, breathing evening out in a way that has Aaron's stress levels coming down. He promised himself he'd stay awake the rest of the night, watching, making sure you rested. Making sure that no more pain came to you and if any did, he would quell it as quickly as he could so you didn't have to suffer anymore.

Taglist: @cinnamoncunt, @dramioneforevertilltheend, @tinythebunni

[cainrising]

propt list #3 the theatre au with choscar???? those boys are built for the stage

prompt 3: theatre AU where one character is trying to goad the other character out of the bathroom and onto the stage from where they are crying in the bathroom because they're on in 5.

I didn't edit this as harshly as I usually do w my stuff, so I'm sorry some bits are rushed and weirdly paced. I know next to nothing abt theatre so 😭 ntm on me

here's 3.6k of sound tech oscar & lead actor charles ^^

“Where the fuck is Charles?” Max is demanding, as Oscar rounds the corner. “Fucking—we’re on in fifteen and nobody has seen him?!”

“He was getting changed, I don’t know,” Lando says defensively, hurriedly shrugging on his waistcoat. “Mate, I’ve got to—Carlos! Carlos, have you seen my script? Carlos!”

Frazzled, Carlos almost gets his eye poked out by a makeup brush when he turns, then nearly trips over an intern, who looks seconds away from bursting into tears. “How many times have I been telling you to keep it in your pocket, Lando,” Carlos scolds. A cloud of powder bursts, and about five people fall into coughing fits. Carlos screws his face up, turning back with a foul twist to his mouth, but the makeup girl has already fled to pursue her next victim—poor, unsuspecting Kimi.

Oscar pushes his hair back off his sweaty forehead, and for the fifteenth time this hour, he thanks his lucky stars he’s only working Sound. Max looks like he’s about to brain someone with his clipboard, Ollie is hyperventilating under the prop table, and apparently Charles, their leading man, has fucked off to Timbuktu. It’ll be a miracle if Oscar makes it out of this without grey hairs.

“Oscar!”

Christ, Oscar thinks, and pulls his headset to the side. Not that he really needs to. His mum probably heard Max back in Melbourne.

“Yeah?”

If stress had a picture in the dictionary, it would be Max.

“Are you busy?” Max bulldozes on, “I need—fucking Charles! He’s waltzed off, and curtains are up in—” he jerkily consults his watch, and his eyes go wide and despairing. “Fuck!”

“You want me to, uh,” Oscar, for some stupid reason, looks around, like Max could be talking to someone else. “I mean, wouldn’t Pierre—?”

“No!” Max snaps, whirling around, to where Yuki is lounging on the stage apparatus. “Yuki! If you fall from there—”

He storms off in a cloud of furious anxiety, and Oscar sighs. He never should have allowed Logan to convince him this would be fun. He’s sweating in places no man should sweat. He’s ninety perfect stage glitter. He’s got a raging headache, and it’s not even six thirty. This? This is not fun. 

“Don’t just stand there!” Max yells, face red, Yuki thrown over his shoulder. Pierre has his phone out, recording. God, Oscar does not want to know. “We’re on in fifteen, Oscar. Fifteen!”

Oscar closes his eyes, dumps his headset on the stack of chairs tucked in the corner, and goes to find Charles.

--

He checks the dressing rooms first. They’re closest to the stage, in a little deserted corridor, where the air is much cooler, free of the chemical stench of hairspray. Oscar takes his first breath free of rancid floral perfume and knocks twice on the door. Pushes it open.

“Er.”

“Oscar!” Alex says shrilly,

Slowly, Oscar glances down, where George’s shirt is chucked. The room is a right state, feathers flung everywhere, tins and bottles of fuck knows what uncapped over the counter, lipstick smeared over the mirrors. It’s what the house looked like when Hattie had her first date. Oscar’s never really forgiven her for smearing eyeliner on his favourite shirt.

Staring at the floor inevitably leads him back to Alex’s bare ankles, then Alex’s bare legs, then Alex’s—

Politely, Oscar averts his eyes. George makes a sound like a drowned cat.

Eyes on the prize. Not—whatever this is. “Have either of you seen Charles?”

“Charles?” Alex repeats weakly. “Oscar. Are you serious?”

Right. Bit of a stupid question, really. Only thing Alex has seen recently is George’s tonsils.

“Sorry,” Oscar drums his fingers against the doorframe. “Er. I would say carry on, but, like…”

“Mate,” George finds his voice, crimson all the way down his chest. His naked chest. Because his shirt is on the floor. With Alex’s trousers. “Can you get out?”

--

“Charles?” Liam frowns, or, well. Oscar thinks he’s frowning. Hard to tell over the stack of boxes towering over him, and, subsequently, his face. “Nah, mate. Haven’t seen him. D’you mind—?”

“Oh—” Oscar steps out the way, and Liam grunts his thanks. “Sorry. Do you know where he might be?”

He doesn’t fancy being guillotined today, which is probably the fate that awaits him if he returns to Max empty handed. It’s looking more and more likely, though, the more rooms Oscar pokes his head into, only to find them distressingly absent of Charles.

How many places are there for someone like Charles to hide? Oscar has never seen him without an entourage loudly announcing his presence for all the building to hear, or one of his fifteen hefty instrument cases, or his ten million rattling keychains. You can hear Charles coming from the other side of campus—quite literally. But with Oscar’s life literally dangling in the balance, magically, Charles is nowhere to be found.

“The café, maybe?” Liam suggests, distracted. “I don’t know. Saw a few of the extras coming back from there. He might have gone with them, you know what Charles is like.”

Indeed, Oscar knows what Charles is like. A breeze, maybe, or a windchime. There one minute, gone the next; chasing the next daydream, as all the artsy types are wont to do.

To Oscar, who lives his life amongst zeros and ones, Charles could not be more of an antithesis.

“Thanks!” he calls after Liam’s strained back.

Liam lets go of his stack to stick his thumb up, and Oscar is halfway down the corridor when he hears a catastrophic crash, and a fervent, loud curse.

He winces and hurries down the corridor.

--

He doesn’t find Charles in the café, but Oscar does pilfer a Styrofoam cup of coffee, and that’s pretty good, too. Logan only stocks Monster—‘doesn’t believe’ in coffee—so Oscar has been cut off from his source of sweet, disgusting, real caffeine for weeks. Honestly, as he peers into the coatroom, Oscar thinks it might be worth getting flayed alive for this. Silver linings, and whatnot.

Mark, his student advisor, would weep with joy at his newfound optimistic streak.

As Oscar sets his empty cup on the carpet and reaches for the bathroom door, it swings open on him. Franco nods in greeting, in full costume. Never in Oscar’s life has he ever seen a tie knotted that sloppily. And are those—hickeys?

“I wouldn’t go in there if I was you,” Franco grimaces. Lowers his voice to a loud whisper. “Someone is having a, uhhh…” He twirls a finger by his temple and whistles. Stares at Oscar expectantly.

“Um,” Oscar says.

“Yes,” Franco nods, “So. Break his leg, or whatever the saying is.”

He proceeds to pat Oscar on the shoulder and stroll leisurely away. His shirt is untucked at the waistband. Oscar considers the absurd state of his life. And of his bladder, because he really needs a piss, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with a mental breakdown, and really, none of this would be happening without Logan. This is all his fault. Oscar will be sure to tell Max that, when he’s forced to turn up with his tail between his legs and without the star of the show. Surely, Max will understand.

Max will not understand, Oscar thinks with dread. Max is an easy-going guy usually, but not when it comes to theatre. He runs the club like the damn navy SEALs. Rumours say he kicked Lewis Hamilton out of his own play for being three seconds late to dress rehearsal. Oscar is so dead, it isn’t even funny.

With a deep breath, arming for war, Oscar pushes open the door and slips inside, and it’s—quiet. Nobody is wailing. It’s just a normal bathroom. If the far stall door wasn’t closed, Oscar would have had no idea someone else was here at all.

Warily, he approaches the urinal. Why he’s bracing for someone or something to leap out of the stall and eat him, he isn’t sure. He’s severely anaemic. Nothing wants to eat him.

Oscar is washing his hands, already thinking about where to check for Charles next, when his peripherals snag on a spike of light. Oscar's head jerks, nearly gives himself a nasty crick.

Lando swears on his nan’s grave he got knifed in the loo once. Oscar has no desire to follow in his footsteps, and—today is not going to be that day, he realises in relief. There’s no Nike tracksuit and balaclava lunging for him; it’s a keyring, laying on the floor, beneath the shut stall door.  A whole host of them.

A mini silver microphone, he notices, somewhat absently, as he rips off a square of paper towel. A prancing horse, a tiny dog, a shark. One of the souvenir types, with a worn French-looking word painted on the fin. A homemade chain of red-white beads, and a CL. A Lion King the musical pendant.

Red-white beads, and a CL, Oscar thinks, and freezes.

--

In any good story game, there comes a pivotal moment in the plot where the character is faced with a panel of critical dialogue options. Standing like the standing man emoji in front of a regular, unimposing loo, Oscar searches the crossroads ahead.

Number one: clear his throat as un-awkwardly as he can and tell Charles that he needs to crawl out before Oscar is nailed six feet under. Probably insensitive if Charles is having a breakdown, and Oscar doesn’t feel like informing Charles that his best friend, who is a loving dad to three cats and two dogs, is most definitely an axe murderer in another life.

Number two: send Charles a text. A very good option, Oscar thinks, but his phone is out of power and—he doesn’t have Charles’ number in the first place. He can count on one hand the amount of meaningful interactions he’s had with Charles since meeting him. Which isn’t to say they aren’t friendly. Charles is friendly with everyone. Oscar, like most poor souls, is more than a little in love with him, in a, like. In a cool, chill, low-key way. He isn’t leaving love letters in Charles’ bag. Or baking him brownies. Oscar is too broke to buy ninety pence ramen, let alone eggs.

Number three (and this one is the worst, but also the most feasible): knock on the door and coax Charles out himself.

Okay, Oscar thinks, nodding pacifyingly to himself. Okay. Splitting things into chunks didn’t help, so he’ll divide it further.

Pros to number three: he lives to see another day. The show goes on, hopefully without a hitch, and Oscar can assuage the guilty conscious he’ll inevitably develop if he scurries off and leaves Charles here.

Cons: literally everything else, but especially the concept of—a crying Charles. Who probably needs reassurance. Reassurance Oscar is infamously bad for supplying.

(Lando came to rehearsals the other week red-eyed and teary over the death of his hamster, and Oscar asked him if he accidentally put it through the washing machine. Because, well, in his defence, he’s heard it was a common way hamsters die, and he likes collecting data, but apparently, Logan explained patiently, it was a little—a lot—tactless. And whatever Oscar does, he should never ever become a grief councillor, God, please.)

A hitching sniffle bounces off the tiles, and Oscar’s choice is taken out of his hands.

“Charles?” he clears his throat, apprehensively rubbing the pads of his fingers together. “Um. Is that—is that you?”

There is a very long moment of silence, in which Oscar tries not to lose his nerve and flee, and Charles tries to pretend he doesn’t exist. Neither of those work out too well.

And then, “Please go,” Charles begs thickly, “I will—I’ll—”

His voice cracks, and there’s a wet gasp, and Oscar closes his eyes, physically pained. He wishes he was literally any other person in the world right now, or at least one who wasn’t a catastrophic failure at human connection.

Max wants you, Oscar goes to say, and pauses. Thinks. He doesn’t want to give Charles the impression he’s only here for Max, even though that is… the reason Oscar is doing this. It doesn’t feel nice when you think you’re a chore for someone, Oscar knows that.

Okay, see, he’s doing such a good job. Just a little bit more.

“Is—er. Can I help… with anything? Would you—” Oscar hesitates, “Do you want to, um. Do you want to talk about it? Or can I—get someone?”

“No! No, don’t get anybody,” Charles says frantically, a jingle of his keychains as his bag is shuffled. “I’m fine, I’m—this is just. I am having a little break, I will be fine, you can go now. Please.” Ruining the effect, Charles’ voice breaks, and a panicked sob wavers beneath the door, reverberates between the walls, and pings directly into Oscar’s brain.

Torn, Oscar chews the nail off his pinky finger and stares at the bronze hinge, as if it holds the secrets of the universe. Or a manual on how to fix a crying person, like they give you in toy sets. Insert battery here. Take out this screw. Press button. All done. Neat and tidy and perfunctory, a perfect sequence of xyz working in expected harmony.

There is no manual for what to do when your sort-of crush, sort-of acquaintance is sobbing in the bathroom, less than ten minutes before a show.

“I won’t tell anyone?” Oscar tries. He winces at his own flat awkwardness. Christ, he wouldn’t confide in himself either. “I mean, I’m a pretty good listener, and…a problem shared is a problem halved?”

Fuck, just kill him. Just shoot him. That did not seriously come out of his mouth. He sounds like his mum.

But, miracle of all miracles, despite the overwhelming odds, Charles says, whiney with hysteria, “I am being stupid, this is all. We’ve practised lots and I know all my lines and I know I will be good, but—but maybe I will not be, and Arthur said he will come, and—and he will—he will make fun of me!”

Oscar still remembers Edie’s giggle fit when she saw him in his donkey costume for the first time ahead of his Year Two nativity. Siblings are evil like that.

“What if I say something wrong, or I trip and break my nose and get blood all over everywhere, and what if I have to kiss Alex with the bone sticking out of my face and—and it gets in her eye and she dies?” Charles wails, and Oscar holds his breath, so he doesn’t do something majorly stupid, like snort.

“That probably won’t happen,” he assures, dropping his jacket on the floor. Oscar nudges it open with his toe, and folds to take a seat. They’re probably going to be here for a while. “Everything will be fine. You’re a good actor, and Alex is a good actress, and everyone’s—you’ve all practiced a lot, haven’t you? So anything that will go wrong, you’ll probably know how to fix it, right?”

“But what if I forget?” Charles insists, “Or what if someone else will forget? And all these people will be staring at me!”

People are usually staring at Charles. Really, Oscar thinks, he could perform thirty minutes of an algebraic lecture, and the audience would still be watching, enraptured, by the end of it.

Logically, Oscar points out, “I’ve watched all the rehearsals, and I know you’re going to do great.”

“You know?” Charles sniffles doubtfully. “How can you know? So many things can go wrong, and I will never live this down, and my whole life will be ruined and buried and it will have all been for nothing, and what if I am really just so bad and they throw tomatoes at me and I get kicked out and have to live on Maman’s sofa for the rest of my life—”

Damage control, Oscar flails. Damage control, damage control—

“I think you’re pretty neat,” he blurts, painfully earnest. Might as well have wriggled his heart out from between his ribs and pushed it under the door, Jesus. “I mean. You’re—um.”

Like when he finally solves whatever’s causing his code not to run, and his chest loosens, and the universe unfurls beyond the gloominess of college work, and Oscar remembers that actually, the world is full of beautiful, lovely things, and he wants to bunch all of them in his stomach at once, so he remembers always.

Oscar blinks. Okay, no. He can’t say that. But it’s true. Charles is lovely and beautiful, and he pours into life like sunshine, and Oscar’s crush on him, perhaps, is not so small. Even though Charles has only ever said hi and good morning to him, and also that one time they got caught in the rain and Charles offered to share his umbrella with Oscar.

“You work really hard,” Oscar salvages, “You’re really, um. Passionate. You make your characters feel real, and you’re a brilliant musician, and, yeah. You’re going to do fine?”

Charles stays quiet. Oscar can’t even hear him sniffing.

Then, “You really think so?”

Oscar closes his eyes in relief. Thank God he hasn’t cocked it up. Again.

“I really think so,” he confirms.

 The door gives way behind his back. Oscar jolts to support his own weight, head swivelling, and—

“Oh,” he says stupidly.

Charles has glitter along his cheekbones.

It’s such a little thing to notice. His eyes are red and puffy, and his white shirt collar is wrinkled where he must’ve been tugging at it, and his hair is in a sorry state, but over all of it, Oscar is stuck on that. The glitter.

In the sterile bathroom lighting, it lays dull against Charles’ skin, but Oscar can imagine it, in the stage lights. The glimmer, otherworldly. How Charles’ entire body throws itself into animation, a fluid extension of somebody else, not a twitch out of his control. It seems ridiculous Charles could ever doubt himself. Oscar knows all this—has known it all these weeks—but it’s thrown into stark relief, here. With Charles looking a little like a wet dog, yet still so—whole, Oscar thinks. So encompassing. It’s like looking into a lunar eclipse.

“Oh,” Charles repeats, and he smiles, sheepish and still glassy eyed and pink-nosed and really pretty. So pretty, Oscar thinks, and realises he’s sitting on the bathroom floor, practically at Charles’ feet.

He clambers upright as gracefully as he can, as Charles collects his backpack and wipes his eyes. Oscar didn’t really plan for… what he would do after. Finds himself at a loss, not sure what to look at, or what to do with his hands.

Thankfully, Charles beats him to it. “I was—I am being very stupid, so thank you,” he ducks his head, rubbing at his nape. He’s wearing rings, Oscar notices, and his brain blue-screens. “It was just—I didn’t sleep very well last night, and I am a little nervous, and—yes. It’s like this, sometimes.”

Weirdly enough, Oscar only likes him more. It’s nice to know even Charles Leclerc cries in the toilet and gets worried about—stabbing his stage partner’s eye out with his broken nose. It’s endearing.

Oh, God. Oscar is endeared. That’s what’s happening here.

“You’re welcome,” he says, strangled. Clears his throat. “It happens to, um. A lot of people, I think.”

“Maybe,” Charles agrees. His knuckles are blanched ivory around the crimson strap of his backpack. He’s staring somewhere over Oscar’s shoulder, gaze darting. Oscar blinks, and Charles is looking at him with big, open eyes, and saying so, how would you feel about having coffee sometime? As thank you—for being nice?

No, he’s not. Oscar is daydreaming. He does this sometimes. Makes up possible conversations before they can happen, just in case. Charles would never in a million years ask him out. Ever.

“If you don’t, this is fine, too,” Charles is rushing to say, “I know you were just being nice, but I—”

Oscar realises three things at once. One: Charles Leclerc just asked him out. Two: he’s standing here, in front of Charles Leclerc, who just asked him out, and saying nothing, like a gormless twit. Three: the only dream this is is a dream come true.

“Yes,” Oscar interrupts, humiliatingly eager. “I mean—yes, yes please. I would like that. Coffee. With you.”

“With me?” Charles points to himself.

Oscar nods so hard he thinks his head will fall off. “With you. Please.”

“Oh,” Charles blinks. “Oh! You—so, that is a yes? To coffee. With me?”

If Oscar opens his mouth, he’s going to make a noise only dogs can hear. He hums instead, ears burning hot.

“Oh, that’s—” Charles is kind of pink. “That’s. Okay! Do you—can I—your number?”

Charles wants my number, Oscar thinks, dazed and dizzy and giddy. Holy fuck. Maybe the bloodline won’t end with him.

“Yep, can I—?” Oscar gestures to Charles’ phone, sticking out of his pocket, and almost sends his jacket flying into the urinals. “To—my number?”

“Oh, right, yes,” Charles hurries to hand it over, and Oscar has to retype it three times before he’s sure it’s the right one. He saves his name as oscar, and, after a careful moment of consideration, adds a :].

“So—coffee?” Charles checks, one last time, as he reclaims his phone.

Oscar has never heard anything sweeter. “Coffee,” he confirms.

He takes back every bad thing he’s ever thought of Max. In fact, Oscar could kiss him right now.

He’ll be sure to dedicate Max a speech at their wedding, instead.

[hjeojeo]

funny story

while doing the usual evening farm work yesterday, i got bitten by a wasp on my neck and it was like oh it's fine just annoying pinprick

then like 10-15 min later i was asphyxiating, hyperventilating cause i couldn't get enough air, sweating buckets, dizzy as fuck

thought i was gonna die honestly

but also randomly was like "I CANT DIE I GOTTA GO HOME AND FINISH READING THAT YURI MANGA I STARTED"

so i really grit my teeth and forced my breathing to get normal

and then 25 min later i was okay (made sure to text my brother about it, he's a doctor/ does a lot of primary care stuff at a hospital)

so wow first time life experiences! that was scary! but also if you think about something you wanna do while experiencing something scary you end up just locking in and surviving no matter what haha!

[yourstrulyangie]

CIGARETTES OUT THE WINDOW

𖦹 Synopsis: marriages these days were always so perfect. Couples loved each other with children roaming around a big house, it was all anyone had wanted. A beautiful marriage filled with love. The case for this couple was the complete opposite though. And it seemed that the topic of having no kids coming from strangers drained them. Maybe they weren't the perfect match for each other they always thought they were. A part of them knew that, they did not fully acknowledge it, but it always seemed to keep appearing in their heads every time they argued. He tried, he really tried. But maybe it was just time to let her go.

Word count: 10k

Genre: highschool lovers, happens during the 80’s, failed marriage.

Warnings: Violence. bunch of angst and hurt, infertility (not mentioned in who). smoking. implied pregnancy loss. brief depictions of self harm, mentions of death and sickness. Blood. Drug possession and use (viagra). Teen violence. Assault with deadly weapon. Strong language. Sexual jokes. Underage use of alcohol (i in no way support), mentions of abuse and parental neglect. In-law hatred. Mental health illness. Hyperventilation. Heeseung, Jay and Jake present in a flashback. Drugging a teacher. Endangerment. Misuse of alcohol. Suicide. Reader discretion is advised.

Note: this was supposed to be longer and published a long time ago (in my head) but that didn't work out so!! Its written in third person so it might be tacky🧍🏾‍♀️Please bear with me if this is a hard read its my first full work >⁠.⁠<

New Year's Eve.

She didn't bother to take down the christmas tree that had been there for a little over two years now, and he didn't bother to not smoke in front of his parents inside the house. They didn't care, and the only thing that seemed to affect the two was whenever children were brought up. 

It was pretty obvious, everyone knew it. Even the store owner down the street knew about how they wanted their own, but never had any.

Park Sunghoon knew how much his wife longed for her own, he’d see the look in her eyes when she’d look at his nieces. He realised she loved kids way before they got married, sometime around high school, where the two would sneak out of school to skip and would go to some park, and she’d play with the little babies and sneakily give them some ice cream. Oh how he wished they were in an alternate reality where they had their own. But unfortunately, she drank too much and he wasn't home a lot.

It was maybe the fact that they didn't love each other that much anymore, but they’d been in love for years and years, they didn't think it could possibly fade away after all this time together.

Why would it suddenly become so bad? They weren't that reckless towards each other, were they?

Maybe it was the fact that soft good mornings and long kisses turned into cold coffees and a word count of less than five shared in two days. Now, they would lay down on the same bed and face away from each other like they were strangers sharing a cab. 

He doesn't defend her in front of his family, she doesn't stay up late waiting for him to come at midnight, it was mutual, half intentionally. Again, they cared for too long that they just didn't anymore.

His wife as well knew how much he wanted kids. He’d talk about how all his colleagues have their first borns, second borns, third borns, his heart warms at the sight of them. He wanted a lot, until he just gave up.

The woman got pregnant a few years back, and the two were the happiest couple ever. He’d bring her roses after work every day and she’d bake his favourite pie, then they’d go to the beach on Sundays and he would swim while she tanned and laughed at him. 

The awaited doctor appointment came during one of the second trimester checkups. They went hand in hand, smiles and giggles filling up the room, til the doctor broke it down. He said the baby's heart wasn't beating, and maybe she should visit a gynaecologist because there wasn't any other explainable reason as to why she would suddenly lose the baby.

It felt like her whole world had stopped, her dreams of having kids running around the park and having the biggest cakes for their birthdays shattered. She stared at the doctor with a blank expression, the lump in her throat tightening and hurting, waiting for any explanation, but the only one he could offer her was a tight lipped smile saying that they should try again.

Sunghoon didn't come home from the bar that night, and she stayed at home sitting on the balcony, smoking her first cigarette in a while. All the effort only for it to go away in a few minutes.

She could see Sunghoon pulling away, refusing to communicate with her and shutting her out, only because his parents were able to convince him that it was her fault, that she was reckless and smoked behind his back. That's why she lost his baby. She then did the same to him, it got so bad that she even prepared divorce papers once.

She decided to give him one more chance before she would show him the divorce papers. And she really hoped he would stay because she was prepared to let him go yet, not like this. 

She watched from the stairs  as he put on his shoes by the door, her hair still a bit neat and her cheeks crusty with dry tears. “..stay.” she spoke in a low voice, her voice hoarse but soft, as if she would just beg him to spend the night with her again. Just for once.

The man looked up at her, his expression plain, cold. The warmth and subtle light that would be in his eyes when he used to look at her were gone. He stared back at her, before he scoffed, turning to the door. “Please don't make me beg you to stay,” she said in a louder voice, a plea in it.

The man stilled, before letting out a sigh and turning to her again. “Im not going to sit here and baby you all day, you're a grown woman.” “hoon,” her voice cracked, pleading that he would listen to her, and stay for the night. Heck, she would even let him leave the next night if he only stayed with her on this one.

She stepped off the last stair, the nightgown swallowing her figure, and her shrunk down –used to be– baby bump. “Just one night.” “you think one night is going to fix anything?” he let out a bitter chuckle, and for the first time he actually looked at her. Her eyes were red, her breathing was shallow and her undereyes spoke for themselves. She hadn't been sleeping at night because he was gone and he’d forgotten to hide the cigarettes. Though it seemed that he did every night he left.

“No, but it would feel like it.” she said, her eyes slightly shiny, from tears. He went quiet, clenching his jaw, the keys in his jingled in a sound way too loud for the silence. “..you should go to bed,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead as he looked away from her. She shook her head, taking his hand in both of hers. Oh her younger self would have never believed she ever had to beg him like this, beg him to make her feel like she still mattered.

“Stop running away from me,” she whispered in a broken voice, tears almost escaping her eyes, lips trembling, her words lingering in the air between them like smoke of a cigarette she had forgotten to put out. “Im not running away from you.” “youre blaming me for something we both lost.”

She wiped away her tears, waiting for his response, but he didn't say anything, just stared at the wall in front of him blankly, before he didn't, he looked back at her and spoke. “I can't love you without resenting you.�� 

That felt like a slap to her. Harsh, raw, and true. But she didn't flinch, she didn't reply, just slowly processed his words, swallowing down the bile rushing up to her throat. Not now. “..you can't love me like you did before?” 

“...no.”

And that's how Park Sunghoon ended up in the bar he was a regular at. “Buzz light blues”, the kind with lights that made him feel sick, even if he wasn't. But he didn't care enough to change to another one.

He asked for a whiskey, strong, neat, he didn't even have to repeat his words, everybody knew him around here, they didn't have to ask. He lit his cigarette quietly, like it was the only thing keeping his hands from shaking. His first drag was sharp, as if it was his lifeline. He slowly exhaled, leaning back in his seat, the smoke spinning around him and fading into the hum of the jazz music in the background. 

“Rough night?” the woman who sat beside him asked, her voice tinged with a hint of playfulness. He stayed quiet, his eyes on the table, before he nodded his head, downing his drink.

“You want to talk about it?” the woman said, a smile on her lips, biting her nail. Sunghoon almost rolled his eyes, taking a puff of his cigarette and scoffing. “No,” the woman’s smile faltered, taking a sip of her drink and clearing her throat, her eyes falling on his ring. “It's new years, your family?” she asked, pushing her cup away and looking up at him. 

“..it's new years eve.” he muttered back, brushing his hair away from his face frustratingly, leaning back in his seat, looking at his ring. “..exactly..you should be having fun.”

“It's new years eve.” he said again, this time as if he was more sure than the last time he said it. It would be the third year of him being married to the supposed love of his life, but he’s here talking to a woman who is trying to initiate something bigger than her. He doesn't like unloyal people. And he for sure isn't one himself.

He abruptly stood up, taking all of the cash in his pocket and putting it on the counter for the bartender who served him to take, before he stood up, leaving the bar without another word. 

He stared at the water underneath him while he stood on top of a bridge, his eyes teary, nose burning, either from the alcohol he drank, or his tears, he didn't know. He stayed quiet, his Adam's apple bobbing in its place as if he was holding in a sob or a cry, he didn't want to be a coward. But he felt like one. Definitely.

He let out a sigh of frustration, stepping away from the bridge and looking back at the streets, before his movements halted again. He looked down at the snow beneath him, a tear from his eyes falling on top of it, and oh did it feel like his own tears made up their own trivia to mock him. To call him a cunt, to remind him all he ever rooted for won't get him the only thing he wanted. A fucking kid.

It frustrated him. The fact that anyone else could have one but it was so hard for him. When his wife's body decided it was about time to get pregnant it suddenly didn't want to carry a child anymore and killed it. Didn't even give it a chance to be premature or anything. Just a straight up miscarriage. It really made him think, has he really ever wronged anyone so bad in his past life they were coming after him now? Or maybe it wasn't even in his past life, maybe it was in this one. Maybe the man's window he decided to break when he was little or maybe even the teacher he glued his paper to because she didn't let him pass her class.

He scoffed, kicking at the white snow before cursing under his breath. He didn't want to look at it, it scared him, it made him feel disgusted it made him feel so damn overwhelmed. He brushed his hair away from his face, inhaling deeply as he tried, really tried to grasp onto himself, but he felt like every hair on his head was falling and every breath he took was useless.

Then finally, after he was fed up from the feeling and his ring was feeling a bit too tight, he took it off his slightly swollen hand and threw it into the water beneath the bridge.

It only hit him harder after that, the realisation that he’d thrown away his ring after he finally took a deep breath, he could hear the cars roaring and the waves under him clashing. He cleared his breath, and then jumped. Not up and down. But into the water.

The freezing water hit him like a brick wall— lungs folding in on themselves and eyes snapping wide. He didn't expect it to be so cold, and it definitely did not soothe any of the feelings he felt before throwing the ring. He couldn't lose it, no. It was a gift from her. A sign of his love and loyalty towards her. Till death did them apart, he swore. he didn't lose anything that she gave to him. He cares about looking like a pussy or being viewed as an unhappy man. He was unhappy, but he still believed he could love her, and he didn't want it to all hit him like a metal pole when he actually did.

Sunghoon didn't float. He dived.

He somehow was thankful for all the swimming classes he ever had and how he was devoted to it, even though he’d never gotten first place. He reached for the ring blindly, his lungs screaming for air, and he actually felt like a crazy man. 

Then his fingers wrapped around it. Something small. Something cold. It was the ring. 

He got back up to the surface, letting out an exhale and breathing in, swimming to a surface. He collapsed on the icy ground, his heart beating loudly in his chest, and it felt like that was all he could hear for the moment. 

He looked at the ring, bringing it to his chest as if he wanted to protect it from all the wrongs in the world. Except he might be wrong himself. He let out a laugh. It was hollow and wet and bitter, shaking his head. This was all he was doing for a ring? The ring sat on his hands, cold and wet, biting into the lines of his fingers like it knew it didn't belong there anymore. He turned it, slowly, the silver color catching some yellow hue from the streetlight a few feet away from him, like it was mocking him. A promise once, now just weight. 

He stayed like that again for a while, lost in his thoughts about how different things could have been if he had kids, or if he had married someone else entirely, though he wasn't sure his younger self would be loyal to anyone but his current wife. He stood up. It was time to head home.

Park Sunghoon sat at the dinner table, quiet, listening to his family talk about something he didn't care much about. His eyes fell on his wife, listening to his mother talk about how his cousin recently gave birth to a kid. The same cousin that she attended their graduation with Sunghoon. He looked at his mom, his eyes a bit narrowed, and once his mother caught his gaze, she changed the topic. 

His wife looked in between them, watching as Sunghoon silenced his mother. He had to warn her, and even though they only barely worked, she was grateful for him actually doing something for once, instead of just complete silence.

She could see how his mother gave her sister a sharp glance, like she was telling her to look at her nephew, oh how his wife controlled him and always let him defend her when she couldn't. She clenched her jaw quietly, putting her fork and knife down before she stood up excusing herself from the table to leave.

Sunghoon watched as she left the dining room, and he could hear his mother starting to talk again, as if shaming her. Oh. Why was she shaming his wife? He couldn't even say anything to stop her. He scoffed loudly, giving his mother another glare before he stood up, going after his wife, into the backyard. 

She wasn't smoking, she really tried not to, she didn't want her family in law to smell the smoke and say anything about how it was the reason she’d lost her baby a few years ago. She was starting to resent them. Sunghoon took a seat beside her, not even looking her way and staring into the little garden. The man felt a bit of movement, and looked down at her hand, only to see her scratching it profusely. He swallowed, staring at it, the way her skin reddened, her nails only scratching even more. He could see the way the blood pricked at the top of her skin, dragging along with each nail of hers. He looked away, shaking his head. “Stop it.”

The woman didn't listen to him, only scratching even harder as she stared off at the dark sky, she looked like she wasn't even bothered, like it brought her some sort of comfort, like she didn't want to stop. He hated it. The fact that she was hurting herself in place of finding comfort. It was only then he looked at her hand again and saw the blood, which had increased. 

Roughly, he pulled her hand away, gripping the bloody hand tightly in his. The way the blood clung from her to him, the way he hoped,just hoped that he wouldn't see her scratching herself somewhere else when he would look at her. 

His jaw tightened, looking at her again, only to see her looking back at him, nose red and eyes teary. Her other hand on her lap. She stared back at him, watching as the little blood trailed from his hand into his white shirt. Does he even care about her anymore? Or was it the fact that her scratching herself annoyed him so much he had to stop her?

Sunghoon let out a sigh of frustration, which softened a bit once he saw her looking back at him with her glossy eyes. He took out his handkerchief out of his pocket, pressing against her bloody hand. “I told you to stop it.” he muttered, his throat tight, as if he was holding himself from yelling at her to stop.

She looked at her hand, sniffing as she wiped away the tears that fell quickly, looking away from him. “..can we go home?” she muttered, her voice broken. 

The ride home was quiet, so quiet.

The woman held her composure well, using silence, but even he noticed the subtle shift in her eyelids. Though through the intensity of her tranquil, her eyes held the smallest amount of pain. She ached to itch her wrist again, but Sunghoon told her to keep the handkerchief on it till they went back home.

She leaned her head back once they reached a stop light. And she could see it. Crossing the road with her parents, a beautiful toddler, happy to celebrate the new years. It wasn't fair, she thought, how other parents or adults had the opportunity to have kids, and when they took it, they would have the best kids ever.

She looked away from them, and her composure faltered for a second. Sunghoon didn't miss it, her look of envy, jealousy and sadness. It wasn't fair that other people had children so easily and they couldn't. He clenched his jaw, not really bothering to look at the couple as he stared somewhere else, his eyes tracing the lines of his steering wheel. 

Once they got back to their house, it happened again, another fight. She sat down on the chair of the dining table, her eyes were poisonous to even look upon, so much hatred tainted to her soul. He looked back at her, cold eyes as he brushed his hair away from his face. This all started because he couldn't answer her simple question, was he scared of his own mother?

“So you just let her embarrass me in front of everyone like that?” she said, her voice wavering. It was a mix of emotions. Rage? Disappointment? Simple disbelief that he would even do this to her? She stood up, walking towards him, her height a stark contrast to his. But she could easily reach up and slap the calm look from his face.

He stared back down at her, nose flared in what only seemed like anger, at her because she was yelling at him, or maybe at himself, because he knew she was right. “She’s my mother.” “and im your wife!” she said back, her voice now lower, but still with the same bite in her tone.

Sunghoon scoffed, shaking his head and looking away “you can't defend yourself?” he walked away while asking, into the open kitchen a few feet away from them, only to open his alcohol cabinet, taking out a bottle of whiskey. She stared back at him as he turned his back to her, clenching her jaw once she heard him open the bottle. 

“She’s your mother!” she said, walking back towards him, only for him to chuckle, not even glancing her way. “That's what i said.” he spoke, before he walked away with a glass full of whiskey, into the living room

Sunghoon came home from work to an empty house, the smell of dinner filling the house. Usually, his wife would be sitting in the living room watching television or in their room, asleep. But she wasn't. It felt empty, but he didn't really bother looking for her. He walked into the bathroom to shower, only to catch a glance of something in the bin.

White, a white base with a blue end, was his wife on drugs? He wondered, picking it out, and his world stopped spinning.

No, his wife was not on drugs. He held the object in his hand, eyes wide, looking down at the one line in its window. Had she really expected to be pregnant? After all this time? After all this trying? She shouldn't even hope, he thought, not with the amount of cigarettes she’d smoke on the daily, or the fact they just barely have sex anymore.

She came home late that day, not really looking his way once she did. The moment his eyes met hers, it was as if all hell had broken loose. He stood in front of her, throwing the pregnancy test on the table beside her, waiting for her to explain with wide eyes, filled with rage, maybe even horror. 

The woman swallowed, looking down at the test, before letting out a sigh. “..i had symptoms.” 

Sunghoon almost laughed in her face, his hand gripping his phone almost so tight that his own fingers shook with pain. “Symptoms? You think you can get symptoms?” he said back at her, in a biting tone, as if he was mocking her. She looked up at him, her eyes slightly glossing up at the sight of her own love of her life mocking her for her belief. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, watching his reaction as he waited for her answer. Furry, anger, maybe even pain. “..stop it.” she muttered, her voice barely even audible, like a mouse being confronted by a lion. Her younger self would have never believed this. “Stop it? I should stop- oh my god,” he sighed, facing away from her as he tried to calm himself down, which wasn't really effective.

She shook her head, wiping away the tears that landed on her cheek, only to see him looking at her again, this time, a more composed expression. She stared back at him, his disheveled hair, dark undereyes, she really didn't want to add more to his tiredness. “..goodnight.” she muttered, before heading upstairs. He watched her as she went to their room. He scoffed, kicking at the chair beside him with a curse under his breath. 

He didn't like how easy this all looked for her. How she could just turn her back on everything. He did too. But he convinced himself that it was different, that he had other things to worry about other than kids and pregnancy and parents in law, unlike her.

Sunghoon came home late the same night he jumped over the bridge, guilt consuming him from the inside out, and oh how he hated the feeling of wet clothes sticking to him. It was cold, and he for sure was trembling on his walk back home, barefoot. All he wanted to do now was go home and cry about it quietly on the balcony while he drank more. 

He stepped into the porch, wiggling the door handle. Closed. He wiped away at his face, the silver ring still clutched tightly into his own hand, he didn't want to touch his pocket and find that the keys were gone. He looked around for where the spare key was placed, stumbling and mumbling under his breath, the water dripping from him to stain the wooden porch underneath him. He didn't care if his neighbours saw him and thought that he was crazy, that was a matter to worry about  another time.

He finally found it, under the carpet, which was drenched in water now. He placed it in the key hole, and opened the door, stepping into the warm, familiar smelling house. The water left a trail of where he went as he walked deeper into the living room, eyes falling on the woman sitting down on the couch across from him, staring back. His eyes fell on the papers on the table beside her, divorce papers, he just got even more anxious. She didn't even think about asking where he’d been, why he was drenched from head to toe like he’d been drowning and his faint smell of alcohol, when he stepped towards her in front of her seat, and falling to his knees.

Her eyes widened, hands on his arms almost as if she was about to hold him before he fell but she was too late. He looked up at her through blurry eyes, his gaze glossy, looking at her with that same gaze again, like she was the only girl in the world. “..sunghoon, get up..” she muttered, watching as he shook his head, tears rolling down his cheeks.

He sniffed, hands gripping the blanket on her lap tightly, burying his face in her lap, forehead against her stomach. He sobbed, and she could feel his tears making her clothes damp. She swallowed, her hand gently going up to brush his hair away from his face. 

“..baby,” she muttered, watching as he just continued crying on her lap. He felt suffocated, and the fact that he was now in her embrace made him feel better. But he knew it wouldn't last long, it never did. He didn't care if he was going to wake up sick tomorrow, he didn't care if she found this weird after all he said to her hours back, he didn't want to lose her, that's what he knew. 

“..im sorry,” he sobbed, hands wrapping at her waist, begging her, just for one more night. He didn't want her to leave, he wasn't ready to let her go, he knew she wasn't either, so he had to make her stay. “Please don't leave,” he said, burying his face deeper into her stomach. She could almost feel his fingers trembling around her, or the fact that his lips were turning slightly blue.

She looked at the papers on the table, her fingers twitching, her hand raised as she reached for them, but she didn't. Instead, her hand dropped on the top of his head. “..youre freezing,” she said in a quiet voice, picking up the blanket off her lap and wrapping it around him. He stayed in that position, crying his heart out. 

He could still remember the way she would laugh when they would sneak away from class together, or the way they painted the abandoned nursery room pink together, and how they got paint everywhere. He didn't want any of it to end, and even though it might never happen again, he still clung to the very small slither of hope he had. She still meant the world to him. Even if it would never be like before.

It was supposed to be an important day for her. For them. But it really felt like it wasn't one anymore. She didn't even know why she bought the chocolate cake from the grocery store, it wasn't like anyone else would eat it with her. She sat on the dining table, staring at the cake like it knew all the secrets of life, like it would explain to her that all she went through would be rewarded, but it wasn't. 

It sat there, an unlit candle slightly off centre staring back at her with a laugh full of mockery. The cigarette between her fingers filled the room with smoke, and every time she felt like she couldn't breathe, she would take a puff, then she would feel like she could breathe again. She didn't even know why she bothered to bring the cake. He wouldn't even acknowledge it.

The chair across from her stayed empty. The cake became warm, even the walls felt too quiet, like the house itself stopped trying to comfort her. She looked down at her hands– pale, chipped, old nail polish clinging to the edges. It reminded her of how he used to paint her nails. Used to. Before the silence, before the baby, before everything. 

Her gaze fell on the figure across from her, giving it a small smile through weary eyes. She placed the cigarette on the table, letting out a tired sigh. “You know..” she whispered, voice creaking like old wood, “i would have gotten you a dinosaur cake, you liked them right?” 

She let out a breathy laugh, it was weak and humourless. “Stupid, isn't it? Chocolates are more adult.”

She stayed silent, fingers playing with the wood of the table, which made her feel sick,yet comfortable at the same time. “..you wouldn't have liked how your dad drank,”  she muttered, teary eyes looking back up at whoever was seated on the chair. Which was empty, but her brain told otherwise. 

“..you would have hated me.” she whispered, letting out a laugh while wiping away her tears.

Sunghoon stood by the entrance to the kitchen, watching as she talked to..no one. At first, he thought that she was on the phone, and was saying some stuff while she was high on her cigarette to her mom or her friend, but she wasn't. A half eaten chocolate cake with an unlit candle on it, the cigarette’s ashes on the table, and he looking at whoever the fuck was across from her. Nobody.

He stared at her, and when she realised his presence she turned to stare back at him. He walked towards her, eyes narrowed with a hint of softness in it. “..i told you to cut down on the cigarettes–" she cut him off before he was able to pull away her cancer stick, shaking her head. “It's our anniversary.” he paused his movements, looking back at her, almost letting out a scoff, staring at her with wide eyes.

“You’re high,” he said matter of factly, stepping away from her and taking the pack of cigarettes on the table. “Im not high,” she said through teary eyes, and it looked like she was going to reach for the pack he snatched away from her, but she took his hand instead. 

“Its our anniversary,” 

She pleaded, begging him to hear her or even just stay. He looked away from her, pulling her off of him and throwing the pack of cigarettes into the bin. His back was now facing her, and she looked at him like he was the only thing she missed in the world. She hated how he didn't even look into her eyes for long, or how he never actually spent the night at home. She missed the younger him, and she definitely missed the younger her. 

A quiet while went by after her words, he just stared at the bin, thinking of what to even reply with. “..go to bed,” he muttered after a pause, leaving the kitchen without another word.

The young boy watched as she passed by with her friends, his eyes only on her, it was like she was enchanting him with a spell, maybe she wasn't, but he felt like it. She was beautiful.  And all it took from him to look away from her was a quick glance from her. His eyes fell on the floor, before they darted over to his friend, Jake. 

“Dude,” he whispered, holding in his laugh, which was let out once Sunghoon nudged him with his elbow. Sunghoon didn't dare to look back, leaning against his locker. “How many times have I told you to not laugh so loudly,” he muttered quietly, eyes slightly narrowed. 

Jake shrugged, still looking at the group of girls walking by, “dude she totally wants you,” he said back, ignoring Sunghoon’s comment on his voice's volume. Sunghoon swallowed, his cheeks warming up slightly at the mention of the girl he liked, liking him back. Jake continued “You should just take her with you into those old classrooms and hit–” the boy let out a loud gasp as he looked at his best friend's gaze, eyes wide with shock. Or maybe even pure disbelief.

“What?” Sunghoon asked, a confused look on his face as he looked the boy up and down, trying to figure out if he just pissed his pants, or a rat was in there. “Dude you're totally blushing,” Jake pointed to his face, making Sunghoon frown. 

“What?” Sunghoon repeated, this time more flustered than confused as he tried to deny it, but Jake was already jumping all over the place, rushing to Jay, who’s walked by. “Jay! You wont believe this!!” “jake no, shut up” Sunghoon attempted to grab his hand, but the skinny boy only ended up being pulled towards them.

Jay looked between the two, a skeptical expression on his features “did you actually put viagra into Ms. Kate’s tea?” he muttered, waiting for confirmation as he looked at the two youngins. “No, because this coward forgot them,” Jake shook his head, poking at Sunghoon's head, who just looked away in embarrassment. Not at the fact that he forgot to bring the viagra, he had trouble like that the whole time, but it was in fact because Jake caught his little crush. 

“So this fella here has a crush on that girl from, um” Jake paused, trying to remember her class name, he didn't even know her actual name. He didn't bother paying any attention to the girls’ names in school. 

“Tenth grade second?” Jay asked, looking back at Sunghoon, whose eyes went wide that he knew which class she was in. While Jake frowned, looking between the two. “What? You told him and not me?!” Jake asked, eyes darting back at sunghoon.

“How the hell did you find out?” Sunghoon took a step back in disbelief, ignoring Jake’s looks of confusion. “Dude you stare at her like shit during her football practice.” Jay shrugged, making Jake’s mouth form an “O” shape in understanding. “Is that why he begged me to go out to the fields with him when they had that competition?” Jay burst out laughing, facing away from the two. “Oh my god heeseung’s going to have a field day with this!” he brushed his hair away from his face, making sunghoon shake his head, eyes frantic.

“His sister is in her class, no?” Jake muttered, pulling Sunghoon closer and wrapping his arm around his shoulder. They clearly didn't look suspicious skipping class and making a little circle while they talked in low voices. You would think they were exchanging condoms.

“Nah they got beef,” Jay said, shaking his head, looking towards Sunghoon “i think there’s more to why Heeseung doesn't let you over to his house,” he said, taking a sip of his water bottle, which wasn't actually filled with water, instead with some old beer.

“Yeah that bullshit about how his parents don't like having anyone they don't know over is so clearly a lie.” Jake shrugged, his voice lower as he looked back at Sunghoon. Sunghoon just listened, before he spoke, shaking his head “what does that have to do with..her?” he muttered with a small frown, his hand moving to grab the beer full bottle and taking a sip from it. 

“My theory is that Heeseun’s sister likes you, and she’s beefing with your future girl.” he said, and Jake continued “which means that she actually might like you back. Somehow,” he said the last word in a joking manner, earning a push away from Sunghoon.

“So are you going to hit or not?” Jay asked, a small smirk on his lips, listening as Jake continued “yeah she’s some hot shit man,” "Don't talk about her like that,” Sunghoon muttered, looking away with a small furrow of his eyebrows. “Aww he’s down bad,” Jay teased, earring a coo from Jake, and a groan from sunghoon.

The next time Sunghoon had ran into the girl of his dreams was when she bumped into him during lunch, his juice half spilling over her.

She let out a small gasp, taking a step back and looking at her shirt. The one she had spent all her summer savings on. She looked up at the offender, only to see that he was still staring at her, not a thought in his head. How pathetic of him, he thought, he couldn't even say a simple word to her. 

“You ruined my shirt,” she said, really trying not to sound arrogant or mean, but the boy was just staring at her like a deer caught in headlights. He opened his mouth to move it, only for no words to come out. He really tried.

She swallowed, letting out a sigh before shaking her head, “whatever,” she muttered, walking away, back to her friends’ table.

When Sunghoon took a seat at a small table, he looked at Jay, almost in tears. “I couldn't even apologise to her,” he whispered, looking at the older man with a plain expression. “What, you knocked her up?” Jay said his question was a bit more serious, causing Jake to turn to them.

“Sunghoon knocked a girl up?” He said, a little too loudly, that if anyone was listening closely, they would be able to hear. Sunghoon's eyes widened, looking between the two and shaking his head. “What? No!” He exclaimed, shaking his head and putting the fork that he’d picked up a few seconds ago, back down.

“I bumped into her and I couldn't apologise,” he explained with a hushed tone, watching as Jake nodded his head in understanding. “My bad,” Jay said, taking a bite of his cold pizza. “This is nasty as hell,” he muttered, putting it back down.

“she probably figured it out dude, I heard she was the top of her class,” Jake added, taking a sip of his chocolate milk. Sunghoon let out a groan, covering his face with his hands in embarrassment. “Im so pathetic,” 

“Yeah right,” Jay chuckled, looking around, his eyes falling on the principal walking in with the same teacher they pulled the prank on. “Yo guys,” he muttered, catching the attention of the two as the teachers scanned around. 

“Yeah we should probably go,” Jake whispered a bit louder, grabbing his bag and standing to leave the cafeteria through the second door, the other two mimicking his actions. 

Once they got to a “teacher safe” area, Jay frowned, looking between the two. “How the hell did they find out?” He asked in a hushed whisper, taking out the leftover drug he kept in his bag, he needed to get rid of it.

“You need to get rid of that,” Jake noted, eyes falling on the blue and red coloured box. “Yeah no shit,” Jay retorted back in a whisper, looking around for anything 

to dispose of the pills.

Sunghoon clenched his jaw, hands slightly trembling. “..who even knew except for the three of us?” He mumbled, eyebrows furrowing at the thought of one of the ratting them out. But Jake wouldn't do that, neither would Jay.

“Stuff them in your shoes,” Jay said, taking out the small packs and taking off his shoes, giving some to Jake, and to Sunghoon, who stood there dumbfounded.

“..in our shoes?” “Got a better idea?” Jay muttered, looking straight at Sunghoon and raising an eyebrow, and when the younger one gave no reply, Jay nodded his head. “Right.”

Jake climbed up on the short wall, “we’ll skip tomorrow, they’ll forget about it by next week,” he said, walking and jumping from one wall to another, the other two just behind him. 

When the three were far enough from the school, Sunghoon sat down on a bench, looking at the two. “..Lee Heeseung,” he said, suggesting that Heeseung was the one who told them. Jay looked back at Sunghoon, his expression shifting in realisation. “He was there when we were talking,” Jake said, in disbelief and slight denial that Heeseung would do this to them.

Jay kicked a random rock, shaking his head. “Your dad’s going to tweak if he finds out.” Jay said, still looking at Sunghoon, who clutched his fists at the idea.

“We can't let anyone find out,” Jake said, shaking his head. “They probably already told him,” Sunghoon sighed, eyes on the floor. He didn't regret doing what he did. He never did. What he felt now was anger. At the fact that his supposed “friend” snitched on him and how his dad probably found out, and is preparing to transfer him to another school.

“..we can't just let him be,” Sunghoon shook his head, looking up at Jay, who was already deep in thought. “..we can't, he’s a chaebol, we’ll be dead if we touch him.” “But Sunghoon is too!” Jake retorted, standing with the idea that they should definitely gang up on Heeseung for snitching.

“Jake, me and you have no one backing us up. Be for real.”

“Sunghoon's dad knows us—”

“Sunghoon's dad hates us.” Jay replied, his mouth only slipping out the harsh truth by accident. Sunghoon put his hand on top of his head, looking around, his eyes falling on a girl taking a regular stroll in the park. Lee Heeseung's little sister.

He nudged Jake with his elbow, gesturing for him to look at who he saw, and Jay looked as well, on instinct. Sunghoon's plain expression matched with Jake’s slightly angered ones, but Jay chuckled, standing up. Once the girl passed by them, he stood in front of her, hands in his pockets like she owed him all the money in the world.

“Im surprised Heeseung let you out here, all alone.” He said, watching as the girl, Lee Haerin, looked at whoever was sitting on the bench, eyes stilling on Sunghoon, who looked at her like she was just some white wall.

She let out a sigh, looking at Jay “what do you want?” “Your brother,” Jake said, standing up and also walking towards them, his glare on her more stern than the one on Jay’s.

The girl clutched her bag strap tightly, not knowing how to reply, only for Jake to continue speaking. “Do you know how much dirt I have on Heeseung? I could take away his little dream of taking over his father's company by him going to juvie for life.” He hissed, in a moment of pure rage.

The girl took a step back, caught off guard from Jake's words, the boy who would always acknowledge her when no one else would, not even Sunghoon. “..leave me alone.”  she said, walking past them and avoiding bumping into Jake successfully. 

“Pussy,” Jake muttered, walking back to the bench, letting out sigh in frustration. “She's going to go around saying some bullshit now.” Jay said, walking back towards the two "I don't care,” Jake muttered, shaking his head. 

Sunghoon hadn't gone home that night, opting to stay at Jay’s instead of going home to get yelled at. He stared at the ceiling from a mattress laid out on the floor, his fingers going over the feel of the shirt he borrowed from the older. 

“What if we actually go to juvie?” “for what?” Jay replied to Jake in almost a scoff, not really thinking whatever they did was a crime.

“Possession of drugs without licence,” Jake started listing, sitting up to look at the older. “And reckless endangerment.” He said, putting his pillow on top of his lap, leaning his head against the wall behind him.

“How much time?” Jay asked, a bit more aware that he could go to juvenile, what was even worse was that his 18th birthday was after a few months. “..nine months at most for good behaviour.” Jake replied, catching the attention of Sunghoon. “How do you even know this?” “My dad had all those books about them.”

The next morning, Sunghoon opened the door, which was being knocked on for almost the past thirty minutes. He didn't think about who it would be, and his expression quickly changed when he saw who it was.

“What the hell Sunghoon! They're looking all over the place for you.” The girl hissed in a low voice, the same girl that he’d thought about not being able to see again all night.

He stood there, hair messy and shirt on the verge of hanging off his shoulders. He didn't reply at first, his confused frown deepening, how did she know where Jay lived? He wasn't even able to ask. All he could hear next was her sweet beautiful voice that soothed his ears like honey. Though he couldn't fathom what she was saying.

“Are you even listening to me?” She huffed, clicking her fingers in front of his face. Before he shook his head, moving to the side to let her in. It was cold. 

Her eyes fell on the other two boys on the floor, sleeping deeply, at peace, before she looked back at Sunghoon. “..your dad’s at school, he’s making hell of it,” she said in a whisper this time, watching as he stood still by the door after closing it, not moving a muscle, just staring back at her. 

“..let him be,” Sunghoon finally mustered after a while, shrugging as he took a seat on the couch across from hers. “..the cops are going to get involved, Sunghoon.”

And that's exactly what happened when he and Jay almost beat Lee Heeseung to death. He still fought back stubbornly, landing punches on them and defending himself. But he was overpowered, especially scared at the fact that Jay brought a small knife with him. 

Jake stood watch in the small shadow between the brick walls, and all he could hear for a while was sounds of grunts and hits, before a loud scream. 

Sunghoon let out a scoff, grabbing the nearest brick and shoving it into Heeseung's mouth while he writhed in pain from how Jay pierced his thigh with the knife. And it all seemed alright for the two for a few seconds, till they heard police sirens.

Their eyes had widened, Jake jolting from his place to look at the group hidden in the dark end of the alleyway. Too close. They were too close for any escape method. And all Sunghoon and Jake could do was look at Jay for something to do. What could they do?

What did he do? Looking back at them with eyes that teared slowly, removing the brick from Heeseung's mouth, he looked between the two, hand gripping the knife lightly.

“Go.” 

“What?” 

“I said go. Now,” Jay ushered, pushing them away, he needed them to run. Sunghoon swallowed, the sirens too loud in his ears for him to be able to register anything. “Let’s just go Jongseong,” he shook his head, not realising that Jake had taken his hand, knowing he won't be able to pull away on his own.

“I’ll be alright.” Jay reassured, giving the two a quick hug, though Sunghoon wasn't able to let go. He held onto the older tightly, he didn't want to let go. Jay stood there, unable to do anything as his lips trembled, feeling Jake pull Sunghoon away from him by the waist.

Sunghoon objected, shaking his head and yelling Jay’s name while the other dragged him away, unable to look at the scene. They turned into a closed off alleyway, and while Sunghoon was busy being a crybaby over the older brother figure he had lost, Jake leaned over at a corner of a wall, emptying his stomach. The screams, the blood, the cops, he was scared of all of it. So scared he vomited

They somehow found themselves back at Jay’s cabin, only to find her. Sunghoon wasn't able to say anything, just staring at her with tearshot eyes while Jake clenched his jaw, speaking in a coarse voice. “..the cops will be here soon.” The girl’s expression changed, her long lashes drooping with slight guilt once she was able to figure out what happened.

Jake had returned back to his older brother's house, which was obviously safer than whatever was waiting for Sunghoon back home. It would only get worse.

So she took him back to her house, and snuck him into her room. “.. don't make a lot of sound,” she said, closing the window once he was inside, taking the first aid kit out of her nightstand drawer.

Her eyes fell back on Sunghoon, giving him a small smile before she spoke. “You could get an infection,” she said in a low voice, opening the kit and taking out what was required.

He looked back up at her, eyes tear stained and droopy, from crying. Her face somehow soothed his pain, opting to stare at it instead. 

“.. it's not your fault.” She said, the q-tip in her hand gently grazing the bruise on his forehead. Before he let out a sob. She halted her movements, looking back down at him, only to see that he looked away from her, holding in his cry, soft sniffles filling up the room. 

Her hands slowly made their way to his head, caressing his hair, she felt him lean his forehead on her stomach. He cried on her there, convincing himself that it was his fault, that he never even should have come up with the idea of drugging his teacher's tea.

He’d just lost Jay. The older brother he’d never had. Sure, they would argue a lot and Jay would never pay him back for the money he gave, but the fact that Jay had sacrificed his future for them showed that he cared. Jay was the home Sunghoon went to when his father drank his ass off and started blowing up the whole house. Heck, Sunghoon felt more at home with him than with his parents. 

Maybe it was his parents’ neglect that he’d turned out like this. Or maybe it was that they were so strict with him he’d found life when he befriended Jay and Jake after he went into highschool. Whatever they had done was a terrible job. Whether at controlling his actions, or preventing them.

He’d started spending the nights at the girl's house, he met her parents and the two came up with petty excuses to make him spend the night. He never went back home to his parents anymore. Sure, he’d gotten himself, along with Jake, suspended after Jay convinced the cops the pills weren't his, but he avoided going back to that hell hole.

She offered the comfort he’d always needed, filling up a hole in his heart after a part of it had been ripped away. He loved her. She might have loved him too, that's what she said when they went to the park late at night, playing on swings and laughing.

“..i love you.” She muttered in a low voice, her hand caressing his knuckles, looking at him from under the slide. His eyes widened, his cheeks becoming red now that she’d confessed. He’d wished for times like this.

“..really?” He asked, his eyes wide, filled with hope and looking at her like she was the only star in the universe, like she was the light he’d found when suddenly all the lights in his world were turned off. Like she was his.

“..i love you too.”

But he barely said those words these days. Not even after their marriage. He’d missed their anniversary, hated everyone, and now his wife talked to their baby's ghost.

He laid down next to her on the bed, seeing her sleep peacefully, tear stains running down her cheeks. He needed a drink. That's what he always needed at this time of the day. Except today, he decided to actually stay the night. 

He walked down the creaky stairs, unbothered to even fix them, he didn't care about what went on in this hell of a house now. He saw the way it mocked him, say the way it laughed at him, or his wife, whenever they argued.

He sat down on the dining table after he took out his whiskey bottle, pouring some for himself on a glass, and starting to drink his ass off.

His first glass was alright. He felt like it only made him more aware. He could see how the lights flickered slightly, or how the photo of him and the supposed woman of his dreams on their wedding day. The happiest day of his life.

The second glass started to bite more than it regularly did, he felt closer to cloud nine than he was to the floor, and it made him feel better. He poured another glass.

The third glass made him stare blankly at the edge of the table, eyes stinging with tears he couldn't even register. One more glass wouldn't hurt, right?

Wrong. It hit him like a truck. Like a wasp had stung his heart. Like he was suddenly living the worst nightmare of his teenage years. He was suddenly so much like his father. That glass made him recognise that. 

He sniffed, the tears rolling down his cheeks burning his nose from the inside. Maybe it was from the alcohol, he didn't know. 

He put the glass down, looking down at his ring. He was such a horrible husband. He didn't deserve her. She deserved anyone but him. His younger self wouldn't believe this, but maybe they weren't the perfect match he’d always thought they were.

He knew he married young, that he was already in the beginning of his thirties with a wife of five years. All of this isolation and coldness towards her because she’d lost their kid? She lost it too. It wasn't fair he was mad at her for something they both had lost. Maybe he was mad at himself because whenever they tried again for a kid, it wouldn't work. Or maybe it was because a part of him wished it’d never happen, that they wouldn't have anything else to lose. So that he wouldn't feel what he felt or he wouldn't see the state she was in all over again.

Sunghoon knew he was wrong for shutting her out like that, the way he kept her waiting for him every other night after that incident happened and sleeping on the couch, only for him to come home to go straight to work. He barely slept those days, she slept feeling hated.

He didn't know why he got mad when she shut him out as well. He’d remember the times she used to cry quietly in his embrace because of a small thing, now she cried with cigarettes between her fingers and the door left unlocked. He wanted her to keep trying, to win him back. But he was already a lost cause, she didn't even know what she was trying to win back. His heart knew it loved her, yet his brain hated her, for whatever reason.

The man stood up, his hazy steps making their way up the stairs again, maybe he was drunk, he didn't care. He didn't care if she saw him as well. He knew where she hid those papers. He entered the abandoned nursery room, stopping behind the door once he was inside. Sunghoon looked around, his heart clenching and squeezing itself. He painted this room with her. He set up all the curtains and the play table with her. When he still believed his love days weren't over.

He opened the closet, his eyes falling on the small folder in the back of it, tucked discreetly behind the unused toys. He took it out, hands trembling as he opened it. The shaking either from alcohol, or he was actually nervous. He would get shaky when he doesn't take his cigarettes as well. Divorce papers. A jury signature written on it, with her name at the top. All he needed to do was sign them. She never showed them to him. Not when he came back crying to her that night. Not when he apologised and begged her not to leave on his knees. She thought that maybe she would give him a second chance. And while she still didn't leave, she would think about them everyday. 

Sunghoon took a pen, which he somehow kept,  out of his pocket, hands shakily signing the papers. He did it. He signed them. Were they divorced now? Was he free from the everlasting guilt of not being able to fulfil his duty as a husband? For not being able to feel like she deserved the world? For making he feel like it was her fault? No. It didn't feel like it. Maybe it would haunt him forever, more so with the thoughts that the kids he never had would have hated him as a father.

Maybe it was fate that he didn't have kids. Did he even believe in it? He used to believe that they were fated together for life. But maybe they weren't. Their martial conditions now said otherwise. That fate didn't have their backs and maybe he was wrong in everything.

He would still inherit money even though his job does him good. He would still have available options for marriage, like the woman his mother suggested to him back when he opened up about wanting to get married. Actually no, he wouldn't marry her. He didn't want to marry anyone else. He was a coward and he was afraid that all of this would happen again.

He just hoped that her mental state would get better now that he's leaving. No worrying about having kids or questions that asked about how long they were married. Maybe he’d leave her all his money for her to go to a therapist. She wasn't alright. He knew he was the reason for all of her hurting. He wanted to be the reason that she was alright. That she was okay again.

He stood up again, leaving the room, only to instinctively walk into the one she was sleeping in. He stared at her form. Clad in an old shirt with her hair away from her face. She was still the same from high school. Except now she had dark undereyes, and most of her hair had fallen out. Stressed because of him? It was an understatement. 

“..I'm sorry.” he muttered, though he didn't know if she would be listening or not. His shoulders gave up, he could just feel her pain through the way she clutched onto the blanket tightly. His heart itched for him to go towards her, maybe give her one last kiss before he left, or even rip the papers and sleep in her embrace like a baby. But his body wouldn't. It simply turned around and left the room, walking back down the dreaded staircase. 

He stumbled, leaning on the wall for a moment. It wouldn't stop. The constant nagging, the laughs, the mockery, it was all still there. It was like his brain turned against him. I rejected him in his own body. The pain throbbing in his head was bad. It was like he’d already gotten a hangover, except for the fact that he was still drunk. 

He swallowed back the vomit that was inching up his throat, walking towards the dining table, steps so slow that it looked like he was dreading this moment. He took his ring off of his swollen ring, his hands sweaty, even in this cold house. He didn't want to have a panic attack right here right now. He hated the feeling. He just wanted the sounds to stop. So he placed the ring back on the table, then left without a second glance.

Sunghoon went for a swim that night.

He also appeared in the newspapers the next morning.

[fanfic-obsessed]

Crack Grude Match

I had an idea for an undeniably crack grudge match. Consider this:

Ra’s Al Ghul vs. The Joker…but

Not for the reasons you would think.  Just bare with me. Also no cannon was consulted in the making of this. 

When Tim Drake is ten years old he is abducted by Joker and Harley Quinn, who turn him into Joker Junior. They hold him captive for 6 months, no one notices (a series of unfortunate computer errors saw him dropped from the teachers roster so his absence is not noted).  However Tim is not quite as broken as The Joker or Harley thinks he is and when they try and get him to kill a random man he shoots The Joker and escapes. Then Tim, 10 years old, found a sketchy shady doctor to pay to fix the damage The Joker did and, for Sketchy Shady Doctor reasons, did not report that he had to do plastic surgery on a 10 year old. Tim deprogrammed himself. 

The bats did not know that there was even a boy who had been turned into Joker Junior until years after the fact. After Harley left the Joker for good, she mentioned it to Bruce and Dick. Neither she nor Joker ever knew the real name of the boy they took.  Nor did Tim, later, let her get a good look at him. 

History continued on. Jason was killed by Joker. Tim became Robin. Jason came back. Bruce was lost. Tim brought Bruce back. 

All without anyone but Tim ever knowing what happened to the little boy who was tortured into becoming the Joker’s son. Then at some point post Bruce Quest the Joker escapes Arkham and gets a good look at Red Robin, somehow recognizing the young adult as Joker Junior.  Joker goes to recapture his son, and bring him home.  All the Bats are there, as is Harley (because I want her there for this). Unfortunately Ra’s with his ninjas also attack, aiming to capture Tim.  Ra’s says something to Tim that is very decidedly creepy and sexual.

I do want to note here, Joker does genuinely love both Junior and Harley. He is an abusive, toxic piece of shit and his love is equally toxic but he does love them in the only way he is capable. 

Joker hears the comment made by Ra’s.  Now Joker has precisely one(1) paternal instinct. That instinct is ‘creepy old dude is hitting on my son. I must attack’

So very abruptly this went from like a four way fight (The Bats, The Joker and his Gang, The Sirens, and Ra’s and his Ninja’s) to the Joker snapping around to where Ra’s was standing going “What the fuck did you just say about my son” and signal his goons to curb stomp the Ninja’s (The Ninja’s are highly trained, but the Goons are very high on Joker venom and no one goes to work for the Joker who is well adjusted). In the confusion Ra’s exits stage left. 

Joker turns to Red Robin, “Sonny boy, we’re gonna hafta catch up later. Papa needs to go dismember an old pervert. Don’t worry though, Papa’ll find you and we’ll get you looking healthy again in no time.” Then the Joker stalks off to hunt down Ra’s Al Ghul. 

Everyone else stares at Red Robin awkwardly. Red Robin has gone really pale. Then Harley takes half a step toward RR and goes “JJ?” 

Tim jerks at the sound (like he had been electrocuted) a quiet ‘Mama’ and half a giggle escapes before Tim claps his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound (hard enough that there would be bruises along his upper lip). It is now time for Tim to have a massive breakdown as he contends with the simultaneous panic attacks coming from the idea that the Bats will know about JJ, The Joker knows he’s Red Robin and seems to want him back, and the realization that he is not as healed from his childhood trauma as he thought. 

The Bats and the Sirens get Tim somewhere safe and quiet.  Tim is hyperventilating, trying not to start laughing or fall into a JJ mindset.  Harley visibly longs to pull Tim into a hug and comfort her son. She is also deeply aware of the fact that, even if Tim wanted comfort from her its because she helped torture him until he began to associated her with being a mother. 

I have no idea where this would go from here. I just wanted the Joker’s one redeeming quality to be ‘Going to have a grudge match against a creep old man for hitting on Tim, his teenage son’

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

if Crozier had a nickel for every time someone close to him kept a mortal wound secret from him he'd have two nickels which isn't a lot but it's definitely enough to give him some very specific trauma for the rest of his life

[not-equippedforthis]

really love characters who have varied panic responses. kirk stating himself that he does not panic outright, externally, not in high-stress dangerous situations, but instead becomes tense and level like a wound string, on-guard: mostly because his role as captain necessitates that he maintain level rationality even when facing potential death as his training as 'the guy who tells you what to do when shit hits the fan' requires, but also because his childhood experiences taught him early that drowning in the desperate haziness of panic won't help you survive. especially as kirk already follows his intuition so deeply. he learned to grasp and contort the feeling. spock is the main person who represses his emotions, of course, but kirk does it to those deep-set, personal ones (this includes how he doesn't reveal anything truly personal about himself willingly 90% of the time, only what others already know/shallow anecdotes) in a much more subtle way that's really interesting to me. certified expert at avoiding the subject as long as he isnt caught out on the lie. professional bluffer.

in terms of past or parents we dont know much!!! hes known as the heart-on-his-sleeve guy!!! like yes he yells, he gets irritated, excited, hes a whirlwind of quick-thinking and plans and intuition, he goes out of his way to connect with his crew and shows it, when he puts on a little act or bluff he puts his heart into it and clearly enjoys the dramatics so much, at times he wears his heart on his sleeve, he laughs openly and is honest to spock about what he means to him, he's very sun-coded to me in a burning, passionate way, always intertwined with the stars and seeking them out, but when it comes to genuine deep-set turmoil? we dont actually know all that much about him??? hes so full of emotion and character (i love fics where spock characterises jim's mind/bond as a whirl of colour and sensations, hes a quick thinker!!! intuitive!! lively!!!) and yet its still so outwardly surface level. tarsus iv gets mentioned like twice? so especially here where kirk gets briefly jumpscared by the creature, because like:

its subtle but his eyes. his eyesss!!!!! kirk commands with his emotions but there's always some sort of level of control to it, or he transforms them into something that spurs on others or uses them to ascertain a goal: seeing unguarded fear/distress in his eyes even if its faint and brief (in this instance) makes me go insane every single time. like!!! its such a small moment!!! he isnt even panicking!!! really, he just got jumpscared!!! its insignificant!!!!!!! but seeing a two-second flash of actual, naked apprehension is just...oughhh,,,,,,,,,

oh god, and dont even get me started on the galileo seven episode where he assumes a tense level-headedness throughout the whole thing, irritated and apprehensive but not panicking, making sure he maintains intelligent rationality, even when he has to leave them behind, but when spock and the crew are confirmed safe and the bridge is occupied the camera pans to him and his eyes look like they're fucking watering and he's so achingly relieved. don't even talk to me. im. fuck.

he shows so so much but at the same time reveals so little.

[azzymaxxing]

IFUCKING WIN

[simly-sunshine]

Godlike Diomedes. Brave son of Tydeus. Master of the war cry. Stabbed two (2) gods in the same afternoon.

I’ve decided that he’s scared of needles

[jimmyspades]

Thank you @bhorrormovies for posting this interview. I’m coughing up blood btw

[bookinit02]

a series of events: wrote a piece for open mic night. talked to my favorite professor in class. he says “are you reading tonight?” i say yes. he says “do you know when?” i say girl i have no fucking clue. he says “ok can u read after intermission. bc i’m gonna be there by then and i really want to hear it.” i say okay! then i die.

[volturiprincess]

Have you ever seen a beauty of a man out in real world and then days later as you open tumblr or any social media app you witness fanart of your favorite fictional man dressed just like mentioned man? Yes this happened to me 😌

[kavehayati]

AAAH I have a mutual who’s 18 and he sorta kinda is flirting with this one guy who is a minor as a joke of course ( to which a concerned anon said that it’s weird ) but I can’t help but flashback to er*s

[adhd-merlin]

Ok so, @destielification asked about my Simon Amstell joke, and I'm not going to hijack poor @centurieslove's post but...

(Sorry, this isn't Merlin-related but it's tangentially about Colin Morgan, so it is at least Merlin-adjacent.)

Simon Amstell, if you didn't know, is a British stand-up comedian and certified weird little man.

I'm not, like, a Simon Amstell fan or anything, but I do like stand-up comedy. And I became aware of Simon Amstell some years ago after watching one stand-up show of his on YouTube, which is Do Nothing, which is still available, in fact, and you should definitely watch if you haven't because it's pretty good.

Now Simon's openly gay, and in Do Nothing he talks a lot about his romantic life, or lack thereof, and he jokes a lot about the type of men he finds attractive, who he describes as "ill-thin", "timid" and "vulnerable".

And one of the funniest bits in the show is one where he recounts an extremely awkward encounter with one such man — an actor Simon had "fallen in love with", despite never having talked to him.

So Simon went to see a play starring this actor in the hope of meeting him afterwards and maybe talking to him a bit, which didn't happen.

What did happen, though, is that a few weeks later Simon randomly bumped into the very same actor, love of his life, in a shop. And he decides there and then that it's destiny, and he must shoot his shot. (You can skip the quote below if you intend to watch the show, but I'm pasting it here because it's hilarious).

I saw him there, he hadn't seen me. He was about a metre away from me. There, that thin. And what I thought... For some reason, what I thought would be really cool and seductive would be to just stand in the middle of the shop and shout his full name. He turned round, alarmed. I could see the terror in his eyes, but because I'd started at a certain volume, I thought it'd be too odd to get any quieter. So I'm there just shouting about the good reviews this play has had and he's going, "Oh, I don't really read reviews." And he's all timid and vulnerable, which is why I love him. And I think the difference between us, because I think we were both quite shy as children... I say, "I think" — I did a lot of research on him.

And that man's name? Ben Whishaw. Apparently.

Look, I have no idea who claimed it first. I don't know if Simon admitted it in an interview at some point, or what. But it became An Established Fact™️ that the actor he was talking about was, indeed, Ben Whishaw. And if you watch Simon Amstell's show, and you know about Ben, well. It tracks. It makes perfect sense, actually.

Anyway, Simon talks to Ben, gives him his email address with some excuse or another. Ben promises to email him. And then, he doesn’t. Cue sad noises from the audience.

And that could have been the end of it, except that Simon, certified weird man, decided to be weird about it. And instead of letting it go, he elaborates his trauma by incorporating it into his writing.

And in case you think I'm exaggerating — here's what Simon himself wrote about it some time after the fact, in his own book. Straight from the horse's mouth.

A year later, the actor was in another play at the Royal Court. So I thought I’d give myself one more go at making him love me. I felt I’d written and performed all the insanity out of my head and was now ready for something real. I believed this because it would have been unbearable to accept that after all that transformative, healing comedy, I was still the same lunatic. (source)

So what Simon did was write a sit-com, in which he played a fictionalised version of himself, and in it he put a character called Ben Theodore, a pretentious theatre actor and also, basically, Ben Whishaw. (Like, if you know Ben Whishaw, you cannot not see it. That's him talking.)

But hang on, you might say, I thought this was going to be about Colin? Why are you going on about Ben Whishaw?

Well, Simon, in case you don't remember (and at this point I hope you don't) is also the writer and director of the film Benjamin (BENjamin), starring Colin Morgan as the lead and title character.

A Colin Morgan who, I might say, has something of a young Ben Whishaw about him. And he doesn't play a pretentious actor this time — in fact he plays a version of Simon Amstell himself — but the fact remains that he's exactly Simon Amstell's type, kind of looks like the man Simon was admittedly obsessed with, and even bears his name. And Simon cast him in his film to play himself, which is weird but also funny and very on brand for him, because he's self-obsessed like that.

So, to come back to my joke — I just thought the idea of Simon Amstell developing an obsessive crush on Colin Morgan and going to see The Tempest specifically to see him and missing him was hilarious.

But he did get to have him in his own film, so.

(I can't censure Simon too much for his obsession with Ben because... well, same, and also it resulted in Simon giving us Colin Morgan looking Peak Gay and serving cunt in Benjamin — in his own accent! — and I'll be forever grateful for it).

here's another post about it

[kittychosis]

i just cant stop being angry thinking about the small things that have happened recently and then reflecting back on the bigger warning signs i shouldve paid more attention to

[prosypepper]

sensitive ft. toji fushiguro

to be as strong and high-spirited as you are, toji was definitely caught off-guard when he found you crying for the first time.

it didn’t happen on purpose, either. there was no sign as to why you’d be upset, you hadn’t told him anything all day that could even lead to you being so sad, sobbing hysterically into his pillow.

but that didn’t matter. all toji understood was that you were upset, sad, angry, something; and he needed to make it better. so there he stood, frozen in his tracks for a while, an unfamiliar pang in his chest at your cries—the sound alone almost upset him, for some reason.

you didn’t notice toji until he slid into bed behind you, easily scooping up your body in his arms and moving you around to rest on his chest, your arms still grasping the pillow. your cries got even harder for a second at the realization toji had you.

“hey, hey,” toji spoke, calmly, soft, “what’s wrong, babydoll?”

toji’s brows furrowed when you only sniffled and hyperventilated for a minute, chest heaving as you attempted to catch your breath—to no avail. if it wasn’t for you practically melting into his touch, he would’ve thought he was making the situation even worse.

“baby,” toji whispered, waiting for a moment before pressing your head into the middle of his chest, “breathe.” his palm ran over your head repeatedly, taking big, deep breaths of his own in hopes you’d follow after. he could feel your tears soaking through his shirt, making big, wet spots, but at that moment, he cared for nothing more than to make you feel better.

like magic, your breathing began to slow down, sniffles becoming less frequent, the clutch you had on the pillow softening. toji took a big sigh of relief at that. he held you like that for a solid fifteen minutes, gently rocking you back and forth with his body.

yet toji didn’t count the minutes, he just stayed. stayed until you stopped crying, until your breathing was back to normal, until there was no sign of woe in the room. he rested his chin atop your head for a little, stroking your arm with his fingertips.

“you okay?” toji asked, almost awkwardly, when obviously, you were not okay.

“mhm,” you hummed, eyes open and staring at the window next to your shared bed.

“hey,” toji repeated, drawing his head back, your sad, wet eyes attracted to his like magnets, “none of that. what’s wrong?” just the simple question caused tears to well up in your eyes again, but you blinked them away and sighed.

“don’t know,” you said, resting your head on his chest by yourself that time, “overwhelmed, i guess. and i watched a sad movie. everything jus’ got to me at once.”

toji frowned, knowing he had no idea that life was piling up on you—and he hadn’t done anything to help beforehand.

“‘m sorry, baby,” he apologized, pecking a kiss to the top of your head, “didn’t know you were so stressed.”

“it’s not your fault, toji,” you replied, nuzzling into his chest, “i just suck at communicating.”

“that makes two of us,” he paused, thinking deeply about what to say next, “you can tell me whatever. scream, cry, hit me, i don’t care.”

“toji, i’m not gonna hit you,” you giggled, a smile finally creeping on your face—the smile toji had been waiting for since he first saw you so upset.

and for once in his life, with you in his arms, toji thought he was doing something right.