#and im far too much of a wuss to try cups. like far far too much

[britneyshakespeare]

idk who needs to hear this but period underwear is a godsend and if you can access and afford it, you should get some. it's way more comfortable and less nasty to deal with than disposable products

[btsvt-adventures]

Sixty Percent

Title: Sixty Percent Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Warning(s): Mentions of death, suicide, dark thoughts, strong language, gore depression, overdosing, self harm, self deprecation, self hatred, anger, lashing out, verbal abuse, physical abuse

If you’re easily triggered, please don’t read this

Word Count: 3097

A/N: This is so dark oh god. Also i wanted to post this on Hobi’s birthday (for dramatic purposes okay) but things got in the way, and well… it’s late. Oh well.

60% of males with Schizophrenia attempt suicide at least once. Today is Hoseok’s fifth.

He glances at the handful of pills in his palm, watches them glint against the harsh white of the asylum’s bathroom lights.

Do it.

It ain’t like anyone gonna miss you

That bitch doesn’t really love you. It’s all fake! All so you’ll be a good, quiet little patient  

Do it right and we will go away, cross our hearts

And hope you die

The shadows were taunting him again, tempting him to try. They crept along the walls, in the mirror, behind him, next to him, in the corners of the room. Where he went, his shadows followed. When darkness came, his shadows ruled.

He’d stolen the pills, after getting Taehyung to distract the staff. Taehyung had been delighted, eager to lie and trick anyone and everyone he could. With that boxy smile of his, it’s easy to believe him, easy to fall into his trap, easy to let him lead you and all the others away. He stares at them for a moment, the bottle of water in his hand shaking slightly.

Six years. It was exactly six years ago that he was admitted. He’d kicked and fought, yelling at his parents that he was fine, that he wasn’t actually going to kill himself, and that he’d meant for it to be a joke. His parents cried, sobbed, wailed as they put their precious son into the asylum, swore that they’d visit him, that they’d get him out when he was better.

They never came back.

He resented them, of course he did, for never visiting, never calling, for basically leaving him here to die, but it was tiring being angry all the time.

It’s not so bad, he supposes, glancing in the mirror, eyes roaming over his gaunt features, worn and tired, making him look older than his twenty two- no, twenty-three years. He sighs, mind drifting again, to the things he’s done to all the messed up patients here.

And what fun it was.

He’s seated across Jungkook, scoffing quietly when he sees the younger lash out at another nurse. Jeon Jungkook, 20 this year, and still as easy to piss off as when he was admitted a mere three years ago.

Make him angry.

Fucking piss ‘im off real good

Fight! Fight! Fight already won’cha?

Don’t be a fucking wuss, do it, you little bitch!

It doesn’t take much for him to cave. The voices, the shadows, they loved screwing with Jungkook, pissing him off to the point that they’d fight. Hoseok’s lips curl into a manic grin, the shadows cheering him on as he stands abruptly, strolling easily towards Jungkook.

“Yah, you’re pathetic, you know that?” he sneers gleefully, and Jungkook glares at him, barely restrained anger burning in his wide doe-like eyes.

“Someone with such a baby face, you’re just begging to be babied aren’t you, cute little maknae,” he goads, and Jungkook’s glare intensifies.

“Shut your face, dickhead,” he snipes, fists clenching as he fights the urge to punch Hoseok in the face.

Hoseok gets stopped (unfortunately), dragged away before he can cause any more trouble. He lets out a manic laugh, eyes wild as he loses a shred of fragile, composed sanity. The male nurses take him back to his room and sedate him, threatening to keep him in lockdown if he misbehaves again.

He does, repeatedly, but the nurses eventually figure he won’t actually push Jungkook far enough for the younger to kill him.

With Yoongi it’s more… stimulating. He gets a kick out of seeing nine year old Yoongi bawl his eyes out when Hoseok ‘tells’ on him. Yoongi will sulk, pout, whine and wail, just so he doesn’t have to take his medication.  

But the fun part isn’t watching a twenty-four, almost twenty-five year old turn into a nine year old. The fun part, is when Hoseok can catch Yoongi at nine, and force him to turn to his deliciously violent, oh-so-sexy nineteen year old self.

“He faked taking his meds today,” he tells one nurse casually, innocent lilt in his tone. Yoongi cusses him out, and he just laughs, high pitched and gleeful, watching as the nurses pin Yoongi down and force the myriad of pills into his system.

“I’ll have my revenge, asshole!” Yoongi snarls, fighting hard against the male nurses, who all struggle to keep him from killing them (or Hoseok).

Hoseok would have let him, but the nurses pull him away, somehow determined to keep everyone alive. If only they’d realized that half of them didn’t want to be.  

He laughs, darker, more manic, slowly descending into the madness of his own mind. Everyone has their own demons, and he watches the misery, anger, hatred, fear, and uncontrollable urges consume the other patients. He giggles in wild, deranged glee when the sounds of their screams echo along the hallways, knowing their nightmares taunt them, their own demons rip them apart, piece by delightful piece.

He revels in the knowledge that they’re suffering too.

That he’s not the only one.

The therapists try and tell him his demons aren’t real, that he should stop listening to the false promises and dark whispers of the shadows, but they don’t understand.

They’re real.

They haunt him, and taunt him.

They make his life a living hell. But the dreams are worse.

Failure.

‘Course you suck. Pussy.

Well look who fucked up?  As per-fucking-normal

Looks like you failed again.

He growls, swiping at the shadows, screaming for them to go away, to just leave him be. He screams until his voice is hoarse, but they laugh at him, hurling razor sharp insults until all Hoseok wants to do it slam his head against a wall until he’s broken, and they’re gone for good.  

Hoseok wants to die, to leave this dismal, dark, horror-filled world for the peace of eternal darkness, and this time he’s going to succeed. He closes his fist around the colourful pills, eyes shut as he takes a deep breath.

A brief memory flashes in his mind, a burst of colour in his dark, dark world. A memory of you.

Your first meeting wasn’t significant, just a fleeting smile, and a sweet “good morning,” but it stopped Hoseok in his tracks. You were new back then, fresh faced and hopeful to help the people in this place.

Hoseok almost wanted to scoff when he first saw you. No one here could be helped. It was an asylum for a reason. But you tried anyway. Everyday you helped Jimin battle his demons, coaxed Yoongi into being more receptive, switching the way you spoke as effortlessly as he did between his childlike innocence and violent alter-ego.

He saw it in the way you refused to take nonsense from Taehyung, but let him get away with those white lies he couldn’t help but tell, in how you gently reminded Seokjin that eating six people’s worth of food was too much, but letting him have that extra bowl of rice anyway.

He wanted to hate you, to sneer at how easy it was for you to lie (read: talk) to the patients, how all of them seemed happier whenever you were around. He found himself gravitating towards you, unknowingly craving the same affection you offered the rest of his ‘circle.’

You were just so good, too pure for this hellhole they’d assigned you to. You never said a word about what Jungkook did to his teacher, the way he mutilated her, tortured her in ways so twisted the news dared not report the severity of it, before she was granted the painful mercy of death. You spoke to him like the troubled teen you knew he was, coaxing him to talk to you about things that interested him.

Hoseok tried to deny it. He didn't want to be friends with you, didn't want to have hope in his already hopeless world. He pushed you away, insulted you, sneered and treated you terribly, anything to get the glimmer of hope blooming in his heart to stop growing. It taunted him, mocked him almost, but he was just so fucking drawn to you.

“Jung Hoseok right?” you grinned brightly at him, and he’s blinded, bathed in brilliant, beautiful colours, contentment and sheer peace washing over him. He’s floating, high on your gentle voice and kind eyes, drowning in so much… light, that for the first time in his life, he truly, truly believes his life isn’t meant to be shrouded in shadows.

He nods, completely enamored by you, but more enraptured by the fact that you didn’t classify him by his illness. He was just Jung Hoseok.

It was good, so, so good.

At first.

You chased the shadows away, made him laugh, made him happy. You snuck in sweets and snacks after bedtime, shared silly stories about childhood and about family, friends, and Hoseok felt… normal.

Then the shadows come back, fiercer and darker than before. Hoseok’s plagued with horrifying, terrifying nightmares, of you mocking him, of you looking down and laughing at how much of a shell he truly is. He wakes up screaming your name, and grabs the nearest thing (his plastic cup), hurling it at you when you come sprinting in. Every time.

“You! You!” he screams, thrashing as the other nurses try and hold him down, injecting him with relaxant. “You’re a liar! They say you’re a liar and you don’t really care! They say you’re using me,” he shrieks, tears sliding down his face. Hoseok looks you dead in the eyes, and for the first time you see how truly haunted he is.

You’re frozen the first time, heart dropping when you see how much he truly believes his nightmares. The helplessness claws at you, tearing you apart as you watch him struggle, shrieking at the top of his voice, frenzied with fear and panic while his mind falls apart once more.

“You. You’ll break me. You’ll break me, and I’ll let you,” he whispers, mellowing out as the medication takes effect.

You head straight into the break room when he’s completely calm, eyes shut in temporary peace, and you hiccup, letting your weakness, your pain wash over you. Hoseok’s only a few years older than you, but his eyes, in that moment, were filled with more pain and torment that you could ever think was possible.  You let your emotions take control, sobbing in the tiny break room while the other nurses bustle around, some shooting you sympathetic looks, others leaving you alone to cry it out.

It doesn’t stop you. The shock eventually wears off, and you’re more prepared to handle him. You come back each time he screams your name, reassuring him you’re not going anywhere, that you truly do care, that the shadows are lying.

“How do you know they’re lying?” Hoseok asks you one day. It’s a good day today. The shadows are quiet, lurking in the darkest corners of the brightly lit room.

“Because I’m here, right now. The shadows, they never tell you good things, like how your laugh makes everyone laugh, how you’re so pretty when you smile, how you’re kind to everyone, even the ever-so-grumpy Min Yoongi,” you ramble on, and on, and Hoseok feels hope and affection bloom deep in his heart.

You lace your fingers with his, and he stares at it, almost in shock, before he turns your hand over, tracing the lines on your soft palm with almost childlike curiosity. He wants to memorise just how soft your hands are, learn each line and cut, trace over the smoothness of the tips of your fingers until he can see them imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Hoseok’s in awe, because he thought your hands would be calloused, rough from having to deal with patients like him and Yoongi all the time.

He leans down, pressing soft kisses to the center of your palms, and comes back up to peck a soft, sweet kiss to your cheek, feeling his already impossibly wide grin widen when he sees a pretty pink dust your delicate cheekbones.

When Hoseok first realizes it’s love, he knows he’s screwed. He tries to deny it, but he can’t resist. Each smile makes him want to push harder. Each sweet kiss gives him hope. The nurses are amazed by how much progress he’s made. Each time you praise him, he feels so full of love he thinks he’s going to burst.

But that was only in the light.

Once darkness takes over, the shadows taunt him for it. It’s a constant struggle, desperately trying to remember the happiness that filled his heart when he saw you mere hours ago. The days you’re not there are the hardest. He’d resort to sleeping pills, just so he could hide his struggles, because your happiness meant his happiness.

She’s lying

She only wants to see you when you’re happy

Once you crack, she’ll disappear

They all disappear

Always

Two nights later, it’s a bad night. He’s angry, violent, furious at both you and the world. He stalks you, like a predator would a prey, hurling sharp, hurtful words that burn themselves into your brain,

“Slut! Bitch! You’d open your legs for any damn guy who asks, thinking it’ll heal them? Make them better?” he snarls, eyes feral as he grips your arm tight. You gasp, not in pain, but in shock. There were bad days, but this was different.  

“Only for you hobi, I only want you,” you murmur quietly, reaching out to cup his cheek, not resisting when he pulls you closer by your arm, snarling in your ear.

“Liar. What a fucking liar you are. Here’s some breaking news, bitch. We’re all here because we can’t be fucking fixed. So get the fuck out of here and leave us to rot in this goddamn hellhole!” he roars, shoving you away, before letting the nurses tackle him.

He looks straight at you, lip curling in disgust, eyes filled with contorted hate and glee.

“I told you you’d break me.”

Four nights later, he cracks. The lack of sleep, the constant torment, the whispers in the dark about hurting you before you hurt him, about him already being broken, drive him over the edge. He screams at you, hands flying and voice hoarse.

You reach for him, cooing softly, lacing your fingers together so he’ll calm down, but he tries to pull away.  

“This is your fault! All your goddamn fault!” he shrieks, pulling away violently. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you fucking dare touch me!” he hollers, glaring hatefully at you.

It’s a choice. You can see the choice he makes in his manic, wild eyes, but it’s too late to stop it, and the sharp sound of palm meeting cheek echoes in the suddenly silent room.

It’s enough to shock Hoseok back to his distorted reality, and he panics when he sees you on the floor, eyes glazed over as you hold your reddened cheek, the mix of pain and shock clearly evident in your eyes.

“I- No, no please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, the shadows they-they keep telling me to hurt you, I try, I try so fucking hard to ignore them, but they haunt me. They torture me with dreams of you leaving, of you mocking me, saying I’m hopeless, that I can’t be cured, I just want the voices to go away!” he screams, falling to his knees in front of you, reaching out to tug your hands away so he can see the damage for himself.

“And they will go away,” you promise softly, letting him run his fingers over the mark, his mark, heart shattering at the remorse and regret on his handsome face. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. You’re going to get better, okay?”

You’re still stunned, because you knew the risks of getting too close to a volatile patient like Hoseok, but you couldn’t help it. He drew you in, mysterious and haunting, one minute goofy smiles, the next hateful glares. Your cheek burns hot, tender to the touch, but the pain doesn’t compare to how much it hurt when he broke, when you saw just how much you broke him.

Hoseok was right.

You did break him, and a dark, demented part of him hoped the knowledge would haunt you, knowing it was your fault.

He tried. Hoseok tried so hard for you, but they kept getting worse, and worse. The voices, the shadows, whispering evil into his sick, twisted mind, telling him to end his misery, to end his pain. He’d tried so, so hard, but the shadows, the torment, the torture – He failed.

60% of males with Schizophrenia attempt suicide at least once. 10.5% of them succeed.

For the first time in his life, Hoseok won’t be a failure.

This time he’d succeed. This time he’ll make them go away for good. The shadows will finally leave him in peace. He’ll be free.

He grips the bottle tighter, tilts his head back, and downs everything. It doesn’t take long, and he gasps in pain, feeling his insides churning. His vision blurs out, and he’s on his knees, body trying desperately to reject whatever he’d forced down. He vaguely hears the door slam open, hears your voice cry in alarm, and almost, almost wants to fight back, but he’s tired.

He’s just so tired.

He feels himself being lifted onto something soft, so, wonderfully soft, and glances up to see you, yelling out orders to try and cleanse his stomach, to try and figure out what he took.

“N-no,” he forces out, mouth drier than the sahara desert. “N-no m-more,” he rasps, and you look down at him, desperation clear in your eyes. He knew it was time, but he needed you to know it too.

“A-always...Love y-you,” he breathes, shaky hand reaching up to try and brush your tears away. He misses, stroking your cheek instead, but you choke on a sob-laugh, letting him see, openly, how much this hurts you too. He hears, just barely, your heartbroken plea for him to stay, to keep fighting, but the shadows are crowding his vision, his world darkening one final time. He lets himself languish in the darkness, feeling it envelop him in it’s cool, soothing embrace.

Peace.

At 12.00am, Jung Hoseok sees his twenty-third birthday. At 12.28pm, he realises he’ll never see his twenty-fourth.

At 12:29pm, on 18 February 2017, Jung Hoseok closes his eyes on his twenty-third (and final) birthday.