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night-rook · 4 years

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Sinful Delivery | Feitan Porter x Reader |

Word Count: 2709 Reader Type: Neutral Gender, Media Influencer, Model Story Type: Modern AU setting Beware: Sexual thoughts, BDSM, Curse words Summary: Reader is doing some media distancing due to harmassments. Feitan just happens to be the delivery guy on the day they wanted takeout.

Key terms: (Y/N) = Your name (H/C) = Hair Color (S/C) = Skin color (E/C) = Eye Color (F/F) = Favorite Food (S/F/F) = Second Favorite Food (S/N) = Screen Name (B/T) = Body Type (B/H) = Body Height

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A pair of empty eyes stared at the grimy ceiling. The pools of (E/C) reflected a blank canvas as they laid on the large bed. Their body felt frozen to the touch, almost as cold as a corpse. Taking in small breathes to fill their lungs, they closed their eyes and listened to the white noise of the room.

Their name is (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). Yes, That (Y/F/N). The infamous media influencer who specialized in dark styles of romance. Hacking to the fetishes that everyone is too scared or embarrassed by and bringing it out with their photos. Posing and modeling from all levels. If there was something out there, they were the first to act on it. Taking photos for the eyes of the dark. From innocent acts of bondage in bed to heavy blood draining, (Y/N) had a photo for the media.

Then, why were they laying in bed? Why were they alone?

There were numerous rumors that the model was faking their stats. Editing everything to where it looked realistic. Each photograph was nothing more than a scam of a freak who sought attention. As the rumors spread like wildfire across the internet platform, (Y/N)’s publicist advised them to stay away from the media until everything settled down. Their whole career was on hold because some people thought they were posers.

So, here they are laying in their loft condo and keeping a low profile. The (H/C) would go out for the usual grocery trips and daily exercise. Despite the dark cloud of their career, (Y/N) was a humble person and had a simple lifestyle. They just happened to have an interesting career path that differs from the norms. Boredom had become unavoidable these past few weeks, taking a toll on their adventurous spirit.

“Maybe I should have taken Gon’s than the Troupe Café,” (Y/N) mumbled and slowly sat up. “But, I’m kinda tired of the usual (F/F).”

Finally getting up from the bed, they stretched their limbs out into the air as they let out a huff of breath. Shaking off the sleepy dust from their body while walking down the stairs. (Y/N) looked at the clock that hung by the staircase. Its second hand ticking away while the minute hand was just barely moving.

Knock Knock, knock

Three rapid yet vigorous knocks caught their attention from the time. A smile broke across their (S/C) face as they walked to the door. Turning the knob, (Y/N) was greeted by a rather gloomy looking male. Being (B/H), the model was puzzled by the rather short male. His grey eyes stared at them, waiting for them to make a move. An austere expression was painted on his pale face.

“Are you gonna take it or not, dumbass. I don’t have all day.” the monotone voice seemed to match his demeanor. He held up a black bag that contained (S/F/F).

Shaking their head, the model took the delivery bag and left the door open. They got a whiff of food before setting it down on the living table to get the money. (Y/N) hummed happily at the thought of eating the heavenly meal but also for the change.

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As (Y/N) was gone, the male’s eyes narrowed slightly as something felt odd about the whole situation. The customer looked strangely similar to someone he followed online. He dug his hand into his pocket just as his phone vibrated. Pulling out the device, he internally grunted at the notification from Phinks. He pressed the text chat to read what was sent, probably a stupid excuse for not wanting to work. Reading the text in the grey bubble, the gloomy dressed male blinked before realizing what was said.

Lazy Fucker, 2:55 pm

Dude! Feitan! I remember where I saw that name. Ya know the model whose fan base is rioting? THAT’S THE CUSTOMER WHO ORDERED!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING LUCKY YOU SCORED?!?!

*read

Feitan felt a slight flinch in his gut. The universe had randomly granted him the opportunity to come across his favorite pastime. He knew of (S/N) and the alleged rumors against them. The short man didn’t care for what was said about the photoshopping because he knows real authentic torture when he sees it. Every drop of blood that dripped from their (S/C) (Y/H) body. Each cut that is made on their (B/T). He never doubted the reality that (S/N) performed.

When he heard and read about the accusations made about their work of art, his anger hit sky high. His blood boiled like magma, the more absurd every claim got. The day (S/N) went offline, Feitan’s hunger became unsatisfied. His entire Trevor Brown collection couldn’t fill the craving that rested deep inside his coal heart. There was just something in the model’s performance that made him growl in pleasure. His irritation followed him from home to work every day for the past couple of weeks.

“Here you go! I’m so sorry for making you wait this long. I misplaced my wallet.” they laughed and rubbed the back of their head due to the embarrassment.

He only grunted and took the payment, counting the bills to ensure it was correct. Underneath his bandana, an eerie smile made its way onto his apathetic face. Their voice was just so soothing and light, the perfect pitch to hear moans from in private. The more he stared at them, the stronger his desire grew. Feitan slipped the money into his pocket before deciding to speak.

“You’re (S/N), correct. Why haven’t you said anything about the bullshit,” he asked. Well, honestly, it was more like a demand than asking.

(Y/N) was about to close the door until he spoke up. Blinking at his bold words, they were confused about what told of them. Oh, he’s a fan… they realized. Placing a hand on their hip, the model gave his words some thought. They were surprised the delivery guy knew who they were, giving they weren’t exactly in costume. They were only wearing a plain (F/C) shirt and shorts while their (H/L) (H/C) hair wasn’t styled.

With a smile, (Y/N) answered, “I can’t change anyone’s mind on what they see. Our perspectives are different, so I rather just let them believe what they want to believe.”

Feitan frowned at them. Their answer didn't sound convincing to him. His grey eyes stared at them more, searching for something. “It’s obvious that those scumbags are just picking for a reaction. Probably waiting for a suicide announcement about you.”

This time, his words did make their stomach turn. It was unnoticeable when their account got negative comments or when their inbox was spammed with death threats. (Y/N) did their best to avoid them and ignore the pessimistic thoughts that came with every troll. Yet, the words aimed at them did hate their self-esteem. It was when the rumors started to take effect did they finally get time to feel peace. The media distancing helped the depressing cloud clear up above their head.

“Want to join me for lunch? My legs are standing to ache from just standing and the food is gonna get cold,” (Y/N) smiled while pointing at the couch behind them, “ I can ask all your questions while we eat if that’s okay with you.”

Feitan nodded and walked inside the apartment. He took a few glances around the place and took notice of how moderate it looked. If he could bluntly say it, the place looked like a boring image in a magazine you could find in an office. Taking a seat on the leather armchair, the gloomy male sat and waited for the other to join him.

Getting some plates and drinks from the kitchen, the (Y/H) model went to the living area and served him some (S/F/F). The two ate in silence for a bit and got acquainted with each other’s presence. Feitan observed them some more, his eyes never leaving their body.

"Well, are you going to talk or not." Feitan scowled, glaring menacingly as his patience was going thin.

(Y/N) sweatdrop at his impatience, but took a drink of their soda. Their mind playing back the beginning of the chaos and the events leading to isolation. Recalling the confusion when their publicist instructed them to make the accounts private and go offline. The devastation they felt later followed when they read the article claims against them. The model simply felt their heart crack from the madness.

"I was told to sit and be quiet until things settle. These few weeks haven't been great. The assaults are still going and I can't do anything," (Y/N) sighed and stared at their drink. "I am- sort of- at a breaking point. No matter how strong the bubble I'm in, the insults make me crack and it hurts. I had ideas! I was going for approval but then got told to be quiet so the adults can talk."

Feitan leaned back into his seat and listened to them rant out their pinned up frustrations. From what he saw, it seemed to bother them that they were seen as a fraud. He watched the way their arms moved as they spoke and how their clothes would reveal the hidden story. His grey eyes took in the faint scars and discoloration on their (S/C). Fighting back a growl, the gloomy male set his plate down and got the model's attention.

"Fuck what those bastards say. Do what you want and show them everything." he smiled at the visible shiver they had.

(E/C) eyes glanced up to meet with metal eyes. Despite the coldness in them, the model could see just a small flicker of light. It was a small light, small but it was enough to make something in (Y/N)'s mind snap. The small click of gears before complete clockwork began to shift inside them.

He was right! Why did they have to be put in the corner when all they were doing was their passion?! Why were they being punished?!

(Y/N) looked straight at the short male. Their eyes reflecting the newfound determination and that same emotion cause him to smirk with interest. What he heard did catch him and made his inner desire water with hunger.

"I want a tape of real-time punishment. So, seeing as you are well aware of my work, I take you to know what to do?" they innocently smiled.

The gloomy spider leaned forward from his seat. His eyes darkening with a cloud of cruel lechery with every passing moment he stared at them. His mouth watered at all the methods that came to mind with how he will have them beneath him. To hear their cries, witness their tears, the expressions that cute face can make... Oh, how fate gave him an angel in a devil's clothing. Pulling down his bandana, he smirked at the model.

There it was again!

The cold chill when he smiled at them. (Y/N) might have picked the perfect candidate for a partner. At least for the project... maybe. Getting up from their seat, they grabbed his hand and led him upstairs.

"Let's get started, shall we."

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Upon the release of the video, four months had passed by. The video had gained a couple of million views and thousands of comments. Whether the attention was positive or negative, (Y/N) had no clue but Feitan did. He read through the comment section and was amused by the words.

Feitan was on his break and sitting at a table, a cup of forgotten tea sat in front of him. He scrolled through the section with an entertaining smile on his face. His eyes squinted up as he grinned with each passing comment. The spider worker enjoys the memory of that evening. It was his absolute favorite and it was something he looked back to whenever he watched the video.

He can recall how he felt with each scene as it plays out. The adrenaline that coursed through his veins with burning aspiration. How he wanted to make (Y/N) submit and to feel those agonizing vehemence. He wanted to keep hearing the moans and cries they made with each whip. The lewd face they made when he flogged their bareback. The way their body tense and pull on the restraints when he made a deeper cut.

Phinks and Shalnark were a bit disturbed when the short man came back to their shared apartment into the next morning. He was grinning menacingly while his clothes were covered in blood. Who's blood exactly, that was unclear. Both males watched him enter the apartment before vanishing into his room for the rest of the day. Endless to say, they shrugged it off and believed some poor stranger just wasn't lucky.

"Hey, Feitan! Can you take my shift real quick? I need to use the restroom, please. Please! Please!" The blond whined a bit.

The gloomy male grunted before heading back into the kitchen to tag him out. As he worked, he didn't hear the bell chime of the front entrance. He cooked until a soft voice caught his attention.

"Ello! I'll like small grey ice cream with a dash of sadistic sparkles." they happily chirped. Smiling as brightly as ever from the other side of the bar window.

Feitan looked up from the stove and hummed in acknowledgment. He turned his attention back to the food as (Y/N) took a seat on one of the stools. Their (E/C) eyes shined with the same happiness while watching him cook. The comfortable silence around them was pleasant and neither wanted to break it too. Until Phinks came back and stared at the new face before realizing who they were.

"FEITAN!! It's that model!!" he managed to shout despite the small space.

The short man remained stoic while (Y/N) giggled at the blond's reaction. Feitan grabbed the blond's shirt collar and pulled him into the kitchen to take back his job. Feitan grabbed two drinks and walked out of the kitchen. Handing one drink over to (Y/N), the short man took a seat by them.

"What brings you here." he finally asked after a few sips of beer.

Setting their glass down, (Y/N) turned to face him before tilting their head a bit. They were a bit confused by his questionable demand but then sat up when they remembered the reason for their sudden arrival. Turning to pull out a notebook from their bag, the cheerful model set it on the counter and turned to the desired page.

"I got another idea and wanted to see if you could help. I was thinking of an ice bath this time, but I want your opinion since your nasty little mind was the brilliance behind the video," they showed the page to Feitan and slid the notebook to him. "The agency will cover the cost if you have something else in mind. They even want to ask if you wish to apply. Seeing as you like a natural on camera and how fans reacted."

Feitan looked over the information on the page while listening to the (B/H) model. He could get paid for tormenting them with his dark fantasies. He smiled at them and slid the notebook back to them. Nodding, he finished his drink and looked at them with the same eyes as the day they met.

"Yes! You're the absolute best! I'll text you when the due date is and we can meet up this weekend to see when you got." (Y/N) grinned before jumping off their seat.

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Feitan's smile vanished after they said goodbye. He returned to his expressionless husk and decided to clock back in. When he was about to get back to work, his blond roommate finally spoke up and questioned the gloomy spider on what had just happened.

He simply shrugged and went back to his job. His eyes squinted as a grin hid under his bandana. "Just my pet wanting approval."

The blond nodded but quickly snapped his head to look behind him and stare at the man in shock. Since when did he manage to hook up with someone before Shalnark or himself?! Turning back around, Phinks frowned and grudgingly had to pay Shalnark when they closed the café for losing the bet.

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#feitan #hunter x hunter #feitan portor #reader insert #feitan portor x reader #hxh 2011 #hxh feitan #hxh fanfic #hxh one shot

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wahbegan · 5 years

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The Scary Asylum Trope (From Somebody Who’s Been Committed)

I can’t help but feel that the very loud and righteous voices of people with the best of intentions....who also have no idea what the fuck they’re talking about often overshadow those with a more nuanced and realistic view of the world because they’ve been through the shit. Especially on this site. In the real world, of course, both are drowned out by the man who both has bad intentions AND no idea what he’s talking about, but either way, the fact remains: people with first-hand experience of the ugliness of society saying shit nobody wants to hear, especially shit that makes the world a bit more morally grey and a bit more frightening than anyone would like to deal with are never listened to.

Although it’s often overlooked, I think we can all agree that the mentally ill and substance-addicted are among the most cast-off and overlooked members of society. Junkheads and crazies are already struggling to survive and nobody wants to give them a job, get too close to them, give them money, have them wandering the streets or coming into their businesses. Unlike other forms of oppression, one of the most insidious things about this is it’s opposed by almost nobody. “Don’t give that guy money, he’s a crackhead”, “stay away from that bum, she’s not right in the head, she’s dangerous”, “we can’t give you a job because of your history with substance abuse”, none of these statements are remotely controversial with the vast majority of people. A lot of people get angry when you say they should be or even suggest the mentally ill (not disabled, mind you, just ill) or addicted are even oppressed by society at all. Addicts, particularly. The general consensus is they ARE dangerous, they DO do illegal shit, they ARE unpredictable and unable to work reliably or have an interpersonal relationship with you, and most importantly...they brought this on themselves. This, of course, brings us to that great garbage bin of society’s dregs, the mental hospital.

Okay, so a bit of background. In Senior Year of college, I was alcoholic, cartoonishly depressed, and trying to deal with vague, unspecified shit that may have been trauma or a personality disorder or something I do not know, all I have ever been officially been diagnosed with is depression, but that doesn’t cover everything. I don’t know to this day exactly what’s wrong with me and I’ve gotten too old and used to it to really care enough to speculate. But long story short, one night I got too mouthy about a suicide attempt as I often do...to be honest, I think my crippling fear of the oblivion i believe follows death tends to manifest as loudly telegraphing my intentions to commit so that I have a chance to wake up even if I don’t chicken out at the last second...but anyway. My friend Vanessa came by my door and helped me down out of the home-made belt noose in my closet, and the cops were called. Cue being taken away in a cop car in handcuffs and 96 hours in a mental hospital without ANYONE believing any of my attempts to defend myself or even being put before a judge how’s that for due process ladies and gentlemen?

I won’t say what hospital I was in due to all the horrible shit I’m about to say about its character, but I WILL say when i first got there, many a joke was made about a then very topical certain someone who was known as a whistleblower and/or traitor depending on where you fall on the political spectrum who leaked a bunch of CIA and NSA shit. Oh, yeah, completely unrelated, did I mention I went to the University of Mary Washington in Fredericksburg, VA? Just a fun tidbit.

Anyway, I know this is slow in getting to the point, so let’s cut to the meat of the thing. From Outlast (the good one), to Arkham Asylum, to Silence of the Lambs, Session 9, Halloween, to House on Haunted Hill (the bad but enjoyable one), to that story some kid in grade school and/or your older sister wouldn’t shut the fuck up about that had an escaped mental patient who apparently the staff had deemed wise to give a pirate hook for a hand, the common consensus is: mental hospitals are fucking scary. More specifically, crazy people are fucking scary.

In recent years, as we’ve all grown a little more compassionate and people give the mentally ill at least a few months or years before they decide your shit is too much for them to deal with and throw you out like a leper, there’s been very strong pushback against this. Particularly on places like tumblr and other random blogs and op eds around the internet. It’s easy to see why. Dehumanizing the mentally ill is not only offensive to people who CAN actually generally understand and remember what you say about us, thank you very much, it’s just lazy. People like Michael Myers (no not that one the scary one) and Joker, who would NEVER see the inside of a hospital due to their clear intelligence and control over their actions, are thrown in an asylum as a cheap plot device, and classifying a character as crazy lets you ignore pesky little things like “character motivation” and “consistent characterization in general, fuckwit”. People may even praise your character for lacking those things if they’re cuh-RAZY enough. Again, Michael Myers (still not that one) and Joker.

I’m a huge fan of the pushback against the escaped mental patient with a hook trope. Having been a mental patient myself, I can assure you that almost all ANYONE wants to break out of that shit hole to do is get some good fucking food, sleep in a real bed, and pork their significant other. Mr. Pirate Hook, in a realistic version of that story, may have jumped the teen lovers for their car just to drive it to the liquor store and then his girlfriend’s house.

The problem is, and this is the main point of this giant fucking essay, that there is now also considerable related pushback against asylums being scary places. Ironically enough, this is coming not mainly from certifiable and dangerous-to-themselves-or-others type people. This pushback is coming from very well-meaning young adults with anxiety disorders and/or depressive episodes who are very sweet and god bless them I just know for a fact have never EVER seen the inside of one of these fucking places. It is coming from people who don’t want asylums to be seen as scary places because they want the mentally ill to want to go to them. To help them, ostensibly, but a tiny little cynical “fuck everyone” part of me thinks it’s more like to sweep their mess into someone else’s room so they don’t have to fucking handle it.

Now, before I continue, let me stress that the place I was in was a bit renowned for being a terrible shit hole. I’m sure my experience would have been a lot nicer at a suburban 50k a day mansion rehab for celebrities in the hills of Los Angeles. You don’t condemn all hotels in the world because of one particularly traumatic stay at the bumblefuck nowhere clown motel next to the old graveyard (yes that is a real thing), right? And unlike hotels, there’s no such thing as an asylum critic. A lot of people do NEED to be hospitalized for safety, and a lot of people DO, through one method or another, find themselves better off by the end of their stay. And I’m sure the go-to solution for any and all of life’s problems isn’t “tranq them in the ass and throw them in an isolation room” in EVERY hospital. But I get a sneaking suspicion it’s most of them. With that disclaimer out of the way, let’s continue.

Mental hospitals are the most terrifying fucking places in the world. Every time one of my well-meaning friends who’s never been committed says they think a brief hospital stint would do me good, I want to throw a blender at their fucking head. Every one of your relatively well-adjusted but probably on an anti-depressant or anxiety meds guidance counselor and social workers friends will list their good qualities until they’re blue in the face and tell you it’s not at all like the movies and there’s nothing to be scared of. It’s not like the movies, most of the time. Not exactly. But that resort and bond with people who have been through the same thing as you and time to work on yourself and group therapy and art class pitch they sell you on? Yeah, it’s bullshit.

Let’s continue with my story. When I was brought in from the main hospital, they first sent me to acute. I’ve been to county jail, and I’ve been to the acute treatment (read: high risk/high security) wing in an asylum, and I would pick county. Every fucking time. Bless her heart, my patient and long-suffering girlfriend at the time, who had been by my side for the whole process, was sitting next to me and holding my hand as they did the intake survey. They were at least compassionate enough or smart enough to know I would be a lot more placid and manageable with her around to let her stay for the intake process. Outside, the hallway was dark, one guy was on a prison-style wall-mounted phone, some dudes were playing cards, a woman was wandering up and down the hallway....and up and down and up and down and up and down the hallway. And from somewhere, someone was screaming. Not words. Just...screaming. Nobody seemed to do anything about it, see what she was screaming about. I don’t know if it was agony, misery, or fury. Maybe some combination of the three. On and on and on, with breaks seemingly only to get her breath back. I was in the acceptance stage at this point, and was busy shutting down emotional channels one by one and going into survival mode, steeling myself for my stay, but my girlfriend at the time...she looked terrified and broken-hearted. The thought of her leaving a loved one in this windowless pit (this wing, you see, was underground) destroyed her. I could tell. It would me, if I were in her situation. It is a traumatizing situation to be in. There’s no way out, nobody believes anything you say unless you tell them the worst, you can see that woman out in the hall passing back and forth and back in forth in the door window, and someone is screaming like she’s in Hell. Maybe she was.

The screaming was when I first realized an ugly truth and my morals were shaken into a grey zone: people who are mentally ill can be pretty fucking scary. Even if they’re harmless. I never saw that woman or found out why she was screaming. But in that moment, I desperately feared her and hoped I would never find out. It’s easy now for me to look back on her with compassion and pity and feel ashamed for my reaction, wish I could have helped her, but then...I was already in a fragile place. She scared me. And this leads to the next conclusion, even worse. You scare other people, and maybe it’s understandable that they’re scared.

I deeply repress my anger. I have never in my life been violent or had the urge to be, and I don’t plan on changing that. But my anger is repressed. It can take a lot of battering before it shows itself...but when it comes out, it’s in a sudden, explosive, deep-throat scream worthy of a jump scare in a horror movie showing a protagonist is losing his mind and can’t be trusted any more. I usually only get about half a sentence out in this way before I scare myself, my eyes go wide with horror, I clap my hands over my mouth and run out of the room crying. But by then it’s too late. I got so drunk so often I forgot huge chunks of my past and have no idea what I said or did. I emotionally wounded people. I acted unpredictably. I asked to borrow a friend’s cigarette while she was DRIVING, and casually, with no warning, ground it out on my arm. My girlfriend often found me passed out through booze or asphyxiation or covered in blood. Crazy is undeniably scarier to live with than it is to witness, and I often get frustrated when it feels like people don’t remember or fully understand that. But...that doesn’t mean witnessing it isn’t fucking horrible. People were being perfectly rational to be afraid around me. Never afraid OF me, everyone who knows me knows of my physically gentle nature (with others) and desperate desire to be a good person. But they were afraid: afraid of my behavior when I wasn’t in control, of what reckless and insane shit I might do to self-destruct and/or inadvertently hurt people around me.

Thankfully, my intake survey and a nurse who noticed my relatively normal behavior both indicated I should be in the (above-ground!) high-functioning wing, so I was quickly moved there. I never figured out who that scream belonged to. But even in high-functioning...it wasn’t much reprieve. A woman shit the bed, a man fresh out of acute regaled us with stories of getting tranqed and thrown in isolation because he had barricaded himself in his room with all his furniture and berated the orderlies as they tried to force their way in about “you should really bolt the furniture down it’s a safety risk I could be killing myself in here” because he was bored. My only friend in the wing, who I really did like quite a lot and still do even though we fell out of touch, had a roommate who was always acting like she was just on the edge of doing something fucking stupid. Once, her husband smuggled her a shaving razor, which she whipped out in front of my friend, waving it around and threatening to kill herself. When my friend alerted the orderlies, this woman put it (IN ITS CASE I always feel I should clarify) up her pussy to hide it and feigned ignorance, resulting in my friend going to isolation. No tranq though. This was the high-functioning unit, after all.

Your one-on-ones with the psychiatrist were roughly 3-5 minutes in length and consisted of medication questions and asking if you were literally going to beat your head against a wall until you died in the next 15 minutes, otherwise talk about it in group. The more you insisted to this man that you were fine and shouldn’t be here and inquired about the legal status of your incarceration and when you could be released, the worse he thought you were.

There were times to gather and talk about feelings. There was art. Some people were very good at it. Visiting hours. But most of the time was just...sitting. Sitting, bored out of your god damned skull, so bored you might just barricade your room with all of its furniture and laugh and laugh and laugh as the orderlies try to force their way in. The patient man doesn’t need to inflict physical torture to break someone. Isolation and boredom do things to the human mind, maybe sooner, maybe later, but...up there, I said hospitals make a lot of people better. They also make a lot of people worse. Then they have to stay for longer. When they’re finally released, they don’t remember how to live in the normal world and soon end up back inside.

Just like prison. Make no mistake, the asylum is a prison. A prison where nobody believes a god damned word that comes out of your mouth. A prison for people nobody wants to deal with. A prison where they stick you with people whose crazy does NOT fuck with your crazy and you start to think maybe people are right for not wanting to deal with you after all. That’s the worst part of negative emotional reactions to symptoms of mental illness. How god damned much they remind you of yourself. The trauma I mentioned off-hand up there was that my ex from High School may or may not have abused me it’s complicated and fuzzy i don’t remember it’s not important. What is important is a new girl came in once who casually admitted to abusing her boyfriend. I backed away slowly and retreated into a private room, where my one friend had to comfort me. Later, the class clown, Mr. Barricade Tranq-in-the-Ass, made a rape joke in front of her. A rape survivor.

Everyone’s mind breaks in very similar ways, but for very different reasons and with just different enough symptoms and fears and psychotic hatreds that there WILL be people in your unit you fucking hate, whose crazy and yours grind on each other’s gears. There will be people you are afraid of, people you’re stupidly attached to for no reason other than they’re there and nice to you.

Throwing all these people in a hole and throwing away the key does not create an environment conducive to anyone’s mental health. Then, of course, there’s the treatment. Yes, like I said, if you’re willing to petition like 5 people about it and constantly remind them, you may get some good one-on-one time. You may get some good nuggets out of group therapy. You might make nice art. Mostly, though, they cut you off from the outside world and take you away from everything you love and put you with a bunch of potentially terrifying strangers and just fucking leave ya there. To rot.

The problem with mental hospitals is the problem they’ve always had. No, obviously nobody’s head is in a cage and they don’t electrocute and lobotomize you, but the theory is the same. They want you to stop being crazy. But first, and foremost, they want to keep you there and keep you under control. That is the primary goal. Not treatment. Keeping you there and controlled. I suppose if you consider the history of asylums it’s quite humane, but I wasn’t joking up there about the tranqs in the ass.Everything from death threats to trying to pork another patient to getting too lippy with a nurse is treated with the tried and true ass-tranq isolation room. How long will you be in there? Who knows!! Until they remember they put you in there and/or the shit that you’ve smeared on the walls starts to smell.

And all of this leads to the most horrible conclusion of all, the kind that makes people truly lose their minds if they think about it too long in that Lovecraftian/Poe kind of way where your hair turns white: maybe there is no right way to handle mentally ill people, and if there is, we sure as fuck haven’t found it yet.

The mentally ill are oppressed and deserve compassion. Love. Support. But we can also be terrifying to the mentally well, to each other, to ourselves...and forcing all of these people into a cage they don’t want to be in with strangers who they’re irritated with and scared of who are irritated and scared right back at them and leaving them in this weird, artificially constructed, regimented society until you deem them fit to leave is....ha. Well, it’s crazy!. And it is scary. And it can and often does make people worse.

So please, don’t...don’t say mental hospitals shouldn’t be seen as scary or shouldn’t be used in horror. By all means, do it. But do it well. Look to Outlast. See, in Outlast, the set-up is very trite. Big asylum, patients escaped and massacred the staff. But you’re there on a tip that human rights abuses and clandestine experiments were being performed. Most of the inmates are doing vaguely unnerving shit but are harmless, just like a real hospital. Some are just fucking watching TV. And the game is never satisfied with “this guy’s crazy.” Walker, the ‘UGE FUCKIN GOI who everyone’s terrified of has awful PTSD and if you listen to his idle dialogue, is always muttering about containment protocol and stopping the spread of something. And by the end of the game, you realize he might not be as crazy as he seemed, and that the patients massacring the hospital staff was completely understandable and maaaybe even a little bit their own fucking fault. One guy, in an absolutely heart-wrenching and my absolute favorite part of the game, is just sitting broken in a burning kitchen talking about how this place took everything from them because nobody cares about a few abused or dead lunatics, so he’s gonna burn the whole fucking thing down.

You know what it basically comes down to? Most of the crazy people aren’t dangerous. Some are, but the ones that are have clear motivations. Crazy ones, but motivations. Almost like........ooohhh the point emerges REAL FUCKING PEOPLE! Make villains crazy. Well, all right to be honest, it wouldn’t hurt to slow down a bit on that, but I don’t want it to stop entirely. Depict asylums as the Hellish shit holes they are. But for God’s sake, just write mentally ill people like human beings. A human being you can’t understand isn’t the same thing as a non-human. Nobody does things for NO reason at all. If you’re writing a crazy villain, don’t make him evil because he’s crazy and the symptoms of his crazy are being evil; if you’re setting something in an asylum, make sure the horror doesn’t start and end with guys in straightjackets frothing at the mouth and screaming about how they want to fuck whoever’s walking past them in the aorta.

I don’t want the truth about us, our condition, our capacity for harming those around us, or how fucked up it is how society treats us because it has no idea what the fuck it’s doing sanitized because it’s difficult to deal with and there are no clear good guys.

#mental illness #ableism

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aspiringhorrorauthor · 4 years

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Hey who wants to hear the miserable story about how I had to deal with loneliness this year? Feel free to scroll on I just need to write it down to, I suppose close the chapter on the story? Read if your curious, or maybe also need guidance, or just want to learn some tips on how to help someone dealing with it. This will be poorly structured it’s just... getting it off my chest I guess.

People talk sometimes about university students often struggling with loneliness, and often going overlooked because they’re not seen as ‘vulnerable’ as other populations. I mean, look! They’re in a city! They go out every night and piss off the locals! They can’t be lonely!

It started back in 2018 (yup, that far back), when my friends decided that it would be better for my mental health if I didn’t live with them. No lie, that was the actual fucking reason. I was heartbroken; I’ve missed out on a lot of typical “growing up! Yay!” Type things because of my mental health, trauma and bullying and the fact that “living with friends” was gonna be added to the list was fucking heart breaking. But I dealt with it, because I had no where else to turn. No one else to move in with. I cried for like 2 hours solid after they so sweetly told me they didn’t want to live with me because I have *anxiety*. Not even one of the quote unquote “””scary””” mental illnesses (which would have been a MAJOR dick move), just plain old anxiety attacks and hiding from people to calm down. I proceeded to have break downs every Wednesday for 3 months while searching for somewhere to live, bc it was always a stabbing reminder that I was so unwanted.

(They planned to move in with 2 other people so it’s not even like they were only searching for a flat to fit *just* them)

I study 300 miles away from home, literally the exact opposite part of the country. Despite not having many friends growing up I was never lonely because I had a great family who would always chase it away. Maybe I was lonely a bit at school, but I could always come home and my parents chased it away. It was recurrent, but not constant.

I got a place for the new academic year. Studio flat, great location, tiny and over priced to Hell but I was in a safe area which was great because *no one was looking out for me anymore*. I didn’t have flat mates to check I was alive everyday, no one to chat to when I got home. If I got sick, I was completely on my own. My next door neighbour is lovely, don’t get me wrong, but she’s a working professional, and I’m a second year student. Everyone else in studio flats are mature students, masters, phD students or working people. And me. I have so little in common with these people it’s tough to start a conversation with them.

My birthday is early in the academic year, so we didn’t celebrate it until about a month after. Half of my friends didn’t even bother, no card, no presents. Okay, fine, I’m not materialistic, but acknowledgement would have been nice I suppose. This is the only time they came around my flat, and they are the cake I baked to celebrate.

But they inexplicably started to just stop interacting with me. There were 5 of us, they’d pair up in lectures and only talk between themselves between lectures and left me sat quietly trying to speak to someone, ANYONE, because hello? I haven’t got FLATMATES. I talk to NO ONE outside of this “friendship” group. They don’t seem to care much, they just keep telling me how wonderful it must be to live in a studio.

They invited me round to celebrate another friend’s birthday at their shared flat. He gets presents from everyone, including the two that left me out. Their flat looks lived in, there’s board games out while I don’t have room for any of them in mine. They’ve got bean bags everywhere it looks so damn nice. “But your kitchen is bigger than ours!” Eve tried to tell me (an absolute LIE), but they don’t roll out of bed and immediately land in the kitchen. They don’t have to chose between watching tv, eating or living the flat any time they want to dry clothes bc there’s no room. I want to cry throughout the visit, I storm off once were done. I don’t know why. I know now.

Loneliness feels like a weight on your chest. It’s a double edged sword where both edges only cut you. You desperately seek interaction but it also upsets you. I wanted to hang out at their flat because I hadn’t hung out with them in nearly a month at this point, but when I got there I realised they hung out together every. Single. Night. While I cried alone in my room. It made everything so much worse. And they laughed it off.

They stopped posting in the group chat, they talked to me even less. Never invited me out, but there’s no way I could prove *they* went out so it was pointless complaining about it. I was meant to go to a concert with one of them, I reminded her about tickets an entire month before, offered to buy hers. She cancelled 5 hours beforehand. I went alone.

It was a Toyah concert. I fought back sobs in the opening song “Good morning universe”, because it repeatedly asks “how are you today?”. I was awful. I finally had it figured out. I was lonely, isolated, and I didn’t know what to do.

Before anyone gets too sad, the story only continues for 2 weeks past this concert.

1st November, they joke about how Blake, friend number 4, practically lives at their flat, and I get angry. Why does HE get to live there? Blake has flatmates, Blake’s not alone! I should be practically living there because there’s NOTHING in my flat but silence. The internet is on the fritz and I’ve yet to figure out the tv, I don’t even have background noise except the kettle! I storm off, vow to never interact with them again.

I go out for drinks with my neighbour for her birthday. She buys me a pint of coke bc I don’t drink. I hate coke, but I drink it all and chat with her friends. It was a great night.

That weekend I bake pumpkin cake and bread for knitting society, and calm down. I overreacted a bit surely. One more chance, that’s all I’ll give them. The cake and bread doesn’t all get eaten at the society so I bring some for them on the Monday.

Tuesday night is bonfire night. I sit in my flat wishing I could go out and see them rather than just hear them, but I don’t know where to go. I have no one to go with.

Wednesday im sat in lectures beside them, and a friend not in the group but still a friend comes over to chat. One of them excitedly tells her about how they went to a display last night “look at these photos I got of (friend in group)!” I ask if they went out last night, the phone is quickly put away, they ignore me. I ask again. The friend outside of the group is confused and leaves before the lecture starts. I spend 3 hours with loneliness ripping out my lungs, because how could they? They could’ve dropped me a message to say they were going and I could meet up, but they didn’t even do that? Why?

After the lectures finished I corner one of them. The first of my friends at university. The first person on my course I befriended. “Did you go out last night?” “Yes” “without me?” Another runs up “it was last minute it wasn’t planned!” Laughs it off. So I rush off. I don’t say good bye. That was it.

I went home and cried. Told my parents what happened. Cried down the phone to them. “It’s time to cut ties with them”. I know it is. It’s still hard.

So yeah. Miserable story. But any sad story should have a happy ending, right?

Yes.

The next day I told someone what had happened. She immediately called it bullshit and invited me to join her friends. They’re really nice. I like them.

I left the old group chat. No explanation, just “I’m hanging out with X now. Laters” and I left. I wrote my frustrations and explanation in a shitty poem, called it shitty in the poem itself, but also said they didn’t deserve better. They didn’t deserve even that, so I didn’t send it. I think it was a very sexy decision of mine.

But most importantly, through the hardest points, most of my weekly socialisation every week came from the two societies im part of: my society (knitting) and the nerd society. 4 1/2 hours a week of socialising isn’t enough, surprisingly. But it got me through.

But more importantly are the people I met there. I don’t want to tell them what happened, I fear they’ll be upset that they didn’t help more, but they helped so damn much. So much more than could ever be expected from anyone. That final Wednesday, when I’d cried my heart out, 2 people texted me out of the blue and lifted my spirits so much I laughed that evening where I’d cried in the day. Stupid texts too. “Baby rabbits and kittens, cos you’re a vet right?” And “I only just got this message, I would have LOVED some pumpkin cake 🙁”. Poor lads probably weren’t expecting the wild conversations we had afterwards but friendships blossomed from it. Sorry new friend, hope you like the cheese scone recipe you definitely did NOT see coming that day.

The society meets on a Thursday, but it was to be a video watching thing more than a social thing. Loneliness was still tearing me up inside, I wanted to talk to someone damnit! But I went because I needed cheering up. I laughed so hard, I sang theme songs with others, and we all went to the pub afterwards. I’d never been before, I planned to leave at half 10 so I could shower and go to sleep in reasonable time for a 9am lab. I got chatting to the cake boy at 22:25. By the time we left the bar and he’d had his fill of chocolate rolls at my flat (I offered, he was hungry and Sainsbury’s was closed) and I was in bed, it was 00:40. Oops.

But I wasn’t lonely anymore.

Whats there to learn? I suppose don’t take advantage of your friends. If someone is living alone, check on them OFTEN. Make sure you don’t just pair up for conversations in lectures. Invite people round more.

And don’t under estimate the power of a text message. The lack of one ruined one friendship, one daft one about pumpkin cake built another.

(And I baked cookies for my new friends and we ate them in front of the old friends. Get rekt).

#long post #loneliness

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svartalfhild · 5 years

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2018, I Won’t Miss You

A.k.a. I call out this year for all the ways it fucked me over and reflect on a few good experiences.

This year was the first year I’ve ever had a smart phone, which ended up being pretty damn useful, even essential at some points. However, the counterbalance was that I had to go through finding out how to live in a post-school existence, and that was not pretty, because it put me at all new levels of social isolation and uncertainty. I stressed super hard about finding a new job. I ultimately didn’t get one and lost hours at my current job because I thought I was going to be transitioning to a better job at a toy store, but they laid me off only a few weeks after hiring me to replace me with someone with better availability. They said I could stay on as a “seasonal worker” but it’s past Christmas and I haven’t been asked to fill a single shift since they benched me in September, so saying I still work there is kind of a joke at this point.

The good news is, despite the stress of failing to get a better job, I’ve added art as an occasional source of extra income, starting with doing the cover illustration for a short story my mother published earlier this year and later with opening commissions to the online community.

My mental health didn’t have a super great year, though, especially in the first half. On top of the job bullshit and the dealing with not knowing how to live life without school, I was feeling intensely bleak about my existence. I was in an excruciating amount of emotional pain because of things I couldn’t control, and it festered because I had the free time to ruminate about how lonely and dejected I felt. I hadn’t felt quite that bad in several years, actually. It’s hard to compete with the shit I was going through in middle school, but this came alarmingly close.

I think my biggest mistake was trying to force myself to be fine again as soon as possible when it took me a couple years to get past the shit that plagued me when I was 12. I honestly think, though, that there was a little while there from about July to late September when I was coping pretty well. I don’t know what happened in late spring to make that happen, but I was in a state of higher functioning for a bit in the summer.

The sad thing is that here at the end of the year, I am once again struggling with the same shit; I’m just a whole lot better with how that affects my behaviour towards other people now. I do feel like I’ve learned how to better interact with people and shield those I love from the worst of my mental health nonsense. In turn, I think that has greatly improved my relationships and made me less prone to beating myself up over the things I say. Progress.

And hey! I did manage to do some pretty rad things this year, despite all the crap my physical and mental health were hefting onto me. I got on a plane for the first time and traveled by myself to Oregon to be with some of my closest friends, who I’d only ever known through the internet before. We went to a convention together and had a really awesome time getting our asses kicked at AtlA themed dodgeball dressed as our DnD characters. I went through a haunted house for the first time and found out that I’m too rational to be scared by a lot of that sort of stuff (but it was still fun). I got to go to huge bookstore and see a first American edition of Fellowship of the Ring. I think the best part of that whole trip, though, was just living with friends and getting a taste of what life without my family’s control could be like. For once in my life, I trusted that everyone and everything was going to be okay, and for a few days, I was really happy. Because of that, though, I spent a lot of the day that I left crying or trying not to cry. Having so much of what you want and then having to leave it is...really upsetting, as it turns out.

But anyway. I also managed to complete an application to grad school, so even though my whole Find A Good Job plan didn’t work, I still took a step towards some kind of life goal and I don’t have to have a total existential crisis just yet. I don’t have high expectations about being accepted, but I do have some hopes and that’s something I can hold onto going into next year.

A lot changed with my family this past year. Dealing with the wake of my grandfather’s sudden death was a major issue all year that seemed almost handled until my grandmother died just a couple months ago, which threw everything back into chaos and despair. Death and loss have been an awful theme for me this year in general. On top of my grandparents’ deaths, my dad’s best friend committed suicide, and a friend of mine, who I know to have been suicidal in the past, completely disappeared from the internet when I wasn’t looking, and I was unable to track her down to find out if she was okay. Other friends lost people who were dear to them as well. The world was ravaged by increasingly terrible disasters on top of that. Needless to say, my empathy circuits are fucking fried.

Thankfully, life handed me some pretty great distractions from its bullshit, like an awesome DnD campaign and lots of time with assorted other TTRPGs, or numerous video games like Pillars of Eternity II: Deadire, Fallout 4, and Overwatch. Netflix brought me countless hours of enjoyment, and my brother got me to watch all of Stargate SG1 with him, which I wasn’t super into at first, but it grew on me. I started knitting again for the first time in years, because I love knitting scarves for people. I did a lot of fic writing, but it wasn’t really fanfiction so much as additional content for my tabletop games. Same goes for art.

It’s been over a year now since I’ve posted any proper fanfic or fanart, which feels weird, but I think I’ve become so exhausted with the politics of being a fan content creator that I haven’t had the motivation for it. It’s much easier to keep your passion for something going when you don’t hope to attract the attention of thousands of people, and instead you’re making things for a story you made up with your closest friends. The only people whose attention you need to care about then are a handful of people who are already inherently invested.

Of course, that’s not to say that I don’t get sad about my work sometimes anyway, regardless of what I’m creating and for whom. Depression is and has been a real dick this year, and it made me procrastinate on my grad app manuscript to the point where I had to stress years off my life cramming the creation of a 10k word original short story into a single month just before the deadline. I managed it, though, and that’s the important thing.

I don’t know what to expect from 2019 except more nonsense, because there’s always copious amounts of nonsense. Having high expectations, given what the past few years have been like, seems rather silly at this point. I suppose what the new year shapes up to be will largely hinge on whether I get accepted to grad school in March or not. If I do, then it’ll be a year of big change in my life, going away to live on my own in a different state. If I don’t, then it’ll just be More Of Same, still living with my parents, working part-time at a shit food service job, looking for a new job, and tearing my hair out trying to get everything together for more grad school applications.

One way or the other, though, I intend to try to finally get treatment for my mental illness. I am tired of being like this and I’m tired of having my memory and focus abilities steadily destroyed by this shit. If anything goes right next year, let it be that.

#personal

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violetsystems · 3 years

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#personal

There’s a point where you are pushing a boulder uphill where you actually think you’re pushing it over the top. You look up. You look down. There’s this exact even point between joy and dread where you don’t know which way it will go. Seeing as how it’s an exact middle point you expect it to pass. Like this whole process goes on for a year and you emerge mentally “over it.” You expect something to change outside of your skill at rolling the boulder. You say to yourself that you can keep doing this all day like some juiced up eighties American action hero. And then you look up and down again to observe your process. It’s still limbo. You might even become strong enough to maintain this mirage of an ascent while doing other things. Watching a movie or a television show. Play a game on your phone. But the boulder is always there. The positioning is different these days. It feels like I keep pushing the boulder and the hill keeps stretching. Like there’s a bulldozer dumping other people’s shit onto the incline. Which makes it seem I’m climbing up a relentless garbage pile of other people’s baggage, perceptions, and detritus. This is essentially true particularly in the city I live in. Which mind you living in a city is much closer to the edge than where I came from. I lived in the suburbs for half my life. It felt like the bottom. An Irish and Italian Catholic suburb plagued by hard drugs and abuse. I eventually found a job in the city through my friends at the time. And later I eventually found a place to live. And I have lived in this city long enough to know there isn’t really something wrong with me. The incline is easy enough but sinking in other people’s shit seems to be the norm. Around here whether it’s Chicago or America, people like to disarm you by making your priorities seem selfish. We’re all in this together after all. In times of crisis, we pull together and help our own. Which is a reminder that for about a year I’ve been isolated taking care of my own. I spent about as much time per day trying to engage people on LinkedIn without any real success. It is place where I feel I’m successful at showing the professional side of me. Sort of like Tumblr is a place I feel like I’m successful showing the human and empathic side of me. Which one feels like the boulder? After all the years I’ve spent writing to the void here, I’ve seen a connection. Expecting too much is what shatters hopes and dreams. But I have spent a really long time expecting the very least and being given less. In a twisted turn of fate, I have a lot more financially than I may have in my previous life. To have to label it previous is a sure sign I stopped pushing that boulder a long time ago. I was forced to. Left with a realization that the world is bigger than this and yet I can’t seem to escape it. I played a game of magic yesterday online. Sometimes lately the player names are a little too telling. I had just built a Tiamat deck so I tested it out in Standard Ranked. The username popped up as “Escapeurf8yt.” I quit Hearthstone for less. The last two games I played in that Blizzard game were so sus that the player names were meant to trigger me. That last match was against a player named “Imcomingforyou.” Nerds aren’t the most delicate when they have their chance to wield power. I won the Tiamat game without even having to play Tiamat. But it left me with a similar feeling. Why do I try to be part of things that don’t have any real modicum of respect for other people’s feelings and identity?

That example could be chalked up as being a little too sensitive I guess. Every time I walk around the neighborhood lately it’s like I have to tiptoe around people’s feelings. I’ve gotten mad at my situation more times than I can count the last year. Anybody would. I lost all my ground. I lost everything and yet gained something in the process. People whispered behind my back and watched. Looking for clues to pin the blame on my downfall on me. And yet for all the new things I tried and did to survive, I’m still pushing the same generic boulder to most people. I’m not even good enough to be recognized as a writer by the broad public. I’m some sneaky individual that everyone feels it’s their duty to check up on at the expense of my civil rights and general mood. The gaslighting is at the very center. That nobody wants to address the elephant in the room. They can’t really. And maybe it’s for the best. Because the way I see everything from the inside out is troubling. Nothing has returned to normal. People’s privilege has been laid bare and somehow everyone is looking for the scapegoat to deflect the blame. I’m sick of it. Everybody being so nosy and confrontational with nothing to offer expect a bad attitude and a jokey stare. This is why I no longer go out for anything other than groceries. Why I decide to have things delivered instead of having to participate in a clown show parade of well intended bullshit. Why everybody speaks for me when no one has spoken a kind word to me at all. Everybody expects me to reach out and fix the trust they broke with me. And it gets sadder and sadder that people don’t understand that I’m pretty much a boarded up house at this point. Living in a little shack enclosed by people’s expectations and barriers. Time just keeps passing. People do keep reading. But here is where I feel people have the most context at how horrible I feel after all of this. Some of it is for the best. The community people ask for in the real world without deserving it is non existent or coerced. I know this because I’ve been welcome down here in the bowels of the internet. You don’t expect the community here to cross the line. Even when it does, it is a more delicate and slow process how you let people into your life. In the real world, it’s abrasive, clumsy and inconsiderate. And I dance around it all just the same. But there’s a point when it just becomes macabre. People out there might say they know me. But I’m the one out here alone constantly. I have a full year to prove it. More than that to be honest. I just gave up on trying to figure out everything that happened before that. I’ve lost my own history in that regard. I will never reboot my dj career. I will never be accepted as a writer. I will never be good enough to be called an artist. I remember this intense discussion I had with an ex during a break up. We were living together at the time. We had been together for about a decade at that point. We lived in the eastern side of this neighborhood at the time. It was designated by the developer as an artist’s neighborhood. My girlfriend at the time was a photographer. I was mostly her assistant. I paid most of the rent. We were at a crossroads. She cheated on me in front of my face in front of our house. Even after telling her to go, she wouldn’t leave. She told me to my face that I didn’t belong there because I wasn’t an artist. I also gave up my car in that breakup. I’m realizing just recently the reason I never renewed my driver’s license was because I knew I would never afford a car again after I lost that one. Which is a great thing to remember when State officials yell at you asking why you haven’t renewed it.

The world says it gives a fuck. It doesn’t show it. It doesn’t act. If it did we would never be in this situation. I know this because I was born to survive. I have pushed many boulders up many hills. So much so that I’m grey and over the hill. And apparently completely fucking meaningless to most people. Only good enough to speak through T-shirts and guerilla marketing. There’s a level beyond that I know. There are people that actually care but the situation is impossible at best. I’m supposed to see this and accept this out of love, care and attention. And for a few people I barely know, I do. The person I care about the most probably knows this too. But I don’t know anything. It’s blind faith. Which is saying a lot for spending two paragraphs saying I have faith in nothing around me. I don’t, That’s the curse. Seeing it how it really is. Knowing you’ve spent half your life pushing up a boulder for other people that wasn’t worth the slough. I gained some muscle mass. Some context to my backstory. But my life is dead in the fucking water aside from having actual net income. Kanye and Trump are cash poor. This is just a fact. I’m not. And yet nothing has changed. There’s no end in sight to where I need to be a year later. Just the same disrespectful shit. How I’m supposed to sacrifice my humanity for some rich people’s game with my emotions. The world uses you, eats you up and spits you out. If you are lucky to survive this you’d be me. Has anyone out there really thought about how I feel after all of this? How dark it must be to know the real truth and keep pushing that boulder just the same? How tiring and exhausting it feels to be able to write it so delicately but still be so fucking misunderstood just the same? Is my life just to be joked about backstage as some quirky subplot to steal ideas from? You cannot be me after all of this. I will remind you on my very last breath. And every day that passes is a reminder that you’ve tried. People have tried to say they know me. People have tried to say they speak for me. Understand my pain. And yet I’m never good enough to acknowledge. I’m invisible and supposedly this is my thing. In that case it is. From this day forward. Let’s not beat around the fucking bush. I got here on my own. I bled, I cried, I screamed and I retreated into the inevitable. How does anyone expect me to feel if I’m supposed to accept what I accept and know what I know. I don’t really know. I feel awful. I feel broken. And I feel like everyone who cares about me knows this by now. And the stakes are higher than my personal feelings about it all. But my words are meant for people who read them to understand me better for the love of it. Not to get a jump on me. Not to subvert me. Not to teach me a lesson or use me as a stereotype. Not to be a punching bag or scapegoat for communities who would rather burn me at the stake than hear what I have to say. In that you will forever fail. I love the culture that swirls down here. I love how hardcore it is without pinging the radar for the vultures and the marketing teams. And yet we have this power that still goes ignored. Gets laughed at. Joked about. Talked over because people are vapid, bored and only succeed by watching other’s fail. I dropped that boulder a long time ago. It apparently has not smashed the opposition yet. It is a long way down as it’s been a long way up. Tough at the top for sure. But there’s only room enough up here for two. And that seat is taken. <3 Tim

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purplesurveys · 6 years

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254

What type of movies do you get into the easiest? I’d be drawn to anything as long as it isn’t a western, comedy, fantasy, or overwhelmingly crime.

If you could learn to play any instrument, what would you pick? Piano. That got away from me.

What is it about a stranger that makes you interested in them? If they speak intelligently, I’d want to know them immediately.

Are you materialistic? Aren’t we all...

Do you think more with your heart, your mind or your body? Sometimes heart, sometimes mind.

What types of things fascinate you? Horror, cultures, pro wrestling.

Do you think it’s all right to completely ruin someone’s life on purpose? If it’s like a pedophile’s or a rapist’s life then yeah totally.

What are your opinions on bullying? I don’t think there’s ever an excuse for it. Even if you say that it’s got something to do with the bully’s personal life, that doesn’t mean they could go right ahead and ruin a smaller kid’s day. I was quite the bully before and even I think that’s bullshit and shouldn’t be a free pass to start being an asshole.

If you were a writer, what type of stuff would you most likely write? News, editorials, similar articles.

Do you have any mental disorders or diseases? I’m positive that I do, but in my almost 20 years of existence I haven’t gotten myself checked. I can’t led my parents find out.

How do you feel upon seeing someone who’s missing an appendage? I get curious about how it happened and want to approach them so they get to tell their story; I don’t judge.

Do you feel you’re more beautiful inside or out? Inside. I do my best to make people happy and feel loved because heaven knows all of us need those these days. I don’t really pay attention as to how I look.

Do you let music move your body, or do you hold back? Hold back, definitely. Even when I’ve had a little to drink - you would never see me letting loose. Dancing just isn’t my thing.

Are you willing to do whatever it takes to have fun? Anything is a huge stretch. I’ll pass.

What is something that is often on your mind (besides specific people)? How worried I am about this semester being that I have four terror profs. One has high standards, one knows her shit, one is a bitch, and the other is a Mega Bitch who embarrasses students. FUN! My mental health is in for a ride.

What kinds of feelings do your hobbies leave you with? Happiness and comfort.

Why is your favorite store your favorite? I don’t really have a favorite store. I buy from wherever a thing I need could be bought. Do you prefer touch screens to non-touch screens? Touch screen. It’d be refreshing to get to use a phone with buttons though.

Can you handle the stress of working in food/customer service? I’d never need to, as I’m an intelligent person who likes to have a real job. < Yeesh. My dad is an executive sous chef and is one of the most intelligent people I know. And it is most definitely a real job; he showed me around his office(s) when he brought me to the cruise ship he works in. Don’t discriminate and don’t invalidate. Anyway, while I realize that there are people who still think like this, I probably couldn’t. Mad respect to them for handling hundreds of entitled, screaming, angry customers every day.

Are you ever rude to people on purpose? If they’re rude to me first then I have the right to be rude back. But normally, no.

Can you feel the rush of energy a band brings when playing live? Oh my god YES. BRING ME TO PARAMORE PART II.

How do you feel when you’re around a lot of people you don’t know? Nervous. I always make it a point to be around a familiar crowd, because my anxiety could always pop up at any second.

Do you pick up on the feelings of others easily? Very. I’m super sensitive when it comes to that.

Would you let your child have a pet? Not their own, but yes I would want both a kid and a big dog.

Where were you raised and what’s it like? For the first quarter of my life I was raised in Tondo, which was the most liberating and stress-free time I’ve had since I was basically a kid of the streets. It made it easier to blend in and understand the jologs culture (Google it) while the rest of my upper-middle class friends are grossed out by it. For most of my life though I lived in suburban neighborhoods in Antipolo and it was mainly quiet, isolated, and boring.

Is there a reason behind your name? My parents say I was named after the singer Robyn, but they occasionally change their answer when I ask where my name came from. Until now, I’ve never gotten to the truth.

Are you in love and if so, for how long? Yes. Five years.

How many times have you thought you were in love? I’ve only decided that I was once, and it is the same one I have now.

How did you know you were in love? I knew I wanted to be with her for a very, very long time. I felt comfort with her presence. That’s simply it.

Have you done drugs and if so, which was the best? Never.

Do you recycle, or do you feel guilty about not recycling? Sure. I segregate more often, though.

Have you ever been sexually educated? Nope. Had to piece it together all by myself when I was around 11. That’s how it works in the Philippines.

Did you attend public or private school? The education system works different here, but just to answer the question I went to private school all my life. My university is public, though.

Are you an only child or do you have siblings? I have two siblings, both younger.

What age did you lose your virginity? 18.

What will your life be like in twenty years? Hopefully financially stable. And with a kid. Or kids.

Have you ever offended a celebrity? Yeah. CM Punk has me blocked. Understandably so, though; I was a little prick of a fangirl at the time.

Would you marry someone if you thought their parents were insane? It would be a problem but I don’t think it’d lessen or tarnish what I felt for my partner. Thankfully I don’t have to face this because my girlfriend’s parents are the kindest, sweetest people.

Have you ever been at home and wondered where everyone went? No, but I’ve woken up* and thought the same thing.

Did you know grape juice and baking soda can be used as invisible ink? Cool. I’ll keep that in mind if the need to use invisible ink rises.

Is it fun to be mean to little kids? It’s always good fun to tease them, but I could never be mean to one–unless they’re a huge asshole at like 5 (which happens a whole lot.) My mother has been continually mean to me all my life and I remember every single crappy thing she did when I was a kid myself.

Have you ever wanted to be a teacher so you could be mean to little kids? No, that’s the worst. But some teachers are so disgustingly mean that this question is making me think that they applied to be a teacher solely so that they had the space to be like what they are. Hi, Ms. Belen, Sir Ruel, and Sir Johnny!

Have you ever been embarrassed to discuss something with a doctor? A little. I had a hickey on my belly the day of my medical exam, and when she was checking my bare torso she saw it and tapped on it and asked me what it was. I was flustered and said I didn’t know before insisting I was fine then she moved on. My dad was waiting outside so he couldn’t find out lmao.

Do you enjoy talking to people over webcam? No, because the Internet connection here is a huge hassle.

Is there a video game that you have beaten everyone you challenged at? Nope, I don’t play video games to beat people; mostly just to roam around in open world games, really.

Would you ever push someone into the middle of the street? I don’t think I would have the balls to.

Are you desperate for things to change? No.

Do you talk to people about your problems? Just my girlfriend, and sometimes Angela.

Have you ever become unconscious? Welp other than sleeping, I’ve fainted a few times before due to hunger.

Do you hate being the first person to start a conversation? Sometimes.

Would you rather die or eat another human being? I think I’d much rather die than having to resort to cannibalism. In any situation.

Do you think people who say that they ‘don’t have regrets’ are telling a lie? I always say I don’t have regrets and my reasoning for it is that the now-wrong thing I did or had was what I wanted at the time, and I’m not gonna invalidate what I wanted before. Yes, I’ve had stupid decisions, but I don’t like the idea of taking them away from me by regretting them. And I don’t lie about this, so... that’s your answer.

How many cups of coffee do you have to drink to totally become hyper? Not sure. I don’t drink coffee to be hyper.

Do you ever get hyper off of sugar? I don’t think that has ever happened, no.

Would you ever become a psychologist? How about a psychiatrist? I wish. I wanted to and still want to take up BS Psych and work in that field, but alas I’m stuck somewhere else.

Do you know what the difference between a psychiatrist and psychologist is? I do.

Does/did the last person you text messaged go to the same school as you? Nope, she studies like two cities away.

Is there anything worrying you? Right now I just want my phone to be as alive and USEFUL while I wait for my dad to come home and lend me his iPhone because that’s how most people contact me. Mine is practically useless and dies after using for like 20 minutes.

If so, have you talked to anyone about it? Yeah I told my dad about it, said I had to wait 14 more days before he gets back and deals with it.

What colour are the eyes of the last person you held hands with? Dark brown.

Is it possible to be “just friends” with someone you have feelings for? Yes, if you haven’t admitted it at all. Not so much, if you’ve admitted and they’ve said they don’t feel the same.

Is there someone of the opposite sex that you can talk to about anything? No.

Are you looking forward to anything? YESSSSS. There’s a vegan place on campus now and I plan to try it later and I’m way too excited for it.

Should you be doing something else right now? Eating breakfast and getting ready for school.

Is it important to be on a similar intelligence level as the person you’re with? That is very important to me, yes.

What’s your favorite Ben & Jerry’s flavor? I’ve never tried Ben & Jerry as it’s ridiculously expensive here, where B&J is seen as one of the snootier imported brands. It’s like 575 pesos for a small ass pint. That’s $11 for something I can finish in one sitting, and believe me that’s overpriced in the Philippines. I’d much rather buy the local 1.5L tub of cookies and cream ice cream for P245/$5.

What do you really watch on TV in the middle of the night? I don’t even watch TV during the day.

What’s your favorite song to sing in the shower? I don’t sing in the shower.

Have you ever had your phone taken away at school? No. I never brought it at least until the latter months of the school year when the teachers stop caring, since surprise inspections are a thing in my old school.

How old were you the first time you dyed your hair? I’ve never done it.

What do your slippers look like? I don’t use slippers around the house. I never got use to it as I didn’t grow up doing it.

Do you think your ex still wants to be with you? She did. Now she is with me.

Where were you two hours ago? I was in bed, sleeping.

Has anyone ever cried in your arms? Yes.

What was the last thing you randomly decided to buy on the spur of the moment? I reeeeeally try to avoid impulse shopping now, hahaha. It’s worked so far, since I can’t give you an answer to this question.

Do you get along with your best friend’s parents? Yes, I love both Angela’s and Gabie’s parents :(

What’s the closest thing to you that’s blue? My school bag.

Are there any foods that you love but can’t eat, for any reason? Thankfully nope.

Are you hiding something from someone at the moment? No.

What flavor was the last ice cream you ate? Cookies and cream.

Have you ever told anyone that you never wanted to lose them? Yeah along the lines of that. Then Sofie faded out of my life. Then Gabie was away from the picture for a while. Shit happens, and that’s okay.

First name of the last person to text you? Gabie.

What are your plans for the weekend? Drown in readings for my Tuesday class.

#survey #surveys

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btspremiumtrash · 5 years

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ʝυѕт уσυ ➵ ϼ.ϳɱ (03)

(credit to original gif creator)

⇓ Ship: Jimin x Reader

⇓ Genre: Assassins! AU, College! AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst-y

⇓ Summary: What began as you trying to top Park Jimin in becoming the number one assassin in your guild spiraled into an all-out war. All for your hand.

⇓ Word ct.: 8.3k

⇓ Warnings: Rape, mentions of blood

Previous Chapter⇔Next chapter

Masterlist

“It honestly infuriates me with the number of god-awful papers I had to sit and grade.” Kim Seokjin was in a fit. For one, he had to come to work today. Second, there’s a teacher’s assembly after school meaning not only does he have to spend more time here, but he also has to see Min Yoongi. But the final nail in the coffin was not being able to have his morning coffee. And now he has to deal with incompetent children who can’t seem to write a good paper.

He looked to the class as he took out the stack of papers from his bag. Sighing, he started his lecture once more. “I mean for Christ’s sake, I gave you possibly the easiest assignment in your goddamn lives and you all completely fucked it all up. How the hell did you all manage to do that, I’ll never know. But do know that we will be doing an equally heavily graded assignment today. And since I’m so nice, you all are going to be working in groups of three. So, while I’m handing back your papers, partner. Oh, and: if you don’t receive your paper, I threw it away for you. You’re welcome.”

You felt your feet get cold when he mentioned he threw some out. Were they really that bad? You could only imagine what grade yours got with how bad he made those papers sound. You’d be lucky to get it back. Granted, you did spend a decent amount of time working on it. The assignment was as simple as Seokjin claims in your mind: find out what satirical strategies are used when advertising a product and make an essay discussing them. Unless people had better things to do like go party or get down and dirty, you saw no difficulty with the assignment. So, all you could do was pray that you got a good grade.

With Namjoon immediately partnering up with you and a shy tap on your shoulder from Jeongguk asking to join, you had made your group of three. Seokjin handed each of you your papers back and oh my goodness you could not believe your eyes. 85%. The highest in the class as Seokjin wrote it. Your eyes practically lit up with how happy you were. Namjoon got 76% and Jeongguk got 73%.

“He does still have a soft spot for me,” Jeongguk mumbled to himself. He spoke a little louder to grab both yours and Namjoon’s attention. “I swear to God I bullshitted this entire paper and I still got a decent grade. Maybe English isn’t that bad after all.”

You chuckled while Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Or it could be because you blew up my phone asking me ‘Hyung, what does this mean?’ literally every five seconds the night it was due.”

Jeongguk pouted. “Whatever. I still passed.”

Namjoon didn’t wish to push the boy further so he stopped responding. As much as he wanted to add “because of me”, he knew he was going to get into an argument that he didn’t want to get into. Besides, Jeongguk looked cute when he pouted.

After Seokjin finished passing out the papers, he began explaining what the rest of the class will be doing for the remainder of the period. “Now, you all are in groups because of the assignment I’m about to give you. I want you and your partners to make one paper combining one method of advertisement from everyone. If you don’t have your paper, feel free to use your phone to look up one. You better not slack off on this assignment or else you’ll be sent to the principal’s office. Or better yet, you’ll be staying here after school with me and grading your own papers. How does that sound?”

When no one responded, Seokjin smirked. “That’s what I thought. Get to work. This is due at the end of class.”

And with that, you and the boys went to work. They both decided that since your handwriting was better than theirs that you would be the main writer. Namjoon was in charge of telling you what to write while Jeongguk looked for information on both the Internet as well as the papers.

You three finish the paper with time to spare. And so, your mind dawned on the shocking news you were told last night by Hoseok and Jeongguk.

Hoseok’s voice echoed throughout your head. “I’m guessing you never really knew this but Jimin, along with many others such as me and Ggukie including that fella on your lap, all liked you.”

The scene replays itself.

“You said seven of you. Who were the other three?”

Jeongguk looked in his rearview mirror to see your reaction as he answered “Namjoon, Yoongi, and Seokjin.”

“Namjoon.” You prompted for Namjoon along with Jeongguk to turn their attention to you. “Did you use to like me?”

Namjoon’s eyes shifted to Jeongguk who immediately looked away from his elder’s gaze. Exhaling, he nodded. “I got over it for Jimin’s sake. We all did. If you saw how much he wanted you then I bet, you’d do the same. He was willing to fight literally anyone who got in the way of him and you hitting it off. Unfortunately, he was experiencing some trauma from a terrible accident with his family. He pushed everyone, especially me, away from him.”

That would explain why Jimin never brought up the fact that he was friends with Namjoon. But what about this event with his family? Did they leave him? The picture from the room you accidentally walked in on in Jimin’s mansion left a different generalization in your mind. You inferred that they were happy to have him as a son. They were all happy to be a family.

“So, what happened to his family?”

Namjoon hesitated to tell you at first but eventually gave in. “They died. When he was only sixteen years old, Jimin lost his entire family to an assassination clan that is now extinct called the Purple Lilies.”

The Purple Lilies. That name rung a bell in your head as that was the same guild that Namjoon’s sister was in. Maybe that was why Jimin never brought up the fact that he and Namjoon were once close friends. His sister probably was involved in the death of Jimin’s family, making Jimin hate only Namjoon to this day. Even though he isolated himself from the boys at first, once he finally got over it he tried to reconnect with everyone else. Except for Namjoon. Never Namjoon.

Namjoon didn’t seem to mind. On the outside that is. On the inside, the guilt of knowing his sister was responsible for killing Jimin’s family still haunts him even now. If only he knew why his sister came late sometimes when dinner already started. Why she would try and change the subject whenever he or his parents asked where she was all that time of being out. He was so blind, and it cost him.

He thought that one day Jimin would ask to be friends again. But that day never came. Yet he never lost hope. He knows Jimin. He knows he’ll come to his senses. Maybe you were the key to that door being unlocked. Just maybe.

“So, who’s funeral are we going to? Why did you guys look all somber?” A familiar voice greeted you all as Hoseok took his seat at the table the three of you were sitting around.

It was silent for a little bit until Jeongguk began explaining the situation. “(Y/n) here just got the gritty details about Jimin’s family. I’m honestly surprised she never knew until just now with the amount of time hyung and her hang around.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes. “It never came to mind. Besides, how am I supposed to slip ‘Oh yeah, the love of your life’s family kinda died and it’s my sister’s fault. You know the one that I told you also died’ into a casual conversation?”

“Joonie, you’ve slipped worse things into conversations,” you snickered. “You told me about your first time with a girl when the conversation originally started off with ‘Is water wet?’.”

“I—"

But before Namjoon had a chance to explain himself, the two boys were laughing like crazy. Jeongguk throwing his head back in a fit of laughter and Hoseok practically threw himself at you. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the flushed expression Namjoon had when you told Jeongguk and Hoseok about the odd talks you two have. Eventually, you whispered into Namjoon’s ear while the two were still cackling that you were sorry. But of course, not without giggling a bit to yourself.

Once they were done busting their lungs, they calmed down. Hoseok, still out of breath but not enough to speak, said, “That. Has got to be the funniest shit I’ve heard all day and the day hasn’t even started yet. Nothing could top that.”

Jeongguk didn’t speak until he was fully calm, but even then, he still let out some chuckles here and there. He looked directly at Namjoon who looked defeated and tired. “And you said I talk about weird things. What’s weird is that you never told us about your first time and we’ve known you longer.”

As much as Namjoon wanted to say anything, he just couldn’t. And so you said something instead. “Oh come on now guys. Go easy on him.”

Hoseok tsked at your attempt to cover for your best friend. “Tch. For all you know, he may still have feelings for you. Maybe that’s why—”

“That’s enough out of you today,” Namjoon spoke with daggers for eyes as he shot Hoseok a look that meant if he disobeyed then he would be met with dire consequences. Hoseok may be older than him, but it nevertheless shut Hoseok up. He just told you that none of them possess the same feelings that each of them once had for you. So, having Hoseok attempting to say otherwise was Namjoon’s last straw.

Just then, Seokjin called out to the class to turn in their papers since the bell was set to ring in about two minutes. Namjoon and you both decided to have the little one do the task. Your phone buzzed with a notification from Taehyung to meet him and the rest of the group in Yoongi’s classroom to discuss the plan of action for tonight. Yoongi wanted to supervise the plan just in case of any errors.

Namjoon also got a text. But from Rosé.

[12:44 pm] Thorn: You need to report to Lust Gardens

He held his groan of annoyance to himself as he typed back to her.

[12:44 pm] Isn’t that where you were assigned to? Why do I have to report there now?

Rosé read it and responded immediately.

[12:45 pm] Thorn: Boss’ orders. He’s suspicious of Yoongi’s guild making a move on a secret hideout that maybe Jeongyeon told him about before she was executed and he wanted me and a couple of other Tops to guard it

Did Seokjin really want Rosé to handle the situation or was she playing with his emotions? Did he not trust Namjoon enough to kill (Y/n) if she was there? He didn’t want to believe Rosé. But he might just have to.

And so as the bell rang for dismissal, Namjoon opted to leave Roseanne on read, not wanting to further anger himself. He wanted an explanation for this sudden decision. Straight from the boss. While everyone else left, he stayed afterward to talk to Seokjin.

“Something you want, Namjoon?” Seokjin asked without looking up from the papers he’s forced to grade yet again.

“Did you seriously assign me to do Rosé job tonight?”

Seokjin nodded slowly. “Problem?”

Namjoon scoffed at his superior. “Uh, hell yeah there’s a problem. Why did I, your top assassin, not get that mission instead of your third-ranked one?”

The boss chuckled and finally looked up to face Namjoon. “Because unlike my wonderful top assassin, my third-ranked assassin doesn’t know who (Y/n) is. Meaning, emotions won’t cloud her judgment if she were to be at the hideout later tonight. Rank has nothing to do with it, sweetheart.”

Namjoon was taken aback. His ears must be playing tricks with him. But why go through such lengths? No, Roseanne’s lies were true after all. Seokjin’s words were final. Namjoon would have to deal with it and report to the strip club this evening instead of guarding the secret hideout. With a heavy sigh and a “Yes sir” of compliance from Namjoon, he left to continue the rest of the day. He only hoped that (Y/n) didn’t show up. He doesn’t know what he’d do without her.

⭆

The day went on as normal. You and Jimin sat next to each other, listening to Mr. Min lecture the class about all the different phobias that exist. Jimin was surprisingly tamed today than he was two days ago. While his hand was still placed on your thigh, he never once made a move to do anything other than that. How cute. You could most definitely get used to this.

After class, Yoongi held the two of you over to wait for Taehyung and Lisa to arrive. Sure enough, they came. Taehyung set his Gucci shoulder bag beside Yoongi’s desk to take out a drawing and spread it out on the table.

While you and the boys were used to Taehyung using his artistic side to draw maps for missions, Lisa was stunned. “You drew this Taehyung?”

“I draw all the maps we use for missions sweetheart.” He gave a playful wink to Lisa and you could’ve sworn you heard her gasp. You rolled your eyes as Taehyung continued to talk. “Anyways, although this is based on what Jeongyeon said, I added a few more things that I thought she was missing like patrols and such. With that being said, I came up with a lot of different scenarios for tonight’s event.”

Yoongi raised an eye at that statement. “Oh? Mind sharing one?”

Taehyung grinned. “Not at all. This one is my personal favorite. It’s called: Let’s Get Everyone Killed. Got a nice ring to it doesn’t it boss? Basically, we walk up to the front of the gate, unarmed of course, and they just take us out. Boom.”

Jimin purposely bumped his elbow into Taehyung’s. “Come on, Tae. Be serious.”

“Oh wait. You were being serious?”

You took it upon yourself to pluck Taehyung’s forehead and he retracted while whining. You knew he hated that but you only did it when he was being a little too sarcastic. This was one of those times. “I don’t know about you Taehyung, but I actually wanna live through this. So unless you want me to do way worse than pluck you, get serious and give us an actual plan.”

Taehyung huffed. “Ugh, fine. The “Safest Way Possible” strategy is as follows: Two teams of two will come from each side, take out any guards posted in these areas. Don’t set off any alarms so watch your step for tripwires. If there is an entrance in the back, we take that one. Otherwise, we rendezvous at the back and take out any remaining assassins left at the front. I can make a lock pick if needed. If any of the assassins we kill have a key of any sort, take it. Once we’re inside, remain stealthy. We don’t know much about the inside. If there is anything of value such as weaponry, take that as well. We aren’t taking any hostages so kill without hesitation. There. Was that better?”

“Way better.” Yoongi clapped his hand on Taehyung’s shoulder in content with his new plan. He then turned his attention to the rest of you. “Well then. You all have your orders. I expect them to be carried out as discussed.”

You all nodded. You spoke for your team as you said, “We won’t let you down, sir.”

“Wasn’t counting on it.”

The team left the classroom, leaving Min Yoongi to his thoughts. He had to attend this stupid teacher’s meeting today and he wasn’t too particularly thrilled to have to see Seokjin’s face. What he would do just to not see that disgusted look on his face. He hated that Seokjin hated him. He wanted things to go back to how they were before. Before Yoongi killed Seokjin’s mother.

Yoongi was an orphan. Abandoned by his parents at the tender age of six. Alone, on the unforgiving streets of Seoul. That was until Kim Seokjin stumbled across him. Seokjin was walking down and noticed the little boy. He ran up to him and immediately the boy was startled. No one ever noticed him. Unless they accidentally stepped on him in which case they would blame it on the kid instead of themselves. Seokjin reached out his hand to the young boy and smiled. “You wanna come home with us?”

Wait. Was he being nice? To me? Yoongi didn’t respond at first nor did he take Seokjin’s hand. That was until Seokjin’s parents caught up to their son to see what he found. They looked at Yoongi, then at each other, then to their son. His father gave a half-smile as he said jokingly, “You want another brother huh?”

Seokjin inclined his head. He put his two small hands together in a prayer-like manner as he pleaded. “Please please please.”

The father bent down and offered his hand to Yoongi who was still in shock at the fact that strangers are giving him a chance to come home with them. He smiled at him. “Don’t worry. We promise that we’ll take care of you. Come home with us. We’ll be your new family.”

If only that promise were true.

From then on, Yoongi became part of the Kim name. However, he never changed his surname because both he and the Kim family agreed that “Kim Yoongi” just didn’t fit. But still, Yoongi was Seokjin’s little brother and best friend. And he loved every second of it. They would play video games together. He introduced Yoongi to the rest of the boys and they quickly became good friends. Then he found (Y/n). He kept his distance but loved her from afar. But as soon as he heard that Jimin had a larger-than-life crush on her, he ceased his own crush on (Y/n) to not compete. Nowadays, he treats her more like a little sister.

At least it started out that way. While Seokjin, his older brother, and his father might’ve seen Yoongi as family, Seokjin’s mother had other ideas. She thought of Yoongi as nothing but a play toy. Not once did she ever call Yoongi her son. Yoongi wasn’t her flesh and blood. Therefore he was hers for the taking. And take she did. She was Yoongi’s first time.

After six years of living with them, Seokjin’s mother once called Yoongi to her room. Seokjin’s father was working late that night and wasn’t coming home until three in the morning. Perfect.

Yoongi asked Seokjin’s mother, “You called me?”

“Yes dear. I most certainly did. You’ve been a bad boy you know.”

He cocked his head to the side in confusion, not knowing why he was in trouble. “Did I do something wrong?”

Seokjin’s mother beckoned him to come closer to her, which he did with no hesitation, not wanting to anger her further than she appeared. Once he was close enough, she slipped her hand into Yoongi’s basketball shorts that he wore to bed, teasing his member to life. “You act like you’re really part of this family. You should know your place little one. I’ll be happy to teach you.”

Yoongi bit his lip to suppress his moan. Why was his mother treating him like this? He didn’t know what was going on or why his member was getting harder and harder from her touching it. He wanted to tell her to stop, but his body didn’t allow him to. Nor did his conscious deem it a good idea. So he let her continue.

She tugged on his dick, pulling it out of his shorts. Only then did she halt her movements. “I didn’t hear you say ‘Yes ma’am’.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Smack!

A slap landed on Yoongi’s face which caused the sound to be heard outside the room. Thankfully, Seokjin and his brother were sleeping soundly on the other side of the mansion they lived in. They were known to be heavy sleepers.

“You’re my toy. Nothing more. You’re not my son. You’ll never be my son. Understand?”

Yoongi held his tears in as he nodded. But that only landed him another smack across the other side of his cheek. That was sure to leave a bruise in the morning. A sly smirk appeared on her face. Did she think this was funny? What kind of sick amusement is this? Was torture some kind of enjoyment to her? “I need to hear you say it.”

Once again, Yoongi replied, choking on his own tears with his head held down in shame. “Yes, ma’am.”

He could hear her chuckle as she gestured for Yoongi to join her on the same bed that she and her husband share. She told him to lay down and she rose to straddle him. Her weight was almost too much to handle, but he knew that if he complained that he would probably be met with a smack.

She teased herself on him. Yoongi’s eyes welled up with unshed tears as she finally sunk down onto his length, letting out a pleased sigh as she did so. He thought that he would be happier here. That they were his family. They promised him.

But all people do is lie.

Moving up and down his cock ever so slowly, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Seokjin’s mother. Not like this. She was actually enjoying this. Way more than she thought she would. While this was something that she could get used to every day, Yoongi wasn’t having it. No way. He would tell his father about—

“Don’t you dare tell my husband about this, Yoongi. Or so help me I’ll punish you even worse than this.”

Worse than this? Nothing could possibly top getting raped by who he once thought was his mother. That image was soon replaced with what he opened his eyes to. A woman who was fucking herself using her toy to get off.

She quickened her movements of bouncing on Yoongi, signaling that she was close. “O-oh my God Yoongi! I’m gonna c-cum! Fuck!”

He didn’t realize it himself but he too was on the verge of coming undone. But once he felt her lose herself, he followed suit. It was pure bliss. For Seokjin’s mother. It was pure hell for Yoongi.

She collapsed onto Yoongi, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Good toy. Very good toy.” Yoongi laid there and fell asleep, too worn out to even move. Seokjin’s mother cleaned herself up and allowed for Yoongi to stay with her.

The next morning, when Yoongi left the bedroom, Seokjin caught him in the hallway. He chuckled at his younger brother. “Bad dream?”

Yoongi didn’t want to tell him why he was really there, so he went along with Seokjin’s conclusion. “Yeah…”

It was then that he noticed the bruises on Yoongi’s face. He touched them and Yoongi hissed slightly. “Where did these come from?”

“Umm…” Yoongi struggled to find an excuse believable for Seokjin to take. Thankfully, Seokjin came up with one.

“Were the boys and I playing a little too rough with you yesterday?”

Yoongi smiled slightly. “Yeah. Jimin just doesn’t know when to quit.”

Seokjin playfully rolled his eyes. “Next time just ask him. He meant no harm, trust me.”

“I know. I know…”

“Good.” Seokjin noticed that Yoongi was a little more quiet than usual. So he gave a warm-hearted smile. “Hey, is something up?”

Yoongi stuttered over his words. “W-what? No… Of course not. W-why would there be something wrong.”

The smile that was on Seokjin’s face went away and was replaced with a stern one. “You know Yoongi, you can tell me anything. I’m your brother. We’re family. All of us. Remember?”

Oh, he remembers. He also remembers Seokjin’s mother saying the exact opposite only a few hours ago. So it pained him to lie, but in his mind, he was doing Seokjin a favor in not ruining the image that he had on his own mother. “I do remember, hyung. I do. Believe me, there’s nothing wrong. I’d tell you otherwise.”

He pulled Yoongi into a tight hug. Yoongi rested his head on Seokjin’s shoulder. Yoongi never knew he needed this but he never wanted to let go. Unfortunately, Seokjin did and that meant Yoongi did as well. “Now let’s get ready for school. And this time we won’t play so rough today. Sound good?”

“That’s fine by me.”

Months passed since Yoongi’s virginity was forcefully taken away. But now Seokjin’s mother wanted more. When she called Yoongi to her room, he dreaded every step he took. He never wanted a repeat of what happened on that day. But luck was never kind to him in his early days.

This time, instead of riding herself on him, she opted to give him a blowjob. “For being a good toy and not telling my family what we did,” is what she told him.

If Yoongi didn’t have to speak, then that’s exactly what he did. He didn’t dare let a single sound leave his lips. No matter how tempting her mouth on his throbbing member felt. Because if he did, she would think he liked it. Meaning she would want to please him more and that was not on Yoongi’s agenda.

But he should’ve known Seokjin’s mother wouldn’t have let that slide. She wanted to know how good she was doing from her toy. She urged him to speak up. “Am I doing well for you my precious toy?”

He threw his head back, a moan threatening to leave his throat but he suppressed it and answered her. “Y-Yes ma’am.”

The woman licked a long stride on his underside and that tipped him over the edge. He groaned loudly and she was pleased with this. She smirked. “You liked that very much didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” There was no point in hiding it. If she wanted to make Yoongi speak then she was going to get him to speak.

Thanks to that little stunt she pulled, Yoongi couldn’t contain himself any longer. He mistakenly grabbed her hair to urge her further, to which she smacked painfully away and left another bruise on Yoongi’s fair skin. “I know you’re close but hands to yourself, toy.”

Once Yoongi did finish inside her mouth, she didn’t let a single drop go to waste. Yoongi, visibly disgusted by this wretched woman’s acts, got his basketball shorts on and ran back to his room. He bumped into Seokjin’s father on the way there.

Seokjin’s father grinned at his son but noticed how scared he looked and knelt down to face him eye-to-eye. “What’s wrong son?”

Sadly, Seokjin’s father was nothing like Seokjin. He doesn’t make his own conclusion for Yoongi to agree with. Yoongi was backed into a corner. His father scanned him up and down. Although he didn’t speak, he noticed Yoongi’s face had small bruises. Seokjin told him when he asked that he and the boys were playing too harsh. But then he looked at Yoongi’s hand. The one that Seokjin’s mother slapped not too long ago. It was red.

“Who did this to you?”

Still, Yoongi was left speechless. He couldn’t think of anything. It was one thing to lie to Seokjin. But to his father too? That was too much for Yoongi to handle.

Looking back in the direction of the mansion, the only noted room that he could’ve come out of was he bedroom. But why would he be in there? Yoongi usually never left his room. Too busy working on beats and writing lyrics to come out of there only when it’s time to eat. His room had a bathroom in it already so he didn’t come out for that reason.

“Did Mom do this to you?”

Yoongi nodded slowly, too afraid to lift his head up. He knew he would be punished for telling his father about what Yoongi and she did together. But he just couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe he could be saved from this hell. How he hoped so.

Seokjin father brought him in for a hug. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. You go to your room and get your rest alright?”

Yoongi walked down to his room while Seokjin’s father was riled up beyond limits. He opened the door to see his wife reading a book, awaiting his return. She didn’t look up as she said, “Good evening my love. How was—.”

“You think that it’s okay to put your hands on our child like that?”

She put her book down, looking startled at her husband. “Whatever do you mean?”

He squinted his eyes at her. He hated when she acted like she did nothing wrong. Usually, he would dismiss the situation. But this was going too far. “You smacked Yoongi’s hand. I saw the handprint. Why did you do it?”

She couldn’t dare tell him the real reason why so she opted for another decent reason instead. “He didn’t clean the dishes as I asked him to.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” He raised his voice at her, which caused her to visibly shrink into herself. “We have maids to do that shit. Not our own son.”

“I don’t like how they do it so.”

“So complain to them. But don’t take it out on Yoongi.”

She knew she wasn’t getting out of this one. She would have to punish Yoongi later down the line for the amount of shit she got herself into. She got up from her position on their shared bed and raised her hands up in defeat. “You know what? I’m not going to argue with you. Not this late at night when the kids are trying to sleep. I’m going to sleep in one of the guest rooms tonight. Good night.”

And with that, she left the room. But not to go sleep in the guest room down the hall. Oh no. She needed to punish Yoongi for what she made her do. She was going to leave more bruises. But this time, on places not visible to the naked eyes. On his stomach. His back. His upper thighs. She was going to make sure she was never humiliated like that to her husband again.

She opened Yoongi’s door to find him still up. Closing the door, she made her way over to the boy. She whispered to him, “You just got me kicked out of my own room. So you know what I’m going to do. I’m going to punish you, toy. However long. However painful. Until you learn your lesson. And you are not to say a word to any soul. Have I made myself clear?”

Yoongi winced at the pain that was soon to come as he whispered back those two words of understanding. “Yes, ma’am.”

For months, Yoongi was abused like this. For months, Yoongi felt sore. Yet every time Seokjin asked about it, he would blame it on the sports or other activities they did the day before. But when his dad caught him, he would argue further with his wife, only getting angrier and harsher with her wounds.

Six years. For six years of his life, he was beaten and bruised and raped. It wasn’t until he moved out in which he finally got the relief he so desperately needed. Seokjin and Yoongi both got accepted to the same college they now teach at. They both decided to get their own place near the campus and visit their parents during the holidays. At least Seokjin’s mother couldn’t hurt him anymore for days on end.

But while the two brothers were getting along, Seokjin’s parents weren’t. When the pair were sophomores in college, Seokjin’s father found someone else. Someone better. Someone prettier. Someone wealthier than his current wife. And he intended to marry her and take his three children with him. Unfortunately, Seokjin’s mother was having none of that. While she allowed for Seokjin’s older brother to be sent away, she refused to give up Seokjin or Yoongi. So on that same day that Jimin lost his parents when Seokjin and Yoongi went back home to their shared mansion afterward to get a text message from their mother, they were devastated as they too lost their parents. Seokjin felt it the most. Whenever he went to class there was this looming cloud of sadness. Yoongi never saw him like that before. Usually, Seokjin was the life of the party. Now it looked like he wasn’t even alive.

What Seokjin’s mother said to Seokjin and Yoongi was not was Seokjin’s father said to her. He tried to keep in contact with his sons. Time and time again he would attempt to call them, but Seokjin’s mother blocked his number on both of their phones, writing it off as a spam number. Seokjin felt betrayed. Why wouldn’t his own father try and keep in touch with him? He hated his father. The exact emotion that Seokjin’s mother wanted him to feel. But Yoongi was different. He knew better that there was an ulterior motif in Seokjin’s mother’s lies. And he intended to get to the bottom of it.

It was Winter Break for students. The brothers decided to pay their mother a visit. Yoongi and Seokjin were supposed to drive to their old mansion together, but Seokjin had a few errands to run, so he was going to be running a little later and suggested for Yoongi to go there without him. Yoongi didn’t want to be with his mother alone. Even after all these, he knew that she could hold a grudge. But he didn’t argue with Seokjin. He hopped in his red LaFerrari Spider and drove his way down that road he was always anxious about returning to. Once he got there, he made his entrance known and Seokjin’s mother greeted him at the door.

“Hello, Yoongi. Where’s my son?”

He wanted to push her buttons and say he’s standing right in front of her. But he bit his tongue on that one. Instead, going for the more civil response. “He’ll be here in a few. He’s finishing up a project or something for school.”

“Hmm…” Her eyes trailed down to his crotch, then back up to meet his. “So we could have some fun while he’s gone.”

“I’d rather not.”

Seokjin’s mother wasn’t used to getting rejected by her toy. He must’ve grown some huge balls to deny himself to her. Regardless, she respected his decision. For now. “Fine. Go take a seat in the living room. Dinner is almost ready.” That left a smirk on Yoongi’s face. His confidence levels were through the roof. And it’s all thanks to the Black Carnations.

While in college, Yoongi found a way to relieve his anger for his mother for doing such unspeakable acts to him as a child. The Black Carnations. He told Seokjin this and he was all for it, asking to even join their ranks. Yoongi didn’t think that Seokjin could hold his own and so Seokjin agreed with him that he shouldn’t join. Being part of the Black Carnations back then wasn’t a big deal as it was nowadays. The White Muscari, a guild he only knew because he remembered Jeongguk and Hoseok being dragged into their mess at such an early age, was the number one guild. But rank didn’t mean much to him. He was a cold and ruthless assassin. He didn’t discriminate when it came to kills. That shaped him to be the youngest leader of a guild in the history of assassination clans. But that wasn’t enough for him. Try though he might, they weren’t the real thing. He wanted her dead.

She finally gave Yoongi some breathing room, strutting her way back to the kitchen to finish the meal. But Yoongi didn’t listen to her. He followed her into the large kitchen to ask her some questions that Seokjin wouldn’t dare ask because he’s too gullible. Leaning on the island counter, he asked her, “So what really happened between Dad and you? Was it my fault you two broke up? Did he finally realize what a cunt you were?”

He had no remorse on the words that left his mouth. She never treated him like a human so why should he? Because he’s a better person? They were way past that line to turn back now.

The woman did not answer his questions, but Yoongi could tell that he was getting under her skin and so he prompted further. “You know damn well he’s been making an effort every day since he left your worthless ass to call me and my brother. But you can’t handle the fact that if Seokjin knew what kind of sick monster you were and how you treated me. Like I wasn’t even worth the dirt you walked on. Like I was your play toy. He’d leave your ass in a heartbeat. Just. Like. Dad.”

Each sentence felt like knives were being etched into her back. She couldn’t take it anymore and threw a knife at Yoongi out of rage, grazing his shoulder as a result. That was all he needed to make this look like it was self-defense if things got hairy. Grabbing another knife and pointing it at Yoongi she exclaimed. “Since when do you talk to me like that you wretched child?! I gave you a home to stay in! I gave you food on your plate and I gave my son away to you!”

“Wrong.” He moved the knife from his face using his index finger to give his mother a deadly glance. “My father took me in. Your husband gave me food and two brothers that love me and mean the world to give. What you gave me were hatred and pain. And I’m thankful for that. So very thankful. Because it makes this next part so very worth it.”

In one swift motion, he grabbed the woman’s forearm and slit her throat using her own weapon of choice. Her blood spewed onto Yoongi’s clothing. He cursed himself for not realizing that he would get bloody from that type of execution. No matter. He had some spare clothes here. Granted, they were outdated and probably just a bit too small for him, he hasn’t grown tremendously so he could make it work. But how was going to explain the body?

Well, there was no need for that. Seokjin had seen it all. Before Yoongi could think of a plan, Seokjin walked into the house, announcing his presence ever so loudly, thinking that his brother and mother would greet him welcomingly. When he heard nothing, Seokjin continued from the living room to the kitchen. Where he found Yoongi and his beloved mother with a knife lodged in her trachea.

Seokjin saw red. “You—.”

Yoongi quickly let go of the mother’s hand, which caused her to fall to the floor lifelessly. He put his hands up in surrender. “Seokjin this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh really?” Seokjin walked further and further towards Yoongi, to which Yoongi kept backing up only to be stuck on the island counter. Seokjin grabbed Yoongi’s bloodied up shirt. “Because it looks like you killed my fucking mother.”

“Hyung, please. Hear me out—.”

Seokjin tightened his grip, making Yoongi keep whatever breath he had left to speak to himself. “You’re lucky I don’t turn you into fucking police for this shit. But I’m a good guy. And I’m feeling pretty generous for the holiday season.”

He let go of his grip, but Yoongi was too shook to move anywhere. Seokjin glanced to meet his mother’s eyes, then looked back at Yoongi with a cold expression. His voice was dark. “Get out of here, Yoongi. Get the hell out of here and don’t dare even think about coming back. I don’t ever wanna see you again.”

Yoongi stood there for a moment, looking into his brother’s eyes to see if the real Seokjin was in there, but he couldn’t, and so he did what he said, too afraid to explain the meaning of the situation. This Seokjin was nothing like the one that helped him on the street that day. But this Seokjin became the new Kim Seokjin. The one who went to the Red Roses the next day because Yoongi told him that they were one of their biggest rivals. And all Seokjin wanted was to run Min Yoongi to the fucking ground. That same Kim Seokjin became the new leader in record time, being the second youngest leader in all assassination clan history.

That same Kim Seokjin was sitting on the opposite side of the meeting table during the teacher’s assembly who didn’t dare pass a glance to his side. But he knew he wasn’t listening to Principal Hwasa talk either. While he may look attentive, he knew Seokjin. He knew that he was thinking about other things.

Despite not ever seeing each other again, Seokjin didn’t mind that when he found a job as a teacher at the exact same college he and Yoongi went to. Seokjin could care less about how he’s getting his money. Although he knew the other alternative of where he got his pay. The Nightcrawlers. It was owned by the former leader of the Black Carnations and Yoongi invited Seokjin there all the time for drinks and parties. When the leader gave Yoongi his title, he also gave him ownership of the business. Then Seokjin and he could get drinks on the house. Those were the good times.

But the excuse of caring less was getting old to Seokjin. The real Seokjin knew why he didn’t mind Yoongi getting a job here. In fact, he was pretty glad to have a familiar face around. Nevertheless, the new Seokjin wasn’t letting the real one take charge anytime soon. The old one was weak and too caring. This one he favored because he could be cold and demeaning and nobody would bat an eye. Besides, this one actually had power. Kim Seokjin was never one to walk away from power.

The meeting finished as quickly as it started with no teacher having any issues to report. Or it could’ve been that if they did, the meeting would’ve been stretched out even further and everyone just wanted to go home. Yoongi wanted some coffee from the break room before he left. Seokjin had the same idea in mind.

When Seokjin saw Yoongi drinking his coffee, he scoffed. “You’re the last person I wanted to see. Especially after that damn meeting.”

“Pretty sure you don’t look at me. Especially during that ‘damn meeting’.”

Seokjin poured himself some tea and waited by the counter next to Yoongi for it to finish brewing. “How would you know?”

Yoongi gulped down his coffee, unmoved by Seokjin’s questioning. “Because ever since that day, you’ve changed. Enough to not even pass a glance in my general direction.”

“Well killing someone you loved can do that to a person.”

“Right.” Yoongi now looked at Seokjin with a deadpanned expression. “I thought you loved me, Jin. Didn’t I matter to you at all?”

“You did, Yoongi,” The real Seokjin was taking over. The new one couldn’t get ahold of answering him this time. “You really did—.”

Yoongi cut him off before he even had the chance to finish, his blood boiling. “Obviously not enough for me to even explain myself. You casted me out. I thought you were different. But you’re just like everyone else in this damn world. All you do is lie. We’re family. Remember? Family doesn’t leave one another.”

But before the real Seokjin could response, the new one took control once again. “Oh yeah? That’s really rich coming from you. I thought family doesn’t kill each other either. Yet here. We fucking. Are.”

“If you would just hear me out—.”

“No, I’ve heard all the bullshit I needed to today. From our boss. From my own damn assistant. So I am most certainly not hearing yours as well today. Not today. Not any fucking day.”

Just then Seokjin’s tea was finished brewing. He added some honey to it and was on his way to finishing his tea in his car, leaving Yoongi to himself. Yoongi then realized that his Seokjin was still in there. He still had hope. Because only the real Kim Seokjin would admit that he did care for his younger brother. If only Yoongi didn’t let his emotions get the better of him.

⭆

The night air was cold. You wished you would have brought a jacket. But Jimin warms you up by back hugging you as Taehyung went over the plan once more for clarification.

“On our way here I saw about four guards on each side,” Taehyung whispered. “I think we could either all take out one guard or we stick with the original two teams of two plan.”

“Whichever one is safer, Taehyung.” You whispered back. You hated when he changed the plan. He always wanted to take unnecessary risks even when there was a safer option.

He sighed quietly. “Fine. Two teams of two and we meet back here. Lisa, you’re with me love. Try not to get blood on that beautiful body of yours.”

Lisa blushed and followed Taehyung to the other side of the building. Jimin kept his laughter in. “He’s such a flirt.”

Rolling your eyes, you answered back quietly, “Tell me about it. You ready babe?”

He nodded and you both went to work. Emerging from your hiding spots, you made quick work of the guards, executing them before they even knew what hit them. The two of you really did make an excellent team. Jimin and you searched the assassins for any type of key but to no avail.

“Hopefully Taehyung and Lisa will have more luck doing this than we did,” Jimin said.

Getting up from searching the dead bodies you sighed. “Hopefully.”

You two met up with Lisa and Taehyung at the back of the building. Lisa found some type of key fortunately and so now you all had to move to the front. You all moved in a straight line to the front with Jimin in the front and you in the rear in case someone snuck up behind you. Jimin halted everyone from advancing further. He mouthed that there was only one person guarding it and he would take them out. You all agreed with that and allowed for Jimin to kill the assassin. Once the coast was clear, he whistled for you all to join him at the front.

Lisa pulled out the key from her pocket while Taehyung found another key in the guard Jimin killed and kept it to himself. Thankfully, the one Lisa had worked and she opened the door and walked inside carelessly without checking the floor to see if there were any traps like Taehyung warned.

As soon as she walked inside, she set off a pressure plate that caused a series of loud alarms to sound off. Angry, you grabbed Lisa from out of the place and yelled, “What the hell were you thinking! Did you not hear Taehyung when he said to be careful or were you too busy thinking about his dick?”

But before Lisa could answer her question, she was dragged back inside by two assassins in the blink of an eye and closed the door before you even had a chance to get her back while another appeared right behind the three of you with another two in view. You turned around slowly, fearing for your life.

“Well well well,” Roseanne started, crossing her arms and a devious smirk on her face. “What do we have here?”

Jimin secretly went for his knife behind him, but Taehyung saw him from the corner of his eye and shook his head. Taehyung wanted to use his words first before blood needed to be shed.

Clearing his throat and bowing his head, he started. “Well, you see—.”

“Save it,” Rosé cut him off. “You’re lucky I have orders not to kill any of you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t hold you hostage.” She looked to the other assassins who came with her and addressed them. “Yeri. Seulgi. Blindfold the boys and take them inside. If they try anything funny then you can injure them. Don’t kill them. Leave the girl. I’ll deal with her.”

You were confused. Why would she leave you alone? You killed about the same about of Red Roses assassins as Jimin has and certainly more than Taehyung yet they were the ones that were being taken. You wanted to fight back for them but your gut told you not to. Even Jimin knew not to put up a fight as he retracted his hand from his backside and held both hands up in surrender as he and Taehyung were taken inside.

Now you and Roseanne were all alone.

Rosé walked closer to you but you stood your ground. “So you were Namjoon’s high school crush. What low standards.”

You raised an eyebrow at her. “And what do his low standards have to do with me being spared?”

“Because God only knows what he would do if he knew anything bad happened to the lovely (Y/n).” Uncrossing her arms, she finally stopped walking towards you, only inches away from you. “And frankly, I can’t wait to see what he’s capable of.”

Before you could ask what she meant by that, you were knocked out cold.

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violetsystems · 4 years

Text

#personal

What an atrocious week it has been. I didn’t end up getting my coffee. Hoping for Monday when I return to work. I still have some Columbian left from the last order. Disrupting my coffee is like disrupting anything else in my life. I saw it coming. I spend a lot of time planning these days. Analyzing what works and what doesn’t. Staying home for the record works for me more than people know. I don’t really share much more than I do here when I write to anyone. I don’t feel anybody would actually listen. In fact most of the time I see in plain sight the results of nobody listening to me. People are inconsiderate. Sometimes that’s motivated by genuine feelings. However disturbing the movie Good Time was, a friend made a significant point. Robert Pattinson’s character thinks every bad decision he makes is for the greater good. The results are far different. And for the most part narcissism works that way. It’s easy to spot. People are so far out of control in their own lives that they looks for suckers as anchors. Make you feel good about being needed then manipulate you into situations you didn’t ask for. Being as old as I am at this point, I’ve seen it repeat itself like a gif loop year after year. The underlying trend in Chicago has always been this oppressing and overwhelming pushiness that it knows what is good for you. It knows this without even talking to you. It assumes you understand the need for secrecy. It assumes what’s good for the general population is good enough for you. I sometimes wonder if my coffee disappears because there’s somebody out there shaking their fist at me. “Hey you fucking yuppie why isn’t Dunkin’ Donuts good enough for you?” Then the camera pans to the crowd and they address it with a goofy ass look. ‘Am I rite? Heyyyyyy!” Cue the canned laughter. Nervous laughter nonetheless. When I come home to my block there’s now considerably more people shuffling their feet around me. Like they want to say something but they can’t. Like they’re sympathetic but they’re out of their element with me. I live in a multi unit building. I’ve kept my distance for a while as much as I feel comfortable. There’s sort of a culture here of acknowledging one another but nothing much else beyond that. I’ve talked to people on the property more since the thefts. Mostly to warn people to proceed with caution. My front neighbor literally saw the person ride off with the package on a bike. I probably know way more than that at this point. When I open my mouth about it most people are the first to downplay my frustrations outside of the property. Sometimes a. better response could be “That sucks. I’m sorry that happened.” Instead it’s about how they’ve been inconvenienced at some time or another. Sort of like that argument of why I can’t be happy with what coffee everyone else likes. Chicago can still be frustratingly populist in nature. The bar is set very low and if you want to be something better you are questioned and discouraged at every turn. The bar for coffee is set even lower from personal experience. But you get what you pay for. And I’m not into shitty service or overbearing people trying to tell me what to do.

I’ve also explained myself into a brick wall at this point. I understand society is awkward. But I’ve been humoring it’s missteps for longer than I can count. And I count more progress staying in and staying by a budget than talking about my problems with other people in public. Talking about anything in public these days is crazy to me. We all know the phone is always listening in some context. Talking to police is an even worse idea in the opinion of any lawyer with a college degree. People’s opinions who solely watch dick wolf’s law and order don’t count. Who died and made you Judge Judy? I’m still dumbfounded that my birthday passed with a whimper. People are trying to get my attention about other things. Like whatever it is they have to address to me about community is more important than remembering the day I was born. I’ve said point blank. The only place I felt love was on Tumblr. And why should I explain how intelligent people communicate in a world full of dummies. Preaching to the choir at this point. A choir full of beautiful cherubs and angels who have kept their distance respectfully on any number of things for years. I’m sure people talk about me behind my back. It’s a game of telephone with people who don’t care about you as a person. So much noise about what it is I am. What it is I do. Even people I volunteered with for a Korean Fest three years in a row are crawling out of the woodwork. For the record I didn’t exactly fit in with that crowd either. But there was a lot of love for learning about Korean culture specifically. And I learned a lot about inter sectionalism and volunteering. Unfortunately I’ve paid my debt to society. And society thinks it deserves more from me. That’s a fucking loop and a rat race that I’ve detached from only to be answered by multiple decades of people who can’t keep my name out of their mouth. I’ve been a lot of things. Some people think I’m an artist. Other people think I’m a writer. Some people think I’m a rock star. Other people think I’m the devil. Nobody calls or texts on the weekends. People follow me around with 125 dollar Gloomhaven board games that I own in the street trying to be my friend. I shit you not. That’s how broken people are when it comes to treating me with respect. I have to read into and process every thought that passes me by when I leave my house. And people wonder why I’m a bit done with trusting people. Somebody got shot on the train by the police last night during rush hour. Everybody is paranoid. Everybody is prying into everybody else’s persona life and fantasies. Nobody is talking directly to anyone. And I’m supposed to be chill about all of it. Mostly because I care too much about the people who trust me low key to stay myself. Society at this point is a risk to me. I’ve made so many sacrifices and learned the hard way from so many things. And nobody gives me the impression they doubt me on that here. Real life expects a lot more without ever delivering. Just ask the US postal service.

I would be more existential if I didn’t feel the love. For the record I don’t really talk to anybody about the love that I feel. Other than in these posts. I don’t sit there with my friends and gossip about what I think is really going on behind the scenes. I don’t even pay attention to the social media of people I deeply care about. I trust algorithms a little more than I trust the government. Elon Musk is afraid of artificial intelligence. I’m afraid of Americans. Just ask David Bowie and Trent Reznor. The midwest is kind of the worst in that respect. Everybody expects you to be kind at all times. People lull you into a false sense of security and pick away at your core. I just don’t really have time for it anymore. I do still get angry about how people treat me here. Whenever I write something on the internet somebody is always there to prove me wrong. Flash their Adidas in my face again and accuse me of being discriminatory towards sports wear. Then challenge me on any number of things while ignoring the bigger picture. I really don’t have much to prove at this point. And I am really in a state of total social withdrawal. It’s relentless and disrespectful how people try to be your interpreter without ever letting you speak. It’s even worse when you’ve been on the planet twice as long and everybody already has you figured out. For me it’s not so bad to have figured out I don’t need any of it. I just shut the door and walk away. My apartment has become way more organized and peaceful. I watch movies and play games. I cook for myself in the kitchen and water my indoor plants. All of this happens and passes people by week after week. I write here about it and it just seems like it doesn’t matter. I get passed over, picked on, shunned and avoided out of embarrassment. And the cycle continues until I’m completely isolated playing diablo 3 season 20 alone on my couch with my cat. If it sounds so depressing to be alone let’s be fair. I’m not alone. I don't need any more people in my life at this point. I don’t have to give people second and third chances to fuck up my life and my privacy. I don’t need to reactivate my Facebook or cultivate my linked in profile. Unless you know something I don’t. And then I’d ask what else do you know about my life and who do you share that information with. People hate how confrontational I am. They're afraid of me. Sometimes I do get really angry. But I don’t think anger solves anything. Society and Chicago has made me something more than angry at times. And it can’t wait to make you melt down. Bring you to it’s level. To break you and show you that you aren’t special at all. All they end up proving is how much more special I am ignoring it all and walking away. Because it is not worth jeopardizing the real love I feel growing despite of this bullshit. When I feel down I realize there are people that have an impossible amount of trust in me to continue to be me. And in that I walk alone somewhat. I’m still not in a guild by the way. And I still love you just the same as always. So consider this a special delivery. I handle shit with care. And know I always care about you. That’s why I stay out of all of it. <3 Tim

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