kurtofsky ; the blame game
THE BLAME GAME
kurt hummel et david karofsky, a ficmix
There's something insidious and downright scary about this ship-- primarily how well it mirrors, in some ways, a culture of self-loathing and the clash between the 'pull yourself up by your bootstraps' mantra both in the political and social realms of discourse, and the inability to fit in with the mold-- by any means and no matter how goddamn hard you try. Not to mention the conglomeration of anxiety, loneliness and frustration that makes up the teenage years. Here's to the trepidation, the fear, and hopefully the tranquility and understanding between these two. Nine songs and nine vignettes that are only loosely tied together in chronological order. Download link of the songs at the bottom. Thanks to panda for all the help. ♥
ADELE | rolling in the deep
He’s seeing stars.
His sternum is protesting from the impact, and throbs in retaliation, out of sync with his raspy breathing. He sucks in air, a loud throaty gulp that wavers between an undignified yelp and a whimper, but he stares straight ahead, not even bothering to watch Karofsky and Adams turn the corner.
He won’t give them that.
**
He's seeing fucking stars.
Kurt's striding down the halls, head tall and knows exactly how fucking stunning he looks. His eyes are bright and shiny, with a hint of smile on those lips and that fucking radiant, supernova-worthy confidence. Dave closes his eyes, feeling the pinpricks of light distort his eyesight and the throbbing pain in the back of his head and drags himself forward. He nudges Adams next to him, and his friend nods, the same idea bubbling in his head, and they both make way towards Hummel.
He won't give him that.
PAPER ROUTE | tiger teeth (passion pit remix)
Kurt can tell, sort of, when Karofsky's around. There's a subtle hush as people fan out, and sidestep to make room for him. He learns to hear for the unnatural quiet, feel that drop in temperature and trust the pit of his stomach.
He's read online, about defense tactics, at least a few of them, and wills his muscles to tense, turning away toward the walls and covering his chest. The act makes him feels all the more vulnerable, but as he bounces off the locker and still manages to keep walking with just a slight misstep, his heart hasn't jolted and his feet are still firmly on the ground.
KANYE WEST FEAT. JOHN LEGEND & CHRIS ROCK | blame game
He's washing his face, in a bathroom that's clear across the school from the gymnasium, scrubbing extra hard at his lips, almost breaking skin, trying to get rid of the last traces of Hummel and chapstick off of him. The water's now scalding hot, and his hands are turning red, but he keeps going, until he surfaces-- looks around the empty bathroom, the torrent of water from his sink thrumming in the background. He shuts it off, and looks into the mirror, squinting at a red-faced boy in front of him, and feeling entirely too big and unwieldy and unimaginably stupid. He laughs.
Not his type, indeed.
and i was satisfied with being in love with a lie
IDA MARIA | oh my god
He hardly sees Kurt anymore.
Knowing Hummel's schedule and general patterns is proving useful, as he takes alternative routes and makes sure not to linger if he sees him. He's already proven to himself what a terrible idea it is to be anywhere near Kurt, no need for a second lesson.
It takes a few days to cope, a few days for his stomach to settle, to not jump at any whispering behind his back, and like everything else about Kurt Hummel, bury it underneath denial and steely conviction.
He hardly sees Hummel anymore.
And he can almost pretend that all....all this has never even happened.
GLASVEGAS | go square go
There's blood.
He bares his teeth, and he can feel the blood dribbling out of his nose, smarting painfully. He's feral, as he lunges towards his teammate who clocked him in the face, only to be held back before he could land a punch. They manage to turn him 180 degrees around before releasing him.
"He fucking hit me!" A swipe of his arm against his face doesn't help in the least to staunch the bloodflow.
"Who told you to pull Hummel outta the dumpster? We put him in there for a reason, dickwad!"
He's not smart enough to make up a good enough lie, and not brave enough to tell the truth, so he lashes at Stein, and the rest is just a blur of pain and howls before he's knocked into unconsciousness.
THE NATIONAL | afraid of everyone
He's reaching for the first aid kit in the coach's office, pulling it open and fumbling for guaze and painkillers. One of the seniors on the team had taken enough pity on him to give him a towel and brought over a roll of toilet paper to mop up the blood before clapping him on the shoulder and suggesting not trying it again.
So he's alone.
He's tired, while attempting to make up his mind whether or not to go home and let his parents see him at his worst.
More to the point: He doesn't want to explain himself. Ever.
He decides to go home, in the end, shuffling in through the kitchen door to see that his mother has a tupperware of supper waiting for him. No one seems to be at home. He heats it up but he can't seem to stomach it, throwing it in the trash as he goes upstairs.
He hasn't been hungry in a long time.
--
The next day, Hummel is waiting for him.
JJ (LIL' WAYNE & CHARLES MANSON SAMPLES) | my way
He’s holding Kurt’s hands.
Not clasping, not gripping them, but merely opening his palms upward so that Kurt’s hands can rest in his. He doesn’t dare to even think about the possibility that Kurt will let him hold them, so he doesn’t even try, merely letting the pads of Kurt’s lithe fingers trace the fleshy part of his palm, the bandages wrapped around his wrists, boxer-style, like a fortune teller.
It’s been like this for awhile. He can scarcely breathe, almost too afraid to say anything, lest he scares Kurt off, but the boy’s not even looking at him, just staring down at their brushing hands with a single-minded intent that seems more analytical than reassuring. His eyes scans down at the hands bestowed in front of him, and Dave feels like he’s going to be told he’s about to die in fifteen minutes, give or take.
He risks a shaky, “well?” Only to have that smoldering glare redirected at his face. He shifts under the sudden attention, but Kurt surprises him by grabbing his wrists.
“This was your idea, wasn’t it?” Kurt prompts, and David feels a little hot and awkward and ready to protest but Kurt shuts him up with a single condenscending look.
"Don't ruin the moment."
He can only nod in reply.
LISSIE | record collector
He's feeling kind of delirious.
Hummel is talking to him-- about something. He's not entirely sure.
What he is sure is that Kurt doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon. But he sits, on the bleachers, sandwich in hand, and a talkative Hummel by his side, making grunts every now and then to signal that he's listening--not comprehending, but he suspects Hummel knows that.
"Finish that."
"What?"
Hummel points to his lunch. "You're going to attract birds if you don't eat it." He looks down, and takes a bite, tasting ham and flimsy lettuce.
And for that space in time, that twenty minutes before lunch is over and the football field is occupied by the team and the cheerios, he's at ease-- for the first time in weeks. He transfers his sandwich from one hand to the next, brushing the crumbs off his free hand and lays it in front of Hummel. The other boy says nothing, but there's a smile and an assortment of colored markers suddenly surrounding him as Hummel starts drawing Henna designs and smiley faces over the bandages.
He'll later take them off, rewrapping them with new gauze. But he clenches his hand as he sits through French, hockey practice and the drive home.
It feels good to be delirious.
[Download @ Mediafire]
kurt hummel et david karofsky, a ficmix
There's something insidious and downright scary about this ship-- primarily how well it mirrors, in some ways, a culture of self-loathing and the clash between the 'pull yourself up by your bootstraps' mantra both in the political and social realms of discourse, and the inability to fit in with the mold-- by any means and no matter how goddamn hard you try. Not to mention the conglomeration of anxiety, loneliness and frustration that makes up the teenage years. Here's to the trepidation, the fear, and hopefully the tranquility and understanding between these two. Nine songs and nine vignettes that are only loosely tied together in chronological order. Download link of the songs at the bottom. Thanks to panda for all the help. ♥
ADELE | rolling in the deep
He’s seeing stars.
His sternum is protesting from the impact, and throbs in retaliation, out of sync with his raspy breathing. He sucks in air, a loud throaty gulp that wavers between an undignified yelp and a whimper, but he stares straight ahead, not even bothering to watch Karofsky and Adams turn the corner.
He won’t give them that.
**
He's seeing fucking stars.
Kurt's striding down the halls, head tall and knows exactly how fucking stunning he looks. His eyes are bright and shiny, with a hint of smile on those lips and that fucking radiant, supernova-worthy confidence. Dave closes his eyes, feeling the pinpricks of light distort his eyesight and the throbbing pain in the back of his head and drags himself forward. He nudges Adams next to him, and his friend nods, the same idea bubbling in his head, and they both make way towards Hummel.
He won't give him that.
PAPER ROUTE | tiger teeth (passion pit remix)
Kurt can tell, sort of, when Karofsky's around. There's a subtle hush as people fan out, and sidestep to make room for him. He learns to hear for the unnatural quiet, feel that drop in temperature and trust the pit of his stomach.
He's read online, about defense tactics, at least a few of them, and wills his muscles to tense, turning away toward the walls and covering his chest. The act makes him feels all the more vulnerable, but as he bounces off the locker and still manages to keep walking with just a slight misstep, his heart hasn't jolted and his feet are still firmly on the ground.
KANYE WEST FEAT. JOHN LEGEND & CHRIS ROCK | blame game
He's washing his face, in a bathroom that's clear across the school from the gymnasium, scrubbing extra hard at his lips, almost breaking skin, trying to get rid of the last traces of Hummel and chapstick off of him. The water's now scalding hot, and his hands are turning red, but he keeps going, until he surfaces-- looks around the empty bathroom, the torrent of water from his sink thrumming in the background. He shuts it off, and looks into the mirror, squinting at a red-faced boy in front of him, and feeling entirely too big and unwieldy and unimaginably stupid. He laughs.
Not his type, indeed.
and i was satisfied with being in love with a lie
IDA MARIA | oh my god
He hardly sees Kurt anymore.
Knowing Hummel's schedule and general patterns is proving useful, as he takes alternative routes and makes sure not to linger if he sees him. He's already proven to himself what a terrible idea it is to be anywhere near Kurt, no need for a second lesson.
It takes a few days to cope, a few days for his stomach to settle, to not jump at any whispering behind his back, and like everything else about Kurt Hummel, bury it underneath denial and steely conviction.
He hardly sees Hummel anymore.
And he can almost pretend that all....all this has never even happened.
GLASVEGAS | go square go
There's blood.
He bares his teeth, and he can feel the blood dribbling out of his nose, smarting painfully. He's feral, as he lunges towards his teammate who clocked him in the face, only to be held back before he could land a punch. They manage to turn him 180 degrees around before releasing him.
"He fucking hit me!" A swipe of his arm against his face doesn't help in the least to staunch the bloodflow.
"Who told you to pull Hummel outta the dumpster? We put him in there for a reason, dickwad!"
He's not smart enough to make up a good enough lie, and not brave enough to tell the truth, so he lashes at Stein, and the rest is just a blur of pain and howls before he's knocked into unconsciousness.
THE NATIONAL | afraid of everyone
He's reaching for the first aid kit in the coach's office, pulling it open and fumbling for guaze and painkillers. One of the seniors on the team had taken enough pity on him to give him a towel and brought over a roll of toilet paper to mop up the blood before clapping him on the shoulder and suggesting not trying it again.
So he's alone.
He's tired, while attempting to make up his mind whether or not to go home and let his parents see him at his worst.
More to the point: He doesn't want to explain himself. Ever.
He decides to go home, in the end, shuffling in through the kitchen door to see that his mother has a tupperware of supper waiting for him. No one seems to be at home. He heats it up but he can't seem to stomach it, throwing it in the trash as he goes upstairs.
He hasn't been hungry in a long time.
--
The next day, Hummel is waiting for him.
JJ (LIL' WAYNE & CHARLES MANSON SAMPLES) | my way
He’s holding Kurt’s hands.
Not clasping, not gripping them, but merely opening his palms upward so that Kurt’s hands can rest in his. He doesn’t dare to even think about the possibility that Kurt will let him hold them, so he doesn’t even try, merely letting the pads of Kurt’s lithe fingers trace the fleshy part of his palm, the bandages wrapped around his wrists, boxer-style, like a fortune teller.
It’s been like this for awhile. He can scarcely breathe, almost too afraid to say anything, lest he scares Kurt off, but the boy’s not even looking at him, just staring down at their brushing hands with a single-minded intent that seems more analytical than reassuring. His eyes scans down at the hands bestowed in front of him, and Dave feels like he’s going to be told he’s about to die in fifteen minutes, give or take.
He risks a shaky, “well?” Only to have that smoldering glare redirected at his face. He shifts under the sudden attention, but Kurt surprises him by grabbing his wrists.
“This was your idea, wasn’t it?” Kurt prompts, and David feels a little hot and awkward and ready to protest but Kurt shuts him up with a single condenscending look.
"Don't ruin the moment."
He can only nod in reply.
LISSIE | record collector
He's feeling kind of delirious.
Hummel is talking to him-- about something. He's not entirely sure.
What he is sure is that Kurt doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon. But he sits, on the bleachers, sandwich in hand, and a talkative Hummel by his side, making grunts every now and then to signal that he's listening--not comprehending, but he suspects Hummel knows that.
"Finish that."
"What?"
Hummel points to his lunch. "You're going to attract birds if you don't eat it." He looks down, and takes a bite, tasting ham and flimsy lettuce.
And for that space in time, that twenty minutes before lunch is over and the football field is occupied by the team and the cheerios, he's at ease-- for the first time in weeks. He transfers his sandwich from one hand to the next, brushing the crumbs off his free hand and lays it in front of Hummel. The other boy says nothing, but there's a smile and an assortment of colored markers suddenly surrounding him as Hummel starts drawing Henna designs and smiley faces over the bandages.
He'll later take them off, rewrapping them with new gauze. But he clenches his hand as he sits through French, hockey practice and the drive home.
It feels good to be delirious.
[Download @ Mediafire]