Send my muse a dream, whether it be a nightmare, a wet dream, a trippy dream, or whatever else and I'll write my muses reaction waking up after that dream.
by now, heās transcended mere drunkenness and entered the realm of completely, utterly shitfacedāand for someone like hansol, a generally frugal consumer of alcohol, the sensation feels as foreign to his now loose, wobbly body as much as it is unpleasant. he focuses solely on keeping the red solo cup uprightā since, by now, processing one action at a time is about all he can mentally handle without instantly forgetting something āand holds the drink closely and protectively against his chest. even with his blond head cast downward so his feet may follow the lines cutting across the concrete sidewalk to the best of their ability, his body still sways and dips precariously on its slow, stumbling journey out of the ballroom and into the labrynthine gardens. the boy nearly trips and falls over nothing but air and shoelaces; he catches himself and miraculously maintains the integrity of the punch, although the ridiculousness of the action fails to coax another slew of drunken giggles from him.
hansolās first school dance has been simply alright. not terrible! really, he has no right to complain aboutā¦ well, pretty much anything. he danced with so many people tonightā friends and strangers alike āso the lack of a real date isnāt behind the bizarre sense of disappointment that continues to balloon larger and larger within his heart. at least, he thinks heās not disappointed about having no date? (maybe heās more disappointed in himself for not summoning up the courage to ask anymore? butā¦ that doesnāt feel completely accurate, either).
having downed one drink past the āone drink too manyā level hours ago, hansol finds that thereās a tiny seed of sadness burrowed into the center of his bubbly, alcohol-fueled frivolity, and itās growing steadily, spreading roots of numbness through the loam of his joyāan unpleasant quickening that appeared around the time he simultaneously met kyungri and was gutted by her, sliced apart by her words like a fish flayed and fileted upon a chefās cutting board. since that terribly unfortunate encounter, hansol hasnāt felt quite the same. emptiness has taken refuge in his core; white noise softens the fun right out of the music blasting from the speakers, and just ten minutes ago he vomited up the entirety of the contents within his stomach into a sink in the menās room. he hadnāt even made it to the toilets in time. and seungwooā¦ he lost seungwoo in the crowd after he ran away to hurl. the loss of his familiar, after spending so much effort to find the boy and having a genuinely wonderful time dancing with him, had stricken hansol with sadness of a surprising intensity.
but then again, perhaps hansolās uncharacteristic sadness had all been caused by that one wordāfather. father, father. hansol doesnāt want to think about it. he doesnāt want to think at allā
thereās one person who he knows, without a shred of doubt, who was having a particularly glum time at tonightās ballāor at least she looked miserable the last time hansol spotted her before the whirl and flash of the dance whisked her out of his range of vision. hansol is done drinking; his stomach, still churning with nausea, tells him that loud and clear. the drink he carries is for herāfor sohee, who had seemed like she needed a drink more than anyone else in attendance.
ā¦and maybe he seeks her companionshipā the warmth of her smile and the familiarity of her perfume ābecause heās starting to feel himself succumbing to sickness and sadness. maybe thatās a little true, tooāthat he currently seeks sohee because thereās always comfort to be found in dear friends, even if one merely stays in their proximity for a while.
āsoheeee!ā hansol slurs, pasting a huge, toothy grin onto his pallid and sweat-dampened face. he stumble-jogs the rest of the way to her, the palm of his hand pressed flat over the mouth of the solo cup to keep punch from sloshing out. he hugs the girl to him, giving her a tight squeeze, before clumsily finding her fingers with his own. he transfers the cup into her hands. āyah, whereāve you beeen? iāve been trying to find sohee allllll niiiiiiight! look, lookāpunch! super yummy! also, hella spikedā¦ not by me, though. ācourse not! but i brought ya some ācause ya looked like you needed a drink. seriously needed. who do i need ta,ā he wobbles, unconsciously leaning against sohee for support. āā¦who do i need ta hex? i can hex his fuckinā face off for my sohee.ā
his easy stretch of a grin and glassy eyes suggest that itās the booze thatās talking all those uncharacteristically violent wordsābut the edge hiding out in his slurring voice, as well as the slight crease of concern that furrows hansolās brows, suggests that heās not beyond raising some hell tonight if it meant sohee got to feel better.
hansol wouldnāt recognize a set-up if one came and punched him right in the face.
so, since fate is just plain mean sometimes, a set-up had to appear out of nowhere, of course, and give him a literal punch in the face.
admittedly, he doesnāt know the guy well. in factā¦ he doesnāt know him more than the familiarity of his visage ā a stern, athletic face passed daily in the hallways and dining hall. huh. now that heās considering the subject, can heā¦ can he even recall the dudeās name? `aaaandā¦ nope. thatās a whole lotta nothing going on in the āremembering namesā department of my brain.` not a good sign, when heās thinking about this so-called āstudy sessionā retrospectively, butā¦ still. hansol simply wasnāt raised to expect everyone to have their default settings cranked all the way up to ājerkā all the time. rather, even if ātotal asshatā is their go-to mode of operation, hansol believes in the fundamental principle of giving people a chance. oh, donāt misunderstand himāthereās definitely people out there whose souls are colored black with irredeemable wickedness, the walls of their hearts marred by malice and the desire to cause harmābut hansol usually has a decent radar sense for those kinds of people, and avoids them like the plague. nevertheless, trust is a fragile concept. trust is delicate. intricate. trust reminds hansol of snowflakes, a little bit; trust is beautiful, and simple sometimes but wondrous the next, and each variant of trust looks different than the last. and, just like winterās tiny shreddings of crystalline ice, trust can melt in an instant.
truthfully, his apprehension for this rapidly deteriorating situation has begun to transmute into a sticky, throat-closing sensation of alarm. the other man whom he agreed to meet hereāāhereā being a secluded, shaded corner of the school gardensālooks a little bit older than hansol. either that, or heās just so darn huge. the guyās a likely candidate for sports, hansol thinksāespecially physical sports, the ones that involve tossing people around like sliver-thin toothpicks. distraction snags at the threads of his racing thoughts, and hansol finds himself staring at the guyās thick, sinewy biceps far longer than he should have. `american football. this guy absolutely plays american football. thatās the one where giant men tackle each other for āfunā, right? ah, jeezeā¦ iām gonna die. he actually thinks heās going to bully me into giving him what he wants, though? wowser. oh. oh, gods. i bet heās aā¦ aā¦ oh, whatās the word again? a linebacker. ah jeeze jeeze jeezeā` he swallows around a tight little knot of nervousness and forces the corners of his heart-shaped mouth up into a smile. even hansol can feel how unconvincing the grin sits upon his lips, about as genuine as cheap plastic.
the guy came up to him and asked if he might possibly have been interested in tutoring him for some extra cash. thatās the reason why hansol finds himself here, perched on the edge of the wrought-iron garden bench in a way similar to how a canary rests upon the swing within its cage, careful and watchful and poised to take flight the moment an opportunity for escape arisesā because heās never really been the tutor before, always the student; and heās totally gullible, yeah; and maybe he was a tad bit too sympathetic for this stranger who claimed to suffer from magical difficulties, too.
āiāmā¦ iām sorry. but i just canāt do that. i m-mean! iād absolutely love to keep on helping you look through your textbooks like this. we can read the information together, and maybe thatās exactly what you need to pass your classes! but, iā¦ i canāt take your exams for you. i donāt even look like you! a-and, um, besidesā¦ thatās cheating. the really serious kind of cheating. we could both be expelled.ā hansol clamps the velvet inside of his inner cheek between his molars, hoping that a smidgen of pain will wake him up and help him puzzle out a solution to what feels more and more like a looming altercation. the manās meaty, square-shaped face reddens with displeasure once the meaning of his words have fully sunken in. hansol lifts his chin defiantlyā¦ and simultaneously squeezes his hands together to quell their trembling. ālook, even if i wanted to cheat for youā¦ iām a witch, not a familiar. i canāt turn into a dog the way you can, okay? so i donāt really see how i could take your testāā
one moment, hansol sits tensely upon the edge of the bench. the next, a firework goes off in his head, and he sprawls across the ground in a stunned, numb mess. the metallic taste of iron coats his mouth; shocked, his brain refusing to formulate thoughts properly, hansol reaches up to probe at his smarting mouth and finds hot, dark blood coating his fingertips when he pulls them away again.Ā āstop, iām sorry, s-stop--ā he croaks, bringing up a crimson hand to shield his face. heās not even sure whatās bleeding. `please, stop, it hurts--` brutal hands take up fistfuls of his blond hair and hansol is hauled back to his feet with a tug that burns his scalp, forced to follow the commands of the man who leads him by his hair and an arm twisted backātoo far backābehind him.
[ ā ā seungwoof š¶Ā ] hey. i know itās like.. 3 in the morning, haha. but um. yeah. how do i phrase this without feeling dumb? or awk. well i guess that you kinda maybe saved me a little bit. is that too melodramatic? ok yeah it totally is, butā¦ itās true. i never thought anyone would want to bond with me. or be my friend, actually. bcuz iāmā¦ well, me? but you donāt seem to mind. thanks!! ā¦.i guess. gods, i dunno what this msg is even about anymore. iām talking to myself. on a text. iām a loser. youāre never going to see this. i hope youāre sleeping well!! iāll try sending good dreams through the brain waves, haha. c: you think itāll work? weāll see tomorrow i guess! youāre my best friend. i want to make you happy always and never disappoint you ever. xxoo
[ ā ā āå½”Ā miss lucyĀ āå½” Ā ] hOW DAR RYOU TRYTO KKLL tHSEPIDERS
[ ā ā āå½” miss lucy āå½” Ā ] ONNT HIER BIRFRTDHAY I CANTKBELivEUTIF
[ ā ā āå½” miss lucy āå½” Ā ] I STOLEBREADfJITCKS FORYOURTRAIOTR
2AM text.Ā ā
[ ā ā āå½” miss lucy āå½” Ā ] iām glad that youāre ok. after the staircase incident, i mean. i know itās a weird time (a really weird time heh;;;) but i think itās good to send ppl my thoughts as soon as i have them so i donāt forget bcuz we all know iām forgetful andā¦ā¦
[ ā ā āå½” miss lucy āå½” Ā ] iām just glad youāre ok. c:Ā
an unsent text.Ā ā
[ ā ā āå½” miss lucy āå½” Ā ] uhmm i kinda donāt know how to say this bcuz i feel awkward but??? i assume that you want your purse back?? orā¦ā¦ do you?? thereās no spiders in it anymore but?? SHOULD I JUST HAND IT TO YOU ORĀ
sendĀ ālie to meā + a question, and my muse will answer it with a complete lie.
nothing could possibly be worse than this. not a single damn thing. he stands there before seungwoo with shoulders curved in and his arms wrapped tightly around his middle, as if there was a black hole swirling in the center of the boyās stomach, slowly eating him up, shrinking him smaller and smaller, from within. the effort he exerts to keep his mouth clamped shut reveals itself as perspiration beading across his flesh, dampening his fair hair and glistening upon his upper lip. a subtle trembling grips his bones and rattles them about, showing in the knees rather than the hands. hansol thinks heās going to become ill. instead of vomit purging forth from his mouth, horrible, horrible lies tear their way out of him instead, burning his throat with the acrid stinging caused by their terrible sharp edges. hansol doesnāt have a mean bone in his body, and yet heās about to shred one of the most important people in his life with unwarranted cruelty. `Ā iām sorry seungwoo-yah, iām so sorry, i donāt mean this, itās a curse, please hear my thoughts, iāĀ `
before the hex can worm the first word off of his tongue and into the air, he begins to cry. he canāt bring himself to look at his familiar. he canāt. so he stares down at his sneakers and lets gravity pull his tears down, and down, until they plip quietly onto the ground. āā¦i hate you. i hate your stupid face. i hate your smile. i hate how it makes me feel. i hate your voice. but i hate your laugh even more. and how you make me laugh. i hate it. i hate the way you wore beat-up converse to the dance. i hate having you in my head. i hate hearing your thoughts, especially when you donāt realize that iām listening. theyāre annoying. they drive me crazy. i hate how you bring band-aids to me whenever i mess up and hurt myself because you care. i hate thatā how much you care. i hate your gentleness; itās weak, pathetic. i hate how much we arenāt alike. i hate how much you donāt balance me out. i hate that youāre my familiar. i wish iād have tripped over you that day in the rain. i wish weād never met.ā
āyou mean nothing to me, seungwoo. less than nothing. i wasnāt lonely before i met you. but now, iāmā¦ā he physically chokes, unwinding his arms from around himself to wipe furiously at his tear-streaked face. itās easier to just let the lies come spilling out in a rush than to fight each and every one, he knows that, but itās stillĀ killing him inside. itās all too much. too untrue. āā¦iām so unhappy. i donāt feel like everything is alright with the world when iām around you. not at all. you make me sickājust looking at you makes me sickāand iā¦ā
hansol touches his familiarās cheek with trembling fingertips. softly, brieflyā and then gone. āi donāt just dislike you, seungwoo. i donāt love you.ā
before he dare say anything else, hansol flees. he runs and runs and runs until heās certain he isnāt being pursued and his legs are aching with lactic acid. he collapses, curling around that black hole of hurt in his gut, and weeps. no lie previously uttered has ever been more hurtfulā or so very, very wrong.
sendĀ ālie to meā + a question, and my muse will answer it with a complete lie.
thereās something wrong with hansol today. he just woke up wrong, inexplicably wrong;Ā heĀ woke with the taste of foul magic in his mouth, bitter and black. itās a sour black taste, a sickly black taste, black like the plague, bubonic and blistering upon his hexed tongue; black with putrescence, burning caustically with the taint of pure lies. thatās exactly whatās wrong with him; heās been nothing more than a lying mess today. each and every word to have left his lips since this morn has been a terrible lie, a lie that cannot be stifled no matter how fiercely he tries to fight the magic that binds him and bears not even a shred of truth, and all of this uncontrollable, incessant lyingāuntruthfulness being one of the few things in this world that the boy despises nearly as much as pointless violenceāhave brought him to the point of feeling physically ill. oh, heās said such awful things to so many peopleā¦ heās got to hide away until the spell breaks and leaves him free to apologize and go about repairing the damage his false words have wrought. maybe if he locks himself away in his dorm roomā
oh, gods noā¦ not her. not sohee. not today. not when his words can only come out opposite to his real, honest feelings.
ācome closer! talk to me! iām going to mean everything i say to you!ā he shouts at her in a blind panic, hands cinching tight around his own throat with the intent to strangle himself into silenceā¦ but itās no use, of course. with tears pricking the corners of his eyes like slivers of ice, hansol gives his head a violent shake and appears to choke and gag on nothing but his own breath. `iām so sorry, soheeā¦ iām so, so sorryā¦ but i canāt stop myself, iām cursedā `
āof course your parents donāt miss you. youāre the worst daughter anyone could ever be burdened with, sohee. why do you even bother trying so hard? gods, youāre such a fake. you could read a thousand books and stillāā he audibly chokes, grinding his thumbs down into his windpipe in a desperate attempt to stop stop stop. silent tears bead into rivers that trickle down his cheeks, and hansol yanks at his hair so hard it stings, but his own traitorous mouth still refuses to shut up. he canāt bear to look at her. he loves this sweet girl so much, and he canāt stand to watch as he hurts her, one of his best friends, with his own poisonous words. āā¦s-still not be aā¦ a goodā¦ person.ā
āiā¦ i d-donātā¦ appreciate the time youā¦ youā¦ spend ā¦ with me. i hate our study sessions. you o-onlyā¦ bother me. patronize me. y-youāre aā¦ a k-know-it-allā¦ and Ā iā¦ h-hā¦hateā¦ you. looking at your face m-makes me sick. if iā¦ if everyoneā¦ despises you, then w-whyā¦ w-wouldā¦ your parentsā¦ miss youā¦? they donāt even love you.ā
āi donāt love you, either. iā¦ i wishā¦ that weād never met.ā
he canāt take it anymore, not when trying to say anything else will only wound sohee further. āiām so not sorry,ā he whispers. hansol hides his tear-streaked face in his hands and runs away from poor sohee as fast as his legs will carry him.
okay, so i finally went and replied to all of the plotting messages in my inbox! ALL of them! we should be ready to go, my lovelies! (which means that if you didn't get anything, tumblr mobile ate it and you can come punch me on this post to get my attention ok--)
āiāve got more of āthe stuffā you wanted,ā hansol whispersāwell, itās an attempt at whisperingāinto seolhyunās ear, barely managing to choke down another round of drunken giggles that threaten to spill forth from his throat. he stands there beside his friend, excitedly rocking back and forth upon the balls of his feet as he beams with a sort of cheeky, childish delight. heās doing something delinquent. daringly delinquent, as far as his inebriated mind is concerned. an act of deviance heās never commited beforeānever even fathomed committing beforeāand will absolutely vow to never do again the moment heās sobered up and can torment himself with self-inflicted guilt. yup, thatās right ā hansol fibbed. he told a little white lie to a waiter, pouted his lips, and as a result, heās managed to procure another batch of the items seolhyun had requested of him.
āseolhyun, seolhyun! did you see me? did you, did you? weāre tooootally likeā¦ hm. i canāt remem--ā¦ oh, secret agents!ā without further ado, hansol reveals the lumpy, napkin-wrapped bundle he held concealed beneath the black fabric of his suit jacket. extending the āpackageā out to seolhyun, hansol pulls back one edge of the napkin to show her a load of fresh, dangerously addictiveā¦
breadsticks. at least a dozen or so of garlicky, buttery breadsticks. theyāre still warm and airy-soft, freshly pulled from one of the academyās massive ovens. āhurry ā stuff āem in your purse before anyone sees!ā grinning mischievously, with an abundance of coy, alcohol-fueled joy powerful enough to rival that of a fox traipsing about in a coop full of fat, sleeping hens, he snags one of the breadsticks for himself before seolhyun can jam them all away into the mouth of her awaiting purse. stollen breadstick in hand, he turns to the end of the food spread with the intention of retrieving the cup of punch he set downā¦ only thereās a lot more red solo cups standing sad and neglected in one big, plastic cluster at the end of the table than hansol remembers. he attempts to recall where exactly he left his cup of punch, and how much of the sugary drink had remained within it at the time; the seconds slide by, and his brow furrows in frustration, but his memory is just soā¦nope. maybe thatās the one? hansol gives a little shrugs and scoops the dubious cup up into his free hand. anĀ easygoing grin returns almost instantaneously to his cheery, glassy-eyed visage.
and the thought to just pour a new cup of punch? that goes right over his fog-filled head.
āi told the waiter that i have a rare ābread deficiencyā and took all the rolls on the tray before he could stop me. i, iā¦ i just canāt believe i got away with that! wowsers. by the way, seolhyunnieā¦ do you think youāre gonna be able to cram all those breadsticks in there?ā hansol tears away a bite of breadstick with his teeth and chews around an amused smile, one he shields his hand ā to be mannerly, of course. he quirks an eyebrow at her, glancing between the second round of breadsticks and the purse. āā¦anā i know i mightāve asked you before, but iām hammered. an' 'cause i'm hammered, i can forget some--" he's interrupted by a hiccup. "... stuff. yup, yup. anyway. what do you need all those breadsticks forā¦?ā
[ writing ] event starter for seolhyun ; event starter for sohee ; ādrunk in angerā for joohyun ; āgood omensā for hyeri ; āballsyā for kyungri (delayed, but still on the to-do list: starter for chanyeol ; ābooks and woesā for ilkook)
sorry for no real activity from me today. as much as i really wanted to get some event starters posted, i woke up from a nap with this killer sore throat that really came on outta nowhere and because getting sick would cause me a lot of trouble rn, itās best if i just sleep and rest up tonight. hopefully iāll feel better tomorrow and will have the energy i need to whip up the good, quality starters, replies, and plots that you lovelies deserve. much love (as always), jack
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