DOUBT TRUTH TO BE A LIAR

hamlet atkins // 23 // river point // the best friend

[hamletkins-blog]

beulah-luna:

A nightly jog. That was what cured all your ills, wasn’t it? At least, that’s what did it for Beulah Luna. Maybe she was strange, for not minding the exercise. Maybe she was stupid, for being a small, young girl out alone on the streets at night. Maybe she was just trying. Now, that she knew for sure was factual. She was trying. Trying to get out of her head. Trying to escape all the shrapnel that was left in the wake of Remi Heath. Trying to recover. Trying to reach out. Maybe all for not. Probably all for not. But who would Beulah be if she stopped just because the chances seemed unlikely. Her heart, her soul, her major…it would have all vanished. So she kept up face. River Point’s resident ball of sunshine. That was alright, wasn’t it? Others had worse reputations…not that she really let something like a reputation shorten her olive branch.

Quite the anomaly, Beulah always jogged without headphones in. Particularly at night, when she needed to hear if someone were sneaking up behind her. Because of this safety precaution–and, truly, a personal preference–she was able to hear a car nearby screech to a stop, and someone get out of said car in order to vomit. Worried there may have been a drinking-and-driving situation, Beulah made her way towards the sound. The scene she came upon was much more confusing, and much more heartbreaking. 

Hamlet was kneeing upon the ground, having just vomited. He was shaking, but Beulah could tell he wasn’t drunk. Something else was happen. Too curious, perhaps, for her own good, she approached him with light footsteps, wringing her hands. She was worried she was about to overstep her bounds. Worried she should have left him there alone. But how could she? No matter the complicated circumstances in which she arrived there, she cared about the boy and his well-being. “Hamlet?” She was just behind him now and he was just standing up. “Are you alright?” 

Maybe if he hadn’t been to wrapped up in processing the image of himself he’d caught in the mirror, Hamlet would’ve been able to hear the approaching steps and get in his car quickly enough to drive away before ever having to had face them. It would’ve been better, not knowing who was there, not having to turn his eyes over to them like he was doing right now to Beulah with a look of something like almost primal fear - because it was her voice. At this point, he knew it well. It haunted him, both in actual life with the amount it felt like she followed him around and pressed him, and in his dreams - because it put him to peace knowing there was someone out there who actually seemed to give a shit despite his determination to keep her at a very distant arms length. 

What might’ve been a scowl, a look of distaste and dis-contempt, only seemed hollow and largely uncomfortable, something between embarrassed to be seen so pitiful and irritated for the same reason. As a reflex, his shaking arm came up again to wipe his mouth, wanting to be certain there was no vomit on his face for her to see despite the large pile of it not a meter from his feet. “Peachy.”His smile was slow, but broad and surprisingly extremely genuine, like he was laughing at himself - what better defense, what better way to make it seem like everything was ok. As he spoke, Hamlet made the move to push himself off the car and stand on his own - be taller, was the thinking, you’re fine, was the thinking. If he could convince himself, he could convince Beulah and get her the hell out of his hair. 

It was a failed effort, and after a split second of trying to take a step on weak knees with a head full of racing, circling stars, Hamlet slumped back against the metal door, still warm from baking in the sun at the cemetery for so long. It felt nice, and Hamlet let his cheek lay against it and drooped his eyes with a sigh. “Peachy.” He parroted himself and this time it sounded annoyed, more so addressing him than her, before actually pointedly speaking at Beulah. “I don’t mean to be rude - “ It was possible he did, he had before - intended rudeness towards her, but this time it seemed he meant it. “can you get out of here?”

[hamletkins-blog]

tamsinelliot:

It was abundantly clear to Tamsin that this conversation was not going the way she had envisioned it would, but that was hardly surprising – nothing about this night was going as she had supposed it would. Perhaps, it was just too much to expect young people who had gone through something rather traumatic to behave in a way that was socially acceptable. “Thank you,” she said, watching as he drank the water she’d offered. At the very least, she could scratch alcohol poisoning off of the list of things to be wary of tonight. She frowned slightly as his fingers brushed hers, pressing the UV Blue into her hand, the frown on her face growing. She had no intention of drinking that. Still, she took it and without much preamble dropped it into the bag resting on her shoulder.  While it was there, it was one less bottle for some child to drink. 

“I don’t play games with students.” It felt ridiculous to have to say that out loud, but she knew that he was drunk and had to be feeling some sort of distress after losing his best friend. “You’re hardly acting appropriately, Mr. Atkins, but I won’t hold it against you this time. All things considered. I’m just here to ensure that no one does anything that they’ll regret in the morning, but you should need to talk about this entire experience, I am available.” 

Hamlet wanted to bite his tongue. It was a very refined skill of his, holding things back, despite his outwardly seeming loud mouth habits and never ending speaking - but maybe he was a little too drunk and this time he just couldn’t. “Thanks Miss Tamsin.” It was a complete demeanor shift, no more husk in his tone, no more leaning towards her. There was something cool and still, very collected, and generally unseen on Hamlet who classically wore the sunshine or the Casanova charm. “But I’m not interested in talking or your pity.” The smile that split his lips was just as cocky as before but less pleading, more matter of fact and extremely sarcastic. “I am interested in acting inappropriately - as in I’m interested in taking you to the showers at the top of the beach, stripping you down, and pounding you into the wall.” 

His hands came up on either side, like a shrug, like a ‘I don’t know what else to tell you.” and as he continued to speak, Hamlet was somewhere between defeat and extreme bluntness. “Please, feel very free to follow me if you change your mind. If not, I’ll see you in class - it was nice talking.” He then turned to head in the direction of the previously mentioned showers. 

[hamletkins-blog]

siidepiece:

    “shit, do you want me to hold your hand instead? because you know rumours will spread like wildfire.” she paused, eyes narrowing mockingly. “that’s probably what you want anyway, i get it.” the only reason she had never tried anything with hamlet was the simple fact of how involved she was with remi and she knew that he knew about that for sure. she knew she wouldn’t say no to him though. “i don’t give a shit, but when it’s all i hear about? it fucking sucks.” cami added, pausing for a second. “but i don’t think you did it.. i don’t think you’re that much of an asshole.” and there was that teasing smile again. “but who knows, i don’t even know you that well.”

Maybe he did want her too. He got it - what Remi and JR saw in her, and even though the idea of taking something that JR had for just a second elated him beyond words, Hamlet couldn’t bring himself to make a move on Cami. Something about looking at her stung too much, not in the same way as Ava, but Cami was a reminder of everything him and Remi didn’t have at the time he died - or at least that what she was to him. “It fucking sucks.” Hamlet parroted in not necessarily a mocking and sarcastic way, more so just in agreement with a flat face  before he let a grin split it wide open. “I promise, I am that much of an asshole.” 

[hamletkins-blog]

primcsuspect:

In the jungle, it was common knowledge that only the fittest are meant to survive. The hunted will continue to be hunted so long as they were too stubborn (or perhaps too stupid) to adapt, to learn from mistakes made. So as JR strode up to Atkins, sizing him up, all he saw was a young man that knew not who he was barking at, knew not that he was messing with a predator. (Because what else could you call a man whose entire being called for acts of violence?) For that, Hamlet Atkins would be unfit to survive – a lesson JR would simply have to teach him today.

The boy grins, he jeers, he taunts, and JR seethes, every bit the poked bear as he shoves and he growls, “I oughta’ knock your teeth straight out your mouth, rich boy.” But he continues, despite warning. So JR scoffs, sure to let the ‘audience’ forming know, “Nah – I was givin’ your punk ass a moment to retract before it’s too late. But keep talkin’ all that shit, see what happens – you gonna ask the audience to fight me too? Phone a friend? Or you gonna’ do it yourself?”

 I said, you murdered Remi Heath. And that was it. Thin patience gave way under the weight of his aggression, no sand or screams or hands holding him back could stop him as he lunged for Atkins, tackling him to the sand, an arm swinging to clip him right in that fat mouth of his. 

What was Hamlet expecting> Outwardly, it seemed not this - but how can you poke a bear and not understand that it was built to maul you? Maybe that was his intention, after all whats another major distraction, another major upset. They’d already found the murder weapon and ruined the whole damn thing so Hamlet was sure adding a little more heat to the fire could only give him burns - and deep down that was exactly what he wanted, wasn’t it? Distraction in the form of alcohol, distraction in the form of sex, distraction in the form of getting JR to beat his face in. 

The crowd was gasoline, amping his sneers and his snarls, all false confidence and while embarrassment was the stereotypical result of a boy who was about to get his ass kicked in front of a large ensemble, Hamlet only seemed to live for it, letting the grin be knocked off his teeth the minute JR smashed his fist into it. Under the weigh of the other, Hamlet brought his forearms up and while it might have been smarter to cower and back down, he gave a shove in an attempt to roll the pair over and land a blow of his own to JR’s throat, not hesitating to spit up at his opposition’s face in the tussle loud enough to be heard.

“is this what you did to Remi? huh JR?!”

[hamletkins-blog]

He had to pull over. 

Hamlet made it only so far into town on his way home from the cemetery, completely on autopilot, before he had to sharply swing a curve onto a side street and jump out to vomit. It heaved him to his knees, which were raw and red, imprinted with grass stains from kneeling in front of Remi’s headstone for god knows how long, and he stayed there as every ounce of food in his system exited. Where he was, Hamlet really didn’t know. Between the dark and the disorientation of the visit hitting all at once, he’d let his body just sort of drive. It had been a week building, the paranoia, the nerves and the constantly looking over his shoulder - for a clown and a player, always brushing it off, always so simultaneously fun and detached, he wasn’t used to having to face so much of himself all at once - but that was the detective’s point, wasn’t it? 

Exhaustion from the stress of the anticipation period and the act itself kept Hamlet on his knees for a minute after his body finally stopped it’s dry heaving before he finally used to car mirror to pull himself up, catching a glimpse of his expression on the way to standing - bags under his eyes, dried streaks down pale cheeks, lip still healing from the fight with JR, puke and saliva covering the bottom of his chin. “Fuck.” was all he mumbled, using the back of his hand, trembling, to wipe his mouth clean before turning his back on the mirror - he couldn’t stand to see himself so god damn pathetic, so the last thing he needed was for someone else to see him so pathetic. 

@beulah-luna​

[hamletkins-blog]

siidepiece:

     as soon as she felt the hand on her shoulder, she quickly swiped it off, turning to look at the person with a scowl. her face relaxed slightly as she noticed hamlet, though she wasn’t letting herself get teased in any way. especially not from him. instead of calling someone out like she usually would, she reached for her bag, throwing it over her shoulder before she grabbed hamlet’s hand and dragging him away from the commotion. it wasn’t until she realised what she was doing that her hand moved to his wrist instead. “i’m sick of people thinking i had shit to do with it.” she spat, dropping him once they had moved to somewhere more quiet. “because i fucking didn’t. you’d probably have more to do with it than i did!!” part of her didn’t think that was true and she was just frustrated, but she truly had no idea. 

His hands came up, somewhat satirical, to stay in the air on either side of his head. “Don’t shoot.” He mock at her swiping, never letting the smirk drop. When she grabbed his hand to drag him away, he let himself stumble after her like the dog he so often was, not minding the feel of her hand around his. When she switched to his wrist, Hamlet made sure to give a clear scoff "Too sweaty?” - he could see the appeal she had to Remi and JR. Once they came to a stop, Hamlet listened with a cocked brow. Of course, Cami had a point - he was the one who got in the fist fight, it was his party, but still getting called out in suck a nasty way when it was still so raw kind of felt like salt in the wound. That didn’t change his expression though, or his tone when it came out still light-hearted albeit a bit rough. “Since when do you give that much of a shit about what people think?” Of course, Hamlet didn’t know her that well, but if she was sleeping with JR she clearly didn’t care about appearances in his book. 

[hamletkins-blog]

HEART TO HEADSTONE || SELF-PARA

The letter had come almost a week ago, taped to the bottom of your coffee cup like some grade school note passing. You’d crumpled it in your fist, practically running from the shop in such a rush it might’ve made you look guilty in the right light. The sweat from your palm bled the black ink straight into your skin, dyeing it dark the same way blood might stain a hand red and you scrubbed your hand into the pearl white bathroom of your house until the skin came off and the water ran from grey to crimson. For the next five days at school you had your hand in a wrap, but no matter how many days went by it still stung, it still itched, and you scrubbed it every night. Guilt did nasty things to a person’s head.

Up until this point, you’d done a good job at ignoring it, brushing it under one of the dozens of Persian rugs in your house - a different one each day so it could never find you. Ava was wicked out of your life in a motion as quick and clean as the one that had taken Remi, and while the latter was not a removal of your choosing, you had taken it upon yourself to keep a ten foot pole between you and the other heath, between you and the guilt. It was back to haunt you, an act of cruelty as far as you were concerned and you were certain if you ever met this “anonymous detective” in real life you’d put them in a grave right next to Remi Heath’s. 

In typical Atkin’s fashion, you waited until your time was finally up to make your way to the cemetery. If you could just ignore it a little longer, put it off for just another day, maybe it wasn’t happening, but that note had already set off a million little catalysts in your brain and instead of just getting it over with you’d let yourself fester for a week of torture. You’d become irritable, subdued, and hyper-sensitive to any stimuli - a touch on the shoulder, someone breathing on you, a glance that lasted to long - it all set you off. But, the day had come and now you were out of time. 

The drive felt like you were sitting on knives, no way to get comfortable and you shifted the whole time, even pulling over twice to get out of the car and lean against it with your hands on your knees and your face looking down. This was the first time you decided - ha - to visit him, because again, ignorance is bliss. It made it worse, knowing that whoever it was that had left you that note was probably watching you even now as you worked on building up the courage the step foot on hallowed ground. No acting - they said. It almost made you mad, it did make you mad, mad enough to be defiant.

It was like you were a different person than you’d been all week when you stepped out of the car. After a minute of scanning and walking up and down a few rows, purposefully taking your time and making it annoyingly played up even though you knew exactly where to go from the funeral, you finally came to stop at the grave of Remi Heath. There is a ping, for a minute, in the bottom of your chest and your breath hitches, but outwardly there is no change. You can’t tell what feels wrong, or what feels worse, to fake it like you plan to or to actually let it hurt. You and Remi were rarely serious, at least outwardly, because it was never really necessary - you both just seemed to get what was wrong without the need for long and drawn out sessions of feeling to feeling, heart to heart garbage. 

You guessed now it was more like heart to headstone, but that didn’t change the fact that you really still couldn’t do it. Even if you could’ve, it was very set in your mind that you wouldn’t have. Fuck that detective, being so cocky they think they had the power to tell him what to do - arrogant and emotional you seem to forget the fact that they do. Your secret with Ava was just as much for the sake of guilt as it was for image, and it would be just as easy for the anonymous detective to spill to beans across town as it was for them to leave the note. That didn’t take the smirk off your face was you gave a loud and apparent cough and jokingly tapped your ear. “Is this thing on?” With no one here to laugh at your joke, a least no one you could see, you laugh for yourself, tossing your eyes over your shoulder to still purposefully avert them from the grave stone you’ve been unable to glance at for more than a fleeting second. 

“I’m just going to come out with it, Remi. I fucked your sister.” When your eyes finally fall on the grave stone, the words just come spitting out of your mouth followed immediately by a laugh that sounds somewhat nervous and somewhat cocky. Then you spin, arms out stretched and its like possession, you start shouting. “Did you hear that?” You bring your hands up to cup around your mouth, yelling into the distance to whoever is listening, whoever is watching. “I fucked Ava Heath!” It’s laughter that comes out again, but this time it’s almost hysterical, still there are no tears, only a wide grin and a head toss backwards as you spin on your heels to face Remi again. What was supposed to be a show, a theatrical act of defiance and a breaking of the theoretical fourth wall, brings you to your knees in front of him, dropping like a stone and your stare now is unwavering. “Remi, I loved her. And I’m so sorry.” 

You don’t say anything else, you don’t move or cry or break your stare. The bugs eat you alive as dusk passes and eventually, you don’t know when, you get back in your car and you leave. 

[hamletkins-blog]

beulah-luna:

“Sorry,” Beulah muttered deep under her breath. “I don’t know why I did that–” she cleared her throat, then looked back up to her companion just in time to see the disgust that riddled every inch of his features. Now Beulah winced. She knew about the rivalry between the two school–didn’t buy it, but knew about it–but this particular shade of contempt staring her in the face meant more than she had originally thought. Suddenly she was uncomfortable in her own skin, a feeling she hadn’t been used to for a very long time. She merely wanted to help, what was wrong with that? It’s not like he lost anything by accepting. Even if you hated someone, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to take advantage of them. Not that she wanted to be taken advantage of. Nonetheless, she put on a smile and a shake of the head. “Don’t be silly. It won’t take long.” She stepped up on to the curb of the sidewalk, diminishing the height difference by a rather slim margin. Not tall enough. She stepped down from the curb, then reached to pat the concrete of it. “Come, sit. Think of it as–” as what? What did she have that’d make him listen? “As my apology on behalf of my cohorts starting that fight with you.” It wasn’t a question of whether or not she believed it was on the Morrigan students for what went down (she thought both parties were equally at fault), but more of a question of how to get Hamlet to let her fix him up. Her eyes were almost pleading. 

Beulah’s mouth opened, and stayed open for a long beat. She tried to blink away her loss of words. How was one to respond to that? She didn’t want to be honest about her knowing Remi and, through a few late-night conversations, about Hamlet. And even if she did want to be honest, right then would have been the absolute worst time to spill. He’d want to know why she said she didn’t know Remi. What she had to hide. She’d seem suspicious. And while she didn’t know Hamlet that well and while he was vehemently pushing her away, she still wanted to figure him out. Not even Remi seemed to truly saw the pain that he was in, but Beulah did. She saw it. Even when he was spitting his words out at her. Even when he was putting up his defenses. She saw. And she wanted to understand. Maybe if she knew Hamlet outside of Remi’s view, she would get it. Maybe she could even help him. Isn’t that what she had always wanted? To help people? Isn’t that the whole reason she started on the long journey of a surgeon? It was. Regardless, that didn’t leave her with any answer to give the boy. “I’m just–I’m a worrier. A worrier whose only reprieve is to help. To fix any problem I see.” She put on a smile, still with some sympathy in her eyes, but mostly there was a laugh in them. With her elbow, she tried to nudge her companion. “So, really, it’s like you’re doing me a favor. I owe you one.” She hadn’t yet learned how to crack the shell around Hamlet, so any tactic seemed like a good one at that moment. 

He didn’t mean to make her wince, and seeing the little recoil halted him for a minute, brought him back to the kind eyes in front of him as opposed to the Morrigan snake he’d had washing out his vision the whole time he’d been standing there. That was all it took, a little hurt in her eyes, a little confusion, and even though Beulah was so quick to shake it off and play it sweet, Hamlet caught it. What he didn’t catch was her reaction to what he said about Remi. It was too slight, to quick for his drunkenly lagging brain to pick up on. 

The last thing he wanted to do, hurt anyone - except maybe JR. Even if he didn’t like where she came from, even if he didn’t like her, bringing pain to anyone who in that moment didn’t deserve it was not something Hamlet ever wanted to do. Still, his face, though it shifted out of hostility and disgust, read empty and he stayed motionless as she tried to maneuver a way to get to his face. Apprehensive, his position remained upright with a softer, but still semi-scowl to confront her begging eyes.

 “A worrier?” It was a scoff and he practically rolled his eyes straight out of his head. His tone was less aggressive, and though his words were semi-cruel, it was with a slight laugh in his voice he said them. “I’m definitely not your problem to be fixing, Beulah.” But still, just then he was trying to do her the favor, to bite his tongue and hold back his aggression because placing it on her would’ve been incorrect. It was not her, specifically, he had a beef with and though he never intended on having any kindness towards her, Hamlet figured for just that night he could bite back his cruelty and just let her fix his damn face. 

It wasn’t with so much defeat as it was annoyance that Hamlet let himself practically free fall to the curb, lacking grace and thunking down like a young dog who didn’t quite have a handle on his long gangly legs yet. “Just hurry up, my parents will be wondering where I am.” A lie. 

[hamletkins-blog]

tamsinelliot:

Tamsin didn’t even think to dignify that question with a response, verbal or otherwise. She was older than him, a teacher, and the chaperone of this god awful event. That was more than enough of a reason for her to nag him about his dangerous habits, even if he couldn’t appreciate it now. “Mr. Atkins, a ray of sunshine as always,” she commented, staring down her nose at the offered bottle. It would be inappropriate to accept it. Not to mention compromising. She could just imagine the rumors that would catch and spread if someone witnessed her. 

“I think you misunderstood. I wasn’t asking or playing a game.” Her accent was a bit stronger whenever she attempted to be assertive. She’d been trying to hide her accent for so long that now, when she opened her mouth, what rolled out wasn’t the harsh sounds of the American accent which she’d been mimicking since her childhood or the more lyrical sound of the London accent, but a motley mess of the two. Again, she offered the water bottle. “Drink it. Please.” 

His grin never fell, only seemed to slowly spread wider and more cheekier with every word that passed her lips. The way her accent spilled in made it hard to take her seriously, especially as an assertive figure. It only made her more appealing. When the water bottle was stuck out towards him again, Hamlet took a step towards her and allowed his hand to come up to take it, purposefully brushing his fingers over hers for too long as he stared down at her. “I like bossy.” Was all he breathed, not breaking eye contact as he opened the cap and drank the bottle in front of her.

 Once it was empty he placed it on the same counter he’d taken the UV blue from, the grin reforming slowly. “I know you think I misunderstand you, I don’t think that you misunderstand me?” His eyebrow raised as he pressed the bottle into the same hand he’d just taken the water bottle from. Maybe it was because he was drunk, maybe it was because he was just looking something to pass the night, someone to pass the night, but Hamlet was very intent on getting Tamsin’s interest to shift from chaperoning to accompanying him to the outdoor shower. “I promise the game I want to play is really fun, Ms. Tamsin.”

[hamletkins-blog]

thebabyheath:

It was petty but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her smile at his jokes. However the alternative was to pout and that would mean she cared that he was ignoring and she did not, at least that was what she wanted him to think. It took every ounce of willpower for her to keep her smile rigid. He didn’t care that she was there only that both his reputation of being a good friend and hers of being a mourning sister were unquestioned. 

The anger she felt from his unspoken rejection combined with the fact that he was actually enjoying himself continued to grow within her. “Quit the act Atkins. We both know I’m only here because my parents think I need to be around people instead of sulking in my room,” she spat, giving up all attempts at nice formalities. 

Ava understood why they didn’t tell Remi. The last time Remi was caught between relationships and family he had lost a friend. She never gave herself the time and space to process their secret. She wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that they had hidden it for so long. Part of her felt guilty for hiding the secret. Part of her felt guilty because maybe had he known then something could have changed and maybe he’d still be alive to chew them out. The guilt wrapped around her the way she wished Hamlet would but the anger within her burn too brightly to forgive him. Yet that didn’t stop her from mumbling a quiet apology, “…sorry. This was nice I guess. I would have scanned the guest list beforehand seeing as half of these people don’t even know Remi’s last name let alone who he was.” 

It stung, it really did. Hamlet might’ve taken a step back at her harshness, he might’ve outwardly winced and downcast his gaze like a dog with a hand raised to it. He might’ve felt a frown crease his lips, a lump well in his throat too sick to swallow. He might’ve, but he didn’t. Instead, his face stayed frozen in it’s grin, and though his brows creased it was in almost a light hearted way, the same light-hearted way he gave her a little shoulder bump and an under the breath laugh. “Jesus, Heath, lighten up a little.” So dismissive, so invalidating, so rude not to recognize her hurt and her anger, to just brush off her spat like it was a kitten that was practicing it’s first hiss.

He couldn’t help it, and he hated to admit that it was easier for him to hurt her than it was to let it all hurt him instead. He was taking none of it, none of the hurt on himself - from Remi, from the end of what they had. That was why he threw this stupid bonfire afterall, right? To deny and deny and deny he felt anything but stupid drunkness and light-hearted laughter. “It was an open invite.” Hamlet admitted, rubbing the back of his neck kind of shamefully. As many people as would fit, as much distraction as possible. “Kind of stupid of me.” Of course, it had been intentional, but his scoff helped add to the persona of drunken fucking idiot. 

[justicechoii]

     “HERE’S WHAT WE’RE NOT GONNA DO.” camila hollered as she snapped towards a few people behind her, inhaling deeply to regain her cool. news of her being called in to the station again had travelled fast, and she knew people had been talking about her and talking about the situation itself. “you don’t know the facts, so how about keeping your mouth shut before i make you keep it shut!!”

[hamletkins-blog]

While it would’ve, theoretically of course, thrilled Hamlet to see Camilla get into a brawl of her own and come out a little worse for wear, after everything that had just gone down he thought it might be in the best interest of the river point kids to just lay low for a little while, even if this particular river point kid was not on his list of favorites. He knew she was sleeping with JR, the same JR that had happened to have just split his lip and made his nose bleed very recently - he also knew that she had been an item of Remi’s so, stuck between a dead best friend and an enemy, Hamlet decided to step in. The hand that came from behind just barely rested on her shoulder. “Deep breath, Cami. I can see the steam rolling out of your ears.” His laugh was something between uneasy and teasing.

[hamletkins-blog]

aaliyahmorg:

“Damn,” Aaliyah’s smile falls, tone filled with false shock. “you really out here just…using Remi for your own personal gain. You should be fucking ashamed.” Jokes aside, she’s sure that’s really what people think about this, about him, and while Aaliyah can see why they would assume such a thing her heart hurts for him only a little. The distraction was needed, at least as far as she was concerned, and there was no better distraction than a party. The one place where it was considered somewhat socially acceptable to drink yourself into forgetting. She gets it. Or at least she thinks she does. “Being busy helps.” she nods, surprising herself with the serious nature of her words. “but make sure you take some time out to take care of yourself too.” There’s a sad smile, and immediately after a twist of regret. She grimaces and brings her drink back to her lips, gulping down a large portion of it before speaking again, as if the drink were meant to wash the taste of concern out of her mouth. “Alright, no more of that shit.” she shakes her head and waves her hand as if she were swatting something away. “Grab another drink and let’s go find something to fucking do.” 

His grin only broadened, very clearly not shameful at all. The thoughts that momentarily weighed in Aaliyah’s brain were a constant and pressing pressure in Hamlet’s head. They never leave, always the worry of who’s thinking what about him, who is judging his actions now and while that might discourage some from having any actions at all, it only led Hamlet to have a never ending slew of big show after big show. As far as he was concerned, as long as he was moving and upbeat, constantly going and even sometimes living up to the not so bad impressions he gave, they couldn’t weigh him down. 

When her words came in as kindness, the grin fell briefly to allow room for a furrowing of his brow. Out of character, and while touching, Hamlet didn’t know what to do with it, and so he did nothing except stare as if shell shocked until Aaliyah broke back into more characteristic trade marks he was familiar with. Without hesitation, Hamlet jumped towards the cooler to do what he was told, grabbing two instead of just one and already popping the cap to slug back at least half. Purposefully avoiding addressing any of the serious things she said, Hamlet gave almost a small hop before starting off towards the volleyball court. “I have a great idea, I promise you won’t be disappointed.” 

[oftybalts-deactivated20200612]

                    ‘YO, I SAW JR SKEEVIN’ ROUND. ACTING ALL CREEPY. IT WAS HIM’

That was all it took. One little string of words and it brought his anger from cooled embers to a full blaze. Because of course he was to blame – he was the easiest target after all. A hatred of Remi Heath that lasted years, a no-good kid with a record and shady friends in even shadier places. He’s seen enough Law & Order to know it looked like he had means and motive. (Though it should be said, a flashlight was a weak ass weapon.) But with Atkins shouting out his guilt for all to hear, JR was sure the boy would have a following in no time, which would essentially turn into a witch hunt. 

So JR needed to end this at the source. 

His arm slips from where it’d been draped around Camila’s slender shoulders, steps heavy as he trudged through the sand. Stopping only when he was in the other boy’s face, glare matching glare.  

“Wanna say that to my face, bitch boy.”

@hamletkins

[hamletkins-blog]

Hamlet Atkins, to say most bluntly, was a coward. He had no problem running his mouth, but it was, as they say, all bark and no bite. It was never in his plans to start an actual fight, as was the case so many times before this with a list of numerous other’s he’d offended with his loose lips and arrogant attitude, and while Hamlet never looked to start anything serious, when it came right up and stared him in the phase the way JR was just then, it wasn’t that easy to back down. With an image at stake, and enough alcohol buzzing through his system to make him just ballsy enough, Hamlet let a grin peel across his face at the other, despite a very clear scowl shaping the rest of his expression. 

“Did I not say it loud enough? Or are you just as stupid as the rest of the Morrigan scum.” In very stereotypical Hamlet fashion, he then shifted his gaze to the crowd forming around them, addressing them next. “You guys catch that? JR didn’t hear me the first time.” And when he rolled his cocky glare back the direction it had come, Hamlet let the snarl slide pass his lips, and he meant it. “I said, you murdered Remi Heath.” 

[hamletkins-blog]

beulah-luna:

Beulah had wanted to play it cool, casual. Like she just happened to be walking by or that it was all an act of fate–oh, how interesting, nice to see you here, should we walk together?–but perhaps her face read a little too much to contradict that. Plus, once she was within close range of the boy, she gasped and said, “Oh my god! Your face!” She stood on her toes and reached out to lightly touch his upper lip where there was blood. Not the most casual of displays, she had to admit. What was it about cuts and bruises that made you want to touch them, even though, out of everyone, a pre-med student should have known better? Disbelief, perhaps? No matter how many times you saw someone injured, you never quite believed the sight until they wince or you’ve got a drop of their blood on your hands. “We need to get you patched up.” She tucked one side of her hair behind her ear, and then began rooting through her purse. In a few moments she had pulled out a small first aid kit. The majority of people who were privy to this ever present edition to Beulah’s purse found it to be odd. Though, they could hardly complain about the oddness of it when she was patching them up. This wasn’t the first time someone she was around needed it.

“I–” She started to say, but then felt as though she had ruined any shot of casualty she had had. “–I wanted to see if you and everyone else were okay. It looked nasty out there and when people have been drinking…I think sometimes they hit a little harder than they normally would. Plus the discovery of—-that. Not really–er…” Beulah chewed on her bottom lip. Since Remi’s death she had been avoiding taking about Remi. What she and Remi had had was good–for the majority of the time–but getting caught up in the whole investigation would only hinder her future. As much as Beulah had thought of Remi as a Prince Charming, it wasn’t worth losing everything she had worked her ass off for. Keep your head down. Keep your heart calm. Maintain the course. She shook her head. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s all. It’s hard to sleep when you’re worried about someone.”

If it was a wince Beluah was looking for, it was a wince she got. Everything Hamlet ever did was in the name of being over the top, always extra, always dramatic, but this wince was something he tried to stifle, to bite back. It left him still under her touch, just for beat where his eyes looked down to her, uncharacteristically expressionless, and then he pulled out of it, making sure that his new expression read clear; disgust. “We?” A question that might’ve held amusement and flattery given the right person only held judgement. “No thank you, I’d rather bleed out of my nose.” Almost on cue, most likely from the jerking of the wince, where blood was previously crusted beneath his nose began to drip fresh red. 

Hamlet never really had to try to hard to be nice, it was in his nature to be warm and sunshiney, so when he found himself having to fight of the urge to snarl, it was very out of his comfort zone and he had a difficult time with it. “What gives you the right?” It wasn’t yelled and held none of the same type of anger his outburst at JR had, but it was clear there was bubbling agitation behind his gaze. “You don’t know me, we aren’t friends, so you can stop worrying." There was a slow increasing of blood pressure, and while Hamlet remained still, the intensity of his tone eeked upwards. “And you certainly didn’t know Remi, so why are you acting so offended about what they found?” Maybe it was his being selfish, his thinking that he was the only one that deserved to be upset about what they found, specifically when they found it - at his party. Maybe it was his thinking that he was the only one that deserved to be upset about the death of Remi, his best friend. Likely a combination of the following, the alcohol still amping his system, and the remaining rage from his fight with JR, that left him with a sharper tongue than he was generally known for having. 

[hamletkins-blog]

aaliyahmorg:

“You? Coming on too strong? Impossible.” she mutters under her breath, tone dull and lacking any notes of humor. Aaliyah meets his gaze, realizing then that he could have heard that and more importantly she shouldn’t have said it. She’s quick to follow it up with a playful shove at Hamlet’s shoulder and a grin, turning her words into nothing more than a playful, not sincere at all (please God, let him buy it), jab amongst friends. “That’d be great, thanks.” 

Aaliyah’s not used to this. She’d always been so blase about what people made of her words, never one to take anything back or monitor her speech for the sake of feelings. It was the Morgan way, no one was exempt. Though, given recent circumstances, she’s been finding herself making an exception for Hamlet. They come to a stop in front of a cooler, and Hamlet presents to her the new drinks with his usual flourish of merriment. “You’re annoying.” she laughs quietly, shaking her head as she grabs the glass bottle of twisted tea. It’ll do. A beat of silence passes over them as she opens her drink. She takes a sip, mulling over what to say to him now. ‘How are you’, is the clear stupidly lazy choice. “So,” she makes a split second decision. “have you been having fun tonight, or are you too busy taking care of everyone else?” Good enough. 

It stung. It always did, when someone would toss a comment like that his way. He’s sure that they think ‘Oh, it’s just Hamlet, he can handle it.” and he does, because they don’t want him to be offended, they want him to laugh with them, and he does that to. It’s easier to blow it off, for the sake of the situation, for the sake of his likability, for the sake of lying to himself to make it all... sting, a little less.

He can’t help but notice her understated lack of interest in the selection of drinks, and for a moment Hamlet has half a mind to quickly follow up before she has a chance to make her selection and offer something else. Out of character, Hamlet thinks on it too long and then it’s already too late and Aaliyah’s asked her question. “The whole point of tonight is for me to be having fun - I hate to break it to you, Aaliyah, but I’m actually rather selfish. Remi Heath Memorial Bonfire? This was never about him - all about me.” The grin he flashed was broad and what he said next was on more of a serious note. “Being busy taking care of everyone else only contributes to my fun.”

[hamletkins-blog]

tamsinelliot:

If there was one thing Tamsin Elliot hated more than social interaction, it was _forced _social interaction. With children. As if she didn’t see them enough throughout regular school hours, she was now forced to chaperone drunk children at a memorial bonfire for someone she didn’t even really know. It was as if the universe was punishing her for some sin she hadn’t yet identified.·

“No. No drinks, thank you,” Tamsin answered, the water bottle she’d packed clutched in her hand.·“And maybe you should slow down with the alcohol. I have·another bottle here.” After a few minutes of rifling through her purse, Tamsin offered a small bottle.·“The last thing I need on my hands is an alcohol poisoning.”·

“Come on Elliot.” Hamlet practically groaned, rolling his whole head back when the original intention was just to give an eye roll. The last think he needed was a buzz kill, the last thing this party needed, was a buzz kill (as if the fact that it was being thrown for a dead guy wasn’t enough of one in itself). Still, there was a sloppy grin on his face when he came back around, one a held for just a second too long, accompanied by stare and silence.·

“How old are you, Miss Elliot?” Blunt, unbashful, and clearly subliminal, Hamlet cocked a brow, following up after a pause with·“definitely too young to be my mother.” _But not to old to be something else... _From a neighboring stand, Hamlet’s hand reached out to grab a small shot bottle of UV blue, offering it towards her with a cocked brow.·“Trade?” He gave a gesture towards the water bottle she had extended.·

[hamletkins-blog]

ncwcomer:

there was always a part of rey ready for someone else’s shitstorm, a protective armor that he threw up whenever he thought he said something that could warrant belligerence in return. his body was tensed up waiting for the reply to be negative but surprisingly the man only seemed to stay drunkenly happy. it was unusual that someone so drunk could be so smiley or at least in rey’s experience which wasn’t too much if he was being honest. as the man refused the idea of water, the tall man nodded his head - knowing not to push the idea anymore because he didn’t want to end up being _that _annoying guy when he’d rather just be invisible. a thought popped into rey’s mind, he was a bit jealous of the drunk man. he was just so free, happy and uncompromising. yes he was very drunk and probably gonna feel like shit in the morning but he was being more impulsive in one night than rey had in a year.

his brown eyes looked down at his beer, feeling kinda weird for not drinking it. it was the normal thing to do right? it tasted bad but other people didn’t like it and still drank it, just because that’s what everyone else does. “ uh - no, it’s cool yeah-beer-yum ! “ rey shook his head at the drunk man, taking in a deep breath before taking in a large sip. his cheek immediately billowed out, his throat not wanting to swallow the alcohol in his mouth. he could feel a gag coming so he quickly spit the beer back into the cup before realizing what a weirdo that made him look like. “ it’s the european way of drinking beer - gotta just coat the taste bud-okay i hate beer. “ the tall man caved, holding out the cup for the man to take away from him.

Hamlet’s eyes followed Rey’s cheeks, seeming to take a moment to pause on each one with a furrowed brow before the other spat the beer back into the cup. For a moment, his face remained frozen in that expression, tilted down in an angle that proved his eyes had followed the beverage straight back into the cup before they lifted to look up at Rey with both brows raised. Everything seemed to move in slow motion in Hamlet’s head, and to match that all of his movements and reactions were delayed slightly - including his thought processes - which honestly, were already on the slower side. 

For this reason, the sentence Rey had started was one Hamlet almost believed. It was shock of a certain kind that had begun to transform his expression of honest amusement - how he had not known there was a whole other way to drink beer? Beer was at least 70% of his life. Gullible and genuinely plastered, Hamlet’s face broke into a smirk as he straighted immediately post Rey’s coming clean, tossing his head to the side in a small laugh into his shoulder. Upon glancing back towards the other, Hamlet reached out to retrieve the drink Rey had declined and without hesitation slammed it back in a period of time even shorter than the first. Without missing a beat, Hamlet followed up, grin gleeful.

“Water for you then?”