#grimgott

( & july. ) princess, strike one. drama queen, and that’s strike two!

you see, this boy named july is very easily provoked. the child that failed to sprout then lives now, although somewhat twisted–––he just can’t handle all that taunting, even the most meager and childish ones. and so his fists usually speak before words, just itching to beat that vexation out of himself ( too bad he doesn’t realize he has to beat himself up for that instead––––but hey, who’s even keeping up with the truth? )

        already a fist curled around dead boy’s collar, he seethes, and laughter among them has long died. he hears namkyu and a few other voices telling him to settle down, albeit barely at this point. biha justifies that it’s the derogatory factor that he fails to appreciate–––but who knows what really irks him. on the other hand, you know what they say : add insult to injury, and you’ll get burnt ( at least in biha’s case, that is! ) except no one knows about that injury, not even the boy himself. a tragic case, truly. 

@grimgott​

    Dead Boy scowls in absolute distaste, lifting his foot to glower at the dog poop giving his already-muddied sneakers a snug little hug. Maybe the stranger was trying to lift the boy’s spirits with some words of encouragement, but it really doesn’t do the trick. So his gaze flicks up, studies the other, evaluates their ability to do him harm (no, he decides, they look like a pretty-pretty princess), and proceeds to swipe his foot through blades of grass. He heaves a hefty sigh, and musters up a sardonic smile. “Yeah. could have been your shit I stepped in. But, ‘ppreciate it though.” 

"If I'm every crazy enough to take a shit in the grass, please just put me down like a dog with rabies, I'll be too far gone to do it myself," a smile tugs at his lips, he pulls his shirt up to cover his nose and protect it from the smell of shit wafting over them in the chilly air. if he could read thoughts, he'd prove the other wrong. as it was, himchan was no mind-reader. he adjusts his jacket though, and the wind snatches at it's corners, briefly exposing the hefty gun holstered at his waist. heap big vampire slayer, right.

ft. @grimgott

he wore his work uniform to graduation day. but over that, he wore his class vest so it’s all good. no one noticed, though in pictures, you could see a bit of red peek out from beneath his get-up. his smiles were crooked, and his hair was a little messy. he nearly trips on the walk to get his diploma. luckily his parents were easy to spot in the bleachers. you couldn’t missed the way they waved wildly with banners screaming “YOU DID IT CHITTA-PHON! ★”. it was embarrassing. he’d wish they’d stop.

chittaphon, i didn’t think you’d make it this far! thanks for believing in him, mom... son. you didn’t fuck up. and that’s what matters. dad always knew exactly what to say to, too...

“hello. i’m ten and this is jackasss,” the lack of enthusiasm makes it even harder to take him seriously. ten says to the handheld camera after a month or two since high school. he’s standing upright in a discarded shopping cart, padded with safety gear and several pillows duct taped to his body. This was his way of celebrating the completion of yet another school year. actually it originated as a dare from a former classmate saying that he’d pay ten to hurl over a steep-ass hill in the neighborhood next door. it was a subtle way of saying that he wanted ten to die. whether he meant it maliciously or jokingly, the boy didn’t know, but he went for it anyways. every year. every...fucking year.

“this is for, erm, nam who wanted me to document my near-death experience without actually being here. for precaution measures,” the camera swoops down to his general torso area, “i’ve duct taped, like, three pillows to myself, and tied a rope from this cart to uh, some tree.” he doubts that it would hold, though. “so anyways. If i die, mom and dad, i love you. also burn the shoe box under my bed.” because there’s porn inside.

Not sparing another second, ten hunches over the cart to remove the brick that held the cart still and faces the lenses forward as he began to roll. and he’s rolling… still rolling… wow it’s picking up a lot of momentum. Too much momentum, maybe…but then:

“oh shit,” he hisses quietly, and then a little more louder, “oh sHIT.” a boy stands in the middle of the street, directly in ten’s path. was he peeing?

                         SEND FOR MY MUSE’S REACTION!

     Picture this: you’re in the comforts of your own bedroom. Mom nowhere in sight. Dad nowhere in sight. Right hand shoved down the front of your pants. Laptop burning against your thighs with some raunchy porn video displayed on the dim screen. You’re a second away from getting to the good part too– THE RELEASE–when your mom decides to barge in right then and there, complaints about unwashed dishes at the tip of her tongue. Entire dictionary escaping her middle-aged brain because of the little… situation you and you’re not-so obvious friend is in. Cue the deer in headlights!

     Now, apply that image elsewhere.

     Instead of a bedroom, you’re in some run-down warehouse. Instead of your mom or your dad, it’s the six idiots you call family that you’re looking out for. Instead of pleasuring yourself physically, you’re doing so visually. Instead of some poorly directed porn video, you’re surrounded by ashes and ashes of destroyed cash. And instead of your mom? It’s Dead Boy in the flesh!

     With you, caught red-handed, lighter in the palm of your hand and a burnt pile of cash that could’ve went to tonights dinner. Darn.

Phobia Drabble Prompts ; status:  [ ✔ ]

Chronophobia: AU drabble about our muses in a different time era.

   Joseon, the beginning of XV century

            Childhoodtasted like a Five Grain Sura to Jay, freedom and carefreeness. He’d neversneaked out from the Royal belongings when he was a child, unaware of thecompletely different shade of Joseon behind the gates of the Palace. But he wassmart, oh so very smart and the childish curiosity couldn’t be helped. Jumpingoff the cornice, Jay put the coat over his shoulders but even covered by abrown cloth, the shoes made of sheep leather with the high front tip easilyrevealing his social status. He was unaware of it, simply approaching Bucheonwith the widest grin sprawled over his features. After all, how does a 10 year oldboy feels, exploring what was still uknown to him?

It isn’t until someone bumps into him, causing him tostumble on his feet. The boy apologizes, glancing over his shoulder and Jayguesses that they must have been of similar age, though they seemed so muchdifferent. And their eyes meet for the shortest moment but Jay memorizes everylittle feature. The boy wasn’t pale as Jay was. His skin was of a darker,golden brown shade, his clothing mostly beige, his shoes made of straw thejeogori white, without any decoration, probably made from cotton. Jay’s own wasred, silky, lined with white cotton flannel. He had never seen anyone dressed up like the boy running up the hill. Brushingoff the dust off his coat, Jay walks further down, only to be greeted with loudvoices of singing workers. He was too timid to approach them straight away,simply watching the little show spreadin front of his eyes. And then he is greeted with the same boy’s presence onceagain, a cheeky grin plastered upon their features as they nudge Jay’s side.But before he was given a chance to respond, he has the coat sliding off hisshoulder lightly, the silky, soft fabric revealed and the boy takes a curiousstep closer. They ask if he’s coming from the Palace and Jay simply nods as ifit was the most obvious thing in the world. Littlehe knew about any other life. And the boy touches the clothing and Jay thinksthey’re a little bit weird, exploring every inch of the soft material withtanned fingers. They sit on the ground, laughing at the singing workers and Jayenjoys listening to the stories the latter is telling him, everything like theworld’s most mysterious fairytales to him.

Phobia Drabble Prompts ; status:  [ ✔ ]

Soceraphobia: Your muse meets my muse’s parents.

          It’s abruptas usual when Jay falls on the cold concrete, easily pinned down by two men, ahiss escaping parted lips upon the harsh contact of his back with the ground.Hazy orbs flicker upwards to lock on the all too familiar gaze, the pair of dark,hostile orbs staring straight into his own. Family bonding, anyone? It’s a peaceful facade of rage, theman’s gestures light with the faintest semblance of a smile ghosting over theirlips, thin tiers so much different from Jay’s own. But the eyes, he couldn’tfind a single difference with both holding the maroon glint, warm in the sunlightbut growing darker in the shadows. And yet, he laughs loudly even when another punchis granted to his chest. Slow death, the familiar feeling of suffocatingwashing through him, the shortest moment in which he manages to catch a breathbringing him back to life. Was it evenlife anymore? To be drawn closer to the lethal embrace and then be pushedback to what can be considered surviving? Jay sometimes wishes for death tofinally raise his body from this pain because as much as it endured, he isn’tsure about his own immortality. Eventually, everything goes beyond limit andyou just die…

Chinese triads had always had some business to do all overAsia. Let it be an act of exortion, human trafficking or simple money laundering.There could be many reasons to feel unsafe but Jay risks it every single time,bothering the family business as hesells the information elsewhere, to these he considers loyal. Perhaps for thatreason, his father, the usuallycollected and respected Shanghai prosecutor loses his temper at some point, notkeen on tolerating the son’s excesses.They meet once or twice every year, always with blood on their hands. No, onlyon Jay’s hands. After all, mr Liu has too much to lose to stain his pure palmswith any sort of a crime. He has people to do it for him. Jay knows it all toowell, losing track of the number of times he had to run, escape from them. He succeeded90% of time. The remaining 10 however, shortened his lifespan of about—10 years,he thinks. There was no way he could escape every single time.

This time shall be different, the male realizes shortlyafter his hands are tied behind his back. He groans and keeps on kicking his feet, aimingwell as one of the men falls to the ground unexpectedly. Score.  It’s always useless, nevertherless,few pairs of other arms holding him in place. And then he looks his father inthe eyes once again, swearing his revenge, promising to come back and ruiningwhat the man holds so dear. Jay repeates these words like a mantra, like a maniac he is. If anyone, his father is the one responsibile for his condition. 

Before he realizes another slap is granted to his cheek andhis stare goes blurry for the mere second, eyes searching for a sharper imageand he can’t help the faintest widen of his orbs as they find theall-to-familiar features in the dark alley. Thedead boy must have been too curious to miss the sight. And he chucklesat the mere thought, wiggling in the men’s embrace, feeling sharp nails digging deeper in his sides . Meet my dad, he wishes to say as he looks at the young boy once again,then turns his head to his life enemy. He always hated how similar they were,the eyes, the shape of their nose, the brief gestures. Just the lips remaineddifferent, its color and shape taken after his mother. Any link to this man wasa source of shame for Jay who wished nothing less but death to this man who deprivedwith from a normal life.