#like it's a disgusting cramped room full of sweaty people that keep shoving into your personal bubble. it's shit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

coldmilkcreamery · 3 years

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Luminescent Moonlight

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: nct dream x male reader 🥀🌹

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1862

𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: y/n sneaks out of the dorms every friday night. the dreamies notice and follow him only to find out that…

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴/𝘀: degradation; swearing

𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘆 🌙

𝗮/𝗻: uhh... idk how to feel about this? at first i was proud of it but now reading it i'm like... meh but enjoy ig ^^ this marks the last day of our launch week, which means we won't be posting daily anymore :(( we have 2 requests and we're working on them, if you have any feel free to drop it at the ask box !! good night <33

> 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 <

Both hands on the clock point at 12 again, signaling Y/N’s departure from the NCT dorms. As their newest and youngest member, Y/N was thought of as the sweetest, purest, and on top of all, most respectable member of NCT. He graduated Neo High with honors, was friendly on campus and auditioned for SM only once, unlike the sea of trainees who had to audition for more than three times. Because of this, he was viewed as this innocent prince once SM told the boys that he would be joining NCT. But, just like any cliché scenario, none of them knew of what Y/N did in the dead of night, when the moonlight shone on the city and no one knew him, not even by his silhouette.

✦ 𝙨𝙞𝙭 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 ✦

“Has anyone noticed Y/N during the weekends recently? He usually isn't sleeping on his bed when he’s supposed to be.” Shotaro asks, genuinely worried about him.

“He probably just goes to the comfort room and stays in there for the whole night or something, no biggie.” Jeno says sarcastically, shoving a mouthful of popcorn into his mouth as he blabs his mouth.

“Hm,” Jisung mumbles, skeptical of Y/N’s actions, “there is definitely something up with him.” Jisung wasn’t one to get jealous often but with the addition of Y/N into NCT, the beloved, innocent, has-never-committed-a-sin Y/N, the attention wasn’t on him anymore. He was a tad bit jealous, but he would never admit that out loud.

“So what do you wanna do about it then?” Jeno replies, still staring straight at the television playing Titanic, “Confront him about it? It’s not like he’s gonna budge. What are you gonna do then, force him to tell you? Huh?”

“Quit being an asshole Jen.” Jaemin slaps Jeno sitting beside him, a frown on his face.

“How about we just, you know, pretend to sleep and wait till he gets up and leaves, then follow him?” Sungchan suggests, equally as worried as Shotaro. Both the former and the latter know how hard it is to be new members of a group that has already debuted. So, they felt the need to let Y/N know that he didn’t have to keep leaving the dorms, for an escape or whatever.

“Then it’s decided,” Jeno speaks up, finally peeling his eyes off the television, “tonight, we find out what the fuck Y/N has been doing for the past 6 weeks.”

✦ 𝙨𝙞𝙭 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧 ✦

Y/N rises up from his bed, making extra effort not to make a noise. He grabs the hickory duffle bag from under his bed and unzips it to check if he’s had everything for his night out ready. He zips it back just seconds after and drapes it over his shoulder, getting ready to leave. He pulls his hoodie up and ties his black converses before opening the wooden door and leaving the Dream Dorms, oblivious to the boys’ plans.

Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Jaemin, Chenle, Sungchan, Shotaro and Jisung are led from the warmth of their dorms into the cold autumn night as they follow the figure wearing a black hoodie in front of them. The 8 boys walk for what seems like hours, crossing street to street, going through alley to alley, main road to main road as they do nothing but stay in silence and tail the (H/C) boy in front of them. They don’t know how many neon signs they’ve passed by now, only noticing how red ones become more and more evident as they venture deeper into the city.

“I think we’re in the red light district.” Haechan blurts, being met with shushes from the 7 other boys he was with. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Y/N of course, who pauses and turns around, only to look at a dark, empty street behind him. Y/N furrows his brows, confused, as he resumes his amble towards his destination.

Hiding behind garbage bins, the 8 boys sit in disgust as they hide from Y/N, scared of being caught halfway through their stalking session. Haechan peeks his head out and speaks up once again, but this time quietly, “The coast is clear.” All 8 stand up synchronized, noses scrunched as they glare at Haechan.

“No shit sherlock,” Chenle whisper-shouts, hues of scarlet and crimson decorating his face, “it’s red everywhere! Of course we’re in the red light district!”

The others giggle as they stare at Chenle.

“No, you dumbass,” Haechan replies calmly, “a red light district is like a place full of clubs and.. you know…” He trails off as the other seven’s brows furrow.

“Let’s not jump into conclusions,” Sungchan cuts him off, remaining positive, “let’s just keep following him.”

They sneak behind Y/N once again, trying their best not to get caught. It was only a minute or two before they saw Y/N turn a corner. The 8 slowly creeped up on the opening of the alley, just in time to see Y/N enter a building with an indigo sign, which stood out in the sea of bright, neon red signs.

“You don’t think… he’s a…” Jaemin spoke up as all of them shared a glance. The eight of them stood in silence, too scared to speak up, under the illusion that Y/N may be a male stripper. That wouldn’t be a problem but he was… 17.

“Only one way to find out.”

♪♪♪♪...

The deafening music boomed from the speakers, resonating into the indigo aesthetic of the club. Contrary to the word, this side of the club was the opposite of aesthetic: sweaty bodies stuck together, giving the 8 boys an unsettling feeling. They had almost started contemplating on leaving the said club, but not before Jaemin spots a quiet section, free of the sweaty bodies grinding against each other. It wasn’t free of people, per se, as there were a few people making out here and there, but it definitely wasn’t as congested as the indigo dance floor they had previously stood on. They saw vacant seats at the bar and, just like anyone who had been walking and hiding for 30 minutes, took a seat. All 8 of them had their backs turned away from the bar as a familiar voice spoke up.

“What can I get for you?” Y/N asks, a smile forced on his face. Y/N’s blue velvet suit shimmers under the spinning disco ball, exhibiting various accents of blue. Azure, cobalt and lapis and sapphire compliment Y/N’s face as he looks down, glass in one hand and towel on the other, wiping. He’s wearing nothing but a blue velvet blazer as a top, chest out as if he was as the beach. The boys turn around, mouths agape and unable to speak. They lock eyes with Y/N when the latter looks up due to the long, uncomfortable silence, eyes wide open, his body frozen in shock.

Attempting to cover his exposed chest, Y/N drops the glass and immediately places his hands flat on his chest, the feeling of fear, embarrassment and surprise devouring him.

“Y/N what the fuck?” Jeno blows up, completely losing his self control, “What the fuck are you doing in this… this.. strip club? You’re sev-”

Y/N unsticks his palms from his chest and re-sticks it onto Jeno’s mouth, shushing the older. “Shhh. let’s…” he pans his eyes from left to right, staring into his hyung’s disappointed faces, “let’s talk outside. Wait for me.”

The boys head towards the exit as they pass by the cramped dance floor once again, the silver disco ball spinning endlessly above them. They exit the club, the chilly breeze of the autumn night slapping them on the face once again as they step out. They wait in silence, leaning on the wall, occasionally staring at the indigo sign above them. Just as Chenle was about to break the silence, the cushioned doors of the club open slowly, revealing a boy in a more decent outfit. Y/N steps out, head burning holes into the stone floor. As soon as the doors of the club seal shut, all 8 of them went into chaos.

“What the fuck?”

“Is this what you’ve been doing for the past 6 weeks?”

“What are you doing with your life?”

“I can’t believe you’re actually a fucking stripper. What made SM recruit a stripper?”

He let himself get scolded but got caught off guard when Jisung uttered those words. “Wait, stripper?” Y/N looks up from the now-molten floor, eyebrows furrowed, tears pricking the corner of his eyes, “I— how could you even call me that?”

“Don’t act like you didn't have your chest on display before we got there.” Jisung replies, disgust written on his face, “Is this really what you've been doing for the past month and a half? Whoring yourself out? I guess you love people’s attention on your body don’t you?”

The gates of the dam that had held his tears finally gave out, spilling endlessly as Y/N tried to find his words, “I— that’s just the uniform for us bartenders… I work in a club so… we’re required to—”

“Exactly Y/N!” Jaemin shouts, “You’re 17 for fucks sake, why the fuck are you working at a bar? You’re a fucking idol! You're going to be publicly announced as a new member next month! What if people start recognizing you, huh? Then what?”

“I-I’m sorry hyungs. I—” tears gushed from Y/N’s orbs, coating his face, “I just did this for money.” Disgusted looks turned to looks of confusion as the 8 boys stared at Y/N, puzzled.

“M-my mom is in the hospital, she’s dealing with stage iii breast cancer and,” Y/N says, shaking, unable to complete a sentence without stopping, “and my family couldn’t afford the hospital bills, and the company wasn’t paying me yet– and I– I couldn’t wait any longer so when I saw a poster one day, looking for a bartender, I applied and lied about my age. Hyungs I’m really sorry, I- I didn’t do it because- because I liked putting my body on display. To be honest I was really uncomfortable but– but I would do anything for my mom and—”

Y/N pauses as he feels a warmth envelope him, curing his heart’s hypothermia. “We’re sorry. You know we can always lend you a hand, right?” Jaemin says, regretting his thoughts. Renjun adds to the two boys hugging, then Shotaro, then Chenle, and soon enough, all 9 of them are one; all hugging it out in a giant fluff ball, in the aged alleyway under the moonlight.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung states, voice softer as ever, “for calling you that. And, I know your mom is strong, she’ll get through this.”

Y/N felt warmer, and suddenly, under the moonlight, all his worries and doubts vanished. Nothing was more calming than a hug from the 8 boys he loved the most. They stayed like that for as long as Y/N needed, the moonlight’s luminescence lingering in the air.

End.

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙚𝙙: 01.11.21

𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙: 01.12.21

#nct dream x male reader #nct dream male reader #nct x male reader #nct male reader #renjun x male reader #jeno x male reader #haechan x male reader #jaemin x male reader #chenle x male reader #sungchan x male reader #shotaro x male reader #jisung x male reader #nct angst #nct dream angst #kpop male reader #kpop x male reader #sorry for all the tags our recent posts have been flopping :((#nct x reader

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hailing-stars · 3 years

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@febuwhump day 9: buried alive

BURIED ALIVE

“So, while we’re just hanging out in the bathroom,” says Tony. Peter’s head hangs over the toilet, and he shuts his eyes tight, willing Tony to stop talking. “I thought we could chat.”

“Maybe that can wait,” says Peter, dryly, and miserably. “Until, I dunno, I’m done puking my guts out.”

“It’s waited long enough. Besides, you never call me back, and you won’t talk to your aunt.”

Peter's guilt over a recent run in with Mysterio literally makes him sick.

BURIED ALIVE flashes in neon letters across the screen, the techno theme music plays, and Peter’s eyes glaze over. He’s officially entered The Zone, and there’s no pulling him out of it until his character dies or he achieves the highest honor, a score enormous enough to knock MQB off the hall of fame.

His hand clutches the joystick, and his fingers glide across the buttons, and he can feel Ned staring at him, but it doesn’t distract him from the current mission.

It doesn’t help him, either.

This game ends exactly the same way every game before it had, on level five, when he’s only points away from taking first place away from MQB.

He sighs, and reaches a hand in his pocket, searching for more tokens but finding it empty.

“Shit,” says Peter. “I’m out of tokens.”

“Again?” asks Ned. “How many times have you played this? Exactly?”

“I dunno, not that much.”

Ned doesn’t look like he believes him. He looks worried, and Peter tries to shove the annoyance he feels deep, deep down.

He wishes people would stop looking at him that way. Like he’s just one fall away from breaking and shattering in a way that’d leave his pieces uneven and unfit to be put back together the correct way, the uniquely Peter-way.

“Maybe we should do something else,” says Ned. “Go to a movie, or pick up that limited edition Star Wars set?”

It’s tempting, and Peter wants to go, wants to be anyplace but this arcade, going to war with himself over a some stupid high score on some arcade machine. An environment without all the flashing lights, screaming children, and annoying game music would be a nice change in pace, but he can’t.

He has to stay. Until he’s won. Until he wipes that name off the charts and replaces it with his own.

“I need more tokens,” says Peter, as a way of answer. He hopes the way his voice sounds like a zombie will go ignored.

He walks past Ned, and heads towards the token machine, dodging running, shouting kids on his way. He fumbles around with his wallet, until he finds the credit card Tony had given him for emergencies. Not for the first time, he swipes it at the token machine and receives a hundred new chances to defeat his enemy.

If that isn’t an emergency, Peter doesn’t know what’s supposed to make that list.

When he turns, he comes face to face with Ned.

“Dude,” he says. “Maybe you should take a break. Have you even eaten dinner yet?”

His stomach growls at the mention of food, and his eyes automatically drift towards the restaurant installed into the arcade. He supposes Ned has a point. He can afford to stop his gaming long enough to scarf down some pizza.

“Yeah, okay, good idea.”

Relief washes through Ned’s features, and Peter’s stabbed with guilt. It attacks him from all angles.

He’s guilty for worrying his friends, and his family, and guilty because he doesn’t know how to stop. He’s guilty of the wave of crime overtaking Queens now that Spider-Man has abandoned it, in favor of standing still at an arcade game.

Guilty for that thing he doesn’t allow himself to think about.

Most of all, he’s guilty, because instead of working towards wiping away the current charts on BURIED ALIVE, he’s sitting at a table eating pizza, wasting time.

Drops of sweat trickle down his forehead, and a shiver runs through his body.

And he tries ignoring it, the way his stomach is heavy, and cramping, and the way his body is just begging him to take a seat, close his eyes, or more pressing, run to the bathroom and shove his head in a toilet.

But he doesn’t, because he can’t. Because he’s just so damn close.

When game over flashes across the screen, he slams his fist down. He considers what might happen if he didn’t hold back his strength, if he just destroyed the machine right then and there.

“Peter?”

He stared at the screen., refusing to look away.

“You’re not looking so great, kid.” Tony’s hand comes up from behind him, and presses down on his sweaty forehead. “Yep, that’s a fever.”

“Mr. Stark,” says Peter. “What are you doing here?”

“Ned called me,” he tells him. “He was really worried, and so am I.”

Tony wipes the sweat off his hand and into the insides of his suit jacket.

It’s the first time in awhile Peter takes his eyes away from the screen, and the room blurs. All the flashing, neon lights merge together. All the kids, teens, parents combine into one collective shout that threatens to make his ears bleed. The arcade tilts, and the knot in his stomach is pulled tighter.

“I need to get outta here,” says Peter, a shake in his voice.

“Then come on,” says Tony.

He grabs him by the arm, and leads him through the jungle of prize hungry children, beeping game machines, and parents trying to ignore it all.

Fresh, cold air hits Peter’s face when they step outside the door, and he breaths it in, then he bends over and pukes in the on the sidewalk while strangers watch in disgust, while Tony rubs his back, and while the paparazzi snaps photos of Iron Man comforting some poor, sick kid.

“So, while we’re just hanging out in the bathroom,” says Tony. Peter’s head hangs over the toilet, and he shuts his eyes tight, willing Tony to stop talking. “I thought we could chat.”

“Maybe that can wait,” says Peter, dryly, and miserably. “Until, I dunno, I’m done puking my guts out.”

“It’s waited long enough. Besides, you never call me back, and you won’t talk to your aunt.”

It just figures. That there’s so avoiding it now. That there’s not even a proper distraction to keep him from the things he’s not trying to think about.

That day comes back to him and hits him with full force, as if were angry Peter had been suppressing it.

His memories are pulled backwards to Mysterio’s twisted game. That dull, grey day the fishbowl guy taunted him with a devastating choice, save May fall from a skyscraper, or save a stranger from suffocating six feet under the earth.

His failure flashes across his mind.

He’d thought he could save both, but he’d still made the decision to go after May first. Once she was safe on the ground, he had bolted to the burial site, only to dig up a man who was already dead.

He’s selfish, and he’s sad. All this bad will stirs his stomach enough to force his head back in the toilet to throw up some more.

Tony rubs his back until he’s finished with his gagging. He puts the toilet lid down, and flushes, and he leans against the toilet, weak and wanting the pain in his stomach to ease so he can sleep and not exist for awhile.

So he can continue avoiding the conversation Tony keeps trying to force him to have.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” says Tony. “That fucking psychopath created that situation to fuck with your head.”

“But I’m Spider-Man,” says Peter. “I should’ve been able to deal with it, without - someone dying.”

“Can’t save them all, kid. No matter how hard you try.”

It’s as if Tony’s words bounce off him. He hears them, but he doesn’t. They don’t sink in. He won’t allow them to, and it’s as if Tony hadn’t spoken at all.

“Suppose I deserve this,” says Peter. “Feeling this way.”

He isn’t sure if he means the stomach cramps, or the guilt, or both, but the alarm that flashes across Tony’s face only makes the stabbing pains worse.

“You only deserve good things, Pete,” he says. “I don’t know how to convince you to believe it.”

When he opens his eyes the next morning, his stomach is peaceful, but his memories are hazy. They exist, just vaguely.

And it’s better that way, really. Puking and crying on the bathroom floor while Tony held him and told him it would be okay weren’t exactly his finest hours. Peak teenage embarrassment that he hopes will go forgotten, or at least unmentioned, in future conversation.

He’s ready to crawl and hide under the covers when the guest room door creaks open, but he stays visible when he sees it’s just his Aunt May walking through the doorway, carrying crackers and a mini bottle of Sprite.

“I hear you had a rough night,” she tells him. She puts the sick people snacks on the nightstand. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better.”

May’s face folds into disbelief, and Peter releases a breath, realizing there’s no avoiding it anymore. Not after last night.

“I’m sorry, May.”

“About what?”

“About Mysterio.”

She sits on his bed, and takes his hand. “From what Tony’s told me, you’re tired of hearing it, but I’m going to stress again that that wasn’t your fault and you will not accept responsibility for what some demented man cooked up in his free time, okay?”

“But May -”

“If someone asked me to choose between my own life and somebody else’s,” she starts. “You know I would choose theirs. We’re Parkers, and that’s what we do, for better or for worse, but if someone forced me to choose between a stranger’s life and yours? Peter, that’s not even a choice, it’s an instinct.”

“But May I should’ve -”

She squeezes his hand, and cuts him off, a second time. “You have to let this go. You weren’t being selfish, and you did everything you could’ve done. It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill anybody.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument, so he doesn’t try. He lets her hug him, and even hugs her back. He even feels a little lighter now that he’s been ordered to move on.

Tony’s idea of helping is to throw money at it. He goes to the arcade and pays them a ridiculously large sum of money for the BURIED ALIVE game machine.

It’s sitting in the workshop when Peter arrives for their lab hours, along with giant hammers and other tools of destruction.

“I think they do this in therapy,” says Tony. “Something about getting it all out. Healthy destruction. All that.”

“They let you break things in therapy?” asks Peter, apprehensively taking the hammer from Tony.

He’s gotta admit, he’s warming up to the idea of letting Tony pay for a therapist, even if he knows he only said it for that very reason.

“Sure,” says Tony. “Why not?”

Peter stares at the game. The thing he’d been using to distract himself from his misery. The thing he’d become obsessed with as a way to relive the past, take some control. Of course, getting the highest score would’ve never brought back the man Mysterio killed, but obsessions weren’t exactly rational.

“I have a better idea,” says Peter.

They spent the next few hours taking the game apart, piece by piece, and then, and until late in the night, they use the parts to build a new, better game. Something that Ned has to come over and help them program. Something with a less morbid topic.

And Peter starts to think better, feel better.

There’s something cathartic about taking apart the horrible things and turning them into something new. It’s a breath of fresh air. It’s a sense of hope, for himself, that eventually he’ll be able to take May and Tony’s reassuring words and believe them.

#febuwhumpday9 #irondad #irondad fic #Tony and peter #sick Peter parker #vomiting

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silverypurple-rosedlions · 4 years

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐔𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 : 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 - 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 (𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐦𝐢𝐧)

Lee Seokmin has authorized you access to Chapter Two of Chapter Unlock, Lee Seokmin.

🥀//TW: This will contain various mentions of drugs, graphic blood and gore, and mild language. If you are uncomfortable with what is listed, do NOT read as this warning is for your safety. Only read at your own risk and be prepared for what will be mentioned within this chapter. This does not promote anything mentioned in this, and keep in mind that this is for entertainment purposes, and ONLY relates to the backstories made within THIS world The Purple Rose is in.//🥀

There was this time I remember as clear as day, almost as if I could put myself back in that moment where I am, and relive it. It was the beginning of a new path for me, painting the pathway of a new life I could control, for better or for worse. But it haunted me for years, and I could never touch things like it for so long, no matter if it were part of the job. I couldn't even place a finger on anything related to it. It was drugs. I could never touch drugs, but it's funny how it was the very thing that pushed me over the breaking point of my fragile mind. It was Xanax, mostly known as 'Xanny," for secretive reasons being that it was in the possessions of High Schoolers, barely the legal age to consume any drug. But I didn't do it willingly. I wasn't intoxicated by my choice, but by force.

It isn't a surprise that people, especially teenagers growing into adulthood, were overshadowed, stuck in the clutches of depression and anxiety. Unfortunately, I was among the numerous teens who were lost, damaging their minds, and sometimes, bodies. But some tended to find other ways to avoid the pain, to numb their thoughts of what troubled them and kept them awake every night.

Sometimes, they numbed it by doing absolutely nothing, just sitting there in silence, staring at nothing but something no one could see but them, and letting themselves deteriorate gradually. But what was well-known was people taking things to numb themselves temporarily. Some took sleeping pills, helping them to sleep every night. Others would fill their lungs with chemicals, smoking outside of the school, or hidden within the alleyways. Of course, there were pills and cocaine. The typical substances that everyone knows. Then, there was Xanax.

I didn't know what that was at the time, other than it was drugs, and whenever you met someone broken, it was likely they had it stuffed within their pockets or bag, waiting for the night to come and consume them. It wasn't a common drug in our area, mostly a rare chance someone could get their clammy hands on the drugs and become stoned. But one person always found ways to get an entire bank of it, sharing it among friends and other students, but it came at a high price.

How did I get into this mess? I honestly don't recall. It's foggy when I attempt to remember what I had said and what I had done to attend a party crowded with teenagers chugging beer after beer, snorting the chilling white substance in their nose, throwing their head back as they let that so-called "bliss," take over them. Others chose to numb themselves with another, embracing lust and letting it be something to distract themselves and "relieve" themselves.

I didn't support any of it, nor did I want to become involved. I was a clean person, and I couldn't stand being next to someone who did it, too anxious about what they'd tell me of their countless nights of wasting themselves, slowly letting the substances eat them without a care in a world.

But it happened in mid-February after I turned 17, and my closest friend disappeared without a trace. The last time I had spoken to him was in December, before the accident, before receiving mental care in an Asylum.

There was a party after a few days I turned 17, and before it I knew, I was there. I was sitting there in the room, music booming and causing the house to quiver and shake, and numerous teens were laughing and stumbling around, drunk and stoned. Then there was me, sitting in my bubble with a canned coke in my hand, feeling small and alone. I was alone in a house full of teens drugged, and in a place of someone, I didn't know who, with a can clutched tightly, my nose wrinkled at the stench within the house that no one seemed to care for.

I looked around the room, brows furrowed as I watched the teenagers around me, some older than me, laugh and accept anything handed to them. My head was throbbing at this point, the music becoming unbearable as it spat vulgar words, echoing throughout the house.

'It's too cramped,' I thought, trying to inhale through my nose, only to end up coughing as the smoke entered through my nostrils, causing them to flare. My eyes stung as I forced myself off the couch, bumping into a male shorter than me. He turned around, his eyes dilated and bloodshot. In shock, I yelped, stumbling back onto the couch again.

'Ugh! Why did I come here with that idiot,' I thought pitifully, bringing my knees to my chest, still holding the canned drink in my hand.

That's when a girl slid into my view, smiling widely at me as she giggled, holding two small glasses of beer, sloshing. "Hey, Lee!"

"Thank goodness, Mimi Noona!" I exclaimed with irritation, unfolding, and looking at the said girl, shaking my head. But my eyes narrowed on the glasses, groaning as I snatched one, flipping it and purposely spilling it onto the carpet that was already stained.

"Dude! What the heck?!" Mimi growled, looking distraught as the carpet absorbed it. But I could care less, frowning as I grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her gently to sit beside me.

"Noona, can you not kill yourself with this stuff?"

"Aww, come on, Lee. I'm not killing myself with this stuff," Mimi said with exasperation, downing the only last shot she had available in her hand. "Why not try it? Hasn't it been rough lately for you? I remember you complaining that you haven't been able to have time for yourself,"

"Yeah," I reply, rolling my eyes. "But as much as it's nice to get out, I don't want to spend it here, Noona. I don't want to take this crap. I want to go home now, and you're my only way home! You drove me from Seoul, all the way here in Gwangju! And to the farthest PART of Gwangju, Mimi!"

"Seokmin, Seokmin, Seokmin," Mimi chanted, shaking her head as she rested her hand on my shoulder, looking at me with a queer expression. "Lighten up! You're safe with me. I promise I won't get too stoned and be able to drive us home,"

"Uh, no!" I snap, smacking her hand off my shoulder. "I don't trust you with driving when intoxicated, Mimi! Seriously," I sighed heavily, tilting my head slightly. "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing has, Seokmin," Mimi responded, but I wasn't convinced as she took a cigarette from the person beside her and took a puff, blowing it towards me. I scoffed, swatting it away and coughing as she laughed. "I know this isn't around your alley, Lee. But you have to experience it at some point."

"I'm seventeen!"

"Aaand?"

"You're unbelievable!" I said, standing up and pushing through with all my might to exit the living space, but Mimi was trailing behind, gripping the back of my shirt to keep up.

"Okay, okay, Seokmin." I turned to her, crossing my arms. "But you have to do at least ONE thing for me, and then we'll go. Just like you want to, and I won't take anything else,"

"If it's taking some crappy drugs or drink, then no," I answered in disgust, beginning to turn around, but she took me by the arms, pulling me to face her again.

"Listen! You only live once, Seokmin. And I swear this drug isn't as crazy as the ones like cocaine," Mimi said, attempting to guide me towards the back table within the kitchen, where a group of boys was, but I stood firm, becoming unmoveable.

"Doesn't matter! I don't want to become like some messed up kid," I frowned, but something, no, someone pushed me from behind, guiding me to the boys with Mimi smiling. "Hey! Get your hands off of me!"

"Relax, Seokmin," A male said calmly, smiling at me as the group of boys circled the three of us. My heart was beginning to race, my hands becoming sweaty as Mimi went to one of them and received two tablets of pills. "Everything is going to be alright. It'll just make you feel more energetic is all,"

'Lying,' I thought, my eyes darting as I struggled to leave the circle, but my attempts were ineffective, and I was shoved to the center, shrinking. 'They're lying to me. Was this planned? Was Mimi trying to drug me?'

"Let me out, you guys!" I shouted as Mimi approached me, ribbing me softly.

"Stop being such a scaredy-cat, Lee," Mimi giggled as if this was some funny joke they were playing. But it wasn't. Why were drugs and alcohol fun and games to them? Did they believe this would solve their pain and numb it forever? I didn't want this. I didn't agree to come here in the first place, or did I? Why was I here again? What was I doing?

"Help. Let me out. LET ME OUT."

"It's just two little tablets. I doubt they'll have any effect on you, Lee," Mimi grinned, revealing the pills within her palms. "Xanax." It was a small, white bar with the name labeled on it, causing my stomach to churn. Before I could smack them away, Mimi closed her hand, jerking it back and shaking her head. "Yah! Don't waste these, Lee!"

"Just think of them like pain killers, dude," One of the boys said, taking the pills and dropping them into a cup of what was likely beer. But I shut my mouth closed, fists clenched as I shook my head in refusal.

"I don't want it. I don't want it!"

"Seokmin, don't be stubborn," Mimi said, taking the cup from the male and attempting to have me drink it, but I kept turning my head in denial, backing away from her.

And if I could, I would shout. I would scream for help, but who was going to help me? Everyone was intoxicated, too stoned that they were unable to form a sensible conscience other than let themselves loose. And there was no adult. I didn't see any adult. So it was just me against more than six boys and a girl, who I wasn't sure I could call a friend anymore. No. I shouldn't EVER call her a friend after this.

"Pussy, much?" One of the boys laughed, stepping forward and grabbing me by the arm. Frightened, I jerked my arm out from his grasp, only to be held by the boys, restricting me from any attempt to escape. The only thing I could do was keep my mouth shut, keeping my head down. "Is your friend always like this?"

Mimi sighed, grabbing my chin and lifting my head. "Sadly, yeah. But he's cool. Just help me,"'

"GET OFF! GET OFF!"

"I know how to help," One of the boys said, stealing the cup from Mimi's hands, and suddenly, his fist went forward, slamming against my stomach. My eyes widened in response, my mouth opening as a scream of pain escaped but as muffled, the boy shoving the drink into my mouth and forcing it down, some of the boys laughing while Mimi let out a noise of distress.

"You didn't have to hurt him!"

Tears ran down my cheeks as the liquid slithered down my throat, the pills scratching it. And once it was down, the boys released me, watching as I doubled over onto the floor, holding my stomach, sputtering.

"Crybaby, much?" Someone snickered, the rest laughing. But it slowly became distant and distorted, muffling as my vision blurred.

My stomach churned, my throat burned, and my eyes stung. I felt itchy as if I should tear at my skin, almost as if doing so would make it stop. But that wasn't the worst of it. I began to feel nauseous as the floor, the room, and the people becoming distorted around me, my head throbbing, my heart pounding irregularly, almost as if it could burst from my chest.

"Make it stop. Make it stop."

That's when I felt a hand rest on my back, but I didn't want them to touch me. Whoever the person was, their touch burned. It felt as if they were able to scorch my body through the fabric of my shirt. It hurt and made me feel worse.

"Don't touch me... Get your hands off of me!"

I couldn't even decipher what I was saying, but I knew my mouth was moving. I knew I was saying something, but I couldn't hear myself. I couldn't hear anything illegible but muffled voices and...screaming? Is someone screaming?

"You'll pay! You'll pay!"

I couldn't see anything as darkness filled my vision, but I knew I was moving. I knew my arms were moving and something, no, someone was retaliating? I could feel them grab at me, their nails digging into my arm, my sides, and perhaps my legs. But they were under me, I think? What was I sitting on them? Am I holding them against something? Why are my hands wet? They're wet. What is it? What is it on my hands?!

"STOP IT! STOP IT!"

I was gasping, the sound suddenly booming in my ears as screams filled the house, sounds of cries rushing through my ears, shaking my brain violently. I blinked and blinked again, my eyes adjusting as the room became clear as day, the lights off, but red. I saw red. But when I looked down, what I saw was horrendous, causing my body to tremble as a heart wrenched cry emitted from me.

There on the floor, looking at me, with wide eyes, was the boy who had forced me to drink and swallow the pills. His eyes were empty, still wide in fear as blood trickled from their nose and mouth. But it wasn't that that terrified me. No. It was his torso. His torso was the worst thing my eyes ever processed, imprinting it within my brain.

His torso had numerous long, deep cuts. Blood oozing out from them as his inner organs were visible, and some brutally ripped and pulled out, discarded to the side, slightly pulsating. A knife was beside them, covered in his fluids, and deep within the boy's torso, my hands were buried inside, clutching something warm and squishy, something that used to be alive.

The blood was warm, smelling like copper as I reeled backward, pulling my hands and pushing away, slamming my back against the bottom cupboards. With trembling hands, I raised them, my vision becoming clear and then blurred over and over again as the red substance, the boy's blood staining my hands.

I wanted to vomit, my heart throbbing as I gagged, fear building as I finally noticed the people fleeing in horror. They were petrified. They were scared of me. It was me. Me. Me. Me. Me.

"MONSTER!" A girl shrieked, running with tears in her eyes as people dropped their drinks and drugs, dashing to the front doors.

"I-I didn't mean it..." I sobbed, struggling to stand up, but my legs were too weak, wobbling, and causing me to fall onto my knees in despair and disbelief. I wanted this to be a nightmare. Let it be a nightmare, please.

"CALL THE POLICE!"

"HELP! HELP!"

"I didn't kill him... I didn't kill him," I repeated, hands clenched.

"FUCKING PSYCHO!"

"A BEAST!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I coughed. I felt lethargic, too tired to move, and too weak. I felt sick, my stomach twisting and contorting as the pounding of feet was endless until it slowly faded, disappearing. They fled in fear, leaving me with the dead body of a boy. He's dead, and I was the one who killed him. And killed him for what? For what?!

"Your fault. This is all your fault. You monster. Monster. Monster!"

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," The two words I relied on the most. But they were useless. How could saying just one phrase, the phrase "I'm sorry," fix a crime? How can it fix murder?

"Run."

"RUN!"

I don't know how or when, but I got up. I know I did because there was no one else to pull me up, no else to pull me out of my shocked state as my adrenaline kicked in, and I rushed towards the back. But I was disoriented. I couldn't tell what was left or what was right. I couldn't even run or walk in a straight line without slamming into the wall, using it to guide to the back door as I swung it open.

No one was there as I slipped, crashing onto the green grass, the cold greeting me with it's freezing arms.

"Get up and run!"

I didn't know what pushed me to continue. I don't know how I escaped that night, but I never went home. I hid in the alleyways, tucked within the darkness as my body quivered, crashing onto the concrete and unable to get up again. I laid there for hours, slipping in and out of consciousness as the boy's dead eyes and gruesome body were the only things I could see. I could only see the crime I had committed, and no one was there to assist me. I was alone. I was alone, and it was all my fault.

“He deserved it. He needed to die,”

"Seokmin?" A voice said, causing me to push up, eyes wide as I turned to look towards the person with a corrupted mind. I was vulnerable. I was . . .

"J-Jeonghan?" I asked, squinting as the male figure was distorted, making it difficult for me to decipher. But it was his voice that led me to assume that it was him. Or was I hallucinating? Was it the Xanax, the alcohol, or both?

"Look at you... Got into another mess, huh?" The male said, approaching me slowly and coming down to my level. But I was scared, flinching, and moving back.

"S-Stay away from me! A-Are you someone I know?" I said, lips quivering.

"Of course you know me, Seok. Has more than a month and few weeks made you forget what I sound and look like?" They replied, shaking their head, "It's Jeonghannie hyung, Seok. The same guy you met in Middle School during Physical Fitness and played volleyball with,"

Hesitantly, I moved forward, coming closer as my vision cleared. But it was true. Yoon Jeonghan, the very person who helped me, was sitting there in front of me, his head tilted as his long, silky platinum blonde hair gently moved along with the breeze. His skin was still pale, but not a ghostly pale, and an odd smile was on his face, his eyes soft but narrowed. But I didn't focus on it, only throwing myself on him, hugging him tightly as I sobbed uncontrollably. The pain and fear buried in my heart poured out as he held me, gently petting my head.

"I-I d-didn't mean it. I-I didn't me-mean to kill him... P-Please believe me. P-Please d-don't leave me. D-Don't tu-turn me in,"

"It's okay, Seok. I understand," Jeonghan said with a soothing voice, allowing me to bury my face into his shoulder. "You don't need to worry because I won't turn you in. I'll make sure they won't touch you. You're safe now,"

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry,"

"Shhh, I know you're sorry... But you did it to defend yourself, Seok. And I'm proud you did. I'm proud you retaliated despite the "unfortunate" outcome,"

"I don't want to take it again... I-I hate it. I hate it, hyung. I hate it," I sobbed, my grip tightening. "It's terrible. I-It still hurts. It hurts so much... Make it stop. P-Please..."

Drugs became the very thing I despise above all things.

And I hate it with a burning passion, unwavering.

Next Chapter: coming soon . . .

🥀// @yourlocal-babybear @aikihades @sophie-svt-13 @waitingwhispers60 @seventeen-chatbot @kpop-shelter @yangomangos @m00n-nim96 @ghoulxbaekhyun @moonlit-jaemin @empress-jiaqi @time-for-confession @xash-axx @fnafnctdream-chatbot @split-jiu @artsydahyun @softdommechungha @princess-yeji @werewolf-sehun @julia-oc [DM for +/-]

#the purple rose #insane!seokmin #seokmin's chapter #chapter unlock #intoxicated #mention of drugs #drug mention #seventeen angst #seventeen dk #seventeen #svt imagines #svt au #seventeen mafia au #backstory #seventeen scenarios

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azzyfree · 7 years

Text

The best thing I’ve ever done is stop caring about my appearance.

When I was 2 years old a cyst was found growing on my intestines. This may have been the start of my appearance problems. Because even if you are overweight or hairy, at least you could show off your belly button at the pool and no one would care, because it's a fucking normal inny or outty belly button. But of course that wasn’t an option for me. I have a 4 inch long scar that goes from my belly button down from the surgery. When I was little other kids had a tendency of poking it and the thing is- it's not even like normal skin where you can touch it and you feel it as being outside of yourself. When you touch the scar it feels like you are touching my guts. It’s GROSS , incredibly disgusting and painful, and it kind of makes my belly look like a butt and I HATED it. Here I am, going to a babysitters at maybe 4 years old and already I am DIFFERENT from the other kids VISIBLY. besides also speaking spanish instead of english in an english speaking nation. Thing’s got worse in elementary school. Back then I had a square face, chubby cheeks, besides being very much overweight. I was often made fun of by being called a boy or generally ignored in the playground but the worst of it was these pair of girl’s I was friends with throughout much of elementary school. The first one (I’ll call Girl A) I knew since kindergarten and she was fine,but the other (I’ll call Girl B) moved to my school. Since she was new she tried to force herself into every friend ship possible, and since we lived on the same street we were just friends by default. Now I should have you know that Girl A, didn’t come from a wealthy family, but she wasn’t poor either. Her family was on the higher end of the middle class spectrum and always dressed rather well, and got to go to all the cool sports things, and always got the brand newest of things all the time. I remember she got a gamecube first and we would all go over to her place to play it. Girl B was middle, middle class but her mother dressed her like she was born to some rich-ass family and she acted the part. Now me, back then my parent’s were just scraping by. My mother was an immigrant taking classes at the university and didn’t work, while my dad had a full time job in the government that JUST BARELY paid for the house and food. What clothing I got were usually made by my mother or my grandmother, or bought from thrift stores and the like, so very rarely I got a BRAND NEW thing. Now I don’t know if this was a fad everywhere but in my school when I was around 8 years old and it was the early 2000s, EVERY girl in my school wore a fuzzy white jacket. I don’t know how this fad started or why but for some reason it was a thing, and they were fucking ugly but it didn’t matter because that was the fad, that all the cool kids were wearing.GIRL A got her fuzzy white jacket first and I remember her coming to school and showing it off and us saying that we should all get fuzzy white jackets too. I think we thought we looked like bunnies in it or something and it was adorable. I remember going home and asking my parent’s for one but of course it was the start of the school year and we had JUST gotten me a purple sweater that I had wanted. So of course I didn’t get one. It took only a day, I swear to you, 24 hours for Girl B to get one too. I remember being so jealous. Like my family could barely afford to put food on the table but here I was wanting a fuzzy white jacket. It wasn’t till christmas till I was able to get a fuzzy white jacket. I think it was from a thrift store and just a bit too small from me. But I didn’t care cause finally I could join the cool people.I remember being so excited to show them it. I got dressed up and everything. They were going to come to my place to play with the barbie doll house my dad got me for christmas that was handcrafted from this little shop in my city. It was actually the only doll house my dad could afford as a toy for me. Apparently it was cheaper than the plastic ‘Barbie houses’ mattel sold. But I had loved that doll house. everything in it was hand painted and carved. There were picture frames on the walls that were made from beer bottles caps, and dish detergent caps. the house was three stories tall and crafted from what must have been used or old lumber laying about. I loved this doll house and Girl A and B loved to come over to play with it too.So you can imagine the excitement I must have had to show them, I too finally had a fuzzy white jacket. They came over and hurried into my room so we could start playing with the doll house. We were like a half hour playing. I remembered I had THE jacket. So I ran off to put it on and came back to show them, thinking we could finally be a squad, all wearing matching jackets.Sure I couldn’t close mine but that didn’t matter, I had gotten one! But nope. to this day I can remember their laugh and Girl B saying that I was too fat to wear the jacket. I don’t remember the rest of the night. I just remember hiding the jacket at the back of my closet and never speaking about it again. I started getting clothing that was bigger than what I would normally wear just to hide my fat. Things didn’t get much better when middle school rolled around. I had long stopped talking to both Girl A, and Girl B. But I still worried about my appearance particularly since I was the first of my friends to go through puberty cause, my body fucking hated me. It was not an easy puberty either. I would and still do get cramps that are so painful I will/have passed out from simply standing. But for appearance it did worse. I got zits EVERYWHERE. there was no down time, it was like an oprah show, any patch of skin I had would inevitably get covered in zits. At this time I tried everything to get rid of them, the doctor prescribed medication that did nothing. I remember my mom buying every brand of zit remover from oxy clear to that one that you would get mailed in the my cousin’s sore by. AND THEY ALL DID FUCK ALL. My Body would simply never rest when it came to how fucking disgusting could it make me. Not to mention I got hairy too. My legs grew thick black hair almost overnight and at that point I stopped wearing shorts all together. Cause FUCK showing off my yeti legs. I’ll die of heat stroke before people start talking about the pimple face’s yeti legs. But my legs weren’t the only thing that got hairy, so did my arms and my face, and now at this point the ‘you look like a boy’ was fucking accurate because I could so very easily give up on being a girl at this point being a boy would have been so goddamn easy. I could probably have grown a beard and a mustache. I could have done it and no one would have talked about it in a negative light. Cause when you are a boy its okay if you are hairy or pimple faced, its pretty much the ‘norm’ I was trying my best to ‘fit in’ to be ‘relatively normal’. To just pass by. That's all I fucking wanted I didn’t even care about being pretty I just wanted their words to stop. I remember hearing a conversation between some guys in one of my classes and a few girls I had known since elementary school. I was just passing by the door, where I overheard them talking about me and I quote , “Date Azzy? she’s she looks like an ape.” and can still remember their fucking laughter. One of them tried to ask me out later. I wasn’t stupid or desperate. I told them I’d never date asshole. I remember some time in grade 8 one of the girls I had known since elementary but I wasn’t friends with(I’ll call Girl D for rightful reasons) , told me I should come over for a makeover. But I’d heard her talking with the boys that other day. Again I wasn’t stupid or desperate. I could see how this would go. She would be like Girl A and Girl B, she would be like that fucking asshole in the other class. I remember I tried out for the arts highschool in my city cause I just wanted to get away from the people I had known since elementary school. Look, I was NOT good at art at this time. There were far better people in the school that could accurately depict shapes and lighting and people. Yet to my surprise I got accepted. The day I got my acceptance letter I was SO happy. Finally I could get away from these assholes and get a clean start! I remember that, that same day I was taking the bus and one of the girls from school that I was sort of friends with (I’ll call girl C) was sitting at the back of the bus in front of Girl B and Girl D. The bus starts and things were quiet except every so often Girl C would turn around and yell at them to stop. After this going on for a few more times I pull out my headphones and looked over and saw that GIRL B and D were writing ‘ fat-so’, ‘fag’, ‘slut’ and a number of other things onto tape and sticking it to her back. At this point I had nothing left at this school. It was the last two weeks of school. I was already approved to go to another school, even if I got expelled it didn’t matter. I was SO sick of their words. I put my headphones away, Got up, turned around to them and fucking yelled at them like a beast. I picked up the tape that they had stuck onto girl C’s back, and just shoved it into their faces. SHOVED. I smacked them on their foreheads with it. I told them that If I ever heard them do this to Girl C or anyone else again, I’d hurt them, and if they had any intelligence they would keep their mouths shut and arms to themselves for the rest of the ride or I’d straight up murder them. If being pretty meant being an asshole, I didn’t need it. High School is where things got weird. Since gym wasn’t mandatory I only took it the first year and then never again. I hated exercising. Elementary and middle school did that to me. I hated being hot and sweaty because I never wore shorts. I hated being in the heat. Being outside or anything that would require I take off any of my clothes. And it was some time between when I was dying of a heat stroke and paying for a SECOND try at laser hair removal that DID NOT WORK. That I realized- This is a fucking lot of money and time to look like a human being and not a ape. Such a lot of wasted time and energy that I could have been using going swimming, hanging out with actual good friends or getting better at drawing or playing tales of symphonia again. College came and that's when it started to REALLY began to sink in. Sure I may have never dated anyone through high school. But when college came I was done with ever trying to look pretty. It was a waste of time. Then I actually started to look better, My zit’s started to go away, my hair didn’t grow as thick. Everything that had stressed me out throughout the rest of my school life like just stopped. Because mentally it finally kicked in that it really didn’t fucking matter. Good looks didn’t equal you getting treated well. Good looks didn’t get you a promotion. Good looks didn’t make you feel happy. Good looks didn’t give you better grades. People will still treat you like shit when you're pretty. People will still say things about you and make fun of the things you wear. Not to mention the many passing fads. Being pretty is always changing. So then it doesn’t matter if you are skinny or fat, Have black or blonde hair, are tall or short, hairy or bald. Being beautiful is a choice and all you have to do is say you are. And you know what? I actually am happy now.

#rambles

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