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leviiattacks · 4 years ago

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hi bestie!! pls pretty pls do a levi one where he takes care of a sick y/n im feeling a bit under the weather and im getting kinda scared bc of covid :<< anything to help calm my nerves pls? thank you <3

author note :: get well soon anon :-( i’m super sick rn too (when am i not tho </3) so i get how it is. this isn’t that great because i wrote it pretty quick but i hope it eases youuu :-) this is just pure fluff and sappy stuff and yup yup MODERN LEVI BC... listen i have a soft spot for modern levi word count :: some how i got to 1.4k ????? idk how i always go over the expected word count i have in my head

it’s literally been YEARS since the last time you were sick

if you really dig through the depths of your memory you’d say maybe you were last sick when you were seven???

it’s that or your memory is just not great

either way, you really do not want to bother anyone with your sickness so you decide to hole up in your room for the entire day

you don’t even tell levi about it because you know he’ll drop everything for the sake of your comfort

the only problem is that midway through the day you’ve become so bedridden you can’t even begin to fathom attending classes tomorrow

you guess you’ll be taking another day off

as that thought crosses your mind your bedroom door bursts open

“i...” levi lets out a long sigh and you look at him dazed from your pounding headache

you’re surrounded by scrunched up tissues and your cold meds have been left untouched

“i’m gonna get you sick too. back away.” you’re frowning and signalling with your hands that you want him out

your nose is stuffy and you’re sniffling but levi just rolls his eyes before he sits next to you on the floor

buried in your duvet you look a little like a burrito and he laughs at that

“do you know where the thermometer is? i’ll check on your fever.”

he’s looking at you waiting for an answer

you think for a second and then you try to rummage through the timeline of today’s events.

to be fair you’re a little disoriented but for some unknown reason you feel yourself get a little teary eyed

maybe it’s a mix of your upcoming deadlines looming over you or perhaps it’s missing a really important class today

but it’s so sudden you don’t even know why your body is making you act so irrationally but that’s what fevers do

“i think i” you sniff and then the waterworks flood out of you. your brain can’t adjust to the severity of your headache and your urge to sleep is higher than ever

honestly you don’t cry very much so to see the tears worries levi almost immediately

“im sorry i misplaced it.” you croak out, your voice is all scaly and weird, you hate it

stupidly you get upset about that too

don’t people sound hot when they’re sick?? why do you sound like an angry bear...?

this is not fair.

“and i’m stressed.” you blow your nose but it continues to drip despite your constant attempts to stop it

nose bright red and hair disheveled levi’s eyes soften when he sees your workbook laying at the foot of your bed

notes are scribbles in random corners and your mind map is a chaotic mess but you’re trying your best given the circumstances

god, even when you’re sick you’re working hard. you’re ridiculous but in the most endearing way known to man

“alright, lay down.” he runs a hand through your hair to fix the birds nest before he adjusts your pillows and places your head down gently

“i’m sorry i’ve lost the-”

levi’s index finger presses against your lips and he shushes you

“get some rest, please.”

you comply but not before giving him a playful glare

his warm palms move to hold your face. cheeks squished together he swipes your tears away

“i’ve got some soup on the stove you’ll be good in no time.” his soft reassurance is comforting and protective

nodding you flutter your eyes shut.

you’re unable to sleep but levi’s presence is enough to ease you even if it’s just a little you do feel better

fifteen minutes pass and levi returns he’s got you a hot cup of tea and the soup is nowhere to be seen

“i had an accident in the kitchen... so have some tea instead.”

you simply laugh it off, he’s trying his best and you’re alright with not having to be fed tomato soup

tomato soup..... it’s sick and twisted it tastes so bad

you recall having to force yourself to down an entire bowl last christmas after catching a cold

never ever again will you do that

anyways, pea soup superiority it’s the only valid type !!!

levi likes tomato soup though that’s the only reason it sits in bulk in one of the kitchen cabinets

he brushes the mountain of tissues on your bedside table away, he’ll dispose of them later

placing the cup of tea where the aforementioned tissues once were you then realize he’s brought you a slice of madeira cake to have alongside it

at this your eyes brighten you love madeira cake it’s so soft and buttery and simple but it’s just REALLY GOOD???

anyway, you definitely recommend everyone to have some it’s a solid 10/10

“picked some up on my way here.”

your heart swells affectionately

no one will ever love you as hard as he does

to be honest, the little things he does keep you grounded and you don’t really know where you’d be without him

he always pays attention to the things you love, always carries you from the couch to your bed, always tucks you in, always lingers a little just to make sure you’re sound asleep

you know about that last bit because on occasion you have stirred awake on accident

every single time he strokes your hair and holds you close ushering you back to sleep

again, you don’t know if it’s your fever making you emotional or the warm feeling of being loved so HARD?? it’s like whack a mole the only difference is being repeatedly hit by bursts of affection

not really a great analogy but your brain is fried right now and it’s the best you’ve got

levi sits next to you making the mattress shift and you then plop your head against his chest

“drink up.”

he hands you the cup of tea but you nuzzle your face into his neck instead forcing him to place it back down

“what are you doing?” he asks.

one of his hands draws circles onto your back soothing you and the other hand is fiddling around with the packaging of your cold meds, he looks to be reading the description just to make sure you can take them

the feeling of his t-shirt under your cheek fades away and you find yourself staring up at him

“get here.” he softly murmurs

rather than pressing a hand against your forehead he swoops down

at first his hands feel your face and neck

“you’re burning up.” he frowns and then he does it

he presses his forehead against yours and you swear you could stop breathing and pass out right then and there

“the fever’s getting worse, why didn’t you call me earlier i had to find out you were sick from-”

“i love you.”

he freezes.

“of course you love me but that’s not what we’re talking about right now.” he snorts and looks you right in the eye.

suddenly you’re kinda just a teeny-weeny bit self-conscious about your dark under eyes but you push that thought to the back of your mind

“no i mean. i really fucking love you levi.” the expletive only makes you sound more serious especially since you always scold him when he uses vulgar language

it looks as if his mouth moves to say it back but you stop him

“you don’t have to say it again. i’m saying it because you said it first.” you explain through your drowsy state

“when did i say it first?”

the fever must be really getting to you is what he’s thinking

“your actions spoke for you.”

he ever so slightly jabs you with his elbow before he carefully places your head back down onto his chest

“you’re so sappy.” he pecks your cheek and you hum silently still unable to breathe out of one of your nostrils

“i know but you’re sappier.”

levi doesn’t respond because he knows you’re correct

:-)

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fipindustries · 4 years ago

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TENET, i have *many* thoughts

ok, that was a mess.

so.

This movie is nolan at his most cocky and self indulgent. it is in many ways nolan at his worst. this is the quintessential example of what a bad christopher nolan movie looks like, this is the movie that every person that disliked nolan has been talking about all along. to quote the northern caves:

is undeniably imaginative; it probably has the most dizzyingly elaborate plot ever featured in a work of children's literature. Does that make it complex? No, it makes it complicated. And between those two little words is a world of difference.

Salby's plotting builds hierarchically, inexorably, unforgivingly. Every new development serves as scaffolding for the next, and any idea or event, however minor, however many pages or books ago it was introduced, can serve as fodder for new narrative contortions. The result is a reading experience that recreates with eerie accuracy the atmosphere of the schoolroom. Salby demands academic devotion; everything will be on the test

Sean Carruth’s masterpiece Primer has a lot of its hermetical power resting on the fact that it is presented in the most opaque and confusing way possible. Entire plot points are skipped or merely alluded to in throwaway lines, which make what would already be a really complicated plot much more impenetrable than it already is. But what primer does to compensate for this and what Tenet lacks, is time to breathe, presentation, atmosphere, mood, all the necessary components of movie making.

a lot of what happens in this movie occurs almost in a slapdash fashion, as if it had been pushed and churned out the editing room as fast as possible. this movie feels like a five episode long miniseries crammed as awkwardly as possible into two hours and a half. Not because it suggest to impenetrable depths or to a larger breathing world beyond the film but because it is missing entire sections that would have helped us get acclimated to the world, the settings, the events and most important of all, the characters.

the characters are all function over form, they are a collection of basic traits and lines, all whose main function is to exposit and make the plot move according to nolans convoluted design. i could probably have a lot more to say about this but sadly i couldnt pay any attention to what the emotional core in this movie was supposed to be, busy as i was trying to stop my eyes from glazing over the plot.

in some ways this feels like michael bay, there is a clear priority on looking cool, and sexy and glamorous which borderlines on fetishistic (nolan seems to be desperate to make a james bond film but since he cant he decides to make his own bond, with time travel and hookers) the only difference is that nolan has different ideas from Bay about what counst as “cool” or “glamorous” or “sexy”. instead of going for gaudy, over the top douchy excess, he prefers sleek, sophisticated, anodine elegance.

in fact i almost dare to be so bold as to say that the entire premise of this movie, for all its pretense of carefully calculated, metodic, intricate well thought out rules, it really seems to follow exclusively the rule of cool. the very first scenes where the conceit is introduced it already feels stupid. and then the rest of the movie builds on top of that shaky foundation and i was never able to get over that initial stumble. spoilers ahead.

the general conceit here is NOT that things are moving backwards through time, but that “their entropy is inverted”. so, for example, if a bullet flies backwards from a crater into the gun, it is not because the line of causality goes backwards and it was some how “postdetermined” to get reverse fired, it is because someone aimed a gun at that crater and in that moment the bullet decided that was the gun that shot it, it could have been any other empty gun, wielded by any gunman and it could have happened whenever the gunman decided it was time for it to happen. so it is still us going forwards in time what decide when things are falling up, or getting repaired from exploding, or being shot backwards, simply by waiving our hands on top of it. it is not time travel is just a fancy form of telekinesis. which is bullshit.

and it is this central bit of gobbledygook what explains all further convolutions that spiral outwards. add on top of this ever increasing forms of quintuple crossing, sextuple agents, shell companies within fake agencies, within false fronts from a mediocre spy novel on steroids and you get a recipie for the audience being unable to give a shit about what is even going on.

i need to stress at one point the movie explains the grandfather paradox, as if people didnt already know about it and as if it had anything to do with the actual plot.

so this is a bad movie, right? it sound pretty close and shut.

well

thing is, i am a huge fucking nerd, primer is one of my favourite movies of all time, the homestuck interlude at the end of act 3 is the greatest piece of media i have ever read, i have written pages upon page analyzing almost nowhere, i can keep throwing names around: fleek, fine structure, hpmor, im not telling you these titles to brag about how smart i am for liking big brain boy stories, im telling you this to emphasize that i love weird intricate messes to pick apart and unravel and boy tenet is a fine example of that.

i cant help but respect how unconcerned with being liked this movie is. nolan is doing whatever the fuck he wants according to his ridiculous designs and is paying no heed to people enjoying the show.

but on the other hand, every time i finished one of the stories i just mentioned my first reaction was that of a kid coming out of a disney ride, i wanted to go immediatly back, this time with pen and paper, ready to draw diagrams, to chart formulas, to parse through it all at 0.5x the speed to make sure i got everything.

i certainly would have to do that for this movie, the problem is that i dont particularly care to. it doesnt feel like a fun puzzle to solve, it feels like homework, homework to figure out a movie that im not even sure i liked all that much.

which is a pity, maybe some day ill go back, ready to understand it all, but that day is not soon. tenet, it could have been great.

#tenet #christopher nolan

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silvrwore-blog · 6 years ago

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---------- OOC.

hi im mitch : ) im a big f*king idiot, too. let me preface this by saying it is currently uhhhhhh 6 AM est and i still haven’t slept yet !!! i thunk i started this around 10 PM last night but im slow. really slow. everything about this ??? a hot mess ™ . it isn’t going to make a lick of sense !! but thanks for stopping by sdkjsadklsd. anywhomst im mitch, i’m twenty, in the est, and im ready to rock and roll buckaroo. my guy here? he’s an idiot. but he’s my idiot. therefore, i have to love him. the history is long ( i know because i started there first ) so ill make a little tl;dr with some simplified notes on him. i think that covers ??? everything ?? so far ? im always down to plot in the DMs or i have discord at oovoo javer #4855 mwuah !!

---------- APPLICATION.

( jack lowden, twenty-seven, cismale, he/him ) – have you seen bennett sharpe, the financial strategy student around oxford yet? i hear they can be conforming and convivial, but those who know them insist they’re reminded of beige turtlenecks and plaid blazers, eraser shavings on an old oak desk, and eagerly belting out the latest tunes when they’re around. rumor has it that due to stress, he had a breakdown in high school that put him a year behind his peers and his family has tried to cover it up. is it true? only time will tell… ( mitch, twenty, she/her, est )

---------- HISTORY.

THEY’D ALMOST STRUCK GOLD with bennett sharpe. smart enough not to have to buy your way into college, but not smart enough for his peers to despise him. the gusto of an entertainer and the charm of a damn good politician ------------ but they’d never been quite able to buff out that chip on his shoulder.

the sharpe’s were an interesting case. too good to slum it with the poor folk but not rich enough to always be able to sit at the BIG table. a family who paved their way in law and then literature. blood in the supreme courts and in those scandelous little novels that housewives sipped a glass of wine over. at least that had been his mother’s contribution to the family fortune ----- a wonderful dinner conversation.

--------- “ oh mother, what raunchy debauchery are you slaving away at now ? “

bennett was the oldest of three ( followed by one girl and then another boy ). he was a good son. would have been a real golden child to anyone else --- well, with a little love, care & patience. normal family things. from a young age he had a memory unmatched and a love of strategy games. a youth who loved to test his brain. which was fine and dandy, however, it wasn’t quite leading up to being a judge. he wasn’t following in his family’s footsteps. he’d gotten a little... off track. he had just been better with numbers. money crunching. equations. it had been a tough pill for his family to swallow but swallow it they would. afterall, it hadn’t been their biggest concern when it came to their oldest son.

it had always been there. carefully covered up with the occasional “ he’ll grow out of it “ or “ stop it. nothing is wrong. “ maybe that had been the real giveaway to why he’d never amount to anything big. “ he’s FRAIL. no spine. “ a good and competent doctor would have had him diagnosed and taken care of. seventeen and he’s missing classes but not for normal rich kid things. the world’s bigger and scarier than it ever was. college and a future right around the corner, parental pressure, it snowballs until it is all too much. one day of important testing and bennett sharpe never shows. he had not been on campus at all. sometimes when the panic became too much, it did him well to distract his mind ---- go outside. count the blades of grass or the birds in the sky. breathe. it’s what he had done that afternoon. left and tried to sate his mind. but nothing had done it for him that day. nothing to cure him. the world? bleak. the future? uncertain. weapy and tore down. the little devil on his shoulder named ‘ desperation ‘. he needed out. his parents phone and the message becomes crystal clear...

--------- “ i can’t do this. “

so he’d ‘” turned tail and ran “, branded some sort of listless coward. he didn’t know what was wrong with himself, nor did his parents. the only thing they were certain of was that they would not have a son coming apart at the seams. they’d grilled him. no one was going to take him seriously or he’d never find himself in any important position if he was always going to go chicken. a breakdown never looked good. it did not matter to the rich or the poor, one would still be ridiculed. but corporations wanted someone steely, confident, put-together. all the things bennett was not becoming. so they’d contacted his school - wrote it off as a vacation. save face. “ oh i got bored. decided to go to switzerland instead ! couldn’t miss it, you see a chance of a lifetime had just presented itself to me, so.... “. however, no donations or pleading on his parents part were going to make up lost time. bennett was held back a year for being unable to complete the necessary testing and exams. oh how he would have to sell that vacation. but it hadn’t quite been a vacation, had it? long days trying to put together the pieces. some days were easier than others. some time to try and buff out that chip. the chip remained.

years down the line and one enrolment to oxford and he’s a lot better than where he started. he’s found ways to cope. some good. some bad. he’s more indendent than ever which has led him to branch out and take care of himself. no watchful eye of mother and father needed. perhaps that’s why he now has therapy pamphlets tucked away inside untouched textbooks. away from prying eyes. just an idea, maybe one day he would water it and watch it grow. go see someone. anyone. now he’s cheery. lively. a staple at parties. heeds his father’s advice and brushes shoulders with the right people. finds himself in the right places. the future is looking bright. oxford may soon to be a closed chapter in his life, but the years had been good to him. until, well, they weren’t.

the riot club had been for the best. extravagant. a little bit of chasing the finer things in life. that had worked out just well for him. death had never been a thought --- or at least it was always kept at a distance. never upclose or personal. a relative here or there, miles away, he’d barely given it a thought. a funeral and they were gone. parties and death were not supposed to intermingle. maybe that was why it was so jarring. the world is a little heavier, bearing down on him once more. he tries not to pay it any mind when he has to excuse himself twice more than usual for a smoke outside. brushes off clammy hands like they’re nothing. accidents happened. he’d find solace in that word --------- accident.

---------- SPARKNOTES / TL;DR.

voted most likely to be that annoying fuck outside your dorm at 3 am who doesn’t know how to turn down the volume

dumb enough to try anything once

despite some tough times he’s just ??? full of life ??? life is a PARTY. and he’s making the most of it now, thank you very much.

“ are you not ENTERTAINED ? “

he’s not the worst,,, but he’s not the best. yknow?

nice enough to get drunk and talk to just about anyone but snobby enough that you bet he’s going to make some insensitive comments. it’s that -- not rich rich enough to be totally elite, but not hurting enough to be able to sympathize with people who aren’t bringing in a f*ck ton of money.

his family ( on his dad’s side ) has always been involved in law. typically judges, and some who have made it to be top dog in their fields. his mother is a writer who does rather well. she’s published a handful of book and his father has also published law-related books which brings in money. his dad is pretty high up in the field but bennett’s got his suspicions that some of the income might just be payoffs. i wouldn’t envision his father as being someone hard to be bought. he might want to grill his son for being spineless or weakwilled but i’d imagine that’s just a family trait inherited.

which uhh brings me to my next point. bennett can be a bit of a follower. there’s not a whole lot of “NO” in him. which may also hurt his relationships because he’s not going to stand against injustices or anything if it is going to put him in harm’s way. which may help perpetuate that rich or snobby idea surrounding him because he’s not about to stand up for the common folk if they’re being belittled for their threads or schooling.sure, he might talk to them here or there in the right occasion but he’s not going to stand for them. he’s sitting pretty. he’s not looking to ruin that.

essentially he’s not going to have your back unless it benefits him.

as far as his secret goes, i think he’s worried about the stigma around mental health and how he’d be perceived but i think a lot more has to do with his family. because he knows they won’t be happy if it gets out or if something further happens. they just ain’t supportive in that department, chief. but he doesn’t want to be cut off or anything and not just because he’d be worried about who was putting money in his pockets. he just doesn’t want to stir the pot any further, even though he should really seek help. i kind of vagued on it but i’d say he has gad ( generalized anxiety disorder ).

---------- CONNECTIONS.

am i picky?? nah. if he can fill something, slot him in. we can chit chat. mwuah

i already know this section is gonna get so neglected because im too tired to think

uhh give me an under the wing sort of relationship ?? listen if bennett can’t repair himself maybe he can touch up someone else. someone he might see something in. buds ? who knows ? not me. but it could b cute.

long time friends !!! doesn’t have to be since childhood but someone(s) he’s known for a while now and they click.

anything angsty ? is good too.

typical friends / enemies plots too !! spice things up.

i need sleep : ) good night !!!!!!!!!!

#no amount of hair gel #suits or ties #will ever cover up the fact he's a f*cking moron #mental health tw #smoking tw #drinking tw #ive been awake 17 hours #sounds like a good time to call it quits #oxfordintro #i will be back in a bit to do dms !! :')#after i snooze a lil

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inkth · 6 years ago

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cream of the crop pt. 1

pairing → mygxreader

genre → angst (in future parts), fluff

warnings → for this part, there are no warnings

word count → 6.6k

okAY so fyi this is unedited for now and i might come back to switch certain things up but oh my god in bon voyage there was a part where yoongi got a strawberry milkshake and i stg this was in my wip waaaay before that so when i saw the gif i think i wailed a bit bc he made it literally canon my friends!!!! hope u enjoy this guys im chwishfsdkfhl

Yoongi just wanted a god damn strawberry milkshake to release work stress. not to be grabbed by the arm by a stranger begging him to role play as some perfect boyfriend or another.

There are a variety of absurd experiences Min Yoongi has been unfortunate enough to cross within his current lifetime.

Thinking back, there was that time Yoongi picked up the phone to his childhood best friend Kim Namjoon, who thought he was being robbed by foreigners on the side of the street at one in the afternoon, and frantically asked Yoongi to please come save him by the way its the sidewalk on 44th street bring a gun!

“What kind of fucking robbers let you make a phone call, dumbass?” Yoongi barked into the phone, pretty upset that his afternoon nap was interrupted by some nonsensical disturbance.

“Oh shit Yoongi, you’re probably right,” Namjoon exhales and stays on the phone with him though, as he tries to solve the mystery of the tourists who just wanted to let Namjoon know that he had dropped a couple bills. They were discreetly carrying knives because they were opening a wood carving stand a block over, Namjoon explained later. Yoongi was quite the unamused listener.

There was another time in his already awfully long life when Yoongi himself was found caught in the middle of a fight between a Minecraft gamer and a ballerina carrying a flower vase, but that was a long story where it finally ended with him being released from custody as soon as the police had determined his innocence.

Or that other glitch in his simulation of a life when he had to bring nine cats home with him after work. Yoongi never knew he had a cat allergy, but he learned it the hard way that night as he sneezed so hard for so long till he couldn’t hear anything out of his ears.

So when Yoongi is feeling something in the air tickle his nugget of a brain that he should skip his ritual milkshake tonight and head on home right away to avoid whatever this coming disturbance is, Yoongi does what Yoongi does best, and he ignores his intuition because who cares, what Yoongi wants is his McFreaking milkshake.

Everything goes smoothly. Yoongi successfully orders a milkshake at the bar. He successfully receives the right order. He successfully starts to drink the milkshake in the quiet serenity of two am on a Monday.

But then he fails to leave as soon as she comes in the door, the same girl who legitimately flings the entrance open like some wild animal and he is so horrified he can’t look away from this scene and makes the mistake of meeting your gaze.

The damage is done, however. He knows you’ve selected him as your prey among the barren tables save for one lady picking up fries togo and the waitress staring at you in fear.

“Lady, please get off me,” he groans, pulling your fingers off his biceps as if they’re blood hungry leeches. His arm is free for maybe a second before your fingers fly back, grip stronger than before and this time Yoongi really can’t do much with just the one tired, exhausted hand; the one that isn’t holding the milkshake glass.

He’s whispering a string of curses and damnations at One Week Ago Yoongi for slacking with working out. Or any of his past Yoongis, really. He rests his head on the tips of his fingers, weighing down on his elbow angled onto the table.

“You don’t understand,” you wheeze dramatically, eyes round with terror. Uh, hello? I don’t care enough to understand, Yoongi mentally comments. “My parents, they-“

Sure, you might’ve been exaggerating everything a little, but what’s a little show and extravagance when your damn life is on the line? A matter of life and death knows no tranquility.

He looks at you half lidded; boredom and ‘are you really still talking to me Ican’tbelievetheaudacity’ washing over his face doing a whole awful lot to create a grave aura around him. You can physically see the deathly ash gray energy come off him in waves like something from an anime.

At this point, Yoongi’s thinking he might just ditch you, make a run for it to never see your crazy ass again and the idea is so tempting but instead, he responds. He’s not too sure why, although it’s probably ‘cause he’s paid an awful lot for this deliciously overpriced milkshake that has yet to be completely consumed. But the fact of the matter is he does respond, even thought you’re clearly not in the right state of mind and he really should be telling you to go home.

“Listen, they’re not gunna care if your boyfriend’s a bum. It’s your life anyways, why would they care?” Yoongi notices he’s got about another sip or two of his milkshake and then he can hightail it outta this joint and a certain spazz grabbing onto him.

You let go of his arm, thinking maybe you came off a little too strong and run your hands over your hair to pat down the flyaways contributing to the messy, crazed look.

“Now, I really absolutely must get going… miss,” Yoongi has finished his drink with a content sigh, a little disappointed that the experience was partially ruined with your improv tug of war, but content nonetheless. “Don’t worry, I’ll go ahead and take care of your water,” he reassures you dryly and stands up from the bar’s long legged chair, grabbing his expensive leather jacket. The best purchase he’s ever made in his life, he tends to overshare this fact to anything or anyone with two ears and legs, seeing as how he wears it everyday through wind, rain and the scorching heat.

Your eyes flash in one last lunge of desperation and your integrity flies out the window and disappears into the sky like a balloon. Floating away… peacefully, gone forever till all that’s left is your soulless body embarrassing yourself like this on a Monday at two am.

“Please,” you choke out one last time and sincerity taints your voice, everything you’ve depended on relying on this thin line of his consent.

There’s something about it that Yoongi finds himself hesitating for as his mind reels from the way your fingers grip the end of his jacket sleeve.

“I really, truly only need your help for a couple days. I-I’ll even pay you.”

Your eyes dart to the floor from his face with your final push, unable to face rejection one last time from help you so ridiculously need. His body halts, and with this, you take it as a sign for your fingers to relax and stop holding his like some child refusing to let go of their lollipop.

There’s one thing the weary should know, and it’s that one specific thing hits a chord with Min Yoongi that makes him who he is.

“Shit.”

Hana looks up at you in what seemed like concern and a bit of ‘damn, you live like this?’ tainting her face. You keep going back and forth between looking down at your most recent message on your phone and up to her face, still contorted in confusion unable to face the reality that is your life right now.

You’re not okay, this can’t be happening — everything you had worked up for up until this point, only to be destroyed by your parents’ wrath would be the endgame for your life. You need to lie down and forget this day even happened.

“Are you, okay?” She can’t help but emphasize the ‘okay’ with leaning her head in a tilt.

“Hana,” you squeak out, hands pressed against your eyes till you see stars. It’s late, you’re braincell-less from such last minute studying and you’re absolutely, completely fucked. And not in the nice way you normally would want to be.

“My parents are coming over and want to meet Jungkook.”

Hana lets out a strangled gurgle of terror from the back of her throat as she runs her hands through her dark hair and crawls over to you to peer at your phone screen. Now that she knows you’re fucked, you want to throw your phone out the window and run away. Or just throw yourself out the window. You stand up from your sitting position on the floor and take deep breaths counting to ten and back again.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. “You’re screwed.”

You twist your face and tell her, “Thank you so very much for the vote of confidence! I’ll just have to remember that while trying to explain everything to my parents.”

Hana’s pained smile emits an apologetic vibe as she continues to voice her thoughts. “Damn. Seriously though… what’re you gonna do, I mean. You still have… two days?”

“I don’t even know anymore,” you wail, falling back to the floor and hoping it’ll somehow open up, and take your body into the recesses of the earthy ground. “Is a day or two even enough time for him to come back from that trip?”

“Wait, you mean you would have your parents actually meet him?” Hana looks over at you incredulously. “Like, we’re talking about your boyfriend Jeon Jungkook, right?”

Backtrack – So, okay, yes maybe you had a few flaws. One of them was the fact that you were maybe a little too prideful. As in it’d physically pain you for your parents to know that your boyfriend was a bum who did absolutely nothing.

You had lied to your parents from the very beginning, pulling off the scam with a few explanations here and there saying, “Oh, no he’s too shy. He won’t take pictures!” when your parents wanted to see who this guy was. The occasional “He can’t meet up with us because he’s studying for his very big exam haha you know how these studious nerds are sorry!”

You wince from her tone, speaking as if he’s a demon sent from hell, and start collecting strands of your hair to comb through with worry.

“I mean, if he were here I could play him up as the guy I made him out to be,” you mused. “They don’t even know what he looks like. Probably think he’s afraid of cameras, poor baby.”

Hana looks slightly revolted from your gently verbalized “uwu” and snaps her fingers to garner your attention back onto the matter at hand.

“Wait- I,” you sat back up, all the blood rushing this way and that causing a weird feeling to consume you and you see black for a good three seconds before it dissipates. “Don’t judge me for what I’m about to say.”

“Done,” Hana nods. “I live with you and judge you enough already.”

You look at her unimpressed, lips curled into an unamused smile.

“How about I get a fake boyfriend? Like, right now?”

Hana doesn’t even know where to begin she laughs because she thinks you’re literally joking but then stops when she knows you’re not. “Uh, you do realize it is two am, Y/N. Where are you planning on going to look for an accomplice to role play your perfect boyfriend?”

“Honestly speaking, I’ll probably have to go to a bar or something.” Just saying this out loud was enough to acknowledge that you yourself were not thinking straight.

“You’re just going to walk into a bar and pick up the first dude you lay eyes on is what you’re implying…” Hana trails off, as she begins to re-evaluate the situation. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you sigh, brushing off your jeans as you stand up. “But this is my only option.”

“Well, you could always tell the truth to your mom and dad. You don’t have to be so full of it, Y/N. And listen, you’re 20 going on 21… how much longer are you going to hide this from your parents? You’re literally an adult.”

You frown and start walking out of the room, grabbing a jacket before you head outside and to the car. “I’m not full of it,” you defend your poor self. “I just need my parents to think I’m living my best life with the best boyfriend so they don’t rub in how they were right all this time or whatever overprotective shit they wanna pull on me.”

Hana holds up her hands as an act of surrendering and picks up your phone from the floor to hand it to you. Before it’s passed off however, a pinging sounds and she calls out the notification.

“Your mom texted you to say–“ Hana squints from how dark your phone’s lighting is. “They’re actually planning on starting to drive over tonight and should make it here by tomorrow evening?”

You start to panic, countless thoughts crashing the calm of your mind like stormy waves as you start to assess your problem at hand. You need to find a fake boyfriend, said fake boyfriend must learn what must be learned about you and said fake boyfriend will need to do a good enough job to keep your parents away forever and hopefully this will work because you don’t know what you’ll do the next time your parents come to “check up” on you because they think something’s fishy with this hypothetical fake boyfriend.

You let out what sounds like something between a sob and a groan as you snatch the phone from Hana’s hands and run out of the house, debating between driving to the nearest diner or running away from home.

See, the problem with your parents were that they were overbearing to the point that they even hated the fact you decided to attend college out of state. Mind them, it was only one state away, but it did absolutely nothing to soothe their constant fretting over your wellbeing and life. You were fed up with the relentlessly strict parental control and went crazy in college – finally dating, drinking and partying – although it was still at a good minimum.

To expose to your parents that you were dating an undecided major who spent the money he could scrounge around for on video games was a one-way ticket to hell so in order to save face and keep up the façade that you in fact were living your best life possible, you dreamt up of the littlest, white lie.

Your boyfriend was a perfect boy. One grade above you, one his way to graduating as a summa cum laude. He had an internship and was already guaranteed a job after college as a biomedical engineering major. You painted the perfect picture so you could present yourself in the best way possible to your parents.

The way your hard work was about to be shattered by the way so many coincidences piled on top of each other was a bit frustrating to say the least. You weren’t sure how you kept this a secret for so long and frankly, how your parents didn’t doubt you from the start but now they believed him to be a camera shy, facetime shy boy that only spent his time studying.

You didn’t even want to start on the numerous occasions you and Jungkook had ended a night fighting because of this ridiculous situation, that sure, you put yourselves in. You weren’t sure why you did this, but of course it wasn’t because you were too prideful.

Yoongi never lets money slip out of his hands. Call him frugal, call him thrifty, he doesn’t care. He just knows that if it’s worth the price, he’ll do it.

“Fine. I’ll do this. But I want cash and I want half of the end amount right now,” he knows he’s being demanding and it does look like you reek of eau de poor college student but with the request you’re making, he thinks it’s only fair.

You look teeny tiny and exhausted from the way you crumple your body on the seat next to him and it’s annoying how much work you’re going through because of a simple lie, but you can’t back out now. The way you’ve been explaining the situation to him is really making you sound a little crazy but hey, you’re only human and this isn’t the weirdest situation Yoongi has ever been in.

“How is this even going to work?” Yoongi looks at you as if you haven’t thought this far ahead. “Haven’t they seen his face? Is he even okay with this? Are you running a scam show? If this turns out to be a mess, I want no part of the repercussions.” He squints at you and crosses his arms, eyeing you suspiciously.

“I’m not stupid,” you roll your eyes and scrunch your face from irritation. “They’ve never seen pictures or anything of his face. I’m thankful my boyfriend doesn’t have social media, but I mean, even if he did my parents are technologically inept, anyways.”

“This is so extra, this is like, almost kind of idiotically stupid,” with a snort, Yoongi continues to doubt you. “I can’t believe I agreed to this. You better pay me the remaining amount as soon as this shit’s done. I’ve got things to do.”

“I’m sure you have so much stuff to do concerning your things,” you bite back and have to hold steady the urge to punch his weak looking noodle arm. Just keep thinking about how grateful you are that this sort of handsome spawn of the devil is agreeing to save your ass and livelihood.

He huffs and has the audacity to look offended, loosely crossing his arms across his chest. “Whatever, run this by me again.”

“Okay,” you sigh. You nearly teeter off the edge of the stool from sleepiness, an untouched glass of water in front of you and you watch the droplets trickle down the sides of the condensating cup. “My name is Y/N and yours is Jeon Jungkook. I’m 20 and you’re 21…”

You start to list off factual information and the details get a little blurry as they re-enter his mind because now it’s almost 3:20 in the morning and Yoongi just wanted a fucking milkshake but now it’s like he’s in college all over again, cramming all the notes and tidbits of information he can into his mind to purge it in five hours on the dreadful test. Even though Yoongi’s suffering, he starts noticing these things about you that’s definitely a little confusing to him and gets him a little worked up but in all the right ways.

He pays attention to the way when you laugh you move to cover your mouth with your hand, it’s kind of endearing. Sure, he’ll admit he thought you were pretty behind the air of desperation and super strange vibes you let out when you first marched into the door. Like, perhaps very pretty. He’s not sure but it might be something to do with the shape of your eyes and the pink of your lips. But the tendency you have to tilt your head when you smile is something that Yoongi starts noticing too and–

Yoongi catches himself thinking these thoughts that are so out of bounds and unnecessarily loud. It’s okay, he mentally argues. These are fake boyfriend feelings and it is late. I am exhausted, I don’t know what I am talking about.

And there you have it folks. Yoongi solves this problem of the Case of Weird Emotions with a simple answer. He’s just a really good fucking actor and can get into character so well that he starts thinking the way his character would. That’s all. And now Yoongi is mentally punching himself because he sounds really fucking weird. And fuck, he needs to stop cursing because he needs to be a well polished, dapper, perfect boyfriend.

He shudders and you see it, not because you’ve been looking at him but because he does it in a really obvious way that calls for attention in your peripheral vision.

“Are you alright?” You ask warily, eyeing him because what if he’s having a spasm attack holy shit?

Yoongi grunts with his absurdly deep voice and says, “Yeah, go on.”

“I wish we had more time,” you whine, rubbing your probably bloated face with sweater paws and something tickles Yoongi’s heart from the way you look and speak although he does his best to ignore it.

“It’s okay, I’ll remember this, I’m pretty sure… let’s just try and come up with a code word or something for me. Like, if I don’t know something I’ll say or do something and you’ll cover for me.”

You nod your head and for the first time that night it seems like you really smile and it’s cute, but not cute enough to swindle Min Yoongi’s heart. Of course not.

“Do you know how to crack your fingers?” You ask after a few moments of deep contemplation.

Yoongi suddenly looks small because he’s shoving his hands in between his thighs to cover them from the cold and you almost coo as he nods his head yes.

“Great,” you look away from his figure to calm yourself. “Just do that and then I’ll fill in. That’s the signal.”

“Does this mean we’re done now?” Yoongi’s voice has gotten raspy over the span of time you’ve spent with him because of how he spent most of it just listening to you and barely opened his mouth.

“I dunno,” you nervously gnaw on your lower lip, another habit Yoongi has picked up on fondly. Or not fondly, not at all… at least only fondly with fake boyfriend feelings. “I’m really not sure how this is going to turn out. Thankfully my friend is going to stay at a friend’s house to avoid more possible complications.”

“Alright then, give me a call tomorrow morning and I’ll get over to your place by two in the afternoon.”

You shake your head, “No, come earlier. We need as much time as possible to go over this. Remember? They’re arriving sometime that night.”

Yoongi groans from the revolting sentence he has just been forced to hear and he cries, “But I can’t! You’ve kept me up for this long evil lady, I should’ve been in bed falling asleep hours ago!”

“I’m sorry,” you feebly offer. “But I really need to nail in a lot more with you.”

Yoongi grumbles a wide variety of things under his breath comprised of but not limited to, “You’re lucky you’re cute”, “Fuck, I need a good ten hours of sleep to retain all this information, though” and “Damn it, I want my money”.

“Fine– 11 is the earliest I’ll be there. And are you sure you’re okay with giving me your freaking address? You’re going to let a stranger know where you live and you’re fine with it,” Yoongi lowers his tone towards the last bit in uncertainty.

“I’ll be fine because my roommate is a police force trainee who has armed me with a panic button along with pepper spray. You’ve been warned,” you wiggle your brows. “Plus you’re my fake boyfriend and you want the money. I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”

You both get up from your chairs, leaving cash tips and Yoongi’s expression changes into one of respect and newfound admiration.

“Duly noted,” he chuckles as he holds the door open for you to walk through, the brisk, autumnal air enveloping you.

Outside in the parking lot you head towards your car and see only a couple other vehicles, one of them being a motorcycle and you don’t think twice about it till Yoongi is waving goodbye to you as he walks in the direction of it.

“Wait,” you call out and Yoongi immediately halts, turning to face you with an expectant raise of his brow. “That’s your ride?” You point at the motorcycle.

He smirks and shoves his hands into his leather jacket as deep black as the galaxy and his hair swirls around from the wind above his twinkling eyes.

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

You groan, wondering if you have enough money to fork up however much it would cost to rent a car. You’re pretty sure you don’t, but if it’s for this boy, the best you could pick out on a quiet Monday morning at two, the cream of the crop, you’ve really got no other choice.

You just hope this cream of the crop has a license to drive a car.

The next morning you wake up at eight, sitting up in your plush bed as memories of last night flood your mind in horror. Restless sleep tightened your neck through the night, stress eating away at you and your ability to sleep peacefully.

You groan, peeking at your alarm clock and take a deep breath before you whip your hair out of your face and harden your resolve by sheer will. You pull of the covers and step out of your room, trailing for the kitchen in order to brew yourself some deeply needed coffee.

“Coffee first,” you mumble. Priorities.

Hana is sitting in the living room, a mug on the coffee table in front of her. She looks up as soon as she sees you enter from the short hallway.

“Mornin’ sunshine, there’s some coffee left for you,” she chippers cheerfully. “You got up pretty early. You’re meeting the man of the hour soon, right?”

“Meh, don’t remind me,” you grumble, shuffling into the kitchen and from the coffee machine, you see her kick her slippers off and finish the last of her homework. You pour the still hot liquid holy grail into your Totoro mug and start to mix in cream and sugar seeing as how you’re not as abhorrent as Hana with her love of black coffee.

“But damn, you were just a wreck last night,” Hana teases. “I can’t believe you really got someone to do something this crazy for a girl they just met.”

“It was the money,” you point out, sipping the first few tastes of coffee. It needs a bit more sugar. “I’m so fucken exhausted! Listen, I don’t even have that kind of money to pay him.” You can hear your stash of hidden cash for emergencies underneath your drawer already crying for help. This could qualify as an emergency, you doubtfully suppose.

Hana is still recovering from the surprise of hearing your insane plan worked, even if she found out last night. You remember how you entered the house, satisfied with how quote on quote smoothly the ordeal went even if you were about to be $600 short on money and stressfully sleep deprived the next morning. Hana walked out of her room with sleepy eyes and a bit of bedhead to you getting ready for bed so early in the morning, although she gained a bit of consciousness after hearing how your plan had indeed, succeeded.

Now that it’s the morning and your adrenaline rush had bled away and you’re in a clearer state of mind, doubt starts to trickle in and you are wondering what in hell you were thinking in the first place. You shake the thoughts away and focus on the task at hand.

“I’ll be getting out of the house soon,” Hana comments, starting to pack up whatever textbooks and notes she’ll need for the next day or two.

“You’re the amazingest,” you gratefully smile at her and try to convey your upmost sincerity. As best you could, at least.

“Yes,” she agrees mindlessly. “I am, aren’t I? I am so amazing—so amazing that I am literally leaving the apartment that I share with you for you and the stranger to bond and learn how to role play as lovers. It sounds crazy, I know, but here we are.”

Your smile fades away as you look at her in playful disbelief. “Go to your room, pack your granny underwear and your granny clothes, and leave this household!”

Hana scrunches her nose in distaste, “They’re not granny clothes! They’re retro! And thongs or whatever strip of fabric you claim are underwear are so uncomfortable, literally leavemealonegoodnightDevil!”

You laugh as she prances to her room to stuff her duffle bag full of clothes she’ll need in order to survive for the time she’s gone and you glance at the clock to see it read 8:30, and you go off to your room to get ready for the very. Incredibly. Extremely, long day ahead.

It is at ten that you have finished cleaning up your room, taken a quick shower and waved off Hana out of the home you two share. You walk back inside after seeing her depart safely promising to text you when she arrives, even though it’s the daytime and she’s just a good ten feet away, you never know what could happen. Even if she’s almost a police officer.

Which, speaking of, she has reminded you countlessly about, telling you to pass on the message that she will personally come to fuck him up if anything happens to you. You appease her with saying you will, but you sure as hell don’t plan on doing so.

Closing the door, you sigh deeply and it leaves you a little lightheaded as you lean your back against the door.

“Oh, shit.”

It hits you then that this is really happening. Like, your idiotic plan your brain thought up of that you thought was foolproof was really happening. There were so many holes that could expose you in a second and the thought of you being ousted in front of your parents tugged at your pride riddled mind.

The anxiety twitches your fingers as you pull up your phone and it leaves you staring at his message from last night.

yoongi: see u at 10:30

You forget he suddenly promised an earlier time at the last minute and you reckon you’ve got yourself about twenty or so minutes for him to show up at your door. It’s enough time for you to beat your face with makeup and put on some presentable clothes.

At 10:30 sharp he arrives at the door and it catches you by surprise because he doesn’t seem to be an advocate for timeliness. You tug down at your cropped sweater one last time before you open the door to see Yoongi in all his slightly bloated, freshly showered glory.

He looks a bit nervous, seeing as how he kept worrying over this very situation he should never have gotten himself into over the night not to mention what if you sent him the wrong address. Yoongi’s eyes flit from your face to the room behind you but he manages to keep his jittery

“Hey,” you sigh in relief. “Thank goodness you’re here. And thanks for coming so early.”

Yoongi loses a bit of the nervousness in his system and seems a bit more relaxed than he was when you first met him, probably because he’s gotten a better grip of his surroundings than last night, when he was completely hit with a curveball. In the face. At 500 miles per hour. In the form of you. HIs face loses the tension in the muscles and his lips take on a nonchalant smile. You also notice he’s wearing the same leather jacket as last night and you wonder if he has anything else available to wear.

“No worries,” he says in that gruff voice of his but he clears his throat quickly and yeah, you notice he’s still pretty high strung. This whole tribulation is probably a first for him too.

“Come on in,” you gesture inside, and make space for him to make through. Not that he needed much anyways being the tiny man he is.

“Alright,” he mutters, stepping into the apartment and slipping off his shoes. He doesn’t really pay attention to the apartment anymore but rather your outfit. You wearing sweatpants that still hug your legs and figure looks really good with the bit of skin exposed under the hem of your cropped Adidas sweater and Oh my God shut up, he scolds his train of thought.

It’s just that psychology of attraction at first sight, or whatever. Sure, it’s not his first time meeting you, sure, but you two have only recently met. Yoongi is certain he is a man of strong will. He would never let himself start feelings these things for someone who is already in a relationship.

He tears his gaze away from you before you can notice his burning stare and starts to run his eyes over the layout.

“Well,” you laugh strangely, trying to cover your skittishness. “This is where I live. I guess we can run over what we talked about last night over there on the couch.”

You point at the black sofa and Yoongi nods, walking over to sit down stiffly.

“Did you want something to drink?” You ask, noticing the way he stays pretty quiet. This won’t do. Your fake boyfriend is a great conversationalist.

“No, I’m fine, let’s just go over what we have to. I don’t wanna mess up…” Yoongi trails off and a hint of concern tinges his voice as you smile.

“Sounds good,” you agree.

“Okay, first things first,” you start reciting the basics as you are sat next to him. Yoongi does a really good job of staying on task at first, he swears. He’s listening intently but all of a sudden he’s thinking about how sweet and pretty your voice is and next thing he knows he’s thinking about how hard it is to just even meet your gaze, because your eyes are just such a wonderful outlet of all your emotions it’s really hard to meet them and not just go on and dive into the pool that is you and then—

“We might have to gel your hair back,” you muse softly and Yoongi is shaken out of his schoolboy crush-like trance.

“Fuck no. No,” Yoongi is firm with his decision, holding his hand out to emphasize his stance. “The forehead stays covered.”

You can’t help but let out a laugh as you cover your mouth with your hand and say, “Fine.”

Yoongi notices once again how you have a habit of doing that when laughing and he hates how it’s pretty adorable.

“How did you get here, anyways?” You ask suddenly. “Not with your bike, I hope…?”

Yoongi grins at you and you notice that he’s one of those gummy grinners and it does a little something to you but you avoid it at all costs and swallow it down.

“I Ubered here,” he said simply. “I figured I could say my car’s in the shop if your parents ask.”

You widen your eyes and nod in approval. “Brilliant! That’s really good Yoongi, thank God I don’t have to pay for a rent a car.”

“Speaking of payment,” Yoongi is reminded of your debt to him at the passing mention of money but is glowing from your praise. “Need I say more? Don’t worry about the Uber fee, I won’t be holding those against you, call it service.”

“How kind of you,” you grimace, hearing the cries of your emergency money once more, as you tell him to stay put. “I’ll be right back with half of it.”

When you count out 300 and carefully tuck the rest away, you turn around to walk out only to see Yoongi peering in your door, arms crossed and looking quite interested.

You jump at the sudden intrusion-like non-intrusion and scowl, asking, “What are you doing here? You scared me shitless and you’re very lucky I didn’t shriek.”

He shrugged, tousling his dark hair from his eyes and replied, “If I’m gonna be your fake boyfriend, I should know what your room looks like. As your fake boyfriend, of course.”

You groan and tell him, “Get a good, quick look around, because here’s your money and now we’re leaving.” You slap the wad of cash onto his unsuspecting palm and push his shoulders out the door.

“I know you kind of know me because of all the information I might’ve been burning into your mind the past 24 hours about yours truly, but I barely know a thing about you and we’re really acquaintences at best, still.”

Yoongi lets you lead him out of the hall into the living room and with a quick look at your lockscreen, you see that it’s still only 11:14. He stuffs the money in the back pocket of his jeans, which fit him quite nicely around the thigh area, if you may say so yourself.

“Fine,” he mutters and you barely catch it with your already dull hearing.

“What’s fine?” You ask, sitting down on the sofa as he takes a seat as well.

“I said, fine. What do you wanna know about me?” He asks, finding interest in the boring coffee table.

“Uh,” you trail off, unprepared for this kind of a question. “Wait, do I want to know more about you? I should be thinking of you as my boyfriend Jungkook, putting history and information behind you would make it too easy for me to differentiate…”

Yoongi rolls his eyes with a condescending sigh that you somehow know isn’t very genuine. “Just ask three things about me, so we’re not complete strangers,” he offers a compromising deal.

You let it sit with you for a second. If you made a slip up would you be able to recover? It was already hard enough, calling him Yoongi—already so hard enough that it was weird to remind yourself you’d have to be calling him Jungkook in a few hours. Eh, screw it.

“Where do you work?” You ask your first question tentatively.

“I work as a part time server for now,” he replies as if it’s something of a bother. “At the barbecue place downtown.” You have a brief idea of where it is, having passed by it a few times while you were in the vicinity.

“Alright,” you huffed. “What’s your other part time?”

Yoongi looks a bit confused at first with the way you worded it, but he catches on quickly seeing as how he’s got a fast train of thought.

“Oh, yeah. You remember my bike? I wanna go into autotech service. Or something like that, like engineering,” he vocalizes his thoughts and grows a bit red.

“That’s really awesome,” you smile at him and he grows comforted by the idea of you approving his passion. Although he shouldn’t be so—

“Do you have a girlfriend?” This question takes you back by surprise too, and you swear it was a slip of your tongue.

“I—“ Yoongi wasn’t ready, didn’t even think you were one bit interested in his love life but he answers directly. “No.”

For some reason you like hearing that answer, something like satisfaction burns at your tongue and heart and you don’t understand why when you have a perfectly cute boyfriend named Jeon Jungkook (the real one) you can call yours.

“Sorry, I didn’t know where that came from,” you giggle nervously.

Yoongi brushes it off and breathes evenly. He’s not sure why he’s worked up uncomfortably like this and he wants to skip to the part where this is all over and he goes back to moping around, living out his normal, daily routine.

We are acquaintances, he keeps reminding himself.

You two end up talking about yourselves a bit more, because pictures of your dog reminds him of his dog and from there the conversation flows a little too perfectly because now you’re intrigued by the mystery that is Min Yoongi and you want to know more and everything about him. This goes on for the next six hours and it’s filled with so much talking and laughing and you’ve even cooked up lunch because oh my goodness you found ingredients to make pancakes.

Then dawn rolls around as if it’s only been a mere thirty minutes and to be honest, it feels likes you know Min Yoongi more than your own boyfriend Jeon Jungkook.

You shake that last thought off, startled from the way you so abruptly stated that. Internally, of course.

Yoongi’s barely opened his mouth to ask you another question when-

The doorbell rings and it echoes throughout the inside of your home and holy shit it feels so intimidating and loud and Yoongi just isn’t ready, but can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now if he’s this scared of what’s to come.

You glance at him almost as if you’re seeking refuge in someone’s comfort so he grits his teeth a bit because between the two of you, he realizes he’s got to stay the rock.

Yoongi narrows his eyes until they resemble somewhat to a feline’s. He’s the rock.

And not just in the Dwayne Johnson sort of way.

oooooookay oh my goodness this is unedited but i wanted it off my shoulders before i got to work so here this is please enjoy but send me feedback or anything you'd like through my inbox thanks!!!

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trcubledycuth · 7 years ago

Text

how i operate.

I feel bad for constantly spamming you guys with ooc posts, but every time I’m on tumblr and talking to someone else, I get reminded of the fact that we all have very different ideas of what writing on here is like and what it all means. Obviously there are a mass amount of writers who all have different quirks and ways about handling their blogs, replies, threads, and memes. So, here’s mine, because I feel like it’s a little different than most.

GENERAL OPERATIONS IN A CRYSTAL CLEAR FORMAT.

I don’t do drafts in the sense of “omfg, i have 80+ in my drafts!”, hell no. That for me is easily the biggest fun sucker. Maybe I’m an asshole, but if I read a response and there is nothing come to mind, nor any excitement to continue, it gets dropped. And because of horrendous experiences on tumblr where people get way too touchy and oversensitive, I alert no one. Though sometimes, it’s legitimately a case of oh, I didn’t see that! Which is highly plausible. If it takes months for me to get a reply, chances are my interest is straight up gone. I’m not saying I don’t understand why it takes so long sometimes, whether it be not in the mood, not enough time, whatever else there is, I get it. But that’s not what I’m into. You have to make time for writing and if you don’t, you don’t. The people that get the most engagement and activity out of me, are typically the people that have plotted up elaborate verses that I’m living for.

They’re typically people that are threading with me on GoogleDocs and people I talk todaily. They’re also the people I know in terms of what they enjoy writing and therefore, I feel more comfortable dropping things on them. Whether it be a new, unannounced verse, a big plot drop, or ridiculous as fuck memes, I know (mostly, or at least generally) they’re DTF and living for the exact same things. Simply put, we’re on the same page. It isn’t to say I don’t want to write with new people, or start new verses, or just generally interact, it’s that I’ve got a comfort zone and I know said people are also in my zone. These people typically send me a million memes because sometimes, my brain just isn’t cooperating for replies because I like to make them perfect because I’m ocd as fuck and want to ensure that my partners are actually getting replies they’ll want to reply to and hopefully replies that move our threads further along and add to the overall story. If writing on GoogleDocs and all partners agree we want to post it on here, i’ll link to it in a ‘read only’ format for people that like to keep up with the story progression of things.

MEMES.

If I send you a million, it’s not because I’m a needy asshole that expects/hounds for a reply (especially not instantly, so please never apologize for it being ‘late’). It’s because sometimes you get a meme and it does nothing for you. So I send a lot in hopes something will stick, but also so you’ll have something to write if you’re in the mood or feeling bored. I’m a very chilled person and I feel like because I write a lot it gives the impression that I’m not a chill person and I just never want that to seem like a thing? As it is, this inbox sits at 80+ memes and asks right now, yet I delete absolutely nothing because you never know when the mood strikes, and if you knew the amount of memes I answered from months ago, it’d probably help the whole situation. If I don’t get to your meme, trust me, it’s not because I don’t want to, it’s because nothing has hit me yet and I’d like to wait until I’ve got something awesome brewing before unleashing whatever on you. Feel free to send as many as you want, because the more options I have, the more likely it is you’re going to get something. And that’s not an ‘oh please send me memes!!!’ beg, that’s literally me being straight up as to why it seems as if some people are ‘heavily favored’ versus others.

THREADS.

It’s absolutely not necessary, but I’ve come to realize I’m far faster with threads on GoogleDocs than I am on here. Formatting is easier, it’s not a hassle thanks to Tumblr’s buggy as fuck activity page, and I just generally can look at my DocHome and see what needs responded to. I don’t have to struggle to find something, nor do I have to struggle with accidentally losing posts because my ass pressed off the page or my computer crashed. And yes, I’m aware I can write in a program to ensure that doesn’t happen, but formatting still is a complete and utter bitch. I also don’t have to spend ten minutes combing through and picking, nor creating an icon.

WRITING.

Try as I may, there are some writing styles on tumblr that I can’t seem to swallow. I want to write with everyone, but realistically I can’t. I’ve also got this thing where I turn into Ditto and slowly adapt writing styles if I see it enough (and it’s not near my own), which Idespise, therefore I’m very selective on who I follow/write with. Chances are if I’m following you, you’re in the clear but there are a ton of quality people I don’t follow thatdo follow me and I don’t want people thinking it’s because they’re ‘not worthy’ because tumblr culture is weird as fuck. It’s impossible to ignore the fact I also write a lot. This isn’t going to change. I’ll certainly try to write less by request but it doesn’t come naturally to me, therefore one liners aren’t within the realm of possibility for me, nor do I follow accounts that only do one liners because it clogs my dash and so on.

PLOTTING.

This is such an important thing for me. I lowkey like to leave no rock unturned, and as much as I’d like to ~wing it, or just write and see what happens; that seldom works for me,especially if I’m not familiar with your fandom or characters. Plotting for me isn’t ‘omg they can meet in the three broomsticks and we can see what happens!’. It’s a great scenario, but my interest is 0%. Surface level interactions are great but I’ve been writing for a long time, so what would have me pumped back then (just to be writing her), does nothing for me now because I’ve been far too spoiled and have too many incredible things going on. That’s not to say what we could do isn’t incredible, it’s just the sole fact that I need more. Or plotting, or constant snowballing of plots. It’s just how I work. I know that’s too much for some, and if that’s the case, please unfollow! I know I’m not for everyone.

STARTERS.

I’ve come to realize I flounder with these. Like, I struggle hard. I know there’s about ten+ people I owe starters to and I want to write with you guys, but I’ve legit just been unable to produce something that I don’t classify as total and utter garbage fire. Therefore if you’re one of these people that have been waiting, please know it’s not you. If you want to throw something up for us? By all means. Wanna send a meme? Go for it. Want me to send memes? Tell a sister. Just know it’s literally not because I’m a raging asshole, but … More often than not it’s also because it’s in a fandom I know I’m going to fuck stuff up for because while I may love it, that doesn’t mean I remember all the details, and whatnot. In short, I suck, you don’t.

DRAFTS.

I’ve made a page where you can see what is currently in my drafts. Sometimes I really don’t see responses have been made, other times I drop threads. The things on my draft page are things I have full intent to reply to, though to seem like a total hypocrite of my first point, it’s taken me a while. Please know the intent is still there.

IMS.

I never mean to leave anyone on read, but I have hardcore adhd. Tumblr’s IM system isn’t really the greatest for that and I lose track far too easily. I also get a lot of messages and I never want to discourage anyone that wishes to talk, but I do need to throw a disclaimer out there because I’m not very good at keeping up and often go days without checking them because they stress me out. It’s not you, it’s literally me, but they turn into an avalanche and I often avoid them. I’m also really awkward because if I sense you’re not into the convo, or we’re trying to plot and I’m not getting anything in return, I zip out and die, so it’s literally? IMS are a battlefield.

REMINDER.

This is a sideblog, I can’t follow anyone and don’t need to be following you in order to interact with you. If I do follow you it comes from @thebrightestwltch or @wrathcfdragons. This was also copy/pasted from Hermione’s account so please excuse the hp theme.

#YOU SEE THIS? { PSA }#ᴅᴏ sʜᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀɴ ᴏᴏᴄ ᴛᴀɢ? sʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏᴏ! { ooc }

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aquarianlights · 7 years ago

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Hey Killian, it’s been a good minute huh? That one strangers back from a long stay in an institution. I’m sorry for not being around to give you the kind words I wanted to. You’re a beautiful man my dear. I love that you can go into long flowing monologues over the littlest things. The way you put words together is unlike anybody I’ve met before. Keep being you, my dear Killian. You’re stronger than you know and I believe you can be anything you want. You can do it!

It’s okay. You need to take care of yourself, too, okay? I’m going through a major, major rough patch in my life and honestly the only place I can vent is on a completely anonymous site where no one can find me. It’s the one and only place I keep anonymity. Which is very weird. I mean, I’m transparent about who I am and everything but the site is so... small and unknown that no one would ever trace me back to anything like the normal social media sites. It’s unreal. I’ve used it a lot in the past, but I was never really, er... anonymous on it. I stretch the truth a bit on there to make me feel more comfortable. Nothing about my life. Everything about my life on there is true. More-so facts about me. For instance, I don’t disclose my transgender status and pass myself off as cisgender very blatantly. Little things about myself like that that would make a reader NOT connect it to ME. Lies about Killian not being my first name. Lies about my initials. As my initials are KQR. Stuff like that so if someone WERE to find me outside of that site, they wouldn’t so much be able to connect the dots unless they were to find this answer right here, which is highly unlikely. But honestly... if it does come to light, I wouldn’t be that upset about it. Because the lies aren’t big and it’s not like I’m forming friendships or bonds with anyone there. And no one looks up to me or forms bonds with me like they do on social media. It’s more of a ....follow my journal entries and send me messages if you want. I can make certain entries private if I want. Blah blah blah. Like. I don’t make anything private, obviously. Anyone who knows me would know that. In fact, anyone who knew me WAY back in the day would actually know what site I’m talking about and yes, if you’re one of those people and you’re thinking about a certain site that I used to be very popular on a long time ago anonymously in the top most popular diaries/journals section for... gosh, months, years? I don’t even know. But if you’re thinking of it, you’re right and yes I’m back there and yes feel free to go find me. I’m p easy to find if you know what to look for. My entries are all true to my life so if you know what site I’m talking about, then you’d be p intimately involved in my life in some way (or... a stalker of some sort LOL) so you’d instantly be able to read even ONE of my entries and know it was mine either from my writing style or from the content of my life that I write about.

I mean, I’m definitely not suppressing emotions like I used to. That’s stupid and immature and the most childish thing anyone can do. Like, no, I’m not a fucking teenager. I’m 26. I’m not suppressing anything. I express my emotions freely and let them flow however and whenever I want or need them to in whatever way I desire wherever I desire. But it’s also nice to have a place where I can be completely anonymous to every single goddamn person on that site and just... be able to vent nonstop and not bother anyone because of my chronic pain issues and the psych issues that come with having severe chronic pain and the stress that goes along with my life and my majors in my two schools. It’s ridiculous.

I don’t know if it’s been scientifically proven that bitching and whining and being loud and noisy about your issues when they’re severe and interfering with your daily life can help... but it has ALWAYS helped me. ESPECIALLY when they’re physical. I feel like that’d be a neuroscientific view of triggering the active distraction mode versus the passive distraction mode in your brain when you literally cannot do anything because of the physical pain and there are no pills or IM or IV meds to help anymore and all the physical therapy, electrode therapy, gels, creams, patches, and anything else will not help. The only thing left is a neurologist... and for that, I have to wait for my insurance to transfer. Sigh. LONG fucking wait and who knows if it even will, tbh. Fuck the government. Fuck america.

Anyways... I’m just having a really rough time because that’s the biggest issue right now and that’s just overshadowing all the other “major” issues which would be like... the major issues in a normal person’s life that would p much shut down even the most neurotypical of people, but I seem to be handling it like a boss. So idk. I’m a fucking demi-god, though, so that’s why probably. Pfft.

I cannot even BEGIN to list the amount of adulting things I am doing on the daily that people are not even slightly seeing because it’s all overshadowed by the fact I need really long breaks and need to be laying down a lot because of the fact I now have the prodromal symptoms to scoliosis and need an MRI stat. So that would just be fucking FANTASTIC to add on top of fibro and ehlers danlos. Fucking shoot me, tbh. I’d take death over this chronic pain any day. ANY DAY.

The pain is so bad that I’d take all the years of suicidal MDD where I was attempting suicide every other day and slicing myself to shreds all the time, barely existing as just a pile of apathy and lethargy, unable to even function as a normal human being coz I was too busy trying to die all the time and fighting with all the people who were forcing me to stay alive.

I literally stabbed myself with a pen just to try to take my mind off of chronic pain and see if acute pain would make it better. Wanted to stab myself with a steak knife but couldn’t do it... coz my A&P classes have me freaked out I might hit something... ugh. And I begged my roommates to hit me over the head with heavy objects or punch me as hard as they could in the temple or strangle me or rip a chunk of my hair out or stab me for me or ANYTHING that would cause major acute injury/pain. They wouldn’t do it. And the pen stab felt like a mosquito bite for about 2 seconds. And all my very serious migraines that impair me to the point of being unable to function at all just feel like pressure now. My joint and muscle pain from fibro and ehlers danlos... are practically gone because of how bad my spinal pain is. And when they examined it, sure enough, ligaments were out of place and either popped out or inflamed...very badly. And the lumbar region ... that part of the spine was just... too far down. It was reaching way too far down into me and sharply pressing onto or into something. And it’s twisted. The wrong way. And it’s fucking agonizing. Thank fuck the doctor was like “Jesus christ, fuck the opioid epidemic... you need this.” Because everything I have been using---voltaren gel, tens machine electrode therapy, lidocaine patches, oral nsaids at the maximum dosage, tylenol at the maximum dosage switched every two days with nsaids, lyrica, physical therapy, valium, who knows what else at this point---hasn’t done a single thing and it is only getting worse and worse every single day. And it’s getting to the point where my gait and my speech and my gestures and my vision and my concentration are..... gone, so to speak. And I’m experiencing the worst sense of vertigo ever and I’ve almost blacked out so many times that it’s terrifying because I have to lay on the nearest object---NOT lean, but LAY. The floor, a bed, a table, a chair.. LAY down on it. Otherwise, I would black out. And I have absolutely NO idea why.

A neurologist is my last and final hope... coz I’ve seen every single other fucking major specialist, barring a chiropractor which is a LAST resort option. If anyone is medical... you’ll all know why and I know you’re all snickering and nodding along with me.

ANYWAYS

Life is fucking painful and I am playing Dark Souls on nightmare mode. I thought living with crippling suicidal depression and a ton of psychotic disorders was daunting and impossible to live with. HAHA. Fucking hell, man. I look back at all those years and fucking LAUGH thinking about it compared to the pain I feel right now. NOTHING compares to it and I would take it all back and get off my medications if someone would just take all of this pain and these physical issues away. For fucks sake. ...thought it was impossible to live with... thought it was the worst thing in the world... I was such a child. Lmao.

So..... that’s the major thing that’s overshadowing everything else that would break a normal, neurotypical person and would probably break neurodivergents just thinking about it, nevertheless doing it, so idk how the fuck I’m functioning. I really don’t know. Here I am at 6am writing this reply because the pain is always too intense to sleep with. Even with these pain killers. Sigh. Fuck this.

Ahem... Rant over. I really go on rants about the most random of things. Jeeze. But that’s why I love myself. And why a lot of people love me. Or hate me. Either or. Doesn’t matter which. Haha.

But I really hope you were put on the “good” side and not the “bad” side or the “bad” building so that you don’t have ward induced PTSD or came out worse than going in. I’ve never been on the good side, but everyone who has are the people who are always the ones who are the ones saying “No omg wards saved my life and they are great whine whine wards are amazing and I’m gonna voluntarily commit myself every time I’m feeling anxious now hahah they’re so good for the soul!” and stupid stuff like that. Maybe not to that extreme NORMALLY, but I damn well HAVE seen it to that extreme quite a few times and dear god it’s annoying because they are the ones who are set in their ways and won’t listen because they’ve been in wards so, obviously, there’s no such thing as a “bad” side or they would know. So they call to find out or ask at their next voluntary admission and see if there’s such a thing and when they get the answer of “no” on the good side, they come back adamant that there’s no such thing because they don’t know how that works, how the laws work, and what the entire purpose of the “good” versus “bad” sides are and how they came about in an historical context and they don’t even bother to listen attentively for the slight codes over the speakers or the hushed phone calls to and from each side. Or, if they’re lucky, it’s COMPLETELY out of sight and out of mind because it’ll be a completely different building instead of a different floor or different wing. And then they get REALLYYYYYYYYYYY set in their fucking ways. In that case, it’s fucking IMPOSSIBLE to talk them out of it because “Well what you said didn’t happen, so it’s wrong. Duh.” Yikes. Just... yikes. Like, hello, hi, yes, I’m Killian and I stopped counting my institutionalizations at 20 times so I don’t know how many I’ve been in now but I’m p sure I know how it works now. Not to mention I dated someone who worked at one. So you can just, uh, fuck the hell off, yeah? (That’s usually some snarky response I have in my head when I’m flabbergasted at the ignorance these people have, honestly, to not know of the existence of the separation of the two and WHY they are separate and WHY it’s all hush hush when you’re on the good side and you don’t hear about it and WHY you have a grand fucking jolly good time on the good side and feel it genuinely helped, WHITE BECKY. ugh. Me at these people, seen below, as a corgi.)

...

BUT ER YEAH SO UH

I really hope you were on the good side so that you actually got help and so that you didn’t come out worse and with a huge extra shot of PTSD attached to your already very valid issues. And I’m so sorry if you got accidentally or purposefully thrown on the bad side. It happens accidentally a lot. Hell, an older woman with Alzheimer’s was on my unit once. It helped everyone, though. There wasn’t any blood spilled while she was there because everyone was doing their best to help her. She didn’t belong there at all and it was just her grandkids fucking her over for some reason we weren’t privy to and ... oh jesus christ, man, like thank fuck I have a heavy medical background. Came in handy. Really did. Ofc, as soon as she left, it was back to the blood and nonstop fights and lockdowns and thorazine cocktails and getting strapped down for nothing more than a sarcastic comment and all the physical and verbal abuse from staff and patients alike and the not getting seen or heard and this and that blah blah blah I could go on for hours.

But ahhhhhhh......... Just really hoping they purposefully (or even accidentally... either way is perfect) put you on the good side and you came out either the same, okay, or better for it. Take care of yourself and heed your own advice.

I want you to do something for me, okay nons? I want you to take every bit of those kind words you say to me and I want you to imprint them on yourself. Can you do that for me? Take all those words and internalize them and make them your own. If it helps, imagine I’m saying them to you. Okay?

I mean, in the end, you do you. Coz you’re an awesome person and a loved person. So... if that means ward time, then okay. That’s fine. You do you. I had to learn that the hard way. It’s not a bad thing. The only bad thing is the PTSD associated with it all and ofc all the things associated with PTSD... which is uh... you know... kind of er.. LIFE CHANGING IN THE WORST OF WAYS.

SO take care of yourself, okay? Dw about me. If I die, then it’s a purely good thing. If I live, then it’s an equally good thing and bad thing. Either way, I win in both scenarios. Since there is no getting rid of chronic pain. Especially the two chronic conditions I’ve been diagnosed with and now THIS spinal thing that I have no idea what it is except the prodromal to scoliosis or possibly actually scoliosis. . .which could and WOULD destroy my life. So. Right now, I have no reason to live, tbh, The pain is THAT intense. Yes, I have reasons but they’re overshadowed by how intense the pain is... Except for Echo. He’s the only thing thing I’d have a hard time leaving. I’d have to find someone I know and trust with steady finances throughout their entire adult life who knows how to handle spitz breeds and can properly take care of a neurotic 17lb pomeranian and really has the time to devote to him and all.

Most people cannot handle a pomeranian or spitz breeds in general and I honestly did not know that until I got Echo and owned him. I thought I knew what I was getting into just from extensive research and my grooming parlour history and my volunteering history and my pet sitting history. But... no... I had no fucking idea the extent at which you have to go for spitz breeds. And double coats. It’s... WAY above and beyond. And then on top of that, he’s diagnosed neurotic which is a little different in terms of what that means in dogs than in humans. So he’s, er... snappy and he’s very... adversarial.

“A neurotic dog can be defined as a dog that is excessively anxious and highly emotionally upset.”“If your dog seems moody, in need of constant reassurance, and excessively suspicious of other dogs or cats in the house, or even of human beings then chances are you've a neurotic dog.”Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/1113508

That’s a pretty damn good and concise article on canine neurosis. Echo is more extreme in his neurosis than most. It happened before we got him. That’s why they called him “The Bully” and told us “Oh no, you don’t want him” when I was adamant that “Uh yes. That is going to be my dog and you cannot tell me otherwise. I don’t want the others. I want him. He is my dog. He is MY dog. I am HIS human. We are family. . .” I have never had a connection wth an animal like I do with my son.

...which is why I cannot die for him. And why I DO have one reason to live for that DOES overrule the pain and how intense it is.

The rest of my reasons... some come close, some are right at the border... some are right ON the border... but none are above it. If you get my drift. Echo is the only thing keeping me here.

...and honestly? It sucks. It sucks that I have to remain here because that’s how bad the pain is. My dreams to stick with pre-med and follow it through all the way to my dream residency program and one day be an attending at that hospital and take on a fellowship.... That is one of the VERY few things that are so close to the top of the border that it’s almost bursting through to Echo level... but not quite. And that kills me. Because I finally found my purpose and I may be knocked out of the game before I can even find out if I can make it there. Because of my body and because of physical disabilities that I cannot help and could never foresee. It had nothing to do with genetics. Nothing to do with my drug use or my alcoholism. Nothing to do with any of my habits. It was all completely fucking random. It was literally... Ehlers Danlos and fibro? “Some people are just born with it.” That is verbatim what my rheumatologist said to me when I begged him for answers on why this was happening to me, holding back tears. “Is it genetics? Is it what I did in the past? I used to do a TON of illegal drugs and drink a ton, too. Usually at the same time. All day and all night. It was terrible. For years upon years. And I’ve been anorexic for a long time. And this and that and... I don’t know. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN!?” “Some people are just born with it.”

Fucking hell.

Alright, I’m gonna shut up.

But, man, that felt good to rant.

Thank you for being my muse. Lol.

And I appreciate the encouragement so much.

People either LOVE my little novellas to death... or they’re like “What the fuck is with you ranting about absolutely nothing when someone just says “hey” to you? Completely unnecessary.” I’m like “Uh, FIRST OF ALL” and then I complete that WITH A NOVELLA LMAOOOOOOO. And usually get the answer “Uh, okay, professor. I’m not reading that.” And it’s great because I usually didn’t write it for them. I usually write it for me. So I know they’re not gonna read it ahead of time because of hat comment.. so I just write about a ton of stuff that I’ve been needing to vent about for a long fucking time and get it out and no one will read it because they think it’s a furious, passive aggressive rebuttal to some nice guy(tm) telling me he hates the way I go into tirades like this. HAHA. So it’s a win-win situation for me when people like that pop up in my life. The simpletons who give me one word introductions or one line phrases. I get to respond with huge novellas and they get SUPER offended about it for some reason and feel it’s necessary to tell me how offended they are in that passive aggressive manner and it’s just... ahh, it’s so refreshing to me because it feels like my weekly debt collector calls. I absolutely LOVE my debt collector calls. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, if it’s a debt collector, I stop what I’m doing to answer it. It’s just so much fun. I feel bad for one of them, though, coz it’s the same guy who has been assigned to my case and I end up changing my spiel to him every time. So now LAST TIME HE ASKED ME “Is your name [birth name]?” as per usual to confirm it was me before going into “This is a call to attempt to collect a debt” spiel. And I answered with “You know, I’m actually not sure. You tell me.” And he FUCKING HUNG UP ON ME AND I HAVE NEVER LAUGHED SO HARD IN MY LIFE. Every debt collector call I get brings so much joy into my day that I just... even if I’m having the worst day and I’m sobbing on the couch about to slice my forearm open... if I debt collector calls me, I will answer and pretend to be a forlorn widow, twice abandoned, which is obviously why I’m crying because my partner just ran out on me. TRAGIC, AMIRITE. I like it when they have enough heart to ask me “What’s wrong” when I say “I just... don’t know if that’s my name... I’m in such dissarray right now that I don’t even know who I am anymore.” And they say “Maybe I should call back later.” And I say “OH no no, this is a fine time. I need a distraction. Desperately. Please. You’re all I have.” Which then normally chimes the hesitant “This is a call to collect a .... actually... I just... what’s wrong?” And then I have to force myself to keep crying as I put my 10 blade down and go “Well, you see, it all started when...” and I make up some super elaborate story, choking and voice shaking all the way. Improving on the spot. It’s SOOOOOOO much fun. Jesus fucking christ. And by the time I get off the phone, I’M NOT SAD ANYMORE AND I DON’T WANT TO KILL MYSELF ANYMORE!

But the ones where I can just... answer EVERYTHING they ask me with a question... and then when they FINALLY (very frustrated at this point, ofc) get to the end in double or triple the time that they should have, I’m guessing, and can ask me “What would you like to do about x amount of money/How would you like to pay/take care of this?”, I instantly drop whatever facade I had going to say something like “Bitch please, you can send that bill to the orange in the whitehouse. He’s the one who is forcing it to continue happening in the first place.” I keep that one as concise as possible. It has a major variation of that every time, though. Telling them to send it to Trump with the implication of how opposed I am to our healthcare system and how angry I am about my exorbitant medical debt and how completely unnecessary it is that I have it and how the 1% should be fucking paying it until the ones in power fix it to the right system, with absolutely bitterness seething from every fucking syllable like fucking poison. And then, ofc, they stutter on the end of the line: “I, uh... we... we can’t do that, so, uh... how do you want us, to, uh...” “Well, dear, let me spell it out for you. No, I really will spell it out for you. Are you ready? I have the address to the white house. Got a pen and paper handy? Computer?” “What? No, you can’t jus-” “Okay good. So the address is-” And I go on to speak OVER THEM with whatever address is listed online that I can find in the moment through a quick google search and as they try to cut me off, I just talk as loudly as I can. And every time they try to cut me off or tell me they can’t, I just get this super chipper, sadistic tone and go “Awe, thank you so much for sending it for me! I’m super excited to hear the response from a piece of fruit! Don’t think those tiny hands are big enough to hold a pencil, but we’ll see, eh?” And the jokes just go ON AND ON and I have a fucking MILLION of em and they don’t STOP and they’re terrible and I DO NOT STOP until the debt collector on the other end is so frustrated that they finally say “I’m going to put it down that you’re not going to pay.” And I just keep responding with. “You’re such a sweetheart for getting that payment taken care of for me! Now, where did you say you worked out of again? What’s the weather like? Super hot here in New Orleans... gonna be one HELL of a summer. GET IT!? HELL!? HAHA” Click. Line dead. And then I’m just fucking howling as I drop my phone.

And my POINT is (yes, I actually have a point, wow haha) that when good guys(tm) feel the need to point out their unnecessary opinion about my completely unnecessary novellas of ramblings, I like to respond with one paragraph of a “FIRST OF ALL” message so they think the ENTIRE message is going to just be a passive aggressive rebuttal... and then I have a bunch of fun with the response and get to vent a fuckton about what’s going on and get to also have a ton of fun and throw in “did you know” facts and horrible, horrible puns and dad jokes and then end it with a paragraph that seems like it would be fitting to a rebuttal that was started in the first paragraph because I legit do want to write a rebuttal but I don’t care enough to say much but I love to use the opportunity to vent in a public space (usually here on tumblr when a nice guy anon sends me a question I deem stupid or in a threat on fb that I deem stupid and a nice guy(tm) is mistreating my friends and I have to sigh to myself and step in and make everything better, as per usual, because confusing the masses with doublespeak and making people question whether or not they’re absolute correct information and absolutely wrong information alike is right or wrong is my specialty).

Public venting is the only way that things make me feel better because I need an anonymous audience. I don’t want to force people to listen to me whine, but I need a platform where people CAN listen to me whine if they WANT TO (and surprisingly a LOT of people do lol) and get feedback and help and similar stories and advice and such of their own free will without me prompting anyone or asking for it. Helps a fuckton. Just writing stuff down in a journal or notebook? Doesn’t do a fucking thing for as a coping mechanism. Forcing people to listen to me? Boring and defeats the purpose and isn’t a coping mechanism for me coz that means they’re not actively listening. Like psychologists. People who are fucking paid to listen. I don’t trust people who are active listeners. I need passive listeners. People who will overhear a conversation in a coffee shop I have on the phone with someone in a corner while there’s a group of perfect looking, white, trust fund, fraternity and sorority people chatting and laughing loudly in their expensive brand name clothes in the middle of the shop and have that one person come over to me after I’m done with my phone call to say something about how they like this or that about how I talk or was interested in what I was saying and wanted to know more about x or y. Or something else about a topic or the way I spoke and gestured or something weird like that that really intrigues me and makes me feel heard and appreciated and loved because I never prompted anyone into coming to me. Never.

And that, my friend, is the story of why the grinch stole christmas.

No, that’s the story of why Killian literally needs a public platform to vent on.

Okay now I’m REALLY done. I swear. I promise. I fucking PROMISE lmaaaaoooooo. Sorrryyyy.

Nah, I really hope you’re okay, fam. Coz I certainly most definitely 200% am NOT haha.

Live long and prosper.

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