#i was that weirdo crying in public over a book but it was so good

[mbbookblr]

"Tell Nannan I walked."

[sugarcherriess]

I want boyfriend Hoonie who was so obsessive that I had to threaten to break up with him. I’d say that if he doesn’t get help and fix his attachment issues, I’d leave him for good. He’d throw a tantrum and cry and scream, but he’d give in and let me admit him into the hospital under the reasoning of “severe attachment issues” (we didn’t mention the fact that he’s also killed people out of obsessiveness for me because that was too much for him). The hospital workers would be like “why is this handsome, polite young man from a wealthy good background in a mental hospital?” But then within a few hours of being admitted they’d find out. He’d start throwing tantrums and getting violent because he misses me so much and nothing could cool him down. The hospital had to call me when I was already on my way home because they weren’t prepared for this. When he saw me walk into the room, he immediately sprung up and put me in his lap, touching me all over and reassuring himself that I’m there. This is when we realized that this would be harder than we thought. The hospital practically begs me to come at least once a week for Hoonie so he doesn’t kill anyone. One week I didn’t show up because I was visiting family and he had a meltdown and beat a worker half to death. He’s basically made a little shrine for me with a picture he smuggled in (no one can touch it but him since it’s so precious to him), some strands of my hair (because he’s a little weirdo) and ripped up panties of mine from my visits where he needs me a bit too much. It looked like he was never getting out of there, but he suddenly became a good boy and didn’t go crazy without me. He started denying my visits because he said he needed to get used to not having me around. When they released him they said he could be his own independent person now and wouldn’t have attachment issues. Unluckily for me, he just tortured himself and put up a front to get out. Now, I have my obsessive little psychopath and I’m forever at his mercy ❤️

- 🍞

Bestie have you considered writing a book? Genuinely like. Make it a trilogy? I will read it. I will buy that book. Stand in line until it’s out for public access and then get it signed and shit

No fr this is better than most so-called smut books i have read last year like pls give us the opportunity 🤲🏼😔😔😔😔😔😔

[moonlightsapphic]

Y'all aren't ready for this storytime.

So in 9th grade, one of the loudest girls in our class fixated on making me her latest project. At the time, I was still learning to cope with (undiagnosed) selective mutism and was the weirdo in the class. S thought I was chill, and I just needed to socialise a little more: interact, take pictures with people, wear makeup.

As the months passed, we became really close. S was a bit of a disaster: Her family wasn't the most stable, and neither was her mental health. She was conventionally very pretty—curvy with silky waves dyed caramel, sharp facial features and confident poisture. She was a bit outspoken and active for the liking of most guys in our conservative south Asian small town, but just pretty and charismatic and elusive and ✨ deep ✨ enough (even as a teen) for men to overlook that and try to slide into her dms and such. S spent her teen years jumping from toxic relationship to toxic relationship—fortunately with people our own age only.

She was just the type to reel in my chronic empath, neurodivergent ass as well. I loved pleasing S, impressing her, hanging out with her, being vulnerable together, comforting her. She was one of the only people that could keep up with my hyperactive texting, and despite our big differences, we had enough common interests to have something to talk about nearly 24/7.

(Looking back, I can definitely see some neurodivergent traits in her as well.)

When I was deeply crushing on this dumb dude that I thought was the coolest because he played guitar, was good at math and expressed feelings™️ well, I was pretty private about it. S literally emotionally coaxed me into telling her the truth. We were up late texting; she was—unsurprisingly—pretty down and I was keeping her company. She asked, “You know, I consider you to be my closest friend, though I don‘t say it a lot ... Will you tell me the truth? Do you like him?” If I‘d read that in a book, I'd be sure there was some romantic tension between these two characters.

When I had my first weirdly-sexual gay dream at seventeen, I was alone in her room with S later that day and hyperventilating. I was already in a very monogamous (and boring, in restrospect) relationship with that same dude and very happy about it, but that moment truly was the first step in my bi awakening. (It was probably inspired by some of my favourite public figures of the time, like dodie, coming out and talking extensively about it.)

I distinctly remember this one night when my boyfriend (spoiler alert: he’s trash) had been mean and made me cry. I was scared he would break up with me in the morning over this one tiny little mistake I’d made. S stayed up with me all night, and by daybreak I felt a flicker of feelings deep inside, of possibilities.

Unfortunately, as we neared 12th grade graduation, S began to get more conservative. She started to put her religious beliefs above any and all personal principles she once had. Ergo, queer people are sinners and also women should cover up and listen to men plus the country should become a fully "Islamic state" and get rid of all other religious minorities to achieve doubtless true utopia.

Uhhh … yeah.

Incidentally, she seemed unworried about following the same rules herself—her “faith” really shone when she was telling other people what to do, or being bigoted against a certain (religious, racial, ethnic, queer, et cetera) minority group she herself didn’t identify with. It was really just an excuse to feed her ego, perhaps a coping mechanism even, and it was hypocritical.

Let me make it clear here that the beliefs she kept citing are mainly a very specific set of interpretations of Islamic scripture that’ve come to be widely taught in our region at this moment in time. They by no means reflect the beliefs of all Muslims (and, in this case, were very informed by the bigotry of the cis-heterosexual, perverted, greedy old men who historically created these rules to maintain their power). S here absolutely is not a representation of the lifestyle and disposition of every practicing Muslim person.

ANYWAY, she began to make remarks about me posting LGBTQ+ positivity content on my social media, or feminism of the brand she didn't like. In my conflicts with shitty dudes from school, she would only support me if her ~ beliefs ~ allowed it. Additionally, she’d always been pretty emotionally volatile, but it had gotten worse since graduating school—She would get mad or upset with me now for being absent, insensitive, et cetera, asking for reassurance but in intense defensive attack mode. It was behaviour I never encountered from any other platonic friend.

As you can see, S wasn't very good at maintaining boundaries, or being open to other points of view. Her negative approach to many things in life often rubbed off on me as well.

With time and growth I found more friends who were like-minded to myself, whom I didn't have to tiptoe around lest I offend them or set them off, who were far more loyal to me. I’m a sensitive person—and I found a warmer community, much better for my mental health. So in our twenties, S and I organically drifted apart.

When I (finally!) dumped my shitty boyfriend (he’d turned extremely sour over time because he hated that I’d grown a backbone), and began happily dating a woman that I was very much in love with at the end of the year, I realised that having friends who support my queer identity is non-negotiable to me now. Just interacting with the queerphobes from grade school hugely triggered me, and I decided I no longer needed to carefully maintain niceties with them.

And it would all have ended there, except S wasn’t having it. We had drifted apart a while ago, but as soon as she saw that I was posting a bunch of pictures with my girlfriend, she began spreading rumours trying to out the both of us.

(Mind you, we weren’t out to anyone yet at the time. S was purely speculating, but she was spot on—I just couldn’t really figure out why this was the thing she decided to fixate on.)

And then, as if she thought I would forgive her straightaway for attempting to out me, she started hitting me up in my dms every few months demanding I give her an explanation for why I abandoned her. Each time, I patiently told S it wasn’t intentional and I had had mental health troubles. (Namely, ADHD, which she herself had once convinced me was impossible.) If she truly wanted us to keep up with each other, she could just reply to my stories in good humour and ask me how I’m doing instead of repeatedly villainizing me out of the blue. (I never brought up the outing thing, or anything queer-related at all. I didn’t want to give her any more leverage than the bits and pieces of evidence she had dug up herself, conspiracy-style.) However, that would only keep her away temporarily.

Not going to lie, the way she kept coming back to gaslight me into taking her back was an exact copy of what my ex-boyfriend had done for months. It was hilarious, and tragic.

… And (I realised later) kind of gay??

She’s been in a relationship with a really docile (*cough* ball-less) dude who agrees with all her conservative principles since 12th grade. (Honestly, good for them, they deserve each other.) I don’t think S has ever had feelings for me as much as she simply felt possessive of me. She regards it as betrayal that I am happily out and queer, and she can’t tolerate that some other girl has replaced her as my one true ✨ gal pal ✨. She's jealous, but it's hard for me to believe her jealousy is purely platonic. It's like she wanted us to be a pair of suffering queers-in-denial sacrificing ourselves for neurotypical comphet society together, hand in hand, forever. For the greater good.

How romantic.

I noticed a few weeks ago that she's finally removed me from all her social media—around the same exact time that my ex-boyfriend (whom I haven’t spoken to in years) blocked me.

Ah, two breakups that I initiated years ago coming back uninvited, for attention that I literally have zero interest in providing.

So bringing back this post:

Reading this was like a major brain go brrr moment to me, because I was like ??? That’s a queer thing??? No way???

And then I read through the comments and saw that every single sapphic person was like “uhhh yep we never dated though good riddance,” or “ugh yes and we ended up dating and it was so toxic we broke up soon after good riddance”.

For the first time in my life, I actually considered that S might not have been a straight queerphobe, but an incredibly suppressed dumpster fire of a queer person with extreme internalized homophobia.

And … it all fits.

She's always been sultry and glamorous in a distinctly sapphic way; I just never was able to exactly put my finger on it. (In high school, sometimes I'd look her up and down and go whoa.) I can totally imagine a parallel universe in which we forget men and attempt to date each other instead. After the first few months of euphoria, she’d probably get us into an anxious-avoidant trap the same way my ex did. She’d cheat on me with a man because of her internalised homophobia, then dump me and come back crying to gaslight me a dozen times. It would take me much longer to get rid of her than it did to get rid of my dumb man ex—because ✨ shared queer trauma ✨.

I really, really dodged a bullet with that one. My girlfriend is the most wonderful, soft, and nurturing person I know, and she is my soulmate in more ways than one. I am very happy, and this is your PSA to not just date the one other queer person in your vicinity when you know you aren't good for each other. Be like me—run.

[elizabethrobertajones]

For that writing thing 48 cause that's always an interesting one to me how people approach it (also 34 as a desperate cry for help...)

*waves* :D

do you reread your own stories?

Yes! When it comes to fics I have actually posted on Ao3 be glad no one can see the edit history because there are some embarrassingly belated lines I've added while re-reading when I MEANT to just soak up a vibe again, and instead realised I'd just plain jumped over CRUCIAL PLOT INFORMATION and continued writing as if that line was already in the story.

TBH fic writing is way more id and just splurge it out, tidy it up and post it sort of writing, while when I'm writing my own content especially for publication/submission I will re-read constantly for the sake of editing, and only consider it finished when I've read it to DEATH and don't want to look at it any more (and personal drafts I'm not planning to submit still get read over and over just not to the "to death" threshold). I don't wanna do that to fics because I still come back to them for fun because I did make the content I wanted to see :'D

how do you name characters and places?

First of all I bought (and re-covered so people wouldn't think I was expecting) one of these bad boys:

It's got sections with names sorted by era and popularity and it gives a basic name meaning and region where it's from. At the very least it means I can go look it up further (you know, to make sure no one notorious has a name or I'm using it wrong or the book was culturally appropriating etc :P)

I also call a looot of characters Bob as a placeholder so I can just write something and worry about that later XD

I think it's more important to think about WHY you are naming a character such and such a thing, like, who they are in the story and if they need to be memorable, or if they want them to kinda slide by either because they're not important or not important YET, so names that aren't particularly challenging or single names rather than giving them a surname too. In the novel I'm working on there's a squad of side characters hunting ghosts who've arrived from a studio in California, and I gave the presenter the name Katie Kobayashi, to give her something alliterative and fun to say and at least as far as I can tell no one important has the name. She gets a full name that characters repeat ("was that Katie Kobayashi?") so it sticks out like she's a celebrity and it's got a good saying out loud cadence (which you should do with all 2 or more part names). Her film crew with her are just Nate and Alejandro, neither of whom have surnames despite being in all the scenes with her and getting sometimes way more sympathetic or lengthy dialogue, because they're her background characters and I just needed Some Guy Names Like They're From California to follow her around, and their role is in their single names. Their producer who never appears and is mentioned two times, who manages their ghost hunting show and wants to produce horror films, is called Slice, no surname required not because he's unimportant but his "name" tells you everything about him XD I have heard of a couple of guys like this incidentally in my life who are 1 name genre weirdoes who aren't established enough to be A Surname Person on published content, but within circles have their name well enough known to just say their weird nickname and people know who it is. So I just looked up stuff on thesaurus.com until I saw one funny enough for this guy who's mentioned twice, to make him memorable and funny but more like, that's his whole personality and the joke is literally just in introducing him and moving on.

I hope that explains some of my process and helps you find some ways to come up with people :D

[dontcallmecarrie]

tfw the plot bunny strikes and refuses to let go, here, continuation of this:

.

Loki was torn between chagrin and vague amusement, as he observed everyone else’s reactions to the two Justin Hammers in between herding everyone to one of the safehouses Victor von Doom had somehow managed to get ahold of in this strange world.

At first glance, Victor seemed to be the most unperturbed— but Loki knew him well enough to note the way his eyes had widened when he’d seen the two side by side, couldn’t help but catch the tiniest shift in the way he held himself and Loki would bet anything that if he were any sort of telepath, he’d be hearing nothing but an infernal screeching coming from his corner of the room. 

Ivan Vanko wasn’t much better, but at least he’d elected to hyperfixate on cleaning up the loose ends they’d left in relation to their original mission: from his mutters, some of the security cameras’ footage had been trickier to access than not, and required even more effort to scrub. Loki gave it another five minutes before he was forced to look away from his computer and acknowledge the reality of the situation.

Meanwhile, the Winter Soldiers were an interesting study in contrasts; while Winter was extremely apologetic about the situation and had already apologized no less than five times, Soldat seemed to be content to look on in bemusement as the situation unraveled from there. 

...which wasn’t very different from what Loki’s own counterpart was doing, actually, but at least Soldat wasn’t enjoying the chaos. Visibly, anyway, and Loki was getting a new appreciation for just how irritating that particular smirk looked on his own face. If they all weren’t so focused on calming the jumpier, more visibly frazzled-version of their leader, someone would’ve punched it off his face by now. As it was, though...

.

“Who the hell are you people?!” Justin Hammer whisper-shrieked, in between sharp gasps for air and eyes wide as he cowered away from his kidnappers. “And wh— wh—”

“He’s more high-strung than you are.” Someone muttered to the terrifying figure who had his face—

“Of course he is, he has no idea what’s going on and you guys kidnapped him,” his mirror image replied with a flat look, before turning to face him looking vaguely embarrassed. “Look, Hammer— can I call you Hammer? Wait, no, you can be Justin, I’ll go by Hammer and man this is weird— I can explain. Just. Sit down and take a breather, because it’s, uh, a bit of a long story.”

.

Justin would’ve thought an explanation would leave him with more answers than questions.

He was sorely mistaken.

The headache he had now wasn’t much of an improvement from before. 

.

“So, let me get this straight: you,” Justin jabbed a finger at the dude with the dark grey mask which was just about the only thing differentiating him from his twin, “grabbed me because you mistook me for him—”

“Sorry about that, by the w—”

“—and you’re all from some other dimension and pissed off goodness knows how many organizations trying to figure out how to get home,” Justin steamrollered on, closing his eyes in an effort to take things one step at a time because he was trying not to feel overwhelmed but these guys weren’t making it easy, “is that right?”

“Well...”

“I mean...”

“Yeah.” Ivan— not the bastard responsible for his being in Seagate, another version of him who apparently didn’t actively try and screw people over— replied, and Justin opened his eyes just in time to catch the tail end of his shrug. “That about sums it up.”

“Okay.” Justin nodded to himself. “Why?”

“Why what? You’re going to need to be more specific, here, I’m not a mind reader.” 

“How’d you even get here? Or do you weirdos just go dimension-hopping for fun on a Friday night?”

“You’re not the only one wondering that.” The alien god said airily, toying with a— that was a knife, okay, Justin already knew he was in way over his head, he didn’t need the reminder, thanks. Where did it even come from, anyway? “I would really like to know that as well, Ivan.”

“Oh, nah, this was a freak accident.” Ivan snorted, then gave them all a smirk that gave Justin goosebumps for a second. “As for why...look at it this way: this was weird and stressful for us, and from the start you guys knew what was going on and have me to figure out how to get us back. Now imagine if it’d been the Avengers.”

The silent, broody one— Victor, was it?— made a noise of realization. “That is diabolical. I love it.”

“I know, I was trying to figure out how to temper it when this happened. The ray gun was supposed to be temporary, I’m not sure what happened but the end goal’s a duration of twenty-four hours. Sorry you guys got caught up in the beta, by the way.”

“We are going to be having words about proper lab safety protocols when we get home, Ivan.” Victor said darkly, and something in his voice that had six out of the seven other people in the room freezing for a second.

Justin couldn’t help but notice his...twin was not part of that number.

But first, because this was something he’d been wondering ever since he’d heard of how this ‘Cabal’ operated— 

“Why are you going to this effort?”Justin asked.

“Oh, boy, here we go again,” the guy calling himself ‘Winter’ muttered, but before he do more than start to turn to him in confusion, Ivan spoke.

“Because death is too simple.” He said, not looking away from the computer he’d pulled out. “Because any rando with a gun could do that, if they wanted. No, if I’ve got a beef with someone, I want them to suffer. I want them to regret ever having pissed me off, to curse my name every time they step on a Lego and realize who put it there, to—”

“Yes, I know, we get it.” One of the alien gods cut in. The one who didn’t look like shit, and had a long-suffering look on his face partway into Ivan’s spiel. “If I had a penny for every time you go on that rant...”

“Says the guy who uses my ideas to become the official nemesis of the Avengers.” Ivan shot back, unamused, and the way Winter sighed and Victor pinched the bridge of his nose told him this was a recurring argument. 

“Guys,” Justin’s...twin cut in, and Justin couldn’t help but feel something in the pit of his stomach clench as he noticed the way everyone from his dimension came to attention. “If we could focus on getting home?”

“I know, I know, I’m on it.” Ivan muttered, turning back to his computer. “Trying to throw SHIELD off our trail’s easier here, but it’s still not exactly a cakewalk.”

“Okay. What can we do in the meantime?” 

.

The more Justin saw of this ‘Cabal’, of Hammer and the others, the more uncomfortable he felt. 

Because the more time passed, the more it felt like...he was seeing a better version of himself.

How long had he tried to get people to respect him? How many classes on public speaking and marketing had he taken, how many books had he read in an effort to build his charisma, to be remembered as something other than the cheap knockoff of Tony Stark?

And now...

Justin watched as someone wearing his face walked around, and he was quiet, and fairly introverted, but something about him demanded respect, commanded all the attention in the room when he talked, and... Justin wanted that.

.

Of course, Justin’s...twin noticed.

For some reason, the look of sympathy he got felt even worse than the first time he’d donned prisoner’s uniform in Seagate.

Not to mention the conversation they had, when Justin was ushered into a quiet corner near the safehouse’s kitchen as they had tea.

.

It was. A talk. 

Not a great one. 

Not that there really could’ve been, considering, but.

“I am not you, you are not me, and that’s a good thing.”

Justin didn’t know what he was expecting, really.

Another version of himself, forcing him to acknowledge things he’d thought he’d gotten over— how was he supposed to handle it?

“You were set up for failure from the start, you know. No child should ever have to carry some of the burdens you grew up with.”

Just.

Someone who understood, and how was he supposed to deal?

“You cannot change the past, but you can control your own actions in the future. What do you want to do, who do you want to become? What makes you, you?”

Justin had thought he’d felt tired when he’d finally been brought into the mess these guys were part of, but now his exhaustion felt soul-deep and he didn’t know when he’d started crying but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t stop—

.

Mercifully, the others left him alone for the rest of the day. 

He... needed to think.

.

Justin wasn’t the only one having a hard time, he knew: he’d noticed the way Soldat followed Winter around, trying to mimic his self-confidence, and the Loki of this world looked at the easy camaraderie his counterpart had with a hunger that would’ve made Justin very nervous if that expression were aimed at him. 

Something dark and feral, all jagged edges and brittle smiles and it shouldn’t have resonated nearly as much as it did but—

It made for a good conversation starter, if nothing else. Something relatable to bond over tea, because Victor was a monster who had an irrational disdain for coffee and Justin needed his caffeine fix if he wanted to keep what was left of his sanity.

.

Justin didn’t know what he brought to the table. Not compared to whatever his twin did, anyway, and he didn’t want to go that route either because he wanted to be himself. 

Even if he wasn’t certain what that looked like, anyway, not after decades of chasing after Tony Stark’s shadow, but...

He’d find out. Somehow.

.

“Hey! Guys, I figured it out!” Ivan’s excited cheer woke everyone up early one morning. “Just gotta get my hands on some materials, but we can go home soon!”

[samsoleil]

okay okay so. homeschooled au. essentially, sam and dean were homeschooled by john and now they're codependent (surprise surprise). let's pick up (more or less) where we left off, huh?

Sammy doesn't know how to freaking talk to people. Actually, correction: Sam talks to people like people talk in books, like people talk on TV. Dean swears, every time he meets someone new he has the same routine. This bubbly, "Hi, how are you?" that they saw in a TV show in Michigan, "I'm Sam, and this is Dean" from a book he read in Wisconsin, and that's about it.

It's still new, seeing people. But he's getting better every day, pausing for less and less time, and sure, he still hides behind Dean a lot of the time, but he's still small enough that all the moms coo like the news presenters when they see something cute. Dean's been watching the news in the cafes they go to, trying to figure out how to say "I'm sorry, he's shy" the way they do in Nevada, which is where they are now. Dean's not the biggest fan of talking, gets tired as hell afterwards, but he can fumble his way through a conversation with the waitstaff without adopting that deer-in-the-headlights look Sam gets when they go off-script.

The only people they really need to talk to are each other, and Sam and Dean manage that just fine.

Once Dean's finished ordering for them (the waitress asks if he's from out of town and he names the nearest city he knows, but she doesn't call him out on the accent, so he must be doing a pretty good job), he turns back to Sam, seated unhappily on the bench across from him, intently reading the menu.

"Sammy," Dean calls, and Sam looks up.

"It's Sam," he says, routine.

Dean raises an eyebrow and fans his fingers, palm facing Sam, tilting his hand from left to right. Sam's nose crinkles, then scrunches his mouth to the side and cocks his head towards the kitchens.

And yeah, Dean feels the same way. It's not the safest, going around in public like this, but they've gotta eat somehow. It's been two weeks since they were meant to meet back up with Dad, and every day has left Sam feeling more and more anxious. But they're being careful. They know how Dad usually evades people, CPS and the police and those hunters that they met when Sam was 7, and they've bastardised it into their own version. Two steps forward, one step back.

Sam asks him how he's doing, the same fanning motion, and Dean copies Sam, who softly kicks him under the table. Dean exaggerates his response, groaning in pain and reaching underneath to rub his knee, and Sam rolls his eyes but he's smiling, just slightly, so Dean calls that a win.

God, he doesn't know the last time Sammy smiled. It’s a scary thing to think, that Sam just stopped smiling one day and Dean didn’t even notice. Sammy looks the same as he always has, until Dean actually looks and realises that he’s grown older without him realising. And it's awful, but whenever Dean looks at Sam, he pictures the way he looked in that motel room. Not when Dean walked in, but after, when Dean told him they were leaving and Sam looked at him like he'd discovered the holy grail, or something. Dean sees it superimposed on top of him, all Sam's ugly crying made beatific by that relief, the rush Dean had felt when he saw it.

(He'd fallen apart after Sammy fell asleep, still curled up in his arms and so, so small. He'd felt something break, leaving him doubled over and aching, burying his face in Sam's soft hair and just breathing him in, warmth and life and Sammy. Dean's never been so scared. He hopes he never has to feel that scared again.)

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Dean huffs out a breath and starts tapping his pointer finger against the table, and Sam glares.

"Sleeping ugly?" Dean asks, and Sam rolls his eyes, all attitude.

"I slept just fine, thank you," he says, and they both know it's a lie. "You should- you should be more patient."

And that's when Dean knows something's wrong, because Sammy was the one to pick that one. He read about the cardinal virtues in one of Bobby's books, and spent the next weeks cajoling Dean in Latin.

"Temperantia," Dean says, "Dude, what gives?"

Sam gestures that he doesn't want to talk about it, but that's not an option at the moment, sorry, kiddo. Sam pulls a bitchface, which quickly disappears when Dean widens his eyes, looking over Sam's shoulder, and Sam wriggles around in his seat to see their pancakes making their way towards them.

"Alrighty, then!" their waitress, Isabelle, says brightly. "I've got one vanilla with fruit and one choc chip."

Dean nods his head towards Sam. "That one's vanilla."

"Thank you," Sam says with careful precision as the waitress places the plate down in front of them.

Dean watches the lady serving them bite her lip to hide a smile.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," she says, and Dean looks at Sam to see his mouth shaping the words.

"Thanks," Dean says, and she gives him a warm nod before leaving.

When she's gone, Sam takes a large enough bite of his pancake that he has a reason for not answering. And Dean's stomach is growling, so he guesses they're eating first. Except neither of them have ever been any good at eating slowly, and this is the first meal they’ve had since yesterday night, so this won’t stop Dean for long. Plus, Dean’s rushing.

“Sibling tax,” he says, claiming an apple slice from Sam’s plate. Sam sighs around his mouthful, and Dean will never admit it, but fruit goes ridiculously well with choc chip pancakes, what the hell.

When he’s finished, he places his knife and fork in the centre of the plate, like they do in those cooking shows, and he waits for Sam to be done. It doesn’t take long, and then Sam is pushing away his plate in favour of fidgeting, hands half forming nonsensical words and phrases. Colours, how are you, storm, guest, storm. Dean just waits. Temperantia.

Finally, Sam confesses. “I’m practicing.”

“Practicing what, talking? Sammy, you know how to talk.”

“With you,” Sam says, but the emphasis on the ‘you’ is just slightly off and yeah, okay, maybe the kid does need to practice. “I can’t- I can’t talk to anyone else.”

“And practicing with me helps?”

“It tells,” Sam says with a shrug.

“I don’t have a tell,” Dean protests.

“You do.”

“I don’t!”

“Do.”

“Don’t!”

“Do.”

“Well, then, what is it, Mr Pokerface?”

Sam’s hand curves sadness into the air, and Dean isn’t as hungry anymore. Because, fine, Dean blames himself. Dad brought it up all the time, how difficult it was to teach him how to read, how long it took him to talk. And he’s just fine at it now - yeah, it’s tiring, but that’s because nobody else is as smart as Sam, so every conversation just goes so slowly - but Sam, for all that he’s the biggest geek Dean has ever met, has always found it harder to talk with people that aren’t Dean. Even when he was talking with Dad, half the time he’d be restarting the same sentence until it came out the way he wanted it to.

And Dean knows that he’s the reason why. Because for all his life, he’s been so caught up in talking with Sam that he’s never thought about Sam talking with anyone else.

“It’s not your fault,” Sammy says, “Practice makes perfect. I’m a quick learner.”

The kid’s got a point, because Dean’s pretty sure he knows more than Dean does at this point. And that’s not Dean being jealous. He’s proud, so proud that it sometimes hurts. He couldn’t be jealous, not when it’s Sam. Not when he sees him at every age, yammering on about whatever at a hundred miles a minute but still taking the time to explain it to Dean. And if Sam’s right, then Dean’s smart, too, just in a different way. And Sam hasn’t been wrong about Dean yet.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam returns, and Dean leans across the table to trace a circle around his heart.

Sam lifts his hands to bat Dean away but when Dean gestures for Baby on his chest through his shirt he instead grabs Dean’s hand in his, resting them there for a second, and Dean loves him, he loves him.

“Gold,” Sam says, eyes big, and Dean pulls a face at him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he replies, tugging his hand out of Sam’s softly and pulling it back.

He mentally shakes himself, blinking, and Sam settles back in his seat. Chapter closed on that conversation. Sam’ll keep practicing, Dean will keep giving him shit; between the two of them, they’ll turn Pinocchio into a real boy. Sam spears a strawberry with his fork and eats it, pulling a face. He’s full, but they don’t want to waste food. Maybe they can get a container to go or something. Dean nods at Sam and the frown clears.

Dean looks around, making eye contact with Isabelle. She nods acknowledgement and weaves her way to their booth.

“Migist?” Dean asks, and Sam nods, pushing his plate slightly further away.

“Anything I can get you boys?” she asks, and Dean puts on an easy smile.

“Yeah, could we get the leftovers to go?” he asks. He’s pretty sure he’s read that phrase before.

Isabelle smiles, amused, and shit, Dean’s said it wrong, god, she’s going to know-

“You know, you boys are the just the most polite little things,” she says, and okay, Dean doesn’t have that much of a babyface, seriously. “Sure thing, I’ll bring you a container with the bill.”

“Calm down, weirdo,” Sam says when she’s gone, the little shit.

“You try next time,” Dean shoots back.

Sam expresses that that isn’t fair but, uh, last time Dean checked, taking turns was polite. That earns him another kick.

Once they’ve paid the bill (and tipped 20%, thanks Sammy. People in movies actually have money to spend, you twerp), they step out into the late afternoon air. They drove all night and slept most of the day, but Dean is strung out from all Sam’s nervous energy. They’ll stay another night before they venture forth.

“But soft?” Sam asks, finger tracing Baby in the air.

Dean takes a second to mentally calculate how far they have to travel. They’re heading to Uncle Bobby’s place and, yeah, it’s been forever since they last saw him, but they don’t really have anyone else who’s on better terms with them than their dad. And, yeah, it’s 1.4 thousand miles in a line, but that’s not the pattern they’re making. They’ll dip past the Crow reservation and stay there for a night or two, then go from there. A thousand miles, give or take. That’ll take, what, 15 hours? Check-in’s usually around 4pm.

“Midnight,” Dean says, and Sam groans.

“You have the damned spot,” he accuses.

“It’s not gonna kill you.”

Sam’s expression says he finds the truth of that statement dubious, but Sam’s not the one driving. Dean’s blessed with the ability to pass the hell out literally wherever, so he’s had no trouble sleeping, even with Sam pressed against his side as a wriggling pile of heat. Dean’ll be fine, Sam can sleep in the car.

Sam sighs in acceptance. Dean ruffles his hair, but it’s not enough, not really. He ducks down slightly to pick Sammy up, and he comes easily, hugging Dean back just as tight. He feels Sam bury his face in Dean’s neck, feels his hummingbird heart against Dean’s chest. Sam gets worried easily. Dean hates it. He knows Sam hates it too, but for different reasons than Dean. Sam just hates having to rely on people. What he doesn’t get is that it doesn’t matter how smart he is, he’ll always be Dean’s little brother.

“C’mon, kiddo,” Dean murmurs. “Let’s head home.”

Dean feels Sam’s mouth brush against his skin when he replies.

“I’m already home.”

[txemrn]

Book: Queen B

Word count: 1000 (+/-)

Prompts Used: baby batter; rod; pubic hair;fun bags; interruption by friends/professor

Music Inspo: "Goodbye Horses" by Q Lazzarus

Warning: NSFW; this is fairly cringe (even for me!); mentions of human captivity, sociopathic behavior; language

AN: Happy Queen B Book 2 Release Day! I can't think of a better way to celebrate today AND Week 3 of @smut-tember than by sharing this monstrosity of garbage! This is a strange rewrite of that infamous chapter 9 (with some extra characters lol). As always, characters and some of the plot belong to our friends at Pixelberry! This chapter is straight-up inspired by one of my favorite movies. 🐑

------aaaaaaaaaaaa

Watching an anxious Carter pace a hole in the rug, Zoey bounces her knee incessantly while Taylor chews on her perfectly manicured thumb nail. This wasn’t like Bea. She hadn’t been back to their immaculate dorm room at Belvoire in almost three days.  Her clothes were still perfectly hung in the closet; none of her new fancy bags were misplaced. Unfortunately, her cell phone went straight to voicemail.  Terrified that something bad happened, Zoey decided to pull out the big guns.

Hearing a stern knock, Carter opens the front door. “Good evening, Professor Kingsley.” He bounds into the living quarters, a pensive look on his face. He gives a nod to Zoey before leaning against the doorway.

“Have we called her parents?” he questions as he pushes up his glasses, rubbing the inner corners of his eyes.

“Yes, sir,” replies Carter, “they’re at a Corn-Shuckers convention with no cell service.”

“Damnit!” the college instructor begins to pace. “And the last time you saw her was…?”

“Almost three days ago,” Taylor tearfully answers, her voice quivering. “She was coming back here to take a nap before the Zeta’s Annual Wet Sweatpants Contest and now she-she’s--” she breaks down crying, “-missing!” she wails.

“Wait--wait--wait--” Professor Kingsley holds a hand up, placing a hand on his hip. “Did anyone see her walk into the residence hall?”  The three students perk up, their eyes widening. The professor continues, “Maybe one of the staffers saw her. Have you asked the RA?”

------

Hovering over a steaming hot plate of boiling noodles, Benji Knoll toggles through his music, clicking on his favorite Q Lazzarus song. As he hums the familiar tune, he shuffles to his mirror to admire a picture he took in the girls’ public bathroom of none other than the woman who held his heart, his delicate petunia, his bleating little lamb, his one and only honey Bea.

He removes his retainer and glasses. Opening up a deep wooden drawer, he pulls out a mannequin head with his latest sewing creation on top: a blonde wig made entirely from Bea’s pubic hair. He gently pets it, feeling the wiriness between his fingers. He brings it to his nose, inhaling deeply of it’s natural essence. Feeling his rod twitch, he looks back into the mirror, carefully placing the head piece over his skull. 

He reaches back into the deep drawer, pulling out a purple perfume bottle. Beas perfume. Gently squeezing the atomizer, he spritzes the skeezy smell of cotton candy mixed with chlamydia. As droplets rain down on his face, he smiles in euphoric delight.

He reaches back into his drawer, and pulls out a red lacy bra. As his fingers trace across the intricate stitching, he begins to pant hungrily, knowing that this fabric once grazed her bare naked body. As his heart begins to race, he rips off his hoodie, and hooks on the bra.  His eyes roll back in ecstasy as he squeezes the empty cups, pretending Bea’s fun bags were bouncing inside of them. 

As his humble chode strengthens, he grabs a ChapStick once used by Bea. He begins to smear it across his lips, swirling the cherry flavor around and around until his cock erects to it’s full three-inch potential. As he continues to put on the lip balm, he starts to sway his hips to the music, turning his attention to the mirror.

“Would you fuck me?” he growls at his reflection. “I’d fuck me. I’d fuck me hard.” With one more swipe of the gloss, his voice darkens. “I’d fuck me so hard.”

Suddenly, a timer chimes; his noodles are ready.  He brings the hot pasta with him into his darkened closet. From his pocket, he pulls out matches, igniting them to light candles.

He makes haste, meticulously applying the spaghetti to his most recent creation, his adoration station, a relic of his undying passion for Bea Hughes. As the spaghetti takes form, Benji falls to his knees. His breath hitches in his chest in sovereign awe. The homage to his mincemeat pie, to his precious Creamsicle, to his fuzzy wuzzy bear was complete, taking the mold, the very liking to Bea’s appearance.

"She--she's complete," he chokes out, his eyes smoldering with desire. He wants to take it right then and there, but that's not enough for Benji. 

He crawls over to a giant pit in the ground that he created for this exact moment. The dorm, more specifically his room, was built on top of an old, dried-up well. It was shallow enough for someone to fall in without getting too terribly hurt. But, they wouldn't be able to get out on their own.

Benji looks over the side. "Bea baby? My little kumquat--?"

A female figure begins to rustle at the bottom of the pit, groaning in pain.

"Bea? Wake up," he singsongs, "I have something to show you."

------

Professor Kingsley, Zoey, Carter and Taylor make their way downstairs to the head resident advisor's quarters where they proceed to bang on his front door. No answer. 

"He's not here," states Taylor.

Zoey scrunches her face. "That weirdo is always here."

Carter presses his ear to the door. "She's right! I hear music! And--" he listens closely, "-- someone's screaming--"

"Bea?" Taylor yelps. 

Professor Kingsley knocks again, this time ramming his shoulder into the door. Hearing the wood give under strength, he tackles the door again, only this time, it busts open.

They pour into the room, searching for Bea. They hear strange, noises coming from the closet. Giving each other one last nervous glance, Carter opens the door.

"Oh dear God," gasps Zoey as Taylor quickly shields her eyes. Carter stifles a laugh while the professor gives a disgusted, yet curiously look.

There was Benji, finally getting what he always wanted. Well, sorta. With sweat pouring down his brow and fueled by his captives shrieks for help, he thrusts one last time into the licorice mouth of his beloved Bea shrine before spilling his baby batter all over her mashed-potato face.

******

@ao719 , @bebepac @burnsoslow @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana​ @dcbbw​ @kat-tia801 @socalwriterbee @neotericthemis

[kenmasgameboy]

ruin me.

a kuroo x library assistant!reader

chapter 4: hide me!

previous ... next

masterlist

kuroo tetsurou came into y/n’s life when she needed him to fuck it up the most.

Blending in was a really easy thing for you to do. Especially since you knew you looked so plain, you worked hard for that, eyes just would feel like they eat at you when they made eye contact with you. You hated that. You had all you needed just by staying alone.

There were a few spots where you could be alone and undisturbed, your go-to was always the library. But that’d be too obvious right now, knowing somebody might be looking for you made your skin crawl.

You settled for a seat to read against a tree in the art clubs courtyard. They didn’t meet at lunch so this was a very peaceful place to sit, there was cobble stones with paint dripped all over them, stools and easels laid out and some of the prettiest greenery in the school.

Your phone kept buzzing, you knew it was Inuoka. Nobody else texted you, and you liked that. He was a good friend, your only consistent one really and that felt right. You didn’t need anyone else. Well except maybe the librarian you worked for and the library itself. Maybe a boyfriend would be nice..

“Stop it, stupid.” You rarely spoke but you decided to let this one time slip. You needed to stop your thoughts. The plan has always been: you. Just you. Forever. And that was perfectly okay with you.

You adjusted your glasses chains from dangling on top of your cheek bone to closer to your ear. You had already read the same sentance three times you couldn’t afford anymore distractions. You liked this book, it was about a girl who overcomes her fears of love and commits to her partner after their life threatening situation.

A life much more exciting than yours. You sighed and put the book down, real life wasn’t like that. People who fall in love in real life don’t become stronger because of it, it’s always weaker. You always see couples at school who start failing or skipping class because they’re so in love.

“What bullshit.” You bitterly say to yourself. Not knowing that behind you a scuttering of footsteps come to a hault. You curiously look over your shoulder and around the wide tree trunk to see none other than the exact person you hoped you wouldn’t run into today.

You quickly whip your head back forward, breathing heavily and throw your book in your bag. He was with other people, a few third year girls, so he wouldn’t just leave them to come talk to you, right? That would be rude? Didn’t matter, you needed to run right now. But when you do you run right into his chest.

“Whoa there, crazy we’re running into you.” His smirk is the most obvious feature he has, you try to focus on that instead of his eyes. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. He’s so much taller up close, “I heard what you said, uh, what’s bullshit?”

You can’t just keep staring at his mouth hoping he’ll think it’s his eyes. Maybe he thinks you want to kiss him and that’s weird you definitely don’t. You stare at your foot instead. The tip of your shoe directly pointing to a blue star shaped paint chip on the ground. He’s going to think you’re such a weirdo.

“My book.” You answered, your voice quiet, better than how he pictured it sounded. It’s kind of like Kenma’s, Kuroo thought. But yours sounded more like a song, it was lighter and more full of emotion. The emotion right now was nerves. Did he make you nervous? But you weren’t crying, so that was a good sign.

“What book is it?” He asked, you reached into your bag and handed it to him quietly to look at. The maroon hardcover shining as he turned it over in his hand.

“This is nice, looks well taken care of. You don’t see that a lot these days.” Kuroo handled this book so delicately, it watmed your heart.

“Do you read?” You asked quietly, your heart leaping when you looked up for a second. Instantly wishing you could take back the words you just spoke. You just invited him in.

Take it back, take it back, take it back...

“When I can, I love it. I’d love some recommendations, with volleyball I haven’t had the time to go looking. But, uh,” Kuroo handed it back, “You still didn’t answer me. As nice as it looks I’m not stupid enough to judge a book by it’s cover. So why is it bullshit?”

You slowly sighed, you can’t tell him why because it wasn’t actually the book that made you mad. Just the concept of love and interest.

“I-uh.” You stuttered, goosebumps flaring up as you felt the girls Kuroo was with earlier scanning your body from the outdoor pathway not too far away. You looked over your shoulder and tried to hide your face in your shoulder.

She is nothing like her online persona. Kuroo continued his thoughts, thinking about how adorable your nose would look if you were hiding in his shoulder and not your own.

“Sorry about them. We were just working on a project but I wanted to talk to you after yesterday. I tried messaging you, but in person is always better. I should’ve done it yesterday anyways.” He suddenly bowed, “On behalf of my volleyball teammates I wanna apologize for the disruption in the library!”

Oh my god, now everyone was looking. Anyone who passed by were sure to stop and gigle at this tall hot volleyball player as he bows an apology to this second year nobody.

“It’s okay! It’s okay! Please stand up, people are looking, don’t worry about it.” You rushed him up, tapping his shoulder lightly with your fingers. He loved how worked up you got. He lifted his head up and smiled, cheeky.

“Thank you, for your forgiveness. Could I—” Kuroo started but you couldn’t do this anymore. You could feel the fingertips where you made contact with his uniform linger the sensation.

“I’m sorry, I—uh— have to do something for my class before lunch ends.” You were bright red, you couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. You looked him into the eyes before turning on your heel and the way he looked with such genuine interest made your stomach feel like it was rolling down a long grassy hill.

“Do you need help?” Kuroo asked, following at your heel for a while, bending at his waist a bit to get closer to your level, “I’d be happy to—”

“Not necessary, I can handle it.” You said, waving your hand away. “Besides,”

“Kuroo-kun!” The third year girls were waving him over with venemous smiles, “Come back!”

“I think your fans are calling you.” You said plainly, staring at your shoes as you walked quickly.

“Can I come see you again? Like in the library or somewhere?” Kuroo asked suddenly, you shivered he just wouldn’t stop.

“It’s a public space.” Was all you said, and kept walking back inside the building, biting your lips. This was the worst.

***

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[thevindicativevordan]

Why I Like Superman

This is a post I’ve been going over and over in my head, trying to suss out my feelings. The simple fact is I love Superman, and I have for as long as I can remember. I wore Superman pajamas as a kid. I watched cartoons like Superman: The Animated Series, Justice League, Legion of Superheroes, and was hyped as hell when he showed up on The Batman cartoon. I drew variations of the S-shield all over the sides of my school notebooks, and I tied a towel around my neck and pretended I could fly.

One of my favorite Xbox games to play was the Superman Returns tie-in game (remember those?), because it was the only game I could play that let me fly around, shooting off heat vision and freezing people with arctic breath. I still remember the opening that had you destroy asteroids, and being absolutely wowed as a kid by the big finale which had you slam into the largest asteroid at supersonic speed to destroy it. Took me forever to beat the Warworld arena level though because I didn’t know how to block.

Because there were no local comic shops near my home for me to go buy issues at (not that I even knew what a local comic shop was at the time), I kept up with his, and the rest of my favorite DC heroes adventures, via reading the DC wiki. I spent so much of my time waiting for my mom to get off the computer so I could go online and catch up that my parents installed parental blocks because they were worried about what I was doing.

In short he’s been a constant favorite of mine throughout childhood, through my teenage years, and straight on into adulthood. I never developed the dislike or distaste for him that some people did, and he never dropped out of the top spot for me like he did for others. There were times when he shared the top spot for me with Batman and Spider-Man, until One More Day wrecked my relationship with Spidey and I grew bored of the endless cycles of Batman being a dick to the Batfamily and then learning he needs them. But even throughout his lowest points (and God have there been so many of those in the last decade), he’s remained the top guy for me.

But why? I think it’s in part because of the type of genre he embodies. He is of course The Superhero, and he lives in the genre he founded, but he also lives in a type of optimistic science fiction genre that’s downright extinct nowadays. As a kid I was a massive science fiction fan, and my dad was friends with a guy who was also hugely into science fiction. This guy had a basement full of science fiction books written from the Golden Age of Science Fiction, up until the cyberpunk era kicked off in the 1980s. He was happy to hand novels off to me, and his private library beat the hell out of our public one. I devoured stories of fearless heroes in space exploring new worlds, first contact with alien races, mindbending new technologies that seemed like magic, about transcending our mortal flesh and becoming part of a universal, transcendental whole, stories that didn’t just talk about technology but about the human condition. Stories that while sometimes bleak, painted a positive picture of the human ability to overcome our inherent flaws and be a powerful force for good. And ultimately Superman speaks from the same source.

It’s not just about the powers, although those who completely dismiss their appeal are making a mistake I believe. It’s about humanity, about our ability to transcend our base natures, reflected in this Strange Visitor from Another Planet, who embodies our virtues and our vices, who is torn between the fear of doing too much and the fear of doing too little. Who hides his true self behind a pair of glasses because he craves the fellowship of humanity more than any amount of glory or riches. His no-kill rule a firm affirmation of the value of life, all life everywhere no matter it’s form. His greatest love, Lois Lane, is his co-worker and greatest rival as a reporter, who has everyone’s number in her phone, be they crime lord or living saint. His greatest friend, Jimmy Olsen, is the guy everyone else ignores or bosses around, but is a rich kid weirdo who gets up to all sorts of bizarre adventures that keep the Daily Planet afloat. His childhood friends are superheroes from the future, his home City of Metropolis is 10 years ahead of everyone else in terms of technology, his dog can shatter concrete via barking at it, his home den is a ice crystal castle situated at the North Pole, like Santa’s Workshop. In short his life is one where even the mundane corners hide fantastical attributes. By living among us, he helps to elevate us, to make our daily grind interesting by seeing through the lens of his life. As others have said, we walk our dogs around the block, he walks his around the solar system.

But it would be a mistake to assume that Superman doesn’t tackle the darker sides of life too. Even the most optimistic sci-fi novels that I read as a kid had dystopic elements in them, intended or not. His home planet of Krypton was our technological superior, yet ignored the warnings of it’s chief scientist, and died a victim of it’s own greed and arrogance with Kal-El as the Last Son. His birth parents died in the fires of self-perpetuated genocide, his adopted parents the Kents often fall to mundane heart diseases or accidents, which even his power can not save them from. His greatest enemy Lex Luthor, is the one person who can understand his loneliness, his need for the public’s approval and acceptance, and yet the shared enmity between the two has ruined any chance of them forming a friendship that could have been. The shining City of Metropolis venerates Luthor as well as Clark, reflecting the greed, selfishness, and callousness of it’s other favorite child. Suicide Slum stands as a testament to the limits of how much Superman can improve life. The Phantom Zone is a spinechilling example of the inhumane treatment of prisoners. His foes ran the gauntlet from greedy businessmen out for money at any cost, to victims who have suffered at humanity’s hands and seek revenge, to sociopaths who treat other peoples pain and lives as a source of amusement, to murderers who care not from where the blood flows, only that it does, to tyrants who seek to crush all resistance underneath their heel, to gods who wish the elimination of free will itself. Each of them force Superman to confront the fallibility of human nature and wrestle with whether or not his faith in both them and himself is justified.

In a sentence? I love Superman because he’s a character you can do almost anything with, from comedic hijinks, to serious dramas, to distributing horror stories, to exciting adventure stories. He reminds me of the best type of science fiction stories, ones that explore people and existence from all sorts of angles, that never lose sight of the emotional human core at the heart of all the high concept existential concepts. He’s made me laugh, cry, think, get motivated, get angry, and sometimes just get writing. He brings the big ideas and the human emotions that keep me reading comics throughout all the Big 2′s bullshit. He still believes in the human capacity for good, in spite of our flaws, in spite of how few of us seem to believe in that capacity ourselves, and he shows us that it’s still there by touching our hearts through his stories. That’s why I like Superman, and why he’s my favorite superhero.

[yandere-society]

The Ultimatum

Synopsis: Valentine’s Day has rolled around once again, and just like last year, you plan on spending it with none other than your emotional support dog. What you don’t know, however, is that you have an unexpected visitor awaiting for you at home.. and not only does he have a loaded gun on his hip, but he also has your beloved pet in his lap.

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 6,000

Admin: @tatertotthethot​

Valentine’s Day Event Masterlist

Trigger warnings: yandere-themes, signs/mentioning of mental disorders such as: anxiety, depression, PTSD and dissociation; Mentions of gang violence; Depictions of gore; nonconsentual kissing (nothing sexual); no dogs were harmed in the making of this…

“Here you go, guys.” You said as you handed the couple across the counter their drinks. You returned their smiles and bid them a good day, but as soon as they turned away and linked their fingers together on the way out, your expression settled into one of disdain.

Baley, your manager, noticed it. But like always, she chose to ignore it. She’s very much use to your secretive, albeit bitter distaste towards romance. She’s been working along side you for two years now, and knows that you’re a big advocate for holiday decorations. You’ve decked the place out on Halloween, thanksgiving, Christmas— even fucking Saint Patrick’s day. But for Valentine’s Day, all you did was slap some heart shaped stickers on the window and didn’t even look too happy to be doing that, either. But she’s never been one to push.

“Guess what I’m doing this evening,” She hinted, hanging the ‘closed’ sign on the door.

“Hm?” You asked, having zoned out while rinsing your shot glasses out.

“I’m gonna eat the rest of my edibles and read some alien erotica.”

Not expecting anything less from her, given her personality, you only choked out a laugh and shook your head. It’d be more amusing if you knew she wasn’t kidding. Baley has a weird obsession with aliens and you never took her serious about it until you bought her a tentacle dildo as a gag-gift on her birthday, and instead of laughing about it and going off into a banter like you were anticipating, she started screaming and jumping up and down like you just handed her the last Golden Ticket to the fucking chocolate factory.

“What about your boyfriend?” You asked, forcing yourself to engage in conversation to keep you from spiraling.

“He’s out of town. So I’ll be thinking of him as I read about the alien king abducting me and using my tenta-holes—“

“Never mind.” You cut her off, trying to let that lighten up the mood. You appreciated the effort, but it didn’t work. You just wanted today to be over.

It’d be a whole lot better if only you could tell her the truth and come clean about your past. But it’s not like she’d believe you, even if you had the guts. But in all honesty, her fantasy about alien abduction was more believable.

You’re a barista making $10 an hour, living paycheck to paycheck and inhabiting the house your grandmother left you in her will. You have no car, you rely on public transportation; all your clothes are from goodwill and when you’re not working at this shop, you spending your life in confinement of those walls with your dog, as a recluse.

If you even dared to tell Baley that, just three years ago, you were living in a million-dollar mansion in South Korea, and had a luxurious wardrobe from big-name designers and that you didn’t even own a pair of fucking socks that were under $100.. she’d look at you as if you were the alien. She wouldn’t entertain the bigger half of the story, about how you were engaged to a man who’s now serving a life sentence and could possibly be put on death row for committing a robbery that left one of the international banking systems short 23-million won— which would amount to be approximately 20 million dollars in America... you would’ve lost her at the word Fiancé.

It’d be easy to prove, though. Your associations to the crime may not show up in your background check, being as you’re back here in America and was never detained, and the news isn’t relevant enough to circulate here. However, a simple google search would reveal it all, even with pictures of you two in public.

But not even you wanted to look up his name to know what was going on with his case. You were still ambient to forget about him, in a way. You wanted to ignore his existence. You fucking loath that man.. you swear, you do.

You had fallen back into a brooding silence again without even meaning to, and although you were busily cleaning up off muscle memory, you were detached. He still has that effect on you. And truth be known, the first year you spent in lonesome isolation after leaving Korea was just a change of scenery but not very different from the lifestyle he had subjected you to. But even still, it was so much better than living with him at the estate. And now, with your dog Sweetpea there, you feel safe again. At least you were in the same place you grew up, and felt closer to your grandmother—

Fuck, you missed her so much. He wouldn’t even let you visit her in person before she past. The man owned his own private jet and it never had any maintenance problems until the one fucking night you needed to go back home. You only got to speak with her on the phone, and bawled your fucking eyes out and spewed out an incoherent apology just hours before her heart gave out. That’s when she told you that she left you the house, and how sorry she was for kicking you out of it because you didn’t pursue the career field she wanted you to go for.

If only they would’ve arrested Taehyung a month prior, you could’ve been there for her. You could’ve hugged her and the two of you could given each other the apology you both deserved.

“Hey..” Baley’s voice suddenly came to your left ear, the only one that you could actually hear out of. Your right one, despite being 80% deaf even with a functioning hear aid, was faintly ringing from the emotional tangent you had accidentally drifted into.

You looked over at her, and broke down. Although she could never fully understand, she still gave you an empathetic frown and was pulling you into a hug before you could sputter out an apology— not that there was any use for one.

You had secrets that still haunted you, and will always impair your daily life— much like your botched eardrum and this shitty device you spent way too much money on. That’s another thing you only had Kim Taehyung to thank for, along with your fucked up shoulder.

You had to carefully elevate your arms but eventually returned the hug and cried a little harder, not able to help it. Sweetpea was a great reciprocate for affection and did a swell job with distracting you, but as far as human comfort goes, you haven’t had so much as that in.. well, seven fucking years. Tae was always big on affection, and also comforted you when you needed it. But it was redundant and didn’t have a sincere effect, being as he was the very one that initially caused the hurt it derived from.

“I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, I never do... but I want you to know that I can see how strong you are. You’re doing a great job at making it through each day...” she muttered, rubbing your back as it shook with each silent sob. You felt bad when you heard her own voice beginning to thicken, but that was no surprise. She was a sympathizer and a little bit emo in general. Seeing others cry was enough to jerk a tear out of her, and you loved that about her. She’s a weirdo, but she’s pure, and she’s very good hearted. You could even say that you may have deeper feelings for her as well, and they may even be mutual, but you were no good for her. Hell, you were already putting her in enough danger just by being an employee at her shop. If you were to let your relationship stem past being friendly coworkers, or even hung out with her outside of work, that could pose an actual threat to her safety.

So, even though you wanted to lengthen the embrace, and longed to tighten your arms around her even more, you pulled back and wiped at your face, giving her a weak grin and a nod instead.

She squeezed your shoulders one last time before taking a step back, recollecting herself.

“You go home. I got everything else.”

You sheepishly nodded again, thanking her one last time before collecting your things and booking it out of there. Had you not felt so broken and defeated in that moment, you would’ve refused. But her show of affection triggered a deep, dire need to give and be given more comfort.

Fortunately for you, though, you had a special someone for that. Your dog is the only living creature on this planet that can be trusted with the revelations of your past. She’s the only reliance you have for receiving unconditional love and support without any judgment... probably because she doesn’t even understand what the fuck you’re saying half the time, nor can she repeat the shit you say, but as far as comfort goes, it’s always a guarantee.

— That’s just in her nature, like most pets. Pitbulls, however, are very sensitive and attentive to certain emotions— especially depression and anxiety. They’re just as good with protecting their owners, as well as they are with babysitting them. Everyone knows pitbulls have a notorious and misguided reputation for being aggressive. But little do most know, before dog fighting became a popular thing and defamed their personalities, pitbulls were primarily referred to as ‘Nanny dogs’. They’re great with babies in general, and very domestic and charismatic by nature. But despite being big, loveable goof balls themselves, they can literally sense stressful emotions and will know what type action to take in order to sedate them.

Sweetpea may not have professional training and certification but it is by her true nature and personality that you call her an Emotional Support Dog. When you’re having another one of your episodes— panic attacks, senseless paranoia, nightmares— she’s running to your aid and doing anything she can to distract and get you to play with her. When you’re depressed and spiraling into another breakdown, she licking at your face and sitting in your lap, not even seeing the problem with her being three times bigger than the average lap dog—

“Kneehemplamaforseeking?”

You sucked in a breath and blinked over at the PetsMart employee, smiling a few away from you. You probably looked lost, and in a way you quite literally were. You hardly remember walking in the direction of this store, let alone entering it. But this a common thing for you, so you easily just went on about your way despite the sudden worry of missing your bus... again.

“I’m sorry, what’d you say?” You had asked, turning your good ear towards her and watching her lips move.

“Do you need help looking for something?” She repeated, carefully annunciating her words this time, now that she could see the device in your ear. In today’s age, most people mistake it as a bluetooth— which has unknowingly saved you from accidentally talking to yourself in public, more than you would know.

You shook your head in response to the lady, and checked the time on your phone. You had 30 minutes left, thank God.

“No thanks. I’m just here to get some treats and waste some time before my bus comes. It’s windy as hell outside.”

“Ah, it certainly is,” she agreed, making her way to the next aisle. “Be safe out there!”

“I’ll try.” You muttered to yourself, grabbing a bag of bacon strips off the shelf— the very thing you had ultimately came for. It should’ve taken you no more than 5 minutes to grab and go. But it wasn’t uncommon for you to take much longer and aimlessly wonder down multiple aisles only to get one or two things from the same aisle, though. You do it at every store you go to, if you can stand to be outside of your home or away from work.

After checking out, you made it a mission to stay present until your bus came. By the time you got home, you were more stable.. up until the bus driver— a sweet elderly man who’s been transporting you on this route for last couple of years, handed you a rose on your way down the stairs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, young lady.”

You had the strength to give him a genuine smile, but as soon as you stepped off and the doors closed, and the bus engine picked back up and left you with a gust of wind, you broke again.

Taehyung always gave you a bouquet of blood red roses for Valentine’s Day. He knew you were a sucker for them. And you still are, but sentiment wasn’t the only emotion to come now. They brought on an ache. A pain. A worry. A twinge of longing, but a fuckton of resentment.

You wanted to throw it on the ground and stomp at it.. better yet, you wanted to set it on fire and watch it burn while smoking a much needed cigarette. But first, you need to see your dog. You know she’s just as anxious to see you.

You trudged up to your door and was quick to unlock it... but frowned when you didn’t see her on the other side. Maybe it was because your ears were ringing again from how worked up you’d just gotten. But usually, the mere sound of your key twisting at the lock would have her running to the and practically beating it down, and you’d opened to see her gleefully wining out and wagging her tail.

But she wasn’t there.

“Sweetpea?” You called out, making it a point to swing the door shut behind you. Still, nothing—

Whimpering. You heard her whimpering and your head snapped over to the hallway. Your heart began to race. Your bed door was open, as always, and you could hear her in there but she wasn’t coming out. Only whimpering for you to come to her.

Fearing the worst, thinking perhaps she’d hurt herself to the extent that she couldn’t move, you barged down the hallway and listened with a sickening sense of uneasiness as her whimpering turned to muffled howls.

“Sweetpea, wha—“

You screamed. Sheer horror and white-hot adrenaline erupted through your veins and scorched your nerve endings, leaving you numb in the limb to the impact of the floor beneath your kneecaps. All you could feel was the volcanic eruption of despair in your chest and the strain in your diaphragm.

Sweetpea was okay, but very much in danger. She had a muzzle on, and her big, canopy-like ears were peeled back and her big, doughy eyes were wildly beading dead at you as she struggled and pawed at the carpet, watching you fall to you fall out. She was so worried to get to you but she couldn’t, do to the death grip of the man who was holding her by a leash. She couldn’t even interpret the lethality of the weapon that was also aimed at the back of her head— a glock you specially recall being the weapon of choice when Taehyung pistol whipped a man’s head open before emptying all twelve rounds in his magazine into his face.

Now, all you could envision was the same being done to that sweet face and big, bulbous head.

You screamed out and wailed even louder, not even looking at the intruder or registering who it was. Because you already fucking knew and in your mind it was too late.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He roared, making you and Sweetpea flinch. You stopped screaming but your breath was ragged beyond your control. Your vision was bouncing between his fierce scowl and Sweetpea’s fearsome one. You dove forward, intending to crawl and beg but two pairs of shoes stepped out from where they’d been standing behind the door, and their hands gripped you by the biceps before hauling you up to your feet. You didn’t even try to resist them. You knew better than that. But fear still had you discombobulated and speaking out to yourself, feeling incredibly dizzy and disarrayed.

“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

“You’re not dreaming.” Taehyung snarled, palm itching to slap some sense into you. But even within the three years he’s spent in bitterness, it didn’t change the morality he did have in relations to you. He’d never hit you out of anger.

But then he realized the real reason why you were saying that, when your knees suddenly gave out and the hold his men had on you became the only thing keeping you up right as you fainted out. He didn’t realize you still had that problem, and it hurt him to see that now.

Back when he had you in his possession, you had accidentally witnessed an execution down in the basement of his mansion. It was the first time you fainted, a d your body came toppling down a good ten-or-so steps, which were made of cement, and you were lucky to have only broken your nose and dislocated your shoulder.

Guilt crashed over him, suddenly. He meant to terrorize you in a way that wasted little time to gain submission, but he didn’t mean to trigger your PTSD— although he knew it was likely. Given the resolve, he put the gun back in its holster and stood up, beckoning for Yoongi to take the leash. Jungkook easily held you up by the waste and waited to pass you off to your fiancé before bringing your wrists behind your back. You slowly came to as he did so, and your head lolled back up only for your entire body to snap back into attention all at once, now that you were face to face with the Devil himself.

“Come on, you fucking idiot!”

Your head snapped over and you began to panic again as Yoongi fought with your, trying to drag her over to her cage by the leash. She was putting up one hell of a fight and audibly wheezing from the choke, her eyes now bulging as she looked at you.

You bucked against the both of them, your maternal instincts causing you to go feral as you saw red.

“QUIT! YOU’RE FUCKING CHOKING HER, YOU FUCKING PRICK! PICK HER UP!”

“She’s too squirmy!” He shouted back, the shock of your outburst causing him to lose tension and Sweetpea lunged the both of them forward. Tae was shouting at Jungkook to hurry with the restraints and squeezing you tighter, but you were kicking and flailing like a fish out of water now.

“MAKE HIM STOP!” You cried out, but was forcefully silenced by the gigantic hand that grabbled around the entire bottom half of your face— including your nose. Having been in this situation before, knowing his antics, you knew he wasn’t going to let you breathe again until you did as told. So you were forced to settle down but was still desperately pleading with your eyes, crying as your dog continued to heave against the menstruations.

“Yoongi, for fuck sake, the dog is 50 pounds. Just pick her up and put your in the kennel.” Tae stressed, eyes still locked with yours.

With a grunt, Yoongi tackled your dog and trapped her in a bear hug, snatching her up off the ground. You wanted to scream at him again but you were actually starting to struggle for oxygen, chest jolting with an involuntary attempts to inhale.

“Alright, they’re on. I just gotta link them.”

Tae’s hand finally dropped and you hacked out, swallowing as much air as you could. Now that Sweetpea was safely in her cage, you had time to worry about your own safety, but the look on his face wasn’t giving off such a merciful vibe.

“You do whatever you want to me. I don’t care. I won’t fight back... but if you hurt my dog—“

“If I hurt your fucking dog, it’ll just be tough shit for you. I’ll still do whatever the hell I want and unless you need me to prove that, I suggest you stop with ultimatums..” he chuckled, but it sounded so cold and twisted. He was on the verge of snapping, and was fighting to keep as much composure as he could right now, for your sake.

But he was on a heist right now, you readied yourself for the unknown when he punctuated his sentence by grappling your throat with the same, vandalized and accessorized hand he just smothered you with— fingers digging in at the sides. Your breathing was once again constricted and your eyes reddened in strain, your voice dying out.

Tae may not beat you, but he knows your worse fear is dying by suffocation. Hence, why he’s so big in breath play.

“Can you?” He reiterated, snarling his teeth at you and revealing the top and bottom pair of golden, fang-shaped plates framing his pearly white canine teeth. Back in the day, you found them so extravagant and tasteful, but now you found them all the more threatening.

He waited until your eyes began fluttered back before letting go again, and Jungkook’s body was the only thing that saved you from falling back. You never understood why, but for some reason, Jungkook was the only person Tae allowed to be in closer range of you, even when it wasn’t necessary. He even reminded you of that when Yoongi had stepped a little too close and Taehyung shot a glare over to him that had him taking a couple steps back. But Jungkook was apparently free to stand there, holding you up even as you regained your footing. You feared that one day it will all make sense, but for now, you were thankful that he was there to at least to save you from collapsing.

It’d be great if they weren’t even fucking here, at all.

“Go put the kennel in the car— not on the seats, though. Hobi will kill me if I fuck up the interior.”

“Please let me rehouse her.” You begged, cringing as his eyes returned to you. They looked even more colorless than before. “I’ll come with you, but I don’t want her there with us.”

“She’s fine. As long as she doesn’t shit and piss everywhere and doesn’t chew any of my shit, or try to attack me, I’ll let you keep her.”

“You were just holding a fucking gun to her head, Taehyung. Please let me rehouse her. My friend Baley will take her. All I gotta do is leave her in the cafe with a note— I have the keys. I’ll even let you write the fucking note yourself and we can go...” It was significantly getting harder to speak, now that your airways were irritated and your unsteady emotions were only making it worse.

You had already accepted your fate, but had a twinge of hope left that he’d at least hear you out on that request. His features had softened into a crestfallen display of guilt, and remorse. But your faith in him shattered all over again when he stubbornly shook his head and reached for the gun again. You were just about to throw another fit until he pulled the magazine out and showed it to you.

It was empty, until he pocketed it and pulled out a fully-loaded one and clipped it into place, before putting it back in the holster.

He tricked you, and although it was still pretty fucking evil, you were relieved. He never intended to shoot her and wouldn’t have been able to, even if his finger applied enough pressure on the trigger. But you were still very much in the midst of an abduction, and you still hated this man for what he was doing to you now.

“Why are here?” You croaked.

“To come get you and our new pet,” he announced, faking the enthusiasm before reinforcing his glare. “I’m... incredibly pissed about the fact that abandoned me.. but even more so offended by the negligence to stay updated.”

His eyes then caught the flash of a blue light at your ear. Your hearing aid was dying and faintly peeping in your ear. The remembrance had his entire demeanor shift to a sullen one, like a switch.

“But at the same time—“ his voice had fallen into a lower pitch, almost to the point of being a whisper as he stepped closer and easily molded his hands around your face. You suddenly felt fragile, but not in a way that made you giddy, like it use to. Now, you had to swallow down the bile in your throat and fight against the nausea as his suddenly lips came near.

“—It’s really hard take that out on you, when I can’t even blame you for it. But It’s been three fucking years, honey. Three. How could you not even have enough concern for my well being, to not even send a fucking post card? Did you really think you‘d never see me again, and that you had snuck away from me? I knew what you were doing, and where you were going before you even boarded your fucking flight.”

“You’re suppose to be in jail. I thought you were letting me go.”

“First of all, you didn’t even know the original plan to think that it had failed. All my charges have been dropped and the suspicion of my involvement dismissed. Namjoon has been found guilty and is now serving that sentence, like I had initially plotted from the beginning. You never knew shit to fucking assume anything!”

You glared at him despite the jolt that came with his drastic notch in volume, and not your tongue as he went on.

“But I did allow you to leave the country, but only to give you space and to let you touch base with... whatever the fuck it is that you still find valuable here. I didn’t think I’d have to clarify the circumstances of your stay, but for you to not even reach out.. and the fact you got some shitty, minimum wage job on top of it all, when you still have access to the saving account I’ve put in your name.. You really thought we were over? You haven’t even checked the news articles to see any updates on the case. I’ve been out for a week!”

He was still holding your face but his hands were shaking and the pressure was increasing again. He always pulls back and regains control over his temper before inflicting harm, but it’d be foolish to not expect him to one day lose that control. He’s hurt you on ‘accident’ before. He’s slaughtered many people, more than you’ll ever know to keep count. Nothing is sacred.

But now, you are a lot more contempt and able to tolerate the fear of him hurting you on impulse, being as Sweetpea was out of harms way and no longer in the room. You were still shaking though and had closed your eyes, bracing for it. But the jerk of shock only came when his suddenly lips covered your’s, and Jungkook finally backed away.

The kiss only lasted about three solid seconds before he pulled back, and was heavily panting through his nose. You dared to look up and caught a glimpse of the physical pain marring his features. His eyes had gone watery and his jaw began ticking like a time bomb, nostrils flaring and chest rising. He pressed his forehead against your’s and snaked his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, trying to fight off his own sobs and choking on them more and more with each second.

“You hate me.. you haven’t even missed me.” His voice was so thickened by his emotions that it deepened the natural richness he already had, making it sound contorted and almost inhuman. A tear dropped down his nose bridge and hit your quivering lips, and for the life of you, you couldn’t fight back the heart wrenching burn it inflicted on you.

How could you still feel anything for this man? It can’t be. It just fucking can’t be..

But it was. You were so bewildered and petrified by the oncoming sympathy that it stunned you into a froze state of shock. He kissed you again, thinking it was a show of fear for own safety— and he was right to interpret the fear, but it was with different cause. He was steadily conjuring up feelings that you wished you could’ve watched burn, like you had intended to do with the rose your bus driver gave you. But here you were, heart bleeding for him.

You still didn’t reciprocate the kiss but it brought on more involuntary anguish.. you cried harder and so did he, and as he leaned your head back to kiss at your neck, you stared in perplexing awe at the gigantic bouquet of roses sitting on your nightstand.

“It’s okay. I‘ve missed you too fucking much to punish you now.” He calmed, and took a good 30 seconds to regain his composure. There was still a groggy undertone in his next words, but once again, he was back in his domineering mindset. “But I ain’t cutting you that much slack.”

You yelped when he suddenly shoved you back, straight into Jungkook for the nth time. He heatedly wiped at his eyes and stepped back, and it was the first time you took in how much more muscular and rigid he’d become over the years.

Before, he was a lot more slender and you’re certain that the very shirt he’s wearing now use to be at least 2 sizes too big on him before.. however, the black silk was skin-tight and clinging to the humps of his biceps, and straining around the buttons between his pectorals. His skin was more pale than ever before but now you could see a tattoo curving along his temple, arcing aside the edge of his pierced brow. The word that was written in elegant, cursive writing made your heart palpitate and your stomach twist even more.

Honey. That was your signature endearment. That was the name you’d given him in place of your real one the very night he met you, and asked for it.

This crazy motherfucker really is obsessed with you. How he can lie to you, deceive you, punish you and drive you fucking bonkers and stalk you down only in the act of what he calls love.. and for it to actually be a form of true—albeit dangerous love, was beyond you.

The scripture on his handsome, albeit matured face distracted you for a few seconds. You snapped out of it when Jungkook suddenly hauled you up by the midsection and slammed you down on the bed, pinning his hand down between your shoulder blades and rendering you defenseless.

“What are you doing? Taehyung! Please! Get him off of me!”

“If I could trust you to stay still, I would.” His voice was neutral again, despite a offhanded sniff. You struggled to look back, but it was no use as he was standing out of view.

“Stay still for what?”

“Do you still have your ring?” He asked instead, ignoring you.

“It’s in my nightstand drawer. Now tell me—“

“Told you she kept it,” Jungkook finally spoke— and just like it was back then, it was a very rare occurrence for when he did speak on your behalf. That’s another thing nobody else dared to do, unless asked. But knowing that he was the one stalking you for Taehyung made you all the more disturbed with him.

“Fucking creep. You’re hurting me!” you screamed at him, and he had the audacity to increase pressure. Tae said nothing, nor did he stop his friend from retaliating.

“I also know about your little affair with your coworker. Since when did you start swinging both ways?”

“What are you talking about?” You growled, and he only snorted in response.

“She knows you like her. She knows you stare at her ass every time she bends over and that you bend over on purpose to make her look at yours. She knows you like it when she slaps it.”

You, one again, went unmoving.

Jeon Jungkook is her fucking boyfriend.

“What does Jk even stand for?”

“Jackson. But he doesn’t like to be called Jackie, and you know how I am about nicknames. So I call him JK.”

“Don’t you fucking hurt her, Jungkook. You leave her alone. Tae, don’t you let him—“

“Don’t you worry about me.”

“BALEY?!”

Baley walked into view, an unreadable expression on her face. The mere realization of what was happening finally over filled your mental tolerance and you brain suddenly launched you away from reality.

The beach. You were at the beach with your cousins, all of you a little over the age of 18. You were on spring break your senior year in highschool and talking about the future. Graduation. Prom. College~

“She’s zoned out.” Baley said, and Jungkook finally let go. You were indeed paralyzed and had completely dissociated, talking to yourself. Taehyung, with a fully-loaded syringe in his hand, leaned over to look at your face. Your pupils were dilated, eyes stargazing in general, lips softly moving as you babbled nonsense. He hated knowing that it was coming to this, but he swore he’d earn your forgiveness.

“I’m gonna get your ear fixed.. or at least get you a better device. We’re gonna be okay. We’re so fucking rich now, I don’t even know what to do with all our money— only to turn it into more. I won’t have to work as much. We can get married, have the best fucking honey moon we can imagine. We can get started on a family. I’ll win your dog over, too. I promise.”

He sank the needle into your bicep, and you didn’t even flinch. Only blinked in rhythm as a tear fell.

“I’m gonna be a forensic scientist, like Mawmaw wants me to be.” You incoherently muttered, having said that to your friend, Jessica, on the beach.

It was insensitive, but he couldn’t help but crack a grin at that. Whatever memory you were reliving at the moment, was quite sometime before you actually began your classes for such profession. He bent down and kissed your cheek one last time as he injected the entirety sedation serum into your system and pulled it out. But you were oblivious to it all.

“I think I’m smart enough...”

”You’re very book smart, baby. But you’re probably gonna drop out after three semesters and become a bar tender at a strip club, because you’re not fit to be a homicidal investigator. You’re too soft.”

“I’m not..”

“You sure?”

“I’m gonna be a forensic scientist, like Mawmaw wants me to be.”

“Well, you’re gonna become my wife before you become anything else.”

“Ew, don’t even play like that. You’re my cousin.”

“Jeez..” Baley muttered. “You really have driven her a little bat-shit, huh? This is way more disturbing than I anticipated—“

“Babe, lets go sit in the car. Come on,” Jungkook hurried, pulling her out of the room.

Taehyung continued to whisper sweet nothings into your deafened ear, but the last night you heard before it all went blank was the perfect, bittersweet saying that bidded you goodbye for the night.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Honey.”

[caainhurst]

THE HISTORY OF CRISPIN GLOVER’S BIZARRE DEBUT ALBUM

POSTED BY WITNEY SEIBOLD ON SEPTEMBER 20, 2017 VIA NERDIST.COM

Actor, artist, and lovable weirdo Crispin Glover first caught the public’s eye in 1984’s Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter, when he did a spasmodic dance to Lion’s “Love is a Lie.” The next year, he was George McFly in Back to the Future, the highest-grossing film of its year, and deeply entrenched within the geek canon. He also retained a good deal of street cred by appearing in River’s Edge, the film to win Best Picture at the Independent Spirit Awards in 1986. It wouldn’t be until 1989 that Glover would return to film. It was during this very brief hiatus that Glover, perhaps possessed by the muses, decided to explore his capacity for writing books and performing music.

For many young, upcoming stars, this is a rite of passage. Remember when Lindsay Lohan released two studio albums? Hailee Steinfeld is currently finding her feet as a pop sensation. Crispin Hellion Glover, however, wasn’t concerned as much with pop, and is not known for his dulcet singing voice. Even at the time, Glover was known for being a jittery weirdo; many may remember his infamous appearance on Late Night with David Letterman when he appeared as his fictional character Rubin Farr, answering every question with a non-sequitur. Rubin Farr was to eventually appear in 1991’s Rubin and Ed. In 1987, it made no sense.

So of course, Glover’s studio album debut was one off the most oblique, abstruse pieces of pop ephemera to come out in the ’80s. In 1988, Glover recorded and released THE BIG PROBLEM ≠ the solution. The Solution = LET IT BE. (complete with that punctuation), which is, to date, his only record. I own it on CD. Yes, it’s every bit as strange as one can imagine.

THE BIG PROBLEM, released by Restless Records, is a 13-track concept record that includes a few singles stand-alone songs, and multiple readings of strangely worded poetry set to dreamlike, atonal electronic or accordion music. Glover hooked up with famed novelty musicians Barnes & Barnes (Bill Mumy and Robert Haimer), who performed and recorded all the album’s music. Well, almost all the music. One of the accordion tracks,“Selected Readings from OAK MOT, part III” featured “Weird Al” Yankovic, who’s credited for a wild accordion solo. But fans of Barnes & Barnes likely hear the duo’s influence all over the record. It has the same sexually frustrated, echoey, strained vocal quality as the best of Barnes, and the same willfully simplistic, near-emetic tone. Glover and Barnes were a great pairing, and they amplified each other’s strangeness.

THE BIG PROBLEM was part of a larger multimedia art project that also incorporated two art books that Glover published that same year. Both books, Oak Mot and Rat Catching, were disturbing books of impenetrable poetry which repurposed existing books into nightmarish photo collages; Rat Catching was more or less an 1896 textbook that he re-drew page by page. Unsurprisingly, images from Rat Catching appear in the opening title sequence of the 2003 remake of Willard starring Glover. Glover toured with the books, giving live readings that were accompanied by slide shows and selected tracks from his album.

The album’s poetry readings are hypnotic, but the songs are outright comedic. There’s a rap about masturbating (“Auto-Manipulator”), a wonderful, wonderful, screeching, crying rendition of “These Boots Are Made for Walking,” and the big hit, a song about a clown called “Clowny Clown Clown.” Part of that track was featured on David Letterman until the annoyed host cut it short. The video, as you’ll see, also features Rubin Farr, whose photograph is in the record’s liner notes.

THE BIG PROBLEM feels like a prank, something that should not have been allowed to happen. There are no hints to its intentions, and no solutions to the titular problem. Well, that’s not entirely true. There was a hint. On the back of the album, Glover slipped in the inscription “All words and music point to THE BIG PROBLEM. The solution lay within the title; LET IT BE. Crispin Hellion Glover wants to know what you think these nine things have in common.” He left a telephone number so you could call up and give your own theories: (213) 464-5053. I called it, but it’s been disconnected. I’d love to know what was on that tape.

What do you think? I have no hotline, but I’d love to hear your theories.

[facepalming-since-chernobyl]

If you ever want to write a full account of your hospital stay, I'm so here for it. I want it all: the farts, the grannies, the fighting over windows, the other weirdos, why you want to murder the doctor and how your fam will help you get away with it, the works. Start writing while I grab the popcorn! 🍿

Ok, don’t remember what I have said here already, so I’ll give a full story plus some flashbacks from my childhood.

-I got 4 grannies in my room, the average age: 65+

-granny number one: ultra Catholic, made a cross on my forehead (I was so shocked, I didn’t say a shit, aside of screaming in my head – woman?! Covid restrictions?! Keep your distance?!), a farmer woman (one day she just said that when she wants a chicken soup, she goes outside, catches the chicken, chops the head and make a soup – the faces of the other grannies - PRICELESS), praying in weird moments, instead of sweat pants, wearing dress shirts and dress pants (and you know, we were doing physical exercises there???), loving dirty jokes and making them A LOT,

-granny number two – tiny old sweet lady (she was like 80 something years old?), usually sitting in the corner or on the balcony and praying silently, she was like Catholic kamikaze, she sometimes was sitting on the balcony and praying for FIVE HOURS, oh, and once shitted her pants

-granny number three – ex school director, Miss Ooooow, Ooooow, came with 2 suitcases and occupied ½ of the wardrobe (for example, I managed to put all my things in my night stand), was very surprised I came with so little clothes and was washing them, was crying when she had to wash her hair because she always goes to hairdresser…

-granny number four – on a wheelchair, my best pal, making her own cigarettes at evenings on the canteen (a place where the meals were served, close to the balcony), as much done with the other ladies as I was,

-our room were filled with weird Turkish soap operas (the first time they turned the television on some Mahmud wanted to kill some Bahar and the dialogues were so cringy I had to check if it was a real show and surprisingly it was). Every day after I was evacuating my ass to the canteen or to the balcony where I was reading (I’ve finished 19 books and my ass still hurts because of the fucking hard chairs).

-if it was not a Turkish soap opera, it was Polish News on the public channel (Imagine FOX news), so every fucking day when it was played, the traitors of Polishness and Polish tradition and the only good ruling party like me, were gathering in the canteen. We were like a few folks (me, the granny number 4 and some dude doing crosswords and having super high blood pressure, mostly because all dudes from his room were watching the news and agreeing with everything what was said there)

-food, examples

-so I was not eating too much, so granny number one made a cross on my forehead and blessed me, so I would eat more and have a strength to give birth to children – I shit you not

-when I said I don’t want children – they almost had a collective heart attack. I decided to not reveal my other social, religion and political opinions, because I would be strangled to death in my sleep by a rosary one night

-one day I was stupid too much and didn’t leave the room while they were watching Polish Fox News and while half listening to the bullshit I probably made a fuck-my-life-face. When they ask what I was thinking about, my, a fucking idiot, said that about the vanity of life. They almost got another collective heart attack and almost ran to the nurses, no idea why but whatever

-Granny number 3, was afraid of other people snoring, because she had problems with sleep. In the end she was the one who snored the loudest

-there was an opening/closing the windows war. Granny 1 had sick lungs and asthma and whatever so was always closing the window because she was getting pneumonia and oh my god, while Granny 3 had problems with breathing, was suffocating and oh my God, so she was always opening the window. Granny number 3 was always opening the window while other already left for the meals, while Granny number 1 was always returning first and complaining SOMEONE was trying to kill her with the cold air and closing the windows. HILAROUS stuff

-on the end of the first week I ACCIDENTALLY broke a small window that was situated on the top, a window that supposedly was not meant to be open, so for the next 2 weeks we had a window opened ALL the time. Don’t ask why no one called some dudes to fix it, I have no idea, but thanks to it I survived the nights full of symphonies of farts

-that one day they gave us beans for the dinner and boy, you can only imagine

-one day we got a meat chops with a crispy batter. If you added the batter on the bottom to the batter on the top of the meat, they were thicker than meat itself

-all soups tasted the same. One day they gave us a soup and I was SURE it was a pickled cucumber soup and I was AMAZED that they managed to make it without cucumbers. Then I have learnt it was a sorrel soup *sad music in the background*

-the grannies loved to motherhen me for some reason. For example, I was sitting politely in the canteen, reading another fucking book, when one of them came and said I should not read so much, it’s unhealthy and they are worried about me. I was blinking for 30 seconds, wondering if laughing like a mad hyena would make them having another collective heart attack. In the end I just mhm-ed and continued reading.

-later I have learnt they were behaving like that, because they thought I was in middle school…

-basically, I was the youngest person on the ward and some nurses and other patients felt sorry for me because I didn’t have anyone in my age to talk… and I was like… why the fuck I should have been feeling sad? I could read and NOT TALK??? Also, or reading or murdering the grannies with a plastic spoon in their sleep, so thank you very much, leave my ass alone.

-on one dinner I basically ate pasta with pepper, because the spinach, guys, the spinach was awful and I’m not going to traumatize you with the pic

-I had a deal with the crosswords dude during breakfasts and suppers – was giving him ham and cold meat, he was giving me jam

-the Granny number one was SLEEP SINGING one night

-two days per every week some farmer was coming and selling his vegetables and fruits. Guys, all patients were buying food there, for sure I was weeping while buying plums, apples and tomatoes.

-Granny number three was super annoying and acting like a bitch aka typical ex school director, because when she wanted to watch something in TV at night, she always did even if the others were upset, but when she wanted to go to sleep at 9 she owww owwww owwwwed and was turning the lights off. So, sometimes I was returning at 9 to the room and it was dark. And there were no night bedside lamps, so it meant you needed to go to sleep too. At fucking 9.

-the face of one dude who was eating with us on one table was always priceless every time when he was opening the boxes. It was a personification of a man who was done, crying inside and knowing he can’t escape

-the most traumatizing experience after my hip surgery was PEEING. The nurse brought me a bed pan and I needed to pee while laying on my back and it was weirdly difficult, maybe because the nurse was standing over me, talking to another patient. Also, I can’t imagine taking a shit while laying, but whatever. On one moment after like a minute me trying hard, she put a hand on my stomach and said, oh so hard. My face was probably a mix between: ==’ and O.O. But in the end I succeeded, yay…

-another traumatizing experience is measuring the temperature every morning around 6. You know, you are sleeping, but suddenly feel some movement, so you open your eyes and a nurse, wearing a mask is aiming a thermometer that looks like a gun at your forehead. Amazing feeling

-I talked with some dude who had the same surgery aka hip removal, but he was not sleeping so he herd everything, and said how blood was gushing all over the place and the surgeons and the nurse was bringing the artificial hips three times, because the surgeons were not sure if they are the good ones. FUN

-btw, the first time when I saw a dead body was in a hospital. There was a ward where one room was for children, the rest was for adults after accidents etc. Sometimes someone died and they were usually putting the dead body to the bathroom on the corridor (no toilets at the rooms, it was one of the two bathrooms for whole ward). They usually put an “out of service” paper on the door, but sometimes they forgot about it. So, one night, me, sleepy and yawning went to the toilet, opened the door and hellooooooooooo the end of my innocence.

-the most stressful experience from my childhood hospital stayings was “did you defecate yesterday”? Because if you didn’t for a few days an enema was waiting

[cals-sunflower]

Adore you (J.p)

Being apart of the Cnco team was great for you. Not only was it a really good paying job, you got to make connections with so many people. That includes the boys. You were always with them even if you didn’t necessarily need to be there. But one boy caught your attention more than anyone else, that is Joel. You guys always seem to flirt with each other and call each other pet names. He wants to make it official because this back and forth had been going on for two years now. You were just nervous to lose a job and lose your friends.

“Somebody needs to go wake up Y/n. She’s not answering her phone and we leave in forty minutes,” Clara points between each of the boys. Joel smiled and volunteered. He walked down to where your room was and walked in with the extra key card you gave him. He sees you wrapped up in the blankets with your hair all over the place. He thought you looked beautiful even when you were sleeping.

“Hey, come on sleeping beauty. We gotta go in forty minutes,” he gently shakes you awake. It take him a few more shakes before you woke up . “Mm good morning handsome,” you gave him a tight lipped smile. “Good morning nena,” he kissed you quickly making you whine because you hated when he kissed you while you had morning breath. You guys always stole kisses when nobody was around.

“Joel stop kissing me when I have morning breath. You weirdo,” you sat up and laughed. “Shut up, you love my kisses regardless,” he pointed out with a smirk. You got up and wrapped your arms around his neck. Joel was quick to pick you up and wrap your legs around his waist.

“For the record, I absolutely love your kisses,” you placed your forehead on his and closed your eyes with a smile. “Yeah tell me something I don’t already know. But ew your breath does smell bad,” he laughed at his own joke making you laugh with him. He placed you down and let you ready for the long morning.

After you shower and getting completely situated. You dressed in black sweatpants and a hoodie you took from Joel. You walked out of the bathroom and slipped on your shoes. “Babe, is that my hoodie?” Joel smiled at you. “If you must know, yes it is and you’re not getting it back. Come on,” you picked up your mini backpack and was prepared to grab your suitcase but Joel beat you to it and gently pushed you to the side.

You guys made it to where everyone else was and started putting everything into the mini van. “Good morning guys,” you yawned out with a little wave. “Morning Y/n. How’d you sleep?” Richard asked. “Pretty good. I was hella warm,” you laughed.

“Alright, let’s go guys! We have to go to the airport right now,” Ali yelled at everyone to get in. You make your way to the back because you were still tired and wanted to lay down. Joel headed there with you and pulled your head from the window to place it on his lap. He pushed the hair from your face and you were out the minute the van started moving. “You are so whipped for her,” Chris whispered to his friend with a small smirk. “Trust me, you don’t even know the half of it,” Joel chuckled and looked down to see you holding his hand while you slept.

——————-

Airports early in the morning sucked ass. Everyone was sitting down where the gate was, ready for the plane to begin boarding but the flight got delayed by an hour. You were half into it and half ready to layout once again. Joel comes back over to where you’re sitting and hands you a hot coffee with the right amount of sugar and creamer that you liked it.

“Thank you baby,” you give him a smile. Unbeknownst to you guys, but the whole team already knew about you and Joel. From the constant flirting to the small touches. They were just waiting for you guys to actually get together and make it official. “No problem my love. Anything for you,” he winks at you and you pushed his shoulder.

“I’m super ready for New York. Like those pictures are gonna hit different,” you say and take a sip of the coffee. “Yeah, we know lover boy over there is gonna be your hype man,” Erick wiggled his eyebrows.

“I’m always gonna be her hype man. She’s baby,” Joel replied to Erick. You smiled and took another sip of your coffee.

——————

Everyone had been enjoying the break in New York but somehow you and Joel were no longer on speaking terms. Only a few days in the city and suddenly tension is all over the place.

Joel came to your room and sat on the bed. He looked sort of distressed. “Hey babe, what’s wrong? You look like something is wrong,” you walk over to him and stand in between his legs. He puts his hands on your waist and looks up at you. “When can you finally be mine? I’m tired of waiting until night to properly love you,” he then reverted his eyes away from you.

You disconnected yourself from him. “Joel, we talked about this. I don’t want to lose my job and I think we’re good how we are,” you looked towards the wall. Joel started fuming inside. He didn’t understand exactly what you were trying to say. “Y/n this has been going on for two fucking years. You have to understand where I’m coming from. Shit, I’m in love with you and I know you feel that too! Stop running from me,” he yelled in a quick manner.

“Detener Joel, esta conversación termina en eso. No lo entiendes!” You move to the other side of the hotel room. “¡No, no puedes decirme lo que no entiendo! Te amo y tienes miedo de dejarme amarte,” Joel was to the point where he was done.

You began to feel your eyes watering as Joel kept saying every reason as to why you guys haven’t made it official. “You know what? I’m done with you. I’m tired of this back and forth. Me voy y ni siquiera pienses en hablar conmigo hasta que descubras si realmente me quieres como yo te quiero,” he grabbed the door and slammed it aggressively.

Everyone saw how the light in your eyes was gone. They seen the way Joel would roll his eyes the minute you walked in or how you seemed to frown and not smile like you used to. You felt as if you messed up something so good for you based on your own insecurities. You cried at night because you didn’t even know how to get him to talk to you. So instead, during the day you talked less and stayed in the room when they would go out.

Joel was hurting inside too. He felt as if part of him was gone but he kept a strong facade up during the day. Even though his heart was practically breaking. The other boys were so fed up with you two not talking to each other that the minute they got the chance to, they locked you guys in a room together.

“You guys are not coming out until y’all are either dating or going back to how it used to be!! We are fed up with this,” Zabdiel yelled on the other side of the door. You both heard their footsteps walking away and it was silent for the first few minutes.

The both of you looked up and said “I’m sorry” at the same time. It made you chuckle a little before you took a deep breath to talk to the boy who you were incredibly crazy about. “Joel, I want you to know I love you so much. I do and I mean that. I’m sorry for not ever explaining that. I’m sorry because I used every excuse in the book just so we wouldn’t be official. You make me the happiest I’ve ever been. I know you’re not like other guys and I’m ready to be official. That is if you even still want to deal with me,” you nervously look down and played with your fingers.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you and not understanding where you were coming from. It’s just I wanna be able to adore you in front of everyone and love on you in public. I wanna be able to call you mine. I love you so much and you don’t understand,” he walks up to you, pulls you closer to him and uses his left hand to cup your cheeks. “Stop crying beautiful. Of course I wanna deal with your stubborn ass. I love you,” Joel chuckles and wipes your tears with his free hand.

You let out an airy laugh and kissed the base of his hand. “So, are you gonna let me officially adore you everywhere we are?” He smiles at you. You nodded your head with a smile. “Princesa, I need you to say it out loud and I need to hear those beautiful words come out your mouth,” Joel rested both hands on your waist.

“Yes Joel, I want to be officially official and I’m so so in love with you. I mean it,” you looked in his eyes and smiled. He pulled to closer to the point where there wasn’t anymore space between you two and kissed you.

“Finally!! They are dating now,” Richard yells to the other guys down the hall. “¡Lo logramos!” Chris yells. You and Joel pull away to laugh at their excitement and sillyness.

“Hey, I love you,” you look at Joel and bit your lip to stop another smile from showing. “Hey, it just so happens that I adore you and love you too,” he pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head.

[melyaliz]

Remember me pt. 3

 Master List 

Fandom: My Hero Academia 

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x OC 

Notes:  Olive's crying a lot and Bakugou can’t deal with emotions. I also don’t love it but I promise it slowly stops.

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-0-0-0-- Olive --0-0-0-

“Hold this for me?” Olive looked up confused at the bright blue eyes of her husband Eliott. He was holding out his fist about waist high. Holding out her hand palm up she waited for him to give her something. Reaching out Eliott took her hand in his giving her a little squeeze.

Olive felt herself flush slightly as she giggled, pulling his arm to her so she could kiss his shoulder affectionately. “Look at you so cute,” she said. Her husband just grinned down at her so proud of himself.

“Still got it,” he said, taking her hand kissing her knuckles. A comfortable silence enveloped them both as they walked. Both lost in their own thoughts. “Man,” Eliott finally said, “I love you SOOOO much.”

Olive giggled, swinging his hand back and forth as they walked, skipping a bit, “Oh hey me too.”

“WHAT!?! Who would have thought.” absentmindedly Eliott’s fingers brushed over the small ring on his wife’s hand. The slim platinum ring held small diamonds that ran around the entire band set in a vintage flower setting. It was modest but it was perfect. Eliott was perfect.

“Oh hey, I talked to Tommy today.”

Olive perked up at the name of Eliott’s old coworker who had moved from filming sports to doing promotional work for a local hero agency. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, he said he needs back up on some hero shoots. It’s a little dangerous but the money is good.”

“That’s amazing!” Olive said, “you would be amazing at that.”

“Yeah, sports are fun but if I could work for an agency that would be amazing.”

“Yeah, and with me publishing my second book looks like we are moving up in the world.” Olive giggled

“Look at us,” Eliott said as they walked down the street away from the bars they had just been visiting toward their small apartment. “Following our dreams and shit.”  The night was beautiful, warm with just a light breeze, a large moon shining from above making it the perfect night for a drunken stumble home

“Yeah, you getting pro-work and me not writing about 19 inch long dicks.”

Eliott burst out laughing, “I thought your story still had dicks.”

“More like five-dollar footlongs. There’s a difference.”

Eliott burst out laughing, “got to give the public the dick size they want.”

Olive chuckled, nodding as they got close to their apartment. Tonight had just been a normal Wednesday night. Both of them had decided to take a break from their constant working and just have a normal mid weeknight out. She knew she may be paying for it a bit tomorrow with the amount of alcohol they had drunk. But it was hard not to while singing off tune to some classic rock over a game of pool in their favorite dive bar. It was moments like these that Olive would remember forever.

The ones where they were just together having fun doing whatever.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

As Olive slowly woke up she found herself reaching out for Eliott and like the millionth time since he had died. The empty bed reminding her that once again he wasn’t there. However, her fingers brushed against something soft and fluffy.

What?

Slowly opening her eyes she realized she wasn’t in her bed. Her normal cotton white sheets were replaced with the softest black she had ever felt. A large fluffy gray and white cat was curled up next to her, blinking its large blue eyes at her.

Then it all came rushing back.

Eliott was dead and she was in Japan with a man who said he was her husband. They owned a cat and it had been over five years since Eliott had died.

Slowly pulling herself out of the bed she looked around the bedroom again.

It was beautiful, much nicer than anything she would have dreamed of having in the US. Large windows overlooking the city were covered in thick blackout curtains. Once she opened them it filled the room with so much natural light.

The room had a very clean modern feel to it. Decorated with lots of hardwood panels, with black, grays, and hints of red woven throughout the decorations. A few potted plants and lantern looking lights hung from the ceiling. Two bookshelves stood on either side of the TV that was hanging from the opposite wall from the bed.

She remembered that the large walk-in closet was behind the bed, separated by the large ashy wood wall. Walking around she entered the huge space. This closet was the size of her bedroom. Running her fingers over the hanging clothes she frowned. Which ones were hers?

Probably the side with the dresses.

The thought of the grumpy looking blonde who claimed to be her husband in a dress made her smile though.

He would probably look better in them too She thought as she pulled down a cute black dress with large yellow sunflowers. Just staring at it a feeling of being completely lost and unsure of what to wear. instead just standing there looking up at all the designer items dressed in her oversized tee.  

Hanging the dress-up she noticed a black jacket had fallen. Picking it up she was taken over by the powerful sweet smell. Since last night when she had identified it as her new husband’s she had been unable to stop finding it everywhere. It made sense in theory because he also lived here but it smelled so foreign to her. Yet there was something comforting about it. As if in the very resessing of her mind something told her she was safe.

“Do you need help?”

Letting out a squeak she jumped clutching the jacket she had been currently burying her face in as if it could protect her. Turned to see-- What was his name again? Katsuki? Had been leaning against the wall watching her. At her shocked expression, his face melted into a soft frown. Moving forward he pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt thrusting them toward her. She looked up at him feeling very awkward with the fact that she was braless in nothing but a shirt in front of this stranger.

Although she wasn't a stranger to him.

The thought of them knowing each other intimately was so weird it made her flush slightly. For a moment a different expression crossed his face. Subtle and just as unreadable as any of the other ones he had.

“I made coffee,” he said, turning and leaving the closet, “When you're ready.”

Quickly hanging the jacket back up Olive dashed past Katsuki mumbling incoherent words of thanks as she dashed into the bathroom to change. After dressing she looked down at the sink, two toothbrushes looking back up at her as if laughing at her dilemma. Which one was hers? Grabbing the dry one -he must have snuck in here earlier to freshen up- she hedged her bets and quickly finished cleaning up with whatever she thought looked like something she might use.

Taking a look at herself in the mirror Olive sighed running her fingers through her hair. That was when she noticed the strands of bright pink throughout her dark locks. Frowning she turned, playing with her hair for a moment realizing she had a rainbow dyed into her bottom layer.

In theory, it made sense. She had always wanted to try that style with her hair. Olive had always liked to play with different shades and trends with everything from her hair to her makeup and even clothes. A drastic style change was not uncommon for her. But waking up with a completely different hairstyle felt so…

Overwhelming.

Tears sprung into her eyes before she realized they did.

“Jesus Olive!” she snapped at herself, the feeling of being overwhelmed disappearing as it was overtaken feelings of frustration. “Stop crying!” she said glaring at her reflection. The image of a red-faced glassie eyed Olive just made her cry harder. “Stop it.”

Bakugou hadn’t gone far. He knew he should have. Just leave her to gather herself but he was worried. She seemed so far away yesterday and this morning she looked so lost in their closet. Standing there sniffing his jacket like some deranged weirdo.

So despite his better judgment, he had stayed in the bedroom leaning against the wall between the closet waiting for her to come out. He could hear her shuffling about in the bathroom and then there was a long pause and suddenly her voice was as clear as if she was right next to him

“Jesus Olive, stop crying!”

The words cutting into him like a knife and twisting with each plea from the young woman to make herself stop. He could feel small sparks of anger flickering in his tight fists. That feeling of helplessness overcoming him again. Letting out a growl he stormed into the kitchen pulling out her favorite shitty sugar cereal and placing it on the counter.

Glaring intensely at the box he started questioning his choice. Maybe he should make her bacon? Or some cakes? He looked around frantically as if their whole marriage depended on what she found when she came out of the bathroom.

“Morning.”

He froze his shoulders hunching slightly at the soft sound of her voice. Part of him was scared to turn around and face her. He didn’t want to see her eyes all puffy and red, to see that lost sad look on her face.

He wanted his happy little bitch back.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, turning slowly to see her bright-eyed and with a large forced smile on her face.

And he realized there was something worse than seeing her sad. It was her faking happy.

Slamming a mug of coffee down in front of her he looked away trying to keep his temper in check. Her face pissed him off. Stop smiling like that. If you're sad just be sad. His brain screamed as if he could put his thoughts into her head.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a sip before her eyes widened, “Oh wow this is good.”

“Yeah I know,” he said simply taking a sip of his own.

“Do you uhhh, make this for me a lot.”

“Yes”

Every morning.

“What’s that?” she asked pointing toward the box of cereal.

“Cereal, here” he quickly made her a bowl before handing it to her. She took a bite smiling. A genuine smile as she glanced shyly up at him. “What?” he snapped, instantly regretting it as she looked down at her bowl again.

“I… are you going to have some too?”

“No, I don’t like sugar.”

Her eyes grew wide in shock, “Like at all?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you also not like happiness and joy?” she asked a real smile breaking across her face. It was as if the sun had just broken through the dark storm clouds that were swirling around the two of them. Shoulders relaxing Bakugou felt like he could breathe again.

“Apparently not, it is something you do remind me of frequently.”

“Sounds like something I would do” she chuckled. Another awkward stretch of silence spanned across them. Olive slowly pulled out her phone from her lap looking down at it then back up at him. The way she was fidgeting it was obvious she wanted to ask him something but felt bad about it.

“Just say it,” he said, “What do you want?”

“I…” she jumped slightly before opening her phone, “Could you maybe tell me who these people are in my photos?”

“Ok, but I have work in a bit.”

She blinked as if that had never accrued to her, “oh that’s right, your a… hero?” it was more of a question than a comment.

“Yes.”

“I bet you're really good.”

“Number one.” he paused, “That’s how we met. The agency sent us over to help with an earthquake issues and you were working with the insurance company that was covering damages.”

“Oh right,” she paused again mulling over this information. She had been working for that company -if it was the same one- for about three years when Eliott had passed.  

“You presented, in English, and some pretty bad Japanese.”

“Wow rude.” her face scrunched in that expression he knew all too well. The one where she was trying not to laugh at his rudeness. Trying to look annoyed but she found his mean comments funny

“Yeah well, it’s true. It was cute.”

“So it was my shitty language skills that attracted you to me?” another small smile. Bakugou shouldn’t be getting this excited to see it.

“That and you bitching about some woman at Starbucks in that shitty language skill.” his words earning him a laugh, a small one but a laugh none the same.

“Sounds on brand.”

“Who did you want to know about?” he asked, coming around the island to where she was sitting so he could look over her shoulder. Enjoying the closeness of being by her. Taking in her warmth she was wearing that perfume he had gotten her for her birthday.

“The kids?”

“Lilly’s daughter Emma, and Clare’s two son’s.”

“No!” She gasped looking down at the image, “those are Cole and James!?! They are so big! And of course Lilly named her daughter Emma.” she cooed swiping through a few more images,, “She’s so beautiful” Bakugou shiffed noticing the soft tears coming to her eyes. Normally when she talked about her godchildren Olive would get emotional but something he would always tease about, but right now it seemed like she never stopped crying.

“That’s red,” she said pointing to Kirishima recognizing him from the mall. So he was also someone she actually knew pretty well. Or well enough to have pictures of them together in matching cowboy hats.

“Eijiro Kirishima” Baugou said, reaching over pointing to the three of them standing in an american themed bar.

The next one was of Bakugou and Olive with another couple at a local fair. “That’s Momo Yaoyorozu and her husband Shoto Todoroki.” Olive had met Momo during a highschool reunion and the two had become fast friends. Momo had even called Bakugou after the accident asking about Olive. After hearing about her memory loss Momo had decided she would wait to reach out as to not overwhelm the girl.

“Oh wow, she’s so pretty” Olive whispered. Bakugou tried not to laugh, guess some things never change. After the first time Olive had met Momo she had (drunkenly) demanded to know why her then boyfriend had never “gone for it?” and then that she was going to leave him for Momo because “she’s the whole package”.

“And a million of Dolemite” Olive giggled turning to show Bakugou who had seen all of these images a million times. To say his wife was obsessed with her cat would be an understatement.

As Olive turned her nose gently brushed against his cheek. Their eyes locking. She hadn’t realized how close they were until she had turned. His warm sweet scent was slightly overwhelming. Dark red eyes studying her, his body unmoving from their closeness. She could hear a bit of a hitch in his breath as his gaze moved down from her eyes to her lips.

For a moment Olive thought he might kiss her. Her heart pounding in her chest unsure what to do. Should she let him? Somehow she felt like she was cheating on her late husband. But Eliott had been dead, for years now. Still, guilt washed over as she pulled away. The look on his face sent a new wave of guilt wash over her. Hurt.

“I have to get to work” he mumbled backing up shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Ok” she responded, her hands clutching her phone so hard for a moment she thought it might crack, “I’ll clean up in here” she said motioning to the small collection of random boxes and cups on the counter. Nodding Bakugou grabbed his black duffle that was sitting by the door.

Glancing at her one last time he saw her watching him. She was biting her top lip, worry written all over her face. When their eyes met she flashed him another one of those fake smiles that kind of just spread flat across her face and didn't really curve up to her eyes.

“See you later” she said waving

He nodded before leaving wanting to get out as quickly as possible. He needed to go pound someone, preferentially a bad guy.

Olive couldn’t help but jump a little at how loudly Katsuki slammed the door shut. She was slowly leaning, this man was pretty aggressive. A bit of a contract to Eliott who was always scaring her with how quietly he would walk around. At least she would know where this new man always was.

But there were a few things that reminded her of Eliott in her “new” husband. Like the sugar thing. Eliott always hated sunshine and things that were too sweet. He preferred cooler weather and spicy food. A joke Olive would always use on him.

“You just like bitter things, that’s why you married me.” she would say when he would make a face at her sweeter preferences in wines or coffee.

“I would say more salty but yeah, basically.”

As Olive slowly started to clean up the kitchen she wondered if Katsuki also loved watching videos of kids getting hurt. During their time together Olive had lost count of the instagram accounts and videos Eliott had sent her of people wiping out. It got to the point that Olive could tell when he was watching a video of someone getting hurt by his laugh.

Was it even fair to compare the two of them?

Trying to push away those thoughts, Olive decided to explore Katsuki’s cabinets. Trying to piece together what kind of man her husband was. As if some perfectly organized cups would give her the answers to her four year long relationship with that intense blonde. Everything was so much more, put together, than her old life.

Maybe that was because she worked from home? She had more time to keep things clean and organized. Did she even work from home? Katsuki had said she had an office. Did she still work insurance?

A soft meow broke through her thoughts. Closing the cabinet she bent down picking up the fluffy cat that was at her feet. Stroking his thick fur leaving the kitchen thoughts starting to spiral

Could she even work insurance in Japan? What about her books? What was her life like?

What was she even supposed to do right now?

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Bakugou and Kirishima had spent all morning talking to the robbers who had been at the mall. While they were more than happy to give up what they knew (especially after seeing Bakugou bursting in hands blazing just needing an excuse to set someone aflame.) There wasn’t a lot of information to go off of.

It had been a paid job Which made no sense to Bakugou. Why would anyone pay someone to break into a mall? What was the point? They weren’t even asked to steal anything in particular. It was more of a “here’s some money and a plan, go fuck shit up and take what you want.”

“Maybe they were a distraction and something we don’t know is missing?” Kirishima said as the two heroes walked down the street. The rest of the day had been just as tedious and frustrating. To the point, Kirishima had thought maybe it was best if they went out on patrol to try and help Bakugou calm down a little.

It hadn’t help.

Bakugou was in a foul mood and had a hard time focusing on anything. Normally he never had this problem. Once he got to work no matter what was going on outside of his job he could tune it out. But right now all he wanted to do was see how Olive was doing. The way he had left things that morning. Just storming out. The way she had looked so lost in their apartment.

It was just pissed him off and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Normally around this time of day Olive would have been texting him with random thoughts, weird memes she would find or endless images of that stupid cat. But the silence was more distracting than her constant texting had ever been.

Glancing over their text log for the hundredth time he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Right before this attack, she had been excited about their trip to Germany in a few months. It was going to be a celebration for her publishing her fifteenth book and for his second year of being the #1 hero. There were a few snarky comments about all the “losers who said my amazing husband was more of a villain”

That was Olive he knew. Quick to love and quick to snap back if someone so much as looked at those ones she loved wrong. Not this sobbing mess who flinched at his very presence.

“Bro, just go home.” Kirishima finally said after Bakugou snapped at yet another old lady who was in his way during patrol. “If anything crazy happens I’ll just call you in.”

“I’m FINE!” Bakugou snapped back. Besides, the old Olive would be mad at him for abandoning his work just for her.

“Yeah but if your ratings drop because you made some baby cry Olive will kill you.” Kirishima seemed to read his mind as Bakugou stomped past two giggling high school girls who were not so subtly snapping pictures of the two heroes.

Rubbing his forehead Bakugou sighed, his teammate and friend had a point. If he dropped back down to Number two because of this foul mood Olive would kill him. He could hear her now.

“I mean I don’t give a shit what number you are, but you honestly lost two years of kissing up to the press over me?”

She would have that look of both hurt and also an annoyance. Plus she would be right. Better take a day off and work out this shity problem than deal with long term consequences.  

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

After a few hours of just walking around in circles with no idea what to do Olive decided to call Lilly. She wanted to see her goddaughter and best friend. Hear a familiar voice. So scooping up Dolemite she curled up on the large king size bed to video chat and catch up with all the stuff she couldn’t remember.

Ten minutes in Clare - who had been filled in on the whole memory loss- had demanded to join in.

“Threesome!” Clare giggled, her thick curls pulled back into a messy bun, “How are you feeling Olly O? Lilly told me what was going on.”

“I’m ok,” Olive mumbled, playing with Dolemite’s ear as the cat leaned into her hand purring loudly “It’s all... very overwhelming.”  

“You don’t remember anything?”

“No. It’s like I woke up and it’s five years later.” Olive said, “To me, the last time we hung out we took your three-year-old and one-year-old to the beach.”

Clare winched at the thought, “You know if you want to come back you can” she said, “Take a break and be with some people you actually remember. No one would blame you if you needed a break..”

Olive paused for a moment thinking back to that morning. Katsuki looked so concerned as he followed her around with that angry face. He kind of reminded her of grumpy cat, his blonde hair sticking up everywhere with that pout on his face. He was probably having as much trouble with this whole memory loss as she was.  

“I, I’m not sure yet. I married him for a reason and even if I can’t remember why I want to find out.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Clare said, “But just so you know we have an extra room if you need to get away.”

“You’ll be fine” Lilly pipped up. “Katsuki’s nothing if not stubborn. I once saw that man climb up the side of a cliff over a river with just his quirk because you freaked yourself out and couldn’t get down.”

“Oh yeah, that man is intense.” Clare nodded, “I wasn’t sure about him at first but he loves you.”  

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Walking into the apartment Bakugou was greeted by the sound of laughter filling the apartment. His heart leaped in his throat as he followed the sound. He saw Olive laying on the bed kicking her legs up and down as she talked on the phone. The sound of Lilly and Clare’s voices could be heard.

“Do you remember that time I ran into the wall?”

“You had to wear a boot for a month you dumb ass” Lilly laughed, Bakugou could almost hear her rolling her eyes. He had heard this story a million times. Olive’s friends were nothing if not the kind of people who never forgot the dumb things they all did.

“Eliott was so worried… poor guy,” Olive said, his name flowing from her mouth with so much fondness Bakugou wanted to punch a wall. Jealousy so strong he felt sick. They had good memories too. So many of them, but all she could remember was that other guy.

“Oh Olive” Clare’s voice was soft as Olive suddenly choked, “Where even is Christian Salter? Why isn’t he there?”

“Who?” Olive asked sitting up, Bakugou could only see her back but he could tell she was rubbing her eyes.

“Katsuki.” Lilly’s voice was soft.

“I… I’m sorry” Olive babbled, “I’m kind of overwhelmed.”

“It’s ok to miss him you know,” Lilly said as Clare’s voice made some sort of agreeing sound.

“I loved him so much.” Olive’s voice cracked and it took everything in Bakugou’s will power to stay where he was. Rested against the wall just outside the bedroom listening to her sob for another man. Missing another man. Saying she loved another man.

“Fuck” he mumbled quickly moving away while pulling out his phone. He didn’t even realize he was calling Kirishima until he heard his best friend’s voice on the other line.

“Hey bro.”

“She won’t stop crying,” Bakugou said desperately running his fingers through his messy blonde hair as he paced the kitchen. He was desperate. He just wanted her to stop crying. Wanted this to end. Wanted to go back to the teasing, the laughing, the ANYTHING but this.

“She just lost Eliott all over again.” Kirishima’s voice said on the other end, “Give her some time.”

“But she loved me just as much, more ” Bakugou’s voice broke slightly as he looked over at the hallway leading to the bedroom. As if the answer to everything would just come walking out. As if SHE would just come walking out and this whole thing would just be some cruel joke.

“Yeah, and she will love you again but she doesn’t remember you. She doesn't remember any of it.”

“I’m trying! I made her coffee, we looked at pictures on her phone.” he walked from the kitchen to the living room looking out the large window that overlooked the city bustling with business. “She was even more attached to Momo more than me”

“I don’t know bor, take her to that ramen place you guys always go to?” Kirishima scratched the back of his head. There had only been one time he had ever seen Olive upset and that was when Bakugou had gone missing fighting some big bad villain in the forests of Brazil. Even then Olive had kind of just hid her feelings only really breaking down when Bakugou got back safe and sound.  

Bakugou paused looking back at the bedroom again “You think?”

“She liked it before,” Kirishima said, Bakugou could almost see him shrugging over the phone. “And it’ll be like her first time again.”

Her first time. Bakugou hadn’t thought about it like that. Everything was like her first time again.

“Ok,” was his simple resonance before hanging up. Walking toward the bedroom he softly knocked on the door. It sounded like she had already hung up with her friends and was now sitting on the bed wiping her eyes. When she saw him she looked away, face red.

“I’m sorry” she mumbled trying to hide herself. For some reason that pissed him off more. As if he wasn’t allowed to see her like this. As if she was ashamed or something. “You’re home early…?’ she paused unsure if this was early. Seemed early since it was only a little after twelve o’clock.

“Just get ready, we are going out to lunch.”

“I… where?” she asked jumping down from the bed, her hazel eyes wide. Dolemite, who had been curled up on her lap, looked very put out.

“It’s casual, do you want me to pick out an outfit for you?” it was more of a statement than a question. Although, he did honestly want to know, did she need help?  

“No, I think I can navigate that huge closet,” she said, flashing him a soft smile. While it wasn’t her normal large one it was genuine. Small victories, Bakugou decided, he would take what he could get.

“What you are wearing is fine. Just bring a jacket because you always get cold and wear shoes you can walk in, the pink sneakers work.” Bakugou followed her into their closet and she paused watching him as he grabbed a clean shirt and pants. “I’m only saying that because I know you are going to stress about it for 20 mins.”

“How…” her question died at her lips as she watched him.

“We’re married idiot” he mumbled softly “I’ll shower in the other bathroom. When your ready meet me in the living room.”

“You have another bathroom?”

“ We have one at the end of the hallway.”

“Oh.”

Another pause and Olive looked like she wanted to say something. Bakugou sighed

“Spit it out”

“I uhhh,” she took a shaky breath and for a moment he was worried she was going to start crying again. “I’m sorry”

“Stop apologizing,” Bakugou said, tuning to go Before pausing in the doorway, “And you can cry as much as you want. So stop trying to hide it.”

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[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

Descending into Madness An Anarchist-Nihilist Diary of Anti-Psychiatry

Just sayin’... The opinions expressed in this text represent no other than my own. My position against psychiatry is based on my own personal experience and should not be taken as an authority on the subject. Psychiatry, medications, and or psychiatric incarceration is considered helpful by some, and I wish them the very best experience with it.

But also... To the ‘freaks’, the ‘weirdos’, the ‘delinquents’, and the unruly... To those who embrace these words like daggers drawn against civility, To the insubordinate youth who refuse to tranquilize their play with meds, To those who riot in the asylums, and those who dare to escape from them...

Let the moonlight illuminate our iconoclasm, witches and savage animals spellbinding fire in the night, for the destruction of society, with the courage of unmedicated confrontation.

Any society that you build will have its limits. And outside the limits of any society, unruly and heroic tramps will wander with their wild and virgin thought — those who cannot live without planning ever new and dreadful outbursts of rebellion! I shall be among them!” — Renzo Novatore

I’m sittin’ at a big round table with about three nurses and two doctors. My eyes are sensitive to the light cus I haven’t slept in days. A nurse directly beside me has been gently nodding at me with the same look of concern for about an hour. My vision keeps blurring and then re-focusing. My hands are slightly trembling. I’ve been fighting the urge to lay my head down since I sat down. It appears this awkward meeting is almost over, and I have some papers to sign. The doctor who has been talkin’ since I got here is still talkin’ and I admit, I haven’t really been paying much attention. Finally the talking stops and everyone stands up. The nurse beside me helps me up by my arm. I start to feel dizzy. We begin walking down a long hallway and eventually enter a room. Another nurse in the room greets me with a pillow, a blanket, and a pill to “help with rest”. Before sittin’ down on the bed I’ve been assigned, a nurse calmly requests my belt and shoe laces. I comply and decide while I’m up I might as well take a shit before I go to sleep. About five seconds after my ass hits the toilet seat I hear a commotion - frantic pounding and demands to unlock the bathroom door. Confused and startled, I jump up, trip over my pants, and unlock the door. Apparently I’m not allowed to lock the bathroom door - or have it totally closed while I’m in there. I quickly finish shitting in plain view of a nurse and walk back to bed. I notice a different nurse has pulled up a chair right beside it and sits down with a clipboard and pen. I lay down and try to get comfortable while accepting the awkward close watch by this nurse beside me. As I start drifting off to sleep I reflect on everything that’s goin’ on. Oh that’s right. Earlier today I tried to hang myself in my apartment and this is my first night in a psych ward.

**** INDIANAPOLIS, March 18 th 2018 — Resource Treatment Center Riot Nearly a dozen Indianapolis police officers were called to respond Wednesday night to a riot at a juvenile psychiatric treatment and addiction facility on the city’s east side.

Eleven officers were dispatched to 1404 S. State Avenue just before 11 p.m. Wednesday on a report of a disturbance at the facility. The location is home to the Resource Treatment Center juvenile psychiatric facility, as well as Options Transitional Living, which provides sober housing for homeless or at-risk youth.

Police arrived to find that a group of juvenile residents had done more than $50,000-worth of damage to the facility and assaulted four staff members. Officers took nine juveniles ranging in age from 13-17 into custody on preliminary charges of vandalism, rioting, battery and disorderly conduct.

****

During my time at this psychiatric prison I was subjected to what’s called ‘one on ones’ which basically means I’m at risk to myself and therefore require 24 hour observation by staff. Two different nurses watched me shit, sleep, cry in my sleep, and eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I was required to take meds and a sleep aid everyday. I had face-to-face therapy once a day. I was only allowed one 15 minute phone call per day. I wasn’t allowed outside at all. I was told to “set anchor” because the faculty had no intentions on releasing me “anytime soon”.

All the reasons I was originally depressed took a backseat to this new horror show I found myself in. Everyone in my ward talked about one day gettin’ out, despite being told they would “never make it on the outside”. I couldn’t help but notice the striking similarities to incarceration at a prison for criminals. This was a prison. The more I heard stories of attempted escape, violent physical repression, and hopeless isolation, the more I realized this was not a place to ‘get well’, nor any hospital I ever been to. These prison guards wore scrubs, enforced order with chemical warfare and physical restraint jackets. “The hole” was the padded room. Those who resisted were tackled to the hard floor causing cuts and bruises. And to the nurses and doctors, we were all just “case files” or “subjects” to be talked down to and humiliated. We were in their world now and it was their rules.

“We need a program of psychosurgery and political control of our society. The purpose is physical control of the mind. Everyone who deviates from the given norm can be surgically mutilated. The individual may think that the most important reality is his own existence, but this is only his personal point of view. This lacks historical perspective. Man does not have the right to develop his own mind. This kind of liberal orientation has great appeal. We must electrically control the brain. Some day armies and generalswill be controlled by electrical stimulation of the brain.” - Dr. Jose Delgado, a Spanish professor of neurophysiology and author of the book ‘Physical Control of the Mind: Toward a Psychocivilized Society’

The era of institutionalized ‘care’ for those with ‘mental illnesses’ began somewhere around the 19th century with heavy support from the state. Public asylums were built in Britain after the passing of the 1808 County Asylums Act. This created an upsurge of asylums being built everywhere. These asylums were known for inmates havin’ to live in filthy conditions with bars, chains, and handcuffs.

The Lunacy Act 1845 was known to have changed the status of ‘mentally ill’ people to ‘patients’ who required treatment. This led to the eventual chemical treatment of people as ‘medical patients’ – despite the fact that lab tests, X-rays, and brain scans have never verified psychiatric disorders as medical diseases or brain damage. Over time, this inspired the emergence of psychiatric medical experiments on ‘patients’ in order to chemically ‘cure’ their ‘disorders’. The 20th century saw an explosion of psychiatric drugs. The first anti-psychotic drug, Chlorpromazine (brand names: Thorazine, Largactil, Hivernal, and Megaphen) was first synthesized in France in 1950.

Psychiatry, asylums, and prescribed drugs contributed heavily to reinforcing social order and individual submission through fear. As the years went on psychiatry and asylums expanded, re-defining and strengthening the power of state repression and civilized control.

Along with this came an ever-expanding culture of publicly calling out those who were considered ‘disturbed’ or ‘mentally ill’. The first to be targeted were those who didn’t fit the narrowly defined behavioral expectations of society. In the 18th to early 20th century, individuals assigned female at birth were often institutionalized for damn near everything including unpopular opinions, social unruliness or a politicized refusal to be controlled by patriarchal society. Other individuals of various assigned identities who sexually deviated from hetero-normativity were institutionalized and considered “confused” and in need of being converted.

One major marketing scheme deployed by the pharmacology industry was the social construction of an ideal emotional state that every ‘normal’ individual was expected to experience. Today this same ideal can be found everywhere – from televised entertainment to billboard advertisements and so on. The ‘happy’ and ‘depressed’ binary was used to create social pressure leading people to feel isolated or out of place for not happily accepting the conditions of society on a daily basis. Being “sad all the time” was, and still is frowned upon and ridiculed – regardless of its complex nature and the reasons behind it.

Despite being emotionally fluid by nature, the individual human (animal) is expected to fulfill the civilized role of positivist supremacy. This normalized obsession with positivity plays a key role in suppressing emotional responses of outrage to the multitude of oppressive experiences. The obsession with - and normalization of - positivist performance also encourages people to overlook the deep-seated trauma caused by civilization on a daily basis. Everything from the fear of flying, car wrecks, workplace injuries, to being late on bill payments – all examples of fears attributed to trauma. But because civilized life requires wage-slavery and commitment to continue, these forms of trauma are trivialized and written off - usually followed by something like “that’s life” or “it is what it is”.

As techno-industrial society advances, new laws are constructed to create new definitions of ‘criminality’. This means there is an ever-narrowing idea of legalism. The same can be said for psychiatry. As more labels and identities for ‘disorders’ are created, the pharmacology industry expands. And as the conditions of capitalist, industrial society continue to worsen, more misery becomes available for exploitation with the sale of “feel good” prescriptions.

Under capitalism, where there are ‘correctional’ facilities, there is a profit motive to keep them filled. Where there are ‘inmates’ to fill those institutions, there is financial gain or cheap labor. And where there is any potential for social unrest, there is an ideology and identity to categorically define an unruly individual as ‘anti-social’. Society turns ‘disorders’ into categorical identities assigned to those it considers ‘undesirable’ in order to reinforce the social conditions that pressure people into behavioral uniformity.

Today, within the realm of identity politics, psychiatric-assigned identities garner social capital where ever victimhood is glorified for social benefit. As with any form of identity politics, I have seen many individuals exploit psychiatric identities by brandishing them as reasons to rid themselves of responsibility for their actions. And as this plays out in the all-too-familiar social cannibalism of identity politics, individuals personalize these psychiatric- assigned identities and create inverted hierarchies of social entitlement.

Ultimately, a new identity-based movement is formed, gaining media recognition and becomes assimilated into the broader prison of society.

****

Thursday, September 4, 2014 Riot at Central New York Psychiatric Center A dozen staff members were injured when several inmates started rioting in a kitchen area at the Central New York Psychiatric Center on Wednesday.

Four people were hospitalized for their injuries, authorities stated. The fight broke out at about 11:45 a.m., when five to six inmates started attacking staff in one of the kitchen areas using kitchen utensils as weapons, according to the state Correctional Officers & Police Benevolent Association. The inmates tried to fight their way into the mess hall.

At the same time, another fight broke out between inmates and staff on the floor above the kitchen, officials said. The emergency alarms were raised, and security personnel inside the facility were able to break up the two fights, with help from the state police.

****

After careful planning, I was released from psychiatric incarceration much sooner than originally set. The walls were closing in on me and the monotony of daily under-stimulation, medicated numbness, and confinement started breaking me down. Witnessing the prison cannibalism of infighting between incarcerated individuals, I began spiralling worse than I had prior to being there. On top of that, my two attempts to secretly organize a rebellion had failed miserably; the wards or ‘bunks’ were so small that an artificially constructed bond was easily created between most staff and patients. Snitching was heavily rewarded.

Nobody wanted “any problems”. So instead I turned to another method of emancipation; using my own high school knowledge of psychology to convince my therapist I was merely suffering from “a broken heart” due to a “recent romantic breakup”.

Despite the full spectrum of my hatred for society, the life I was living at the time, and the complex emotional storm that raged in my head on a daily basis, I was able to convince my therapist and the other nurses I was just upset over a breakup. The humiliation of having to role-play such a lie paled in comparison to my desire for freedom from that place. Released into my mom’s custody, I was required to continue taking my medications three times a day and seeing a counsellor once a week.

Against the wards request, I went back to living in my apartment. I could see where the police had went through all my notebooks as well as a pocket book of phone numbers. The noose I worked so hard to construct and attach to a wooden beam along my ceiling was gone. To this day I don’t know if my landlord took it or if the police did. My rent was overdue indicated by the notes in my mailbox. Luckily I was working a self-managed painting job at the time so I couldn’t get fired. I could start back up the next week.

That night I masturbated for the first time in what felt like years. But I couldn’t orgasm. The next day I called the doctor who dealt my meds. According to him, my impossible orgasm was common with people on psychiatric medication. A week went by and I continued to feel numb. Nothing was interesting to me. I often found myself watching the hands on clocks move or staring out my window at passing cars. I didn’t feel sad. But I didn’t feel good either. I just existed.

After about a month of being out of the psych ward, I decided to stop taking my meds. The hassle of getting them filled as well as keepin’ up with taking them everyday just wasn’t worth it. And neither was feeling numb. I didn’t know what would happen. Would they find out and send the police to take me back? A couple weeks went by without meds and I started to feel slight changes. I was scared but prepared for the hellish withdrawals I had heard all about. I got dizzy a bit, and some headaches but nothing more. Soon I stopped gettin’ calls from my counsellor. I expected her to be upset and leave me angry voicemails. It never happened. Eventually I felt my appetite change and I could experience emotional reactions to things easier and more frequently. And I finally had an orgasm!

For the next couple years, I reflected on those experiences and began exploring the origins of my suicidal thoughts, the origins of the morbid depression that caused them, as well as the consumerist life I lived as a wage-slave law-abiding citizen.

****

A Riot on Thanksgiving Morning 2016 at Springfield Hospital Center (a regional psychiatric hospital and former slave plantation located in Sykesville, Maryland) In the early-morning hours of Thanksgiving Day, Catherine Starkes and April Savage huddled in an office with several other employees at the Springfield Hospital Center in Carroll County as patients rioted around them.

Starkes and Savage said patients threw chairs, knocked over file cabinets and tried to break into the staff's Plexiglas-enclosed refuge. The patients poured cooking oil over the floors, making them slippery. One patient tried to crawl into the office through the suspended ceiling, Starkes recalled.

It was like no other night she could remember in 22 years of working with dangerously mentally ill patients at Maryland state hospitals.

"They wanted to take over the unit. They seized the unit," she said.

****

“What we say is the truth is what everybody accepts. ...I mean, psychiatry: it's the latest religion. We decide what's right and wrong. We decide who's crazy or not. I'm in trouble here. I'm losing my faith.” -Dr. Railly from the movie “12 Monkeys”

Similar to religion, psychiatry assumes a powerful role in defining “right” or “wrong” in terms of “normal” vs “abnormal” behavior. The standardization of a particular, socially expected behavior is essential for creating categories of people defined in terms of their contribution to the collective success of society. With psychology as a basis for analytically outlining ‘problems’ and suggesting “potential cures”, mass society becomes dependent on its authority for deciding who is “normal” and who isn’t. Certain behavioral characteristics unique to an individual become outlawed in order to maintain this social conformity.

Speaking from my own experience, psychiatry and all its theories, roles, and chemical prescriptions at best aims to merely manage ‘symptoms’ of ‘disorders’ - not eliminate the sources of their creation.

By ‘symptoms’ I am referring to any set of behaviors or emotional responses that indicate an individual’s struggle to conform to societal expectations or ‘normal’ behavior.

By ‘disorders’ I am referring to the set of behaviors or emotional responses that have been selected and condemned by society, and therefore declared a ‘mental illness’ by the authority of psychiatry.

By ‘sources’ I am referring to any and all prisons, societal forms of coercion, and civilized society – all of which pressure individual subservience and ideological conformity.

The conflict of interest in ‘curing’ the ‘mentally ill’ becomes apparent when acknowledging that successful cures to particular behaviors and emotional responses would require the abolition of civilized society all together - the same civilized society that creates trauma, followed by the concept of mental illness and subsequently a ‘solution’ via many forms of emotional anaesthesia.

Another factor of social control built into psychiatry is its ability to distort and control dissenting information. Social systems that require the subordination of individuals are always sharpening their ability to suppress or demonize information – especially information derived from rebellious experience. When it is individuals themselves who are considered living examples of this information, those seeking total control will portray them in such a way that renders the nature of their rebellion a mere product of mental illness. For example, the Soviet Union responded to rebels with psychiatric wards called “Psikhushkas”. One of the first Psikhushkas was a psychiatric prison in the city of Kazan. In 1939 it was transferred to the secret police. Psychiatric incarceration was used in response to political demonstrations and attacks. It was common practice for soviet psychiatrists in Psikhushka hospitals to diagnose those who rebelled against soviet authority with schizophrenia.

Just as religious authority figures speak of purging people of their sins and demons, psychiatry seeks to purge people of their ‘sickness’ and ‘bad’ habits. In the church of psychiatry, only those most committed to social conformity (or emotional suppression) can enter the heavens of being socially recognized as ‘sane’ or ‘normal’. Normal or civilized behavior is rewarded with social capital and easier access to survival resources. And in the eyes of those who fear unbridled freedom, without the church of mental psychiatric authority, ‘the masses’ just might descend into madness...

****

Sept 5 2016 John George Psychiatric Hospital Riot Nurses at Alameda County’s embattled mental hospital say three patients tried to incite a riot overnight and escape the facility. Staff members are blaming chronic overcrowding at John George Psychiatric Hospital’s emergency room. It’s the latest in a string of troubling incidents at the hospital uncovered by 2 Investigates.

Nurses – who didn’t want to be identified for fear of jeopardizing their jobs – tell 2 Investigates that two male patients and one woman demanded to be discharged from John George’s Psychiatric Emergency Services (PES) department Sunday night. But when they were refused, they turned violent, according to staff.

The patients allegedly tried to encourage others to help them push the facility doors open to escape.

****

“The Law, social expectation, and psychiatric tradition and practice point to coercion as the profession’s paradigmatic characteristic. Accordingly, I define psychiatry as the theory and practice of coercion, rationalized as the diagnosis of mental illness and justified as medical treatment aimed at protecting the patient from himself and society from the patient.” - Psychiatrist turned anti-psychiatry, Thomas S Szasz, M. D.

While reflecting on my experience with psychiatry, including being on three different medications and my stay in the ward, I started asking myself questions I had never thought to ask before: what are the social conditions contributing to my feelings of misery? What type of behavior is characteristic of ‘mental illness’ and ‘normal’ functioning? Who enforces these definitions as universal truths to begin with? Is it the same psychiatric authority that at one point considered homosexuality a mental illness – then changed their minds in 1973?

I couldn’t help but notice that despite all the therapy, meds, and psychiatric hospitality the world outside my head was still the same. Poverty still dominated my hood, rich billionaires were still playin’ golf while the government continued bombing other countries. Millions of non-human animals were still bein’ mutilated in slaughterhouses on a daily basis, and the environment was still bein’ devastated by industrial expansion. I still needed to wage-slave away to pay my rent. And like everyone else, I needed to do this until I got too old and eventually live out my days in a nursing home. But somehow I was supposed to be ‘happy’ - or at least apathetically accepting of it all without a fuss. Obedience without incident. Without question. Or as the others in the ward had said to me “no problems”.

Currently in my life, I am still angry, still depressed, and still sometimes suicidal. But rather than seeing these things as what’s broken about me, I see them as a reflection of how fucked up the world is around me. I find little things to help me channel the anger, depression, and suicidal thoughts. I exercise, practice mixed martial arts, enjoy a walk in the woods at night. I star-gaze from park benches, rooftops, and moving freight trains. I indulge in stolen food and cherish the excitement of criminal activity. Managing my emotions is a daily activity coupled with observation and growth. I listen to the stories of others and learn from their experiences. I listen to my emotions and source their origins, making it easier to understand my needs and desires. My emotions – my madness - manifesting as anger, depression, and so on remain sharp and act as the best tools for understanding the effects of this imprisoning society on my well-being.

My disposition lacks evidence of being broken or brain damaged – if anything, it would suggest the contrary. My emotional state is a complex response to the anxiety that occurs when recognizing society for what it is – a prison propagating itself as ‘normal’ life. And integrated within this prison is a web of altered realities that materialize the logic of control and domination: Wage-slavery masquerading as productivity and personal responsibility. Coerced submission and obedience to law and order in “the land of the free”. Pictures of happy cows on packages of mutilated body parts. Borders, bio-technology, cyberspace communities of friends interacting with the emotional vacancy of digital communication.

And it is here, in this same social prison society, that the word insanity is used to describe an individual person rather than industrial civilization - the epitome of mechanized social control.

“The stars up close to the moon were pale; they got brighter and braver the farther they got out of the circle of light ruled by the giant moon” ― Ken Kesey, from the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

I believe deep down all people are ‘insane’ - not in terms of mental illness - but in terms of individual, unique differences that remain defiantly incompatible to behavioral order. In society, some people hide these differences better than others. And many people I have come across express frustration with having to keep themselves locked up inside, aching to break out. The fear of being socially labelled insane or crazy keeps people passive and submissive. But some people experience difficulty assimilating themselves. And while society attempts to frantically control and eliminate certain undesirable people and behaviors, natural responses to environmental conditions continue to produce both.

If one were to really examine the social interactions between individuals, one can see the subtle tip-toeing of animals peeking from within the wardrobe of humanism. It is the fear of being too loud, too angry, too sad, too imaginative – the fear of allowing oneself to exist at full bloom – that incarcerates the animal individual. It is the fear of exhibiting any personal qualities or characteristics that would violate the boundaries of socially expected behavior. Breaking the laws of psychiatry could be punishable by chemical injection, imprisonment, or even death.

This fear also plays a vital role in creating an obsession with relying on institutional specialization rather than peer to peer support. This obsession is normalized when, in response to someone reaching out for emotional support, friends suggest ‘professional help’ as if to surrender themselves ineffective by default. It says something about the nature of one’s confidence, ability, and will to support another when that support is often outsourced to an elite group of ‘professionals’. I’m not tryin’ to say that every individual has the capacity to support others at all times: I am suggesting an examination of the inferiority complex internalized by people in the face of institutions, and how individuals often find themselves too busy obeying the demands of capitalism, or too distracted by consumerism to make time for supporting their loved ones – let alone themselves.

If one were to examine society as a whole, one can see how over-simplified, quick-fix solutions to complex problems is built into it. If one were to examine this even on a personal level, one can see how everything about industrial society reduces personal time to the point where one often neglects their own emotional health. Against the demands of technological addiction and wage-slavery, making time for supporting one’s self and or those they care about is, however under-rated, nothing less than an act of personal revolt. “You need professional help” is often the quick response to an individual simply looking for support from close friends. Not all people (including myself) enjoy being pathologized or assigned a diagnosis like a broken machine. It is this ‘professional help’ that replaces intimate support with capitalism where someone struggling is treated as a profitable ‘case file’ and dealt a bottle of pills.

From a vibrant friend struggling with a unique history of complex emotional experiences, to a patient branded with an over-simplistic set of psychiatric identities – the individual becomes merely a unit of diagnostic measurement.

Diagnoses act as identity configurations defined in terms of symptom-based sameness. These identity assignments are constructed by the specialists of psychiatric authority, and are enforced socially by those who uphold its power. The same way that leftists are quick to use statist terminology to publicly label and shame “undesirables” or those unwanted by The Movement (for example, using the word “terrorist” to describe proponents of anarchist attack), they are equally quick to call people ‘mentally ill’, or ‘toxic’- demanding they seek ‘professional’ help. Perhaps without realizing it, leftists socially reinforce the validity of the state and psychiatric authority by reducing the complexity of individual behavior to mere psychiatric constructs and moral condemnation.

Psychiatry provides a comforting sense of order in the refusal to accept the chaotic nature of behavior. By asserting psychiatric terminology and morality many leftists seek control over social interactions with the intent to sterilize and homogenize them. This attempt at behavioral uniformity goes hand in hand with the treatment of individuals as members of monolithic, identity-based groupings. Behavioral uniqueness and variety are often discouraged or condemned when they don’t fit neatly constructed scripts. One’s behavior or emotional expression could be trivialized by being socially called out as ‘problematic’ - a label which itself requires the conformity of a generalized consensus to define and enforce.

Society and all its defenders require the dam of psychiatry to subordinate and control the tidal waves of individualist variety and social unrest. I can only imagine what would happen if the mechanisms of control failed on an individual level - if freedom of emotional expression took aim at the crystal castles of psychiatric authority, shattering the illusion of sterilized permanence. One after another an individual cannonball weakens the continuity of the structure, an ungovernable individual compromises the strength of collectivized subservience.

****

Jan 31, 2006 Riot at the Riverview Hospital For Children and Youth Five male patients at a state-run psychiatric hospital for children face rioting charges after they ripped out a phone line and tried to steal a worker's car keys before barricading themselves in a room over the weekend, a state official and other sources said Monday.

The incident at Riverview Hospital For Children and Youth occurred less than a week after employees protested over conditions in the facility, contending that the hospital is increasingly unsafe because of the volatile mix of patients.

Sources said that between 11 p.m. and midnight Sunday, a group of boys in the hospital's 11-bed Lakota Unit came out of their rooms and started confronting and arguing with staff. A male clinician and two female employees were assigned to the unit at the time.

Sources said the boys surrounded the man and tried to get him to turn over his keys but he refused. When one of the female workers tried to use the phone to call for help, the boys pulled the phone line out of the wall, sources said. The youths then barricaded themselves in a room and tried to smash a large exterior window, which broke off its hinge.

Sources said the boys intended to escape through the window but were stopped by a Connecticut Valley Hospital police officer who was called to the scene and was outside near the window .

Authorities would not release the names or ages of the boys involved. All face charges of inciting to riot, disorderly conduct, criminal mischief, unlawful restraint and threatening.

****

When, in expressing themselves, individuals let their emotions rupture the confines of psychiatric authority, and fan the flames of their contempt for social control, psychiatry begins to resemble the shell of a burnt out police car. If psychiatry is the agent enforcer of mental law and order - let it die along with every cop and agent of the state. As with identity politics, I refuse to participate in the use of psychiatric terminology when describing other individuals. As with all other socially constructed assignments, I reject psychiatric labels as they seek to limit the horizon of emotional complexity.

When, in expressing themselves, individuals become wild with nihilist hostility toward all ideological roles and identities, what is left of a society without individual conformity? What is ‘male’ or ‘female’ without being fixed to an aesthetic or performative role? What is ‘black’ or ‘white’ without the social construction of race? What is the sane/insane binary without the commanding authority of psychiatry? What is social law and order without anyone willing to obey?

My anarchy is found in the obliteration of these social constructs and the rejection of their ‘social contract’ that universalizes their false existence. I use the phrase social contract because that is precisely what accepting these identity assignments is. It surprises me to see such little prisoner solidarity with those incarcerated at psychiatric facilities. I imagine total anarchy looking like all prisons - including every manifestation of the educational-industrial complex, every zoo, and every asylum – being burned to the ground.

****

On New Year’s Day, 2018, 10 Children as Young as Age 12 Riot and Escape from Strategic Behavioral Health Center in South Carolina During the New Year’s Day incident, patients broke furniture to make weapons. The state report suggest Strategic staff missed warning signs that patients had planned to escape. They did not question residents who were wearing multiple layers of clothing that would allow them to change what they were wearing when they left the hospital.

In a less than five-hour span beginning in the late afternoon, there were seven “Code Purple” incidents in which workers are alerted to trouble. A state investigator reviewed video showing patients going from room to room, throwing a trash can, tearing up paper and tearing schedules off the walls. When one employee arrived, according to the report, he heard loud noises and cussing and saw trash all over the floor in the hallway. Patients had barricaded themselves in a room and had weapons he described as boards with six-inch screws.

“There was no staff trying to get into the room and he was told by staff, ‘They have weapons. Don’t go in,’” records say. “The nurse described the situation as a ‘riot, complete breakdown.’”

By the time police arrived, the south Charlotte psychiatric hospital had descended into chaos. Patients at Strategic Behavioral Center — some wielding wooden boards — attacked one worker, barricaded themselves in a room and escaped through a broken window.

**** For many years I paraded psychiatry as a valuable scientific instrument for understanding the inner workings of human behavior. I no longer find it useful after learning to recognize people as complex beings with unique emotional responses to this civilized nightmare. I have come to recognize psychiatry as, at best, another form of identity politics that ultimately attempts to force the infinite complexity of emotional expression into rigid categorical boxes.

Individual people are far more than ‘bipolar’, ‘psychotic’, etc could accurately express. While a person may experience combinations of emotions socially identified by a psychiatric category, their emotional state can not be summarized or represented by any list of fixed terminology.

My refusal to define a person by the emotional struggles they experience is similar to the reasons I refuse to identity people struggling with intoxication as ‘addicts’. An individual's struggle in coping with society is complex and unique. Psychiatric labels and identities are tools of the state – an entity which I reject. As a tool of civilization, psychiatry creates alienation and violence by treating people found to be emotionally unfit for society as ‘broken’, and therefore socially inferior. I personally refuse to disregard an individual’s struggle for survival by assigning them a psychiatric identity that puts blame on them as ‘mentally ill’ - rather than focusing attention on industrial society itself. Like prisons for ‘criminals’, the ‘correctional’ facility of the psychiatric ward seeks to condition submission through coercion and confinement. Solving or curing ‘mental illness’ in the societal sense often ends up becoming a re-defined ability to condemn, suppress, or sterilize emotions.

Like all governments, presidents, and authority, psychiatry never gave me freedom. Assigned psychiatric labels didn’t help me – they only filled me with an internalized sense of victimhood and inferiority. Medication didn’t ‘cure’ or ‘fix’ me – only damaged me, numbing me to my own senses in order to create an emotional void between me and the fuckery of civilized life. So instead, with nihilist celebration I descend into madness, taking aim at social order and civilization. With armed animalism I realize now that there was nothing to fix - my natural contempt for domestication and social control reminds me that I was never ‘broken’ to begin with.

With maniacal laughter I mock the conventional standardization of human behavior. I reject the authorities of psychiatry, their holy book (The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM–5)), and their prisons. I refuse to continue being a test subject for their ever-expanding pharmacotherapeutics. I am an individualist against the collectivized consensus used to materialize institutions of psychiatry. I am a nihilist - hostile to the ideological sane/insane binary and all social constructs that, with pathology, attempt to categorically subjugate individuality. I desire nothing less than a feral revolt against civilization. If civilization and psychiatry marry at the church of morality, then let my anarchy be a fiery black smoke that chokes their gospel of social control.

[girls-scenarios]

Dreamcatcher as Best Friends

Prompt: kiwi, my friend, can i request dreamcatcher as best friends with reader headcanons? i need more platonic centric content in fandom

A/N: I live for platonic content too. I don’t necessarily want to date any idols, but I do sometimes imagine being friends with them! I hope you guys enjoy! - Admin Kiwi

JiU:

I feel like she’d be a total mom friend

Years of being a leader would make taking care of her friends a second nature for her

She would do things like quietly clean up after a meal

Or casually pull you out of the way of a biker

She doesn’t even notice that she does it and gets kind of embarrassed when you point it out

“It’s not annoying, right?” “No, it’s actually pretty helpful.”

Super sweet and caring

Would move the world for her friends

Always the one to suggest going out, only to get tired almost immediately

Goes to sleep early but keeps her phone on just in case you need her

Always gives the most thoughtful presents

But also likes to tease a little bit

“Did you really think that pickup line would work?”

The best wing-woman you could ask for

People are just drawn to her

Being friends with her would mean being friends with a lot of people

But as her best friend, she would always have time for you

She would even cancel other plans if you needed her to

SuA:

She’s DEFINITELY the best friend who ends up getting the both of you into trouble

Kind of crazy

But that makes her fun, right?

“Hey, want to climb up onto the roof?”

Her ideas are the source of a couple of your injuries

A total mess, seriously

I hope you’re ready to cosplay and go to comic con with her

Because she will ask you to do that

Calls you at three in the morning crying over a pet video she saw

Probably doesn’t sleep

She has absolutely no filter and will tell you as it is

But you know she means nothing mean by it

You’re 99% of her impulse control

She’s always dragging you out to do something because she gets bored

People probably mistake the two of you as a couple because she’s very clingy and likes to hold onto your arm or hold your hand

Platonic cuddling is a thing and she loves it

She has a steady stream of dates, but always has time for you

Despite her endless energy and jokes, she truly does care a lot for you

She would throw down for you at any time, anywhere

Siyeon:

Tough on the outside, laid back on the inside

You laugh at everyone who says they’re afraid of her, because you know that she would feel bad if she hurt a fly

As her best friend, you even get to see her cute side

Likes to lean against you or hug you when she laughs

Also very touchy, likes to hold onto you when she gets excited

Doesn’t care what other people think about her

Encourages you to be the same and just be you

Super supportive towards her friends

Will hype you up and help you at any given moment

If you send her a photo of yourself, she WILL reply with about a hundred capitalized messages and heart emojis and a video of her screaming

Please don’t ask her to go out all she wants to do is lay on the couch

At most she will go get tea or coffee or go see a movie

Everything else requires too much moving and she’s not down for that

The two of you probably share a Netflix account

You get to see all the weird stuff she watches on her downtime

“Did you just watch a documentary on sex?” “I did. Want to hear about it?” “Not really, no.”

The two of you will often find yourselves at her place with takeout, sitting on her couch and chatting while some comedy series plays in the background

She definitely has some weird, embarrassing nickname for you

A weirdo, but she’s YOUR weirdo and you wouldn’t change a thing

Except, maybe, for the nickname

Handong:

When people first meet her, she seems sweet, proper, and quiet

As her best friend, you know the truth

Sure, she’s quiet at first, but once she opens up, she’s funny and sarcastic and cute and so many more things

She’ll say snarky things with such a classy smile that it cracks you up

You kind of never know what she’ll do but it’s more fun that way

She’d probably take you shopping a lot

Or just out to try new foods and places

She wouldn’t like too much excitement, but wouldn’t like to just stay inside either

You’re kind of her personal photographer whenever the two of you go out

But it’s kind of fun to see what new poses she’ll come up with next

She’d be the type to call you when she was having a rough day, either to rant and let off a little steam or to ask for advice or encouragement

Really values your advice, since you know her the best

She’s sweet, too, though

Gives you her gloves or scarf if you’re cold without hesitation

And she makes sure that every single one of your birthdays are special

She likes hugs and would often just randomly hug you or put her chin on your shoulder

Has your name in her phone under some cute nickname but blushes when you point it out

She doesn’t say that she cares about you much, but she shows it in her own little ways

Yoohyeon:

It’s hard not to be friends with her, really

Her personality makes it impossible not to like her

She’s very caring and heartfelt towards her friends

And always has a smile and open arms if you need them

“You’re my best friend and I love and cherish you.”

Has a ton of energy and is always down to hang out

Would be the type to take you on a long road trip

Or just on vacations in general

Likes exploring with you

She’s a little bit extra sometimes

Occasionally embarrasses you in public because she has no shame

She’s just loud in general too

Her laugh is contagious

Gets emotional really easily

Will cry if you give her a sentimental gift

(Or really, any gift at all)

Takes pictures of everything, all the time

Everyone who followers her online or knows her knows who you are

Talks about you all the time

Will get stern with you if she needs to, but she’s your biggest supporter

Always believes in you and thinks you’re amazing, no matter what

Dami:

It takes a little while to get close to her just because she’s so shy

But she loves all of her friends a lot, even if she doesn’t show it much

Probably disappears for days on end when she gets into a good book

Only to text you with all caps about the plot of the book once she’s done

“THE AUTHOR RUINED IT WITH THE ENDING”

Books are the only thing that can get her riled up

Otherwise she’s casual and just goes with the flow

Very few things annoy her

Although you probably wouldn’t find her in any clubs are bars

Prefers hanging out in quiet places

Being friends with her would mean going to a lot of bookstores, little gift shops, and cafes

Even if you don’t enjoy them, she makes them fun

The two of you make it a game to pick out the craziest titles in bookstores or find the weirdest things in stores

And who doesn’t like trying new drinks and foods?

She would also like long talks

The two of you would probably end up sitting in a car eating and talking late into the night at least once

A great listener

She can always make you calm down somehow

Doesn’t talk about her emotions very much, so when she does it means a lot to you

“I really care about you, by the way. Thanks for being my friend.”

Gahyeon:

She is so cute and sweet!

It would be a little bit like having a puppy as a best friend

It’s impossible not to like her, really

Your friend group is huge because of that

Her smile can brighten even your worse days

Gets excited really easily and it’s contagious

Likes to hang out at amusement parks or anywhere fun, really

A ball of energy and sunshine

You’d probably end up in a few of her vlogs

She would proudly introduce you as her best friend

You could never get away with talking bad about yourself because she’d quickly give you a pout and talk about how awesome you are

Don’t think that she won’t tease you, though

She can be sarcastic when she wants to as well

Although she’d never say anything actually mean

She acts cute so much that you just get used to it

She can always make you laugh or smile

A little bit clumsy and a lot bit silly

This girl just wants to have fun

Your place is full of cute trinkets that she bought because they made her think of you

She acts a lot like a little sister but is there for you if you need her

Gives great hugs with soft encouragement

You’d always know that she has your back