All The Nice Things in Life
Din Djarin x Neurodivergent GN!Reader
Word Count: 2569
Rating: General
Summary: During your usual weekly trip to your favourite Market on Nevarro, you get a little overwhelmed by all the crowds and noise. Fortunately, you have an exceptionally caring and attentive Mandalorian for a partner, who manages to calm you down and make you see that you are not a burden to him, despite your worries.
Content Warnings: Mentions of anxiety/panic attacks and description of sensory overload.
Author's Note: Finally got round to moving this fic to tumblr! It's the first I wrote in my Din Djarin x Neurodivergent Reader series and I really hope it brings you some comfort should you ever need it.
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Despite your best efforts to keep the panic that had been threatening to overwhelm you since you had set out that morning inside you, and not let Din see… things had gotten too much for you to handle and you had finally lost your composure. Fortunately, you were back in the sanctuary of the Cabin on Nevarro you shared with Din and Grogu before you fully lost control of yourself. You had tried your best not to give the impression that you were struggling, you hadn’t wanted to worry Din – the man was too attentive to your every need. You hadn’t wanted to ruin your day out but you had just about managed to make it back to the cabin before you exploded.
It had started off just like any other way you spent this particular day – heading into Nevarro’s town centre to explore the weekly Market. Since Din had asked you to move in, it was part of the routine you had enjoyed together. You hadn’t slept particularly well the previous night, nightmares had plagued you, so you already felt slightly on edge. But you hadn’t wanted to let Din down, you knew it was something that he always looked forward to each week. On this particular day, a variety of vendors came to the planet to show off their latest wares that they had accumulated throughout the galaxy. You weren’t always sure how legitimate some of the characters were, given the astonishingly cheap prices, but you had experienced enough in this life to know better than to ask questions. Grogu enjoyed going almost as much as his father did, the little womp rat loved nothing more than running you and Din ragged between stalls, begging for food with his big pleading brown eyes. The number of times you had scolded him for using the Force to try to steal things behind your back was bordering on ridiculous. But you loved the mischievous little boy and you couldn’t help but find a way each week to convince Din to give him a treat of some description.
You hadn’t wanted to give any hint that you felt off that morning when you woke up.
Due to your nightmares, you were awake and out of bed before Din. You had used the fresher first, when you came out you had gone straight to Grogu’s room, not having the heart to face him – fearing that he would sense that something was off. You had heard Din pottering around the cabin, having a shower in the fresher and eventually padding to the kitchen to brew the caf - as was your daily routine. You brought Grogu in and as the three of you sat down at the table to eat a simple breakfast, it almost felt normal. An idyllic family scene against the chaos and discomfort that raged inside of you.
After breakfast, as Din packed some bags up of things he wanted to bargain with or sell to vendors at the Market and carefully polished his beskar’gam, you knew you didn’t have the heart to tell Din that you weren’t feeling well. You knew that if you gave even the slightest hint of discomfort, that he would have soon forgotten about his own desire to go to the Market and put everything into worrying about your well being instead. It was amazing how caring he was, but you felt like a burden to have someone care for you that deeply. The guilt of feeling like you were somehow ruining his life was too much sometimes. You wondered if he ever yearned for the simpler life he had when it had just been himself and Grogu here.
But you had successfully managed to push those feelings down somewhere deep inside of you and put on a brave face. Things had been going well and you had managed to get over your initial apprehension about going to the Market. A ride on the back of Din’s speeder – with Grogu perched in his little bag – had certainly helped. Any time you got to hold the man you loved so much around the waist and feel the warmth from his body beneath the beskar was bound to settle your nerves.
You had arrived at the Market just before the afternoon rush and when the heat was at its highest. Things had been fine, your earlier apprehension seemed to have been forgotten. Grogu had been a little mischievous, whining for food and looking admiringly at a Loth-cat plush that you had eventually managed to persuade Din to give into his reservations and buy for him. The kid had enough toys, but truly the thought of seeing Grogu cuddling a little Loth-cat was doing wonders for your mental state. The way his little face lit up as you placed it into his chubby green claws and he squeezed it – like Din had once told you he had squeezed and Anzellan droidsmith – did, in fact, soothe your nerves. The sight was one of the cutest things you had ever seen.
You had spent a comfortable hour or so walking up and down the various Market stalls, Din by your side. Occasionally, when you got to more crowded areas, he would place a protective hand on the small of your back. It always made you feel so loved, feeling what good care he took of you and how unashamed he was to show his affection for you in public. You knew how many heads Din always turned, curious glances that were sent the way of you and your shiny Mandalorian.
But at a certain point – without much warning – things began to feel too much for you to bear. Suddenly, everything felt overwhelming and you wanted to curl into a ball and cry. Not being able to see Din’s face wasn’t helping – those kind, gentle brown eyes that you loved so much. Perhaps it was the heat and brightness of the sun; or the overpowering noise of the conversations of hundreds of people fighting against the yells from the vendors; or the crowds that did not seem to thin no matter which way you turned, making you feel as though you were trapped; or the way everyone seemed to be staring at Din. Your rational brain knew that they were just intrigued seeing a Mandalorian back on Nevarro, but the more irrational parts of yourself felt paranoid that everyone was staring at you – judging you. You felt your head beginning to buzz loudly; every noise felt agonising and every step you took felt heavier and heavier until you could not take another. You had to get out of here.
“Din, I need to get back to the speeder.” You mumbled shakily, before running off back through the crowds towards where you had come from. Your body felt as though it was on autopilot and you were back in a flash. Somehow you had managed to part the crowds and fight your way back.
Mercifully, Din had quickly found his way back to the speeder and you did not have to wait long until you saw him. You noticed how his chest was heaving, he must have sprinted after you. He immediately noticed the way you were trembling and moved to place his arm around your shoulder.
“Is there anything I can do here to make you feel better?” Din asked, his modulated voice full of concern.
You shook your head.
“Do you want to go home?”
You nodded slowly, grateful that he was asking questions that could be answered with a nod or shake of the head. He was so attentive in that way.
“Okay, it’s fine, cyare.” Din soothed. “Get your goggles on and let’s go.”
You clung so tightly that you feared you might suffocate him, but of course you were a trembling mess; even at your strongest you would be no match for the tough mandalorian warrior that you loved so much.
When you made it back to the cabin – mercifully it was a relatively short ride – Din took Grogu to his room for a nap, while you paced in the living area, wringing your hands. Finally, when Grogu was settled, Din made his way into the room. Mercifully, he had removed his helmet and changed into some more comfortable clothes. You respected he had to wear his helmet and armour when you were out and about, but you appreciated just being able to see the man beneath the armour when it was just the two of you here.
“Do you want to discuss what caused it? Din asked, seeing that you were clearly still distressed.
You just shook your head and quickly headed towards the comfortable couch in the main living area. You plopped down there, covering your eyes with your hands.
“Can I hold you?” Din asked, his deep voice never failing to surprise you in how soft it could be.
You nodded, feeling the tears you had been holding in being suddenly violently ripped out of you as Din’s arms snaked their way around your body. With him you always felt safe, you felt a certainty that things were going to be alright that you had been chasing for so long.
“Hey, hey… please take a deep breath.” Din asked, “Match my breathing.”
Din placed your hand on his chest between the two of you, so you could feel the deep breaths he was taking and try your best to match your own to them. But it was hopeless, though you had tried your best to fight it since the moment you had woken up, your anxiety had won the day.
“This is so stupid, I'm so stupid.” You choked out as you sobbed inconsolably.
Din’s heart ached to see you this upset, he wished you could see yourself the way he saw you. The love he held for you and Grogu was more than he had ever hoped to find in his life. Din had spent so much of his life alone and now having experienced the honour of loving another made him wonder how he had ever dealt with life alone.
“You are not stupid.” Din whispered. “You are the furthest thing from stupid.”
“I’m so weak and pathetic, Din. I ruined your day… I know how much you wanted to look at the stalls with the plants for the garden here and we couldn’t even make it that far before I ruined everything, just like I always do!” You said as you shook violently.
“Look at me.” Din said, releasing his strong hold on you but keeping a protective arm around the small of your back as he tilted up your chin to meet his kind brown eyes that were filled with so much concern for you. “You are one of the strongest people I know.”
His words brought your tears out in fresh floods, but they were no longer the violently distressed sobs that had wracked your entire body. You were moved by his emotions towards you.
“You’ve been through so much and yet you’re still here.” Din soothed. “I admire your strength. I wish you weren’t so hard on yourself, cyar’ika. If someone spoke about you the way you spoke about yourself… I would hunt them down and make them pay for daring to speak about the person who holds my heart like that. But it’s you… so I can’t. It breaks my heart to hear you talk about yourself in this way.”
Din released your chin – not before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead – and pulled you back into a tight hug.
“Please tell me what I can do for you.” Din said into your hair, softly.
“Just hold me, Din.” You asked.
Din stroked his thumbs against your shoulders gently and you felt yourself relaxing into his touch. Sometimes when you got overwhelmed, the thought of being held was disgusting to you… but with Din, he always seemed to know exactly what you needed. You knew if things ever felt too overwhelming, though, that Din would take no offence to you asking him not to touch you.
Once you had calmed down enough, you were filled with an overwhelming need to apologise again:
“I’m so sorry.” You said quietly, struggling to meet Din’s gaze. “We were supposed to have a good time at the Market. I wanted to get an ice cream with Grogu at the end.”
“Will you stop apologising please?” Din said calmly. “Grogu had a wonderful time, we spoiled him with that Loth-cat plush, which he’s currently cuddling as he naps. He had more than enough to eat!”
“I’m sorry… dank ferrik! I’m sorry for saying sorry again!” you laughed
“What am I going to do with you?” Din rolled his eyes lovingly and pulled you back towards him, planting a soft kiss on your forehead again. “Apart from spending the rest of my life loving you?”
“I don’t deserve you, Din.” You said, blushing.
“Of course you do… I would be lost without you. I was lost until you and Grogu came into my life.” Din said solemnly, brown eyes momentarily flickering with the pain that life as a solitary bounty hunter had caused him. “But now you’re here… I’m not letting you go without a fight. Even if I have to fight you for being mean to yourself sometimes. Okay?”
“Okay.” You replied, his words were exactly what your frayed nerves needed to hear.
“We’ll get through this.” Din reassured you. “We always do… you always do.”
Later on – after you had woken up from the nap that Din insisted you take after the exhausting toll getting into such a state had taken on your body – you smiled as you the smell of your favourite dish drifted down the hall and into the bedroom from the kitchen. Din was still learning how to cook properly but he always made an effort for you, despite his inexperience and general clumsiness in the kitchen.
You walked towards the kitchen, thanking the Force for the day it made you cross paths with Din Djarin, wondering what you would do without him. Din’s face immediately lit up when he saw you walk through the door and – as you sat down to eat with your boys – your heart felt lighter already as you looked at the pair of them. The meal was delicious and clearly prepared with a lot of love, even if it did not look all that appetising… you knew that Din had tried his best.
After you had finished eating – complimenting Din’s efforts throughout – your favourite Mandalorian insisted that he had a surprise for you. As he pulled the treat out of the freezer section of the conservator, you realised exactly what it was – the ice cream from your favourite Vendor at the market. Somehow he had gotten hold of it; it must have been when you were taking your nap.
As you sat there at the table, indulging in your favourite sweet, creamy treat that the man you loved so much had gone to such trouble to source for you – after realising how upset you had been to miss out on it at the Market before – you realised that this was exactly what you deserved in life.
You were not a burden, you knew Din would never view you as a burden. You deserved all the nice things in life.
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Honey Lemon Crescendo
Pairings: Trey Clover/Vampire MC
Summary: The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you.
The days you pray for the abolishment of your abhorrent form are rare in the centuries you have lived since your family's death, and your turning. Sharpened claws and teeth, the hellfire of your gaze are concealed for your own convenience, you tell yourself, especially as you enroll into NRC. The tonic of human affairs rarely interested you, yet when you find the truly curious case of Trey Clover, someone who is made only of that plain sort, you cannot help but to promise yourself one conversation, some several hours of the thousand thousand you have lived to taste what it is like to be treated, and be human again. But you're a fool, and a hypocrite‒ you find yourself breaking that promise over, and over, and over. Your fragile resolve frays at every sunbeam smile, every ringing laughter of his.
MC is a vampire, unique magic is telepathy, being able to unconsciously hear everyone's thoughts
Notes: Once again I am alive lol. Barely. Just finished my first semester in my Master’s program so I’ve been experiencing a bit a burn out, so I apologize if this isn’t my best work. Also, every time I'm like "hm is this too much trauma?" But then I remember the child murder, kidnapping, and child endangerment that's canon in twst and I'm like ooh wait right nvm I’m good. Fits within the canon. Anyways, I would have liked to explore the concept of BPD and its allegorical connections to Vampirism more in depth, especially due to the social sigma associated with it‒ but I feel that it would be waaaay too long for a one-shot if I did so.
Also, all stand alone quotes that are in italics represent inner thoughts (with some exceptions depending on your personal interpretations)
TW: References to depression, references to religious trauma, exorcism, and cults; references to child abuse; survivors guilt; referenced to verbal abuse; anxiety; panic attacks; slight mentions of eating disorders/disordered eating (suppressing appetite); BPD
GN Terms for MC
AO3 Link Here
Masterlist
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“There is no sin within this child. Only the devil which lives within them.”
Those were the words that had prevented your burning during the trial, among other things.
Perhaps it was also the way you would keep your claws obscured under thickset leather gloves, conceal your crimson gaze under obsidian shades, or the terror that seized you every night that left you so evidently unraveled in all of your unforgiving guilt and abhorrence for your new form. The pity that could be provoked by the wetness and flush of a child’s face was something many adults in the future instructed was a bias you should have been more grateful for‒ as it triumphed over whatever horrors people held when you spoke a decibel too loudly to show your sharpening fangs, moved too swiftly to confirm the power that swelled within you like simmering, spoiled blood‒ pungent, and nauseating.
It reminds you of the smell at the state of decomposition you found your family in when you returned home from a several day trip with your cello instructor‒ and the smell of its mouth when its sharpened teeth lurched towards your neck, before you felt the metallic taste drip cold into your gasping mouth.
It was first the elongated fangs. Then came the claws, the lack of reflection, the original color of your eyes draining, replaced with a bright vermillion. The enhanced senses and physical power were less noticeable‒ but the subtle power that swelled in your hands when you broke skin and meat with your own grip upon your arm did not go unnoticed by the Supreme Leader who examined your body and soul during your trial.
“This thing should be useful to me, I hope. I was right to send that “Cello Instructor” with them to take care of business here. I’ll continue my divine plan as usual.”
The words themselves terrified you. Should you run? Hide? Die? Where would you go‒ with your small feet and hands? What could you do? The more oppressive horror lay in the confirmation of the whorling suspicion inside of your small, ten-year old mind that your new form allowed for telepathy‒ the exact “usefulness” the Supreme Leader had suspected lapped inside of you. You were absolutely sure of it, days later, when you read the color of the townspeople faces‒ their leering eyes and curled lips, squeezing their children close behind them‒ back towards your home, set ablaze by their torches and oil. The scramble of noise wasn't needed to confirm their disgust of you, but it came anyway.
“Hideous.”
“Demon. Probably killed that poor family.”
“That disguising appearance‒ must be the child of the devil.”
“Murderer. Things like you deserved to be burned. Supreme leader is truly a blessing to take care of such vile things.”
You cowered at their stares‒ but you remember considering it distantly for a moment, even in the midst of your situation. That night you had been found by shaking candlelight, your mouth drenched with blood and fear, palming numbly at your family's cold bodies. You couldn't blame them, you supposed. The townspeople feared you. You feared you. Stay with me . The Supreme Leader told you. And you did.
He defended you during your trial with a kind smile, tying the rope around your wrists loosely with gentle hands, spoke softly of good deeds, good gods, all forgiving and loving. When he convinced the council to graciously join his family , you didn’t run.
“Don’t you want to be loved by god?”
You shakily rolled the breath that seized in your lungs, your small hands clutched in a prayer against the heartbeat that thundered against your bones.
“How pitiful child, that you choke on your sorrow. You, abhorrent creature, abomination of god‒ let me love you .”
“Let me be your god.”
He held a copy of Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Vampires of Wonderland in his hands‒ he pressed a finger onto each part of your body, comparing it with his‒ what made him human, and what made you not. He gifted you your own room‒ different from all the other children, deep at the belly of the earth. The cobblestone walls reached high into the heavens where you could not see, even with your enhanced vision‒ the light falling just where your vision could reach. One of his attendants presented him with a pair of cuffs, made specially for your size. The ones they had did not yet fit you. However, he placed them on the ground‒ crescent smile and blackened eyes. You would not escape.
You kept your secrets for a while‒ despite the unquenchable jealousy, festering sin, and violence that sprouted abundantly in the minds of his chosen advisors, who pinched your skin and snaked their cold hands under your shirt. In your ever dwindling, coastal town‒ you'd seen denial was the first reaction to loss. You'd felt a modicum of humanity in your ruthless rejection, letting the inner noise of others curdle in your mind.
Their words on the surface stuck of cheap, saccharine perfume, ones you recognized in the town's alleys and such. Yet you swallowed your nausea down, digesting their words one by one. You still had faith then, capable of religion . So easy to fool back then‒ you think now‒ children rarely doubt the material world. Why would people hurt you on purpose?
You were still a child then‒ an infant in vampiric years.
“ Don’t you want to be loved by god?”
“To be useful to god?”
"Useful to me?"
“They’ve done so much for you.”
“I’ve done so much for you.”
“Don’t you want to repay that?”
You revealed it all, in your childish trust, and his soft hands. You thought perhaps, that adults, despite their true intentions, would help you somehow. Belief in good will. Faith. It grips you with force.
It wasn’t all violence at first. But you began to fear the day where their actions would finally twist into something reflective of their actual intentions. That day came rather quickly, or so you think. Time did not matter in the small confines of your chambers below ground. The bloodletting, lashings, the vivisections were then all to vanquish the spirits that germinated inside your sinking flesh, possessing you to reveal such “impure things” in front of the people. Purification , he called it, no matter how many times you dried your throat from apologies, or promised you would do better next time. Next time I will speak your truth. God’s truth . You say the way their desires for a monster began to shape every laceration, every break of the bone.
Still, you couldn’t be their monster, nor a human. It seemed that the seeds of sacrilege had been sown firmly into you, and flourished each passing decade in its grotesque power.
The gods should have made you better, so that they could love you.
You’d beg through a dried throat and spinning vision for forgiveness and to appeal your usefulness‒ you knew the moment the priest resumed his kind smile, gentle hands, and his flowery voice‒ that he had found a use for you. Work for me , he said‒ and you obliged. He held your hand again, with a firm grip, and brought you to trials, his grand meetings with thousands of his followers‒ and you’d do his bidding, pointing a shaking finger at “non-believers” and spies‒ watching closely, where the supreme leader’s eyes leered and narrowed in order to anticipate your next move of survival . By then, you had learned to tune out a significant portion of the noise of people, to live in ignorant bliss for the few hours he would spend mending your gashing wounds, let you fiddle around with your cello that had survived the angry mob that burned down your family’s bakery, and home. Soft touches, sweet voice, he spoke.
"Good child, one of god, of forgiveness, of love. "
And you could tell he had meant it‒ knowing that when he lied to you‒ he always clasped his hands unconsciously in prayer. If there were opposing intentions twisting below his perfumed words that you had somehow failed to pick up with your trained senses‒ you couldn’t be bothered to unravel them. It was just nice. To be held again‒ forgiven . By someone at least, if not yourself. You were good. You were good again.
Decades pass‒ the people and the landscape move and breathe. It was only a matter of time your hometown would dwindle into a ghost city, being built on scrappy mines and poor fishermen, controlled by a con-man and his desperate believers. Even with nothing to lose, the remaining residents exiled you. Perhaps it was their humanity that they grasped onto with that final action.
You stand against the passing aches after aches‒ drinking it all from your chalice‒ vessels gilded with gold and hammered with human desire, sitting high to the heavens on altars to hold the blood and wine offered to the gods. You’d been hollowed much like that grail, gouged from the sharpened image of your still, immutable face against the shifting harmony of the world you could not enter. You have no reflection, no face, no name people would call out to take shape as your own, no proof of your corporeal form but your own, cold touch. And the hunger. The hunger seized you at every moment‒ aching through the gums of your fangs, and pounding your heart with the lifeblood that chased it. You were at least alive in your
You'd fashion something from the use you'd have to other people. A frankenstein skin stretched over your bones. You still feel the Supreme Leader’s gaze hollowing your senses.
"It's like they're reading my thoughts."
"Those sunglasses and gloves, what are you trying to stand out? So annoying."
"Why don't you read the atmosphere for once?"
"Arrogant asshole."
"What are you, pretending to be all high and mighty."
"Liar."
The noise never stops completely. But you've learned to shut the world out, better now with the advancements on potions and ear plugs‒ courtesy of the Night Raven College’s curriculum‒ hands free to grasp at every opportunity to prove you had existed in some way‒ a being that was real enough to feel the light of gods' love and forgiveness. Useful. Good.
“How did you know I used browned butter?”
Light‒ feather soft, honey sweet music that streams into your mind.
You always sat alone in the end. There was a composition to everything, as you saw it. And you had perfected the score of distance‒ being able to orchestrate a friendly, carefree facade, an absolutely stupid and undoubtedly shallow passion, pruning the space between you and the world. A gothic mirror to parody themselves, so they could not truly look at your monstrous, yet absent form‒ something you were sure would absolutely rupture the thick skin you've fashioned together out of pieces of the real people unlike yourself. You'd break apart into nothing but dust.
It was like the volume, moods, and rhythms created in the scores you played‒ you charged the room with boisterous laughter and directed the eyes at that, instead of your fervent efforts in composing the most fantastic detachment. In the end, you were almost giddy to see that no one saved you a seat, or spared you a glance when you slipped outside for a cigarette wedged hungrily between your fingers. The nicotine was enough to starve off the ache beginning to turn swiftly to nausea between your wobbling footsteps, and you were glad, you think, to have served your use in the social spiral to be afforded a moment of peace.
Or, you thought.
“Huh?”
“You forgot your prize.” The boy in front of you thrusts a frosted cupcake towards you, prompting you to switch the cigarette to your other hand to receive it. In the subtle moonlight, you see the sugar melted into the cream glitter a bit when you inspect the pastry.
He adjusts the hat on top of his green head of hair as he continues. “The competition to see who could guess all the ingredients in the cake correctly‒ you won, it was perfect, actually.”
You stare at him dumbly and you find yourself scooting over to make space for him. His eyebrows are tilted in a way that made his face a little sorry, a little roguish‒ a combination you found curious raised above those soft honey lemon eyes that hung like that summer fruit above the lush curve of his lashes.
“So‒ how did you know? I’m curious.”
You exhale the rest of the smoke resting in your lungs. “I…used to know people who were bakers. Their secret ingredient in their famous brownies was browned butter. I’ve eaten so many trays I’ve come to know the taste. The rest is just luck.”
He laughs. Not like you had seen out of the corner of your eye when he had been talking to all those people, but a loose, genuine chuckle. “I’d hardly call it luck‒ you got the measurements down pretty close. Impressive, if you ask me. May I ask‒ are you a baker?”
“I…” You find yourself smiling through the cigarette pushed to your lips, careful not to show your teeth. “I used to be. I used to spend a lot of time there, they must have rubbed off me.”
How long has it been since you’ve thought about them? You could remember the distinct nutty smell from the pounds of brown butter your sister was in charge of making‒ the click click click of your mother’s footsteps as she worked from the counter to the rack of trays, preparing the bread dough for proofing. Your father in the background, fiddling with the radio, beaming when he heard a recording of your cello performance on the morning radio. Warmth, sunlight. The beat of your heart, and the heat of your blood.
“You’ll have to give me the recipe then. I’ve been looking for a good brownie recipe.”
A moment to contemplate if you should end this conversation here. Something switches inside of you, perhaps a remnant of that warmth you remembered.
“You have something to write with?”
His face flowers gently into a brightened expression before he pulls out a small notebook from his breast pocket.
“...Thank you.”
You hum apathetically to work through the dreadful loom of warmth you feel when you hand the paper back to him with the recipes you’ve committed to memory from your laborious days at your family’s seaside bakery. The smoke still hanging in the air shifts sharply when you stand, and you flick the cindering cigarette to the pavement to stomp it out. You can tell there is more he wants to say that sits bubbly on his tongue, but you turn towards the door leading back to the Heartslabyul dorm before the words can take form through his smile.
There’s a moment that you stand by the door where you reflect on what you saw of him while he was inside, mingling with other humans.
“You should loosen your shoulders more when you smile, like that." Under his hat, you see his eyebrows raise up in slight surprise. Surprise isn't enough, you decide, and add, "If you want to convince people."
You hope those words leave him a bit cold, a bit cruel that he doesn’t come seeking after you anytime soon, feeling the scramble of thoughts threatening to pool into your ears through the plugs. It’s all noise to you. You step inside once more‒ feeling a little less sick, a little less raw to be able to orchestrate again.
Trey finds your handwriting as pretty as you were in the noise of the room, inspecting all the curls and loops of each word. It takes him a moment before he notices what you left behind.
“They forgot their prize…”
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The next time you meet him is during band practice. Or, more precisely, hear him would be a better descriptor.
"Have you seen (Name)?"
The thick walls of the storage room muffles his voice, but you still hear it loud and clear as you lean against the door, cello in hand.
"I just saw them a minute ago. I think they went to run a few errands or something since the school festival is soon." Carter replies.
"Ah it seems like I'm on a wild goose chase. I'm starting to wonder if such a person even exists…"
“They’re everywhere and nowhere all the time.” Carter chuckles. "I didn't even know you two were like that."
"Hm. I guess. We only really talked once." He hums.
"But I'd like to get to know them better ."
The sharp inhale you suck in makes an audible sound when you hear those words brush the back of your neck. You press the palm of your hands flat against your ears in panic to prevent any sound‒ voices, noise, the world‒ all of it, from entering your mind.
Quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet‒
You time his steps, the pleasantries he's likely throwing at the rest of the members, the time it takes for him to get far from your radius of power. Slowly, you release your hands from your head, and take a few moments to gather yourself before exiting the room.
Carter is the first to notice you. "Eh? (Name)? Since when were you there?"
"Since 10 minutes ago, dear. I told you we were going to take a break from group practice today and do individual practice today didn't I? We've been rehearsing so much for the festival I figured we could take a break for today."
"Really?? How did I miss this? I totally just sent Trey to the wrong place."
Lilia continues to tune his bass. "You were on your phone when (Name) briefed us on the schedule 3 weeks ago, Carter."
"I wanted to do a group rehearsal today! I feel like I finally got the hang of the last couple measures this time!" Kalim interjects.
"Don't pout, my dear president." The hand you place on his head is as gentle as ever. "You can practice without a vocalist for today, can't you? I have a lot to catch up on the Monstero Lounge gig I have coming up."
You bid your fellow members goodbye, dragging the instrument all the way to one of the empty classrooms.
Finally, a moment of peace.
You shuffle through your folder, fishing out the piece you had picked to play for a talent night that Azul had insisted you come and play at, excitedly chattering about how it was going to be brilliant for business.
Chopin's Cello Sonata in G Minor, Largo .
The cello sonata was one of the composer's last pieces. It was spectacular to you. A final, dazzling eruption before dwindling to the mere echoes of what had once been there‒ a fantastical piece with a pressure combed through every measure that would well an incomprehensible rawness that began at your chest, and would weave through the fibers of your throat that clenched in its emptiness.
But perhaps it was not so incomprehensible‒ humans in your life had been much the same. The ones you held dearly would rupture from this world, leaving you empty, aching with the sharpened, receding fragments.
When you slip off your gloves to press your bare fingers against the strings, you try not to let this thought consume you.
"But I'd like to get to know them better."
Bitterly, it seeps.
You know it's wrong‒ the piece is supposed to be for a simple, ten minute performance‒ a monotonous activity of human affairs that you would be pleased to check hastily off the list with a presentable smile and lightness. However, the decades you have lived until this day weigh upon you at once, spinning your hands in such a way that threads your grief heavily into the mellow air. The murky rust of the setting sun swells with the florid volume of your own misery, and the silence of the world that ripostes it.
The song falls softly, a slow stroke that gradually quiets until there is nothing. A diminuendo‒ to shatter, to finish. There's a small comfort, that unlike living things, the scores that stood on the iron music stand could be revived time after time, on trembling strings and resin scented maple. But, not much.
The flesh at the back of your eyelids are sparked with purple and blue stars as you squeeze your eyes shut, head leaning against the body of the cello to steady your breaths. It may have been the dizziness steadily climbing from the ache of your empty stomach to your head, but you felt like you were swaying in that concoction of color and bursting light.
"Don’t you want to be loved by god?”
You're afraid that if you open your eyes, the world may still be there. The noise, it will still exist, and reel you in‒ tangling you among its grotesque allure until the moment you reach towards it. Then, it will furl inwards, somewhere far from where you could detect it. The air feels sharp in your lungs‒ you feel like if you take too much in, you’d burst. The bow splinters in your hand, drawing blood.
"Pretty ."
A voice strikes through your bleakness, a gentle, but clear sound.
Trey stands at the center of your view. His face holds a glossy look for a moment, before he shakes his head and apologizes.
"Sorry‒ I just‒ I just heard you in the hallway, I thought you sounded really…" He laughs, shifting his gaze to the side. " Pretty ."
You look down at your instrument, and notice your bare hands, you remember you don't have your sunglasses on either. The cello echoes when you lean it against the desk, turn away from him to slip on your gloves and glasses.
You clear your throat, feeling each word stumble in staccato breaths. "Ah. Well. Um. Thank you. It's all, rather, very wrong though."
"Wrong? But it was incredible."
"Pretty."
"Pretty."
"Pretty."
The thoughts that enter his mind that churn into yours are ignored best you can before you swivel, veiling yourself in your disguise once more. "Perhaps wrong is not the best term. It's not tasteful for the audience, I suppose. There was no control."
"Control?" He parrots.
"Yes, you know." You wave your hand in flutter movements. "If someone like me performed like I just did‒ ha! I’d become the laughing stock of the entire school. " You clasp your hands together. "Now, darling. I must get going. Did you want to marvel at my music some more, or is there anything else you needed?"
You work quickly to gather your things, expecting Trey to leave after you've dismissed him. But when you drag your cello case around to leave, you see him still standing in the doorway, leaping towards your hand that rests on the cello case.
"Can I help you? It seems heavy."
"I'm alright. I've dragged this thing around this school, I am perfectly capable‒" When you go to lift the full weight of the instrument however, a dizziness digs into your temples, nausea quickly following suit.
"Oh‒ are you alright? Are you not feeling well? Let me at least help you with your instrument back to your dorm."
You stare at him, feeling your power rise within you, waiting for his thoughts to flood through your system‒ a confirmation to your suspicions you filter every person through, to pick them apart.
“You’re hurt.” He goes to examine your hand, you pull back.
"They don't look so well. Maybe they need something to eat? I should whip them up something after I help them carry this back to their dorm. Hm. Yeah. That sounds good. Something hearty."
Those words are inspected with great skepticism in your mind before the dizziness takes over, muddling your brain to a jumbled mess. Whatever, you think. He seems harmless enough.
“Fine” As soon as that curt response slips from your lips, you cringe internally. You clear your throat, attempting to redeem yourself. “I’ll take up your offer if that's alright with you. Pretty boy .”
He seems to hold the air in his throat when you give him that name, before he releases it in a puff of laughter. "Pft. Alright, yeah. Let's get you back to your room before you spout any more nonsense."
"Me?"
You're a bit taken back from his internal response. But you trail behind him, the weight of the nausea lifting slightly off your steps.
------------------------------
"What kind of cocoa powder did you use?"
"I think…just the regular brand stuff."
"Use Dutch processed next time. If you activate it correctly, the alkalizing process gives the batter a richer color and flavor."
He had somehow used his devilish charm to string you into this, you tell yourself, sipping on the tea you brewed for the both of you. But it would be rude to kick him out of your quarters without a proper thanks. You're no longer human, but you'd at least act civilized.
The tea has run a bit cold from the two whole hours he's managed to rope you into a conversation on baking techniques‒ slipping out the same notepad and pen he pulled out that night you met, and a box of various pastries and baked goods that he seemingly prepared out of nowhere. Truthfully, you weren't supposed to eat human food without proper sustenance from blood‒ however the look he gave you had absolutely pleaded that you do. So, how could you refuse?
You clear your throat to break through your endless flood of doubts and excuses. "I heard you were looking for me during band practice. Now that you've wormed your way into my life by bribing me with sweets‒ what did you want from me?"
"Oh!" He pulls another, smaller box from the bag you saw him rummaging through for the sweets laid out before the two of you. "Ah‒ I forgot about this. It might be a bit melted since there's ermine cream on the top."
The simple white box is opened, revealing a similar cupcake that you (purposefully) forgot the night you met him.
"It's not the same thing‒ it might be better actually‒ I used buttercream last time but it's pretty heavy so I substituted with ermine cream this time." He remains composed but you can tell something is bubbling below it. "Tell me what you think."
" I'm so excited to see what they think…I worked hard on this recipe since it seems it wasn't up to their tastes last time."
You make a face when you hear his thoughts, wondering how absolutely normal someone can be. “You mean to say you came all the way here to deliver me…this cup cake?”
"Yes I mean‒ I don't mean to pressure you into eating it, obviously." His eyebrows bunch upwards in his usual sorry expression. "I just. Wanted to hear your thoughts. Since I haven't met someone this knowledgeable on baking techniques at this school."
People usually had ulterior motives when approaching others with gifts, kindness, words slathered in polite niceties and compliments. You eye him suspiciously as he calmly sips his tea, scribbling away in his little notepad.
Drawing a little closer to him, you lean against the table, feeling the heat of your crimson eyes when you concentrate your magic to wade through the noise‒ pulling the thread of his thoughts from it all. It requires a bit of power through your ear plugs and rising nausea, but you manage to unravel it.
" I'd really like to get to know them better. Friends, maybe . Cater says I should get out there more, this is what he meant, right? "
It was impossible to ignore the truth of the matter‒ that the person sitting in front of you is so absolutely unbearably bare, plain. You'd thought you'd seen clarity before, in how salient the cruelty of people was, but you had been wrong. No doubt this was true clarity‒ the candor of normal, mundane life that you normally blocked out with the rest of the noise of the world. The tonic of human lives rarely interested you, but it seemed like all this person was, and it seeped deeply into his treatment of you. Normal, bare, plain.
Human .
It was so baffling you could not suppress the smile that spread on your lips.
Ah, maybe just for today, you think. Just this one conversation. Just one moment, and I'll forget the taste of human life again.
"Hm, alright. Just this once, pretty boy ."
The sugary cream melts instantly in your tongue, and the airy sponge is sweet when you swallow your determination to forget this honey sweetness he brings. A hint of vanilla, cinnamon, sugar, spice, and everything nice. You let it settle deep in the dark of your belly, feeling the warmth still lacing through your blood from the tea you've sipped with him slowly cool under your flesh. You devour it all, with his words and smile, hiding it deep inside so you can’t remember its sweetness.
But the honey you've added at his request still runs golden sweet on your tongue. You roll it through your mouth, trying to extinguish the taste, but it spreads further, coating your throat as you swallow it. Unlike the contents of the cupcake, it runs raw against your flesh, and you must wait until it seeps deeply into the fibers of your throat before it dissolves.
The hours pass as you talk with him, but the sweetness does not fade.
------------------------------
"You alright?"
The silvery tone of your voice breaks through Trey's thoughts. He had been lagging behind the Heartstlabyul group to take a break from all of the frenzy of today. The responsibility, the pressure. You'd been with them a moment ago, mingling as you always did, but now you've slowed your footsteps to match the slight drag of his own‒ something he's sure you've noticed. Heat tingles at his cheeks‒ he doesn't know whether it's from the way you've broken his image so swiftly with your keen eyes, or if it's from, simply, your thoughtfulness. For him, of all people. For him.
"Yeah, fine. Just tired. Today has been such a long day with these underclassmen."
His laughter rings clearly, even though the obstruction of your ear. With each note emanated from his lips, you feel it slipping through the cracks of the foundation of your feeble resolve, crumbling so endearingly that you smile sincerely when he speaks. It had been disgust, revolt at first, feeling the distance between your world and his inching closer and closer‒ but before you could notice the absence of nausea stinging through your chest and stomach, you felt the feather-lightness of your own smile chiming with his own, completely eclipsing the discomfort you had felt previously in the proximity to other lives. To him.
"You need to relax more. Stop fussing over these no good children." You massage his shoulders in a playful manner.
He feigns pain then quirks that smile on his face‒ you know the one, the one where he bunches his eyebrows and laughs with the back of his throat. In that moment, you're as confident as ever, charging him with laughter‒ letting your inhibitions lose. Control didn’t matter, for a moment. The world doesn’t seem so sharp at that moment, like you were going to tip over the edge.
When the pads of his fingers brush against your fingers, all that sense you had withers so easily in your chest. Through his shoulders, you can feel the vibration of the hum he emits in agreement, a musical accompaniment to the warmth that radiates from his hands.
"Maybe. They're good kids. You're right‒ maybe I do need to relax." You retract your hands from him, allowing him to toss his head over his shoulder. "Any tips?"
The seconds you weigh out whether to lie or not seem to shorten with every moment you spend with him. "I guess…music. I like to sing some of the warm-up pieces I used to know.”
"Warm up for what?"
"Ah for the…church choir."
Liar .
He makes a face, an airy laugh escapes your nose. "What?" You ask.
"...you just don’t look like a religious person.”
You look down at your feet, a slight smile as a comfort to him. “I haven’t been in a while. I don’t think I’ve had faith in anything in a long time.” A quiet lull in your words.
Your stomach turns. It's always a look of pity, or some casted look that drags you as some pathetic creature, cold and inhuman. The words die in your throat, you quiet your breaths, feeling then stick to the prickly flesh of your lungs and throat.
“I get it.”
But the look Trey gives you as he digests your words is a sadness as sincere and clear as water. It was not such a clawing, dried look that transformed you into something you didn't want to be. Instead, he swallows your words whole, as they were, his gaze reaching far beyond the pain. His sound‒ clear as a summer's day, dotted prettily with the honey lemon droplets of his gaze‒ finds you.
“I got you.”
A tranquil, silvery symphony‒ each sweetened thread weaving itself magnificent, deep within your nerves. It takes everything to pull yourself from it.
"Now, I have the perfect blend of tea for you then, darling. It goes wonderfully with those lemon shortbread cookies you made yesterday‒ absolutely divine."
Quick to shake the feeling off, you mask the dread of warmth with your usual stupid passion and fire that carves an expression of slight surprise into Trey's face, just for a moment. But it surprised you, instead, to see that it dissolved completely, and replaced with an elated burst of laughter. It takes him a moment to gather himself, and many more for you to do the same with the words he says.
"You're actually a really good person, (Name)."
The feeling returns, swiftly.
You don’t want to breach into the borders of his mind, but you found yourself reaching for the silvery thread of his sound from the noise, picking apart the gray mess of things to find that glimmering thing. Your mind had learned the scent, the exact hue and melody of his inner voice to be able to pluck it so naturally from everything else, and you were growing fearful that you had committed yet another thing to memory that would eventually be lost to time. But the words that you hear from him‒ you think it will consume you for the rest of your eternity.
"God. You're wonderful."
It nearly chokes you to hear such clarity in that declaration. Foolish . You think. Only a fool would say such a thing. You fix the shades slipping down your face, turning your energy to block out any sound and voice.
"You flatter me, my dearest."
Lucid, pure. His voice. His laughter. It wasn't just noise to you anymore. You think of what chord his voice would be, how it would sing against your fingers on your cello. Or perhaps a heavenly instrument would be more befitting.
"But you've got me all wrong."
You smile. Perhaps you were the fool.
A few weeks later, he admits: "Truthfully, I tried to avoid you best I could before we officially met. Because of your blase attitude and the rumors about you‒ I thought I wouldn't mesh well with people like you."
"Is that so?" A wolfish smile curves onto your lips, eyes turning crescent. You fiddle with the flier for the monstero lounge show coming up, debating whether or not you should have really accepted Azul’s request. "It seems most people think I'm that way."
"Yeah. But I'd like to think you opened up to me a bit, and I discovered something about you that made me want to talk to you. You're real strange, you know that?"
"Oh, I'm the weirdo? I'm not the one whose hobby is brushing their teeth."
"Dental health is important." He states matter-of-factly, before his hardened look is broken with a breathy laughter. "But really. I would have liked to be friends earlier in my life if I had just known you were the way you actually are."
You remember his words, turning your eyes downwards. "I'd really like to get to know them better."
Hesitation curdles in your mind, but the words come instantaneous, eager to his statement. "Which is?" Perhaps too eager, you shrink.
He hums, thinks for a minute. "Just‒ kind ." He says. "I never noticed before, but you're always making sure people are included, checking on people. It's like a sixth sense‒ you can easily pick up what people are thinking, but also feeling. Like a guardian angel or sorts."
You stare at him with a blank look, a breath in your lungs that doesn't make it past your parted lips. Then, gaze downwards, again.
"I wish more people would know how much good you have."
It takes great effort not letting his words sink deeply into your heart, constricting it. Sometimes, when you replay the scene in your head at night‒ an inevitable occurrence when he's on your mind‒ you try your hardest not to let it well something inside you so floridly that it bleeds heavily in your chest, and sprouts the salt in your eyes. But, it does. Idiot , you think, if only you knew what I really was.
You make a noise, unclear yourself as to your response to his statement, crushing the flier in your hand. Attempting to redeem yourself, you casually begin rolling the balled up paper in your hands, giving Trey an exasperated expression.
“What’s that?” He points to the paper.
“Oh‒ nothing. An Azul thing. Or a Monstero Lounge thing. Whatever, I’m probably going to bail on it anyways.”
“An Azul thing?” The hint of disappointment in his tone confuses you. “Oh! the Monstero Lounge show that’s coming up? I’ve been looking forward to it‒ you’re bailing? Don’t let Carter hear you say that‒ he’s been talking about wanting to be in it for weeks.”
A smile quirks on your face. “Has he now?”
Trey nods. “Why are you bailing? I thought you had a real passion for playing?”
“Performance is another matter. You know, the difference between baking for yourself, and baking for other people.” Trey nods in understanding. “Besides, what makes you say that?” You make a face which fails to fully contain the disgust towards yourself. Passion. It curdles on your tongue.
“How do I put it…You…” He pauses, thinking. In a moment, his words flood forth. “Your expression seems heavier when you’re playing. But, maybe a good kind of heavy. You always seem light and bubbly, but now that I think about it, you never talk about yourself.”
“I don’t.” You confirm, a sweet smile.
“You don’t.” An averted gaze. “I never asked.”
“How unusual of you‒ mother of Heartslabyul.”
“So,” His gaze pulls you in. “What’s your favorite color?”
You take a moment to reply, a bit surprised that he would actually follow through with his words. You’re reminded of the reason why you were so taken with him in the beginning‒ despite his sheepish deflection of compliments, despite the playful smirk that curved on his face‒ his words always matched his actions, his gaze, his expression.
“Yellow. A lemony, summery yellow. Reminds me of the flowers my sister used to grow.”
“You just have one sister?”
“One and only. My older sister.”
“I’m envious. I’ve always wondered what it was like being the younger sibling.”
You chuckle, searching the vast landscape of memories stored inside you. “You know‒ teasing, fighting, hand-me-down clothes, the like. But I love her, especially when she makes her brioche bread.”
“You’re close with her?”
Time, space‒ the difference between you and the world, him. It comes in waves as always, flooding you, and your hands which search for distant memories. You’re not sure if it was his ignorance towards your nature, or plainly his presence that seemed to pull your discorporated humanity closer to you once more.
“Very. She’s my rock. She was the first to encourage me to pursue music.”
“Do you play other instruments?”
“Of course. Cello, piano, guitar, accordion, harp, violin, flute…” You trail on.
The conversation goes on, until the two of you notice you’ve been walking around the campus, completely separated from the others. You laugh about it.
When you separate, you watch him walk across the hills, his form roaring against the sunset. There’s a twinge in your stomach, which you swallow with great effort. The distance between you and him seemed like it didn’t matter for the vivid moments you spent conversing with him‒ but now with his back towards you, as he headed towards the light‒ the feeling wades back. You search through the flood as you always do, but you cloud your own vision when you look back to the things you said, the faces you made, the memories you shared. Blackened, like yourself. The sun hisses against your skin. At times like this, you’re reminded of your stunted development‒ you had forgotten what the sun does to creatures of the night.
It scorches your retinas as you look at the heart of the sun, but you let it‒ reminded of the sweetness of his honey lemon eyes.
Bitterly, it seeps.
------------------------------
Every time Trey stands by your door, for some reason, his nerves rise to the surface, tingling at his feet and the hand that raps at wood. He doesn't understand why his body gets this fussy every time‒ he's seen you a dozen times before. That crooked, fanged smile; the delightful way your hands move in conversation, the charming little way you hum when pouring him tea (2 sugars, a touch of cinnamon, just the way he likes it)‒ these are all things he's almost gotten used to that he doesn't feel near faint when you grace him with such pleasures.
" Pretty boy ."
He remembers the nickname you call him, along the standard " darling "s and " my dear "s you seem to call everyone else. Just for him, you've fashioned something that can instantly unravel him, much like now, as he waits in front of your door with fresh pastries. He feels special when you call him that‒ but it feels good, unlike the times he tries to undermine himself under a barrage of flattening statements that stomp out every potential for expectations . Like he could make a difference, a change in anyone or anything. He’s just a normal guy. Nothing more. Riddle was a vivid reminder of that.
Except when he’s with you‒ it feels extraordinary.
The millions of things that seem to arise out of conversation‒ the sheer possibility of what wonderful things he can share with you beats like thunder in his chest, reaching the tips of his ears where they flush. That fullness he felt before returns‒ the only way to alleviate it it seems is to converse and spend time with you. He hopes the redness at least dies down when he's around you, all his senses seem to fly out the window when you're by his side.
We're just studying together. That's all. He tells himself.
He secretly holds his breath when you open the door with the creak‒ but he releases it when his lips part in surprise at your state.
"O-oh. Hello, Trey." Rather than your usual, slurry, elegant demeanor, your voice scrapes against your throat‒ the sound coming small and frail, something Trey had never associated with you before. Elegant, honey-like, and sure of yourself‒ it was never like this. Diminuendo , he remembers from you, and his favorite piece that you play. Like you'd depart from him, where he could not follow.
You fix your glasses, feeling them slipping on your nose, before you run your hand through your knotted hair. The cigarette wedged between your fingers weaves smoke between the two of you, mixing with the smell of alcohol on your breath. "I'm afraid something came up, darling. I have to cancel today, I'm sorry I didn't ring you in advance." You go to close the very small gap you've allowed yourself to open‒ Trey stops you before you can. The bold move surprises even himself.
"...You're sick? In that case I could‒"
" D-don't touch me." A crackle in your voice, fear striking your expression. "A-apologies. No. It's fine. You musnt do anything for me."
"But I want to?"
The prickly air that had been kindling on the inside of your lungs flares all at once at that moment, puncturing something inside.
"You don't know what you want." You spit.
" Oh‒ what?"
"I said you don't know what you want. But allow me to make it easier for you. You don't want this. So go away‒ get out of my sight ."
Hellfire. It stains you.
"I‒" He swallows the lump in his throat. "I-I don't understand?"
"I said . Get away from me, Trey ." His name comes cold on your tongue. He feels it coil around his spine.
What are you saying?
"But‒"
You launch the door open, almost breaking it off the hinges. The crimson of your eyes glow in your power as you bare your fangs, clawing the wood of the door with your sheer grip. A lurching feeling wells inside you, as you grow in size, in power, in sharpness. All the qualities that separate you, from him.
"I SAID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME."
You don't recognize your voice. Trey's feet crumble from underneath him as you tower over his form. With the fear that seeps into his eyes, you decide it's enough, and shut the door with a slam.
You swallow the breaths that come faster than you can handle, looking down at the chips of wood that embed into your nails and fingers, beginning to bleed. You lean on your table, raising one hand to grasp at the root of your hair, catching a glimpse of the crimson glow that emanates off your eyes. The hair that falls in front of your face cages you in that bloody vision‒ red, and violent.
This is what you are, it's what you've always been and always will be. A monster . Fanged, clawed, hideous‒ thick, violent strokes of inky black on one of those books the priest used to carry around with him. Swirling into a void so corroded of color‒ the truest black‒ immortalizing your revolting form, permanently baring your fangs, carrying hellfire in your eyes and throat that you’d swing senseless with an animal violence. Fixed in that abstracted abyss, forever‒ eternal as you are. How pitiful that you choke on your own sorrow.
You fall into a rage, your body dragging itself by the spine‒ swinging your hands and legs throughout the room. A sound tears from your throat, far from a human cry. Music scores from missed practices fly, used plates and cups tumble to the ground, chipping. Your ashtray falls heavy on the grand piano that sits at the center of your room, slamming down the heavy lid, reverberating the strings, hammering into the air a chaotic symphony of ash and disorder.
For a moment you think to pick everything up, tidy yourself up and make amends with Trey‒ but you know the drill by now. In a week, you'd come to terms with yourself again‒ all the things you make and destroy‒ and sever yourself from this place, and its people. In just seven days you'd swallow the bitterness of your own self as you always had, clean your mess, throw the pieces you'd broken away. It ends all the same.
Before you know it, you have a half empty bottle in hand, the days old wine weighing heavily in your palm. You twist your body furiously in attempt to rupture the surfaces of rage you have rising like fire inside of you, to at least reach to the gnawing feeling inside your chest. But it grows even restless, even hungrier‒ eating away at the breath in your lungs and the beat of your heart when you come face to face with your reflection. Nothing.
What sort of monster doesn't have a face?
You couldn't have even be given that, to be remembered and touched‒ even if it was fear and abhorrence‒ to exist as a creature who is seen, and heard on their own. You were merely an image created by others.
Control‒ you never had any of it, ever since your mouth was held open by its hinges and forced to down that creature's blood. It was laughable to even call yourself a musician, a conductor, a person. There was not a moment in your life where you had genuinely orchestrated the fullness of musicality, or anything. When you plucked on the strings of your cello‒ it was always just that. Noise. There was nothing inside of you that could transfigure that dead noise from the strings into something meaningful, something that could exist in the realm of adoration. Loved .
Don't you want to be loved?
How could you be? You're just‒ this .
Crumbling to the ground, you sob, remembering the fear laid plain on Trey's face.
Surely‒ he’s gone. If you had ever held him in that way, at least. Arm’s length, prickled air‒ you had been weaving this inevitable goodbye yourself. Regret curdles heavily in your stomach as you bring your knees to your face on the floor.
I was doing so good. I was good again‒ I am good. You clench your jaw, imagining those portraits of violence from the Supreme Leader’s book. A realization‒ fuck . Nausea rises to your throat.
You want to sleep. Or drink. Or smoke. Something to sedate you out of this emptiness clawing itself all over your insides.
A knock startles you out of your daze. You assume the door is broken by the sound of the rusty hinges creaking open, the light of the hallway pouring behind you. A silhouette‒ but you don’t want to be found, or seen. You stay quiet, hoping he just leaves. Forever, maybe.
“(Name)?”
His footsteps creak against the floorboards, inching closer and closer. You wish you had the energy to tell him to leave again. Instead, you bury your face in your hands.
You hear him shuffle a bit, close to you on the floor.
His breath tickles the hairs on your arm, his voice reaching far into your head, the vibration from his throat rippling to your empty chest. “I’m not leaving.”
With some kind of divine courage, you speak. “Why won’t you?”
He shuffles closer, lacing his fingers through your tangled hair. “Because it seems I like you too much.”
“You’re a fool.”
You were the fool.
“Birds of a feather flock together.” He says, matter of factly. “Because you’re an idiot if you think I’m just going to leave you here. You…”
You feel him swallow, pausing his hands to hold your head at the crook of your neck. “You’re special to me.”
“I’ve got you.”
It feels like you're being enveloped completely by him‒ his smell, his sound. It smells faintly of candied violet, vanilla, and your honey lemon blend of tea. Trey thinks it complements well with your smell. Old books, and well-read letters tucked preciously into cookie tins. Faintly, iron.
In a shaky voice, you apologize. Over and over. "I-im so sorry.There's something wrong with me." He rubs your shoulder, measuring his movements carefully so as not to overwhelm you. "I'm sorry I'm this way. I-I didn't mean to yell. I didn't mean to send you away. I want you here. I-I'm sorry. I lied. I’m a liar.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. We all have our things‒ we’re human, right?”
You cry harder. "No, you don't understand."
"Are you fae?" He asks, looking at your pointed ears and teeth he'd seen in the students in Diasmonia. "There's nothing wrong with that. You're still‒"
Wonderful .
He chooses his words with care in your state. “- my friend.”
You swallow the bitter taste in your mouth. "N-no. I'm nothing of the sort. I-I…" Everything is so unbearable‒ you're unbearable . Your fangs pierce into your lips when you bite down, suppressing the wailing pressure that threatens to leak from deep inside your throat. It burns all the way down when you swallow it, only leaving you with a portion of your dwindling volume.
" I'm a monster ." You spit, looking directly into Trey's eyes‒ like you did moments before‒ hellfire stirring within them. The palms of your hands face him, framed with the sharpened claws of your hands that spot with blood from the splitters still embedded within them. Slowly, you furl them onto yourself, drawing red upon your palms when they ball into fists. "A vampire‒ like the ones you know from books and stories. That's me ."
That is all I am.
Your vision blurs, and you tuck your limbs into yourself as if you brace for impact.
Instead, softness‒ honey lemon eyes, sweetness, golden.
"You're hurt."
You make a sound through your sobs when he takes your hands. Impossibly soft, feathery under your own, he picks the sharpness out of them. The blood is wiped away with his handkerchief, staining the light clover green fabric with blots of red. Now it's dirty , you think. I’ve poisoned it.
"You're not a monster." He says, unfurling your hand further, prying apart your sharpened fingers from your palm. They twitch at his words.
"I tried to hurt you‒ send you away.” You feel like your throat is going to collapse.
He’s quiet for a moment, you can see him roll his saliva through his mouth, and the doubt and anxiety which passes across the movements of his downwards eyes. A barbed look‒ you feel it prickle familiarly against yourself‒ so you ever so slightly inch your pinky towards his hand that rests near your own, making a small gesture with your pinky to intertwine it with his‒ I’ve got you .
A heavy breath pushes past his lips. “People do that all the time. I get it‒ I mean‒ I know how it feels to be anticipating the color and tone of people’s faces. I grew up doing the same. From a certain point‒ you can kind of sense when people begin to tear themselves away from you‒ like you thought they would do eventually‒ it’s kind of a relief, isn’t it? To confirm that the distance you were placing between people at least did something .”
You nod, giving him a small quirk on the lips to agree. He continues. “I’m really just a normal guy‒ you know? I don’t really have the power to change things, or have an effect on people. Like you do.”
“Me?”
He hums, rounding his expression with a small curve on his lips. “You light up the room. You charge everyone with a certain energy. A je ne sais quoi .” He jokes‒ you laugh. “It’s probably a lot of pressure, a lot of fear. But you face it. I like that about you.”
“ I’m not like you .” You hear from him. You want to remind him‒ you're a fool.
“You-” You gulp. “You do that for me too. You light up my day. But‒ I don’t know. I feel bad feeling these things. It’s like I can’t wait, you know?”
Trey scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. “Can’t wait for what?”
“I can’t wait. For the moment you‒ or people‒ leave, like you said. I’m always anticipating it. I digest people inside of me‒ pick them apart. I’m really not a good person. Sometimes there’s just something inside of me that switches when I’m faced with anything pointing to people confirming my suspicions‒ like I’m always tipping off the edge. I don’t know‒ people are…” A baited breath. “Bad. And I’m something a lot worse.”
Trey takes your hand again, drawing circles with his thumb.
“I don’t know who I am. I have no reflection, no substance, no form‒ nothing . All I know is that I’ve been emptied to carry this filth that terrorizes me‒ and whenever I lash out at it, I end up hurting other people.” The afternoon light that weaves in between the curtains illuminates a streak of dust and smoke in the room. “My story ends all the same. Like any good fabled monster.”
“What if this time it ends differently?”
A weary smile wobbles onto your lips. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” You stand, dust yourself off, and offer a hand to him. He accepts.
“It will.” His assertiveness almost surprises himself, but he reminds himself why‒ it’s you .
“Why‒ aren’t you certain?” Bitterness seeps your tongue.
“You’re the reason for it. You’re all that.”
There’s a feeling that wells inside you that replaces the tension that slips from your shoulders‒ something a tinge sour, sweet, and warm. You don’t search for the underlying tones and clandestine beats of his words. Clear as day‒ you accept this feeling. Hesitantly, you lean against him, soaking with the feeling that seems to also radiate from him.
“You’ll stay today?”
Trey feels you relax against him.
“For as long as you'll have me.”
He doesn’t let you go.
------------------------------
"I've never seen snow before I came here." You watch the soft speckles of white float gently down from the skies. "I'll never get tired of this scene."
Trey slows his pace a bit, so you can linger on the white landscape. "Really? Not even in the Queendom of Roses?"
You nod. "The island I lived on before I was exiled was exceptionally warm. I wasn’t allowed‒ ”
Quickly, you shift your words. Control.
“-I wasn’t much of an outside kid, on account of the whole sun thing before potions could handle it. And after I had left I hopped from one island to another‒ most of them were too warm to have snowy weather. And when I visited the main island it was always during the warmer seasons.”
You remember the supreme suggesting warm climates‒ quiet, sunny peaks in the outlands, away from people. Those suggestions grew on you with time. You liked warmer climates anyways, . The room you had at the temple had always been cold and damp, the only light that would peek through snuck in through the stone that had eroded over years of negligence. You shiver.
"I don't like the cold, too much. But the snow is beautiful."
You suddenly feel wool, warmth on your neck. Trey fixes his scarf on you, you almost jump away, but after the initial moment of surprise, you relax into his scent that has melted into the wool. Lavender . He always smells like sweet floral, you note. It reminds you of the patches of grass and wildflower that would sprout sparingly in the parts of your room where the sun would kiss‒ the dew that would form on them like opals would be sweet like the fragments of light that wove in soft petals on the hard stone flooring. When you touched that light refracting in honeyed rays in those small drops of water the morning chill brought, you could remember a fraction of your humanity. Summer like a warm blanket and the crickets that chirped outside while you and your sister sat beside the window sill, giggling at the lantern light. The verdant coolness that swept the bakery while you helped your papa prepare the bread rolls for proofing. Silly, small things. It could make you cry, even now, as Trey diligently wraps the scarf around your neck.
“...You were exiled?” He chooses his tone, his words very carefully, softness like velvet honey.
You smile, a shape meant to comfort him. “I was. My hometown was very poor. People needed something to believe in, and they already had their hero.” Supreme leader, in his gilded cloak. "You're going to catch a cold‒ and this scarf‒ it's from your siblings, is it not? I feel bad, you shouldn't give stuff so easily to people." Despite your words, dive your nose deeper into the yarn, threading your claws carefully within the chunky pattern.
"I’m warm enough‒ besides, you wear things like this well.” He finishes fussing with the scarf. The warmth that had welled into the wool from his skin melts into you like cotton candy‒ sweet and soft. “And you’re cold, aren’t you? If I catch a cold I’ll just have you take care of me.”
You press your cold fingers onto his bare neck to hide the rosy heat coloring your cheeks. With a shiver and a smile, he yells "Hey!" while laughing.
"Well I guess I have no choice then.”
A moment of silence after your laughter dies down‒ Trey hardens his expression. “You’re still shivering. The blood supplements haven’t helped?”
A sigh pushes through your nose. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t feel too keen on asking hospitals for donations either. I’ll be fine, pretty boy.” A curt smile curves onto your lips to reassure him.
Trey makes a face. “What if you get sick again?”
The smile you wear tightens. “I’ll be fine .”
“It’s worrying.”
“I don’t need it.”
The silence of the snowfall roars against your ears when he says‒ “What if you fed off of me?”
The dense crunch of your footsteps packing the snow stops as your chest rises and falls with a thickened rhythm.
“Don’t joke about such things.”
“I wasn’t.”
"Then don’t say stuff like that. I said I don’t need it."
"But you do! Look at you! You're emaciated‒ a few days ago you were barely standing!"
"That's‒"
"It’s not healthy, you know. You need blood to survive."
“It’s scary to see you like that.”
You’re genuinely taken back from his internal voice, a slight treble which rings against your ears. “I don’t understand. Why would you be scared?”
His answer is instantaneous, exasperated. “Because you’re my friend.”
You bite the words climbing your throat. As much as it pained you to see Trey like this, you could not swallow that thought threatening to simmer through your lips, a burning notion that had engraved itself into every piece of yourself.
I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need you I don't need I don't need‒
"Why won't you accept this offer? Accept me?" It chokes you to hear him like this‒ but the familiar nausea that seizes your throat overpowers it.
Because I could never make up for it. Make up for it being me that you choose.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“ Fuck‒ yes I will!” You hiss. Quieter, you muster. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. I’m made that way.”
His silence drives a hot coal down your throat‒ prompting you to push down that blackness that gnaws at you.
“Sorry‒ I‒” A release in the tension of your shoulders. “I apologize. I was just…overwhelmed. It’s a serious proposition‒ you really shouldn’t take it so lightly. I haven’t interacted so much with my own kind but from what I heard, it would be almost a lifelong commitment. At least for you that is. When you die, I will..." You attempt to swallow the tightness in your throat- a hunger. "I will not forgive myself."
“I’m sorry‒ I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. We should talk about it more‒ alright?” He rubs circles with his thumb across your skin, and you feel the ridges of his fingers drawing shapes. “But if it’s regret you worry about‒ know that I would never regret spending my life with you. At any capacity.”
There were stories you heard of centuries after you were reborn as a vampire about beautiful things spun by poets and artists. To reach to the monster‒ approaching it with gentle softness rather than stakes and silver. Risking sharpened teeth with lethal maws, defying the hardwired fear and repulsion against something that has tremendous capacity for violence. Saintly, divine touch. You had deemed it one of the most beautiful things‒ sublime, and completely unfathomable to you.
But when Trey reaches to you in that moment‒ in your moments‒ you think‒ this is what it is. This is what it must feel like to be touched by something beautiful. This is what it must feel like to be touched by god. You almost understand the Supreme Leader, in a way. You understand faith ‒ it’s a terrible thing.
He cools the tindering hellfire in yourself with his touch. It burns as a searing stake through your chest.
He doesn’t let go as you walk through the ashen landscape.
------------------------------
He makes you promise you’ll talk about it. And you do‒ hesitantly accepting his proposition with a box in hand.
“I think it’s a good time to give you this.”
The smell of oak flushes his nose when Trey draws closer to inspect the intricate honeysuckles that weave through the wood.
It’s an old, tattered thing‒ something given to you when you were young by your parents. The flowers were meant to be a gesture of nostalgia and deep affection‒ and you manage to remember the fragments of your mother’s many sayings‒ something about always been meant to be with you, how she felt a strange sense of reunification when she had bore you and your sister.
A bitter taste spreads on your tongue when you move the box towards Trey, and the contents inside clack against the wood. How furious she would be if she knew what you had done.
"What is it?"
“ Insurance .” you answer, quickly.
He gives you a confused look before taking the box into his hands, opening the rusted latch on it. You only hear the eroded hinges creak as he cracks open the chest, the speckles of rust falling onto the table.
You made sure there would be enough to pack the box‒ but it seems that there is still some air when they rattle against the walls of the box. Sharpened to perfection‒ you hope they won’t wear down too much from this motion.
After a minute, there’s the same sound again, then the closing of the box before it’s shoved towards you‒ back fully in your vision once more.
“I don’t need this.” Strained, his voice comes thickly between his constricting throat ‒ a similar feeling proceeding to his chest, flaring at the ends of his fingers which tuck tightly into his palms.
The face he makes worries you.
For him, of course, but for yourself as well. You're afraid you're going to break right then and there, throat etched in silent shame‒ but you pull yourself together with a sharp, willow breath sucked into your lungs. You feel the air settle cold on your tongue, and it almost shakes.
"It's just insurance ." You say, opening the box. A wooden stake is rolled across the table to him. He averts his eyes as if it burns him. "If the time ever comes‒"
"If it comes?" The voice pounding heavily at the back of his throat raised with his breaths. He parrots your words angrily. " If the time comes? Then what‒ I have to kill you? I have to be the one?"
"I would like it to be you, yes."
He gathered his eyebrows further into the center of his forehead. "Me?"
"Only you. It could only be."
You hear his shaky breath. No‒ you feel it press deeply into your bones, a vibration that makes its way from the tremble of his fingers, through the table, into your own flesh, far inside you that its precise throb stretches the growing cracks he's made in your resolve.
"I can't."
"You must ." You feel your claws scratching against the leather of your gloves. "To protect yourself."
He feels terribly selfish, childlike for the quiet volume of his voice. "From who?”
You feel the hungry thing inside of you flourish at your own words. “From me.”
He calls out to your name. “I don’t think I could ever be afraid of someone who is so afraid of themselves.”
You have no response to that.
An inhale‒ before he continues. “You’re the reason to the certainty in my words‒ that’s not really something I had before. Nothing feels normal with you‒ but it’s the good kind. You‒” despite the situation, he laughs, cracking the expression you love. “-you really don’t know what you do to me, do you?”
A sharp finger presses against your palm to confirm this is truly‒ really‒ actually real. You doubt yourself, telling yourself that you somehow tricked him into thinking you were this good. It must have been all those pet names‒ the saccharine composition that had somehow trapped him into your siren spell.
He faces you with all his sincerity‒ revealing the sharpened claws of your hands when he slips the leather off of them. He holds them softly, hoping if his words don’t reach you‒ at least this language that you had both curated against each other, might. You feel that it does, unable to find a trace of deceit, doubt, or anything besides the honey lemon hue that basks you in all its sweetness.
For the first time in centuries‒ you feel the blood inside you churn warmly in your cheeks, your eyes avoiding his gaze.
“I suppose I didn’t.”
So of course, when he first allows you access to his blood‒ the first action you do is to cover his eyes above all else. He makes a small noise when your cold fingers fall softly on his eyelids.
Without even thinking, he reaches towards your hand‒ he sees the crimson light that weaves through your hands that eclipse into pitch darkness when he lays his hand on top of yours. In the darkness, his voice seems louder when he calls out to you.
"Can you move your hand?"
The fibers of his neck tickle against your stiffened breath.
"Not yet."
He feels your teeth open his flesh, his skin parting like a ripened fruit. The curve of your soft lips that cup warmly around the wound, leaning deep into his scent‒ to dive further into the sweetness of his blood. He groans as a moment of pain passes, but his sound relaxes‒ slurry‒ in his throat when he feels sweet pleasure, thick as honey, feathering from where he feels you feeding. His breath quickens, and you feel the warmth of his exhales. As close as a lover’s breath.
He lets out a shameless sound of pleasure‒ a whisper you drink in with his sweet ambrosia.
"Ah, this isn't so bad."
He feels the fingers you keep firmly on top of his eyes twitch.
"Sorry. 'M sorry." You mumble against his skin. His senses feel so jumbled, flooding as thick and raw syrupy mountains. He blindly accepts them‒ unlike your words, which he makes sure to affirm should not be so. I am not sorry, he thinks. You do not have to be either . There’s a tremble in your lips when he slips those words into the air, humming sweetly against his skin.
He doesn't trust his voice, but the heaviness that clouds his mind barely filters his thoughts.
"A-are you done already?"
"Mhm. Sorry, are you alright?"
"I'm fine. I just need a minute." His chest slowly rises and falls. He notices he's gripping your hand. "Can you move your hand now?"
"Let me see you. I want to see you."
"Just a moment." Even in the sensory deprivation, your voice feels particularly far off. "Not yet."
Trey closes his eyes, waiting for the tight pleasure that still prickles under his skin to pass. When he opens his eyes again, he finds your hand gone, the sun seeping through his fingers. You're facing away from him, sitting at the edge of the bed, bloody handkerchief in hand, unnervingly quiet.
"I'm sorry if I caused you any pain. I'll go get bandages and some pain killers for you."
You turn a bit towards him, but he doesn't see your face. He grabs your hand before you could walk away‒ calling your name.
A beat of silence. "Yes?"
"..."
It seems his senses have returned to him when he confirms the weight of your trembling hand‒ how it feels a fraction of a degree warmer than before.
"Why can't you look at me?"
" Why won’t you show me your face?
Your expression?
You?
Are you smiling? Are you mad?
Why can't you show me?
Am I‒ "
"No ." Your back gives out as you press all your force into that word, making the bed creak when you fall into it. "No. It's not you. It's not you. I just‒" A breath. "I don't want you to look at me. While I’m like this. It is a mercy. ”
Waves of scrambled noise crash through you. You want to squeeze your hands over your ears, shut your eyes until all you can feel is the vast darkness, and your fading form within it. You’d congeal with that void, rot until there is truly nothing left of anything you had‒ to to the dust as dead and far as the remains of your home.
"I don't want to just look at you. I want to see you."
You don't trust your voice, so you shake your head. When you swallow the lump lodged in your throat, it tangles in your shaky breath when you feel his hands wrap around yours.
"I want to see you." He repeats.
The noise parts with the lightness of his voice. Slowly, you turn towards him. Instantly, his hands are molded to the curve of your shape, as if they were forged by the decaying whispers of your labyrinth heart. In secret, they were cast by your hearth, and now they are cooled, and formed around the salt and tears that etch florid down your face. These hands are made for you, you think. Only the starlight has come this close to your monstrous form. Only the starlight.
"I'm sorry‒ I shouldn't be so‒ this right now. But I just can't‒ I'm so sorry." The apologies bubble from your trembling lips, as you try to form a coherent thought. But the softness of which he touches the cruel sharpness of your form‒ it wells a crescendo symphony of desire that you withheld, lurching upon you all at once.
He pulls you in, tighter.
This was home. You had always stood at the edge of it, drawing a line before the entrance to remind yourself‒ you had not been welcomed yet. But he had always welcomed you. It felt as if some speck of his soul had always done so, with the relief you feel when you step within it. The room inside your heart when you merge your warmth with his does not feel so full‒ nor so empty. It is filled with potential. Future. Something that had risen from him, infinitely.
"Don't‒" you place your fingers over your mouth. "Not while I taste like this."
He breaks your lips with his words. “Trust me?”
The warmth that folds over you feels like a prayer. Have faith . When you open your mouth, flesh is at your mercy, but you do not bite down as you expected the thirst inside you would have. Stars, the world stripped of its layers until it was only you, and him. For once infinity does not seem so much of a curse.
You must be intoxicated by the sweetness of his blood. Bittersweet‒ it seeps.
"I'm not…" You gulp down the swaying warmth. "I'm not supposed to like you."
"But…?" His smile curves so high the whites of his eyes are almost completely eclipsed by his honey lemon hue.
You intwine your hand with his. Another prayer. "Foolishly, I do."
“It isn’t foolish at the slightest.”
“It’s alright.” You smile. “I’d like to be the fool for once.”
------------------------------
You fidget with your suit steps away from the spotlight, holding your cello with your other hand.
“Stop fidgeting.” Trey instructs you, flattening the creases you’ve made to your suit jacket. He smiles. “It’s just nerves, they’ll pass when you get up there‒ you’ve told me so before..”
“I don’t‒ I don’t know if I’ll be able to play it right. I haven’t been this nervous in ages.” You still straighten the tie around your neck. “Maybe I should tell Azul‒”
The cloth is straightened again, before he glides his hands to your shoulders, bringing you an inch closer to feel the warmth that radiates off his skin. “You’re going to be amazing.”
Your eyebrows crease. “How can you be so certain?”
“You’re all that.”
His hand guides you towards the curtains, lingering when his fingers reach yours before you step into the spotlight. Azul finishes your introduction as you look towards the audience, searching for a familiar face. You find his eyes, and there is no need for any magic, any power‒ for you to find the faith in his eyes. You let it guide your bow, and the strings vibrate like golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, marrying sweetly‒ your internal harmony guided by his sweetness.
The music swells, breaks, heaves‒ before it dies out once more. The lounge fills with the sound of applause, and you sheepishly smile again the few whistles and whoops your club-mates send your way. Each and every thread of sound resonates within your body, vibrating with color.
Once you get off the stage into the crowd, you see Trey march towards you, before almost knocking you down with the force of his embrace. You allow a bit of your power to spin him off his feet, before you separate‒ wanting to see the look on his face.
"Will you come with me?" You pull his hand away from the crowd, breathless in your excitement.
"Where?" He asks, similar in his bursting fruition.
"Out there. Here. Over there. Wherever."
He smiles, the warmth moves the beat of your heart to the tip of your fingers, back into his palm when you lace your other hand with his. You think‒ I'd be a follower, a devotee, a dog for this. Have faith. I've got you. It’s terrifying, and it shakes you with excitement.
"I can't wait."
------------------------------
Notes:
The book I mentioned the priest had is based on the real Dissertations Upon the Apparitions of Angels, Daemons, and Ghosts, and Concerning the Vampires of Hungary, Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia that 18th-century Benedictine monk and distinguished biblical scholar Antoine Augustin Calmet wrote. It was actually a large source of inspiration to Bram Stoker's dracula. Basically a collection of reports and examinations of vampire/monster attacks emerging in eastern Europe during the late 17th to early 18th century. The accounts of the undead rising and infecting whole villages, reaping of their health and blood that were recorded in this compendium of monster attacks formed a lot of the imagery and characterizations associated with vampires.
Historically, bloodletting was a popular method during the 19th century to cure medical conditions, especially psychological‒ as it was based on the concept of humors. Fun fact, this is why there is a distinction between surgeons (“barbers”) and physicians, and is why the striped barber sign is red and white‒ red symbolizing blood and white the bandages. This method was used from everything from hysteria, insanity, and heartbreak, to things like scurvy and epilepsy.
Bloodletting, transfusions, and vivisections (experimental surgery) both appear in Dracula because they were the hot new science of the Victorian era. Stoker's father was actually a physician so a lot the medical cures and information in the narrative frame the work very closely to the social, religious, and medical attitudes during the period.
Though Victorians still believed the world of humors (ie blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm, or more commonly known by their four counterparts: sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic)- the era began to see a rise of Heroic medicine which sought to shock the body of its ills (ie bloodletting, drinking blood, etc etc)
During the New England vampire panic of the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead”, because of the seemingly unexplained rapid spread of this disease that would “consume” its victim and its family at an alarming rate (this was mostly just due to general hygiene issues and the cures for TB being syrups and elixirs of like literally just morphine and cocaine). TB victims usually had pale, emaciating skin, and in combination with how to identify a suspected vampiric corpse (ie grown fingernails = sharp claws; plump skin = immortality/fast healing); the common cures to TB other than those concoctions during the period such as bloodletting, blood drinking, and the “climate cure” (spending a lot of time outside in sunny, warm climates = aversion to the sun); as well as the spread of TB (highly infection, if one person got it in the home, it would spread rapidly to other members of the family = seems like that originally infected person was “consuming” the rest of the family members) kind of makeup the symptoms, physical aesthetic, and indicators of vampires we know today. Pre-Christian notions believed that a body could be “infected” by evil spirits, the concept of evil, etc.. if not buried properly, which translated into the Christian context as demonic or satanic influences entering the body. And because Churches were often the ones dealing with burials, and setting the precedent for burial rituals‒ they had a lot of influences in setting the precedent for burial rituals, how dead bodies should be handled, etc
Because of the strong religious influences during this Victorian romantic period, and the seeming “failings” of empirical science and thought‒ a lot of people turned to the church
Historically, during the New England vampire panic in the 19th century Victorian era, it was believed that consumption (Tuberculosis) had a strong connection with vampires and the “rise of the dead” because it would “consume” the entire family, beginning with one of the family members, then spreading to everyone else because it was highly infectious. This is why things like pale skin, and vampires needing to feed off of blood is a thing because it is connected to the symptoms and infection of TB (blood drinking was also a cure at some point??)
Everytime I'm like "should I add this ultra specific detail with an irl artist's name??? Does it make sense with the twst universe?? Ah whatever‒"
Anyway I choose Chopin for a lot of reasons. The primary reason was that his music moves me deeply (please listen to the piece if you haven't heard it before). He also suffered from TB (aka consumption), and most likely suffered through a chronic version of it his whole life, which caused a lot of suffering and medical complications through his youth, and into adulthood when rising to fame as a composer. This cello piece was the only sonata that wasn't on the piano, and was played at his very last public concert in Paris. He also had kind of a miserable love life because of his weak health (a condition he could not fix), I thought it would be an interesting connection with MC along with the emotional value the song has on its own.
BPD is very misrepresented and incredibly stigmatized in media especially but also the mental health and treatment spheres in general so I did a lot of not only personal introspection but also research on it as well. I thought vampirism would be a good metaphor for BPD because I imagine the concept of eternity and also having to physically drain someone of their life source would cause a lot of attachment and abandonment issues in addition to the feelings of shame and guilt that often come with having BPD (“why am I this way?”). The monstrous appearance described and often visualized in Dracula/vampire related films and media, as well as the myth that vampires don’t have a reflection also not only conceptualizes BPD and its affect on self image, but also visually narrates the aspects of mentioned shame, guilt, and self hatred that come with BPD and the emotional regulation issues that affect relationships. Anyways I not only wanted to do BPD justice because I feel like its very rarely represented in media accurately and with a happy ending, but I also wanted to explore
I didn’t want to go too in-depth with the cult stuff because I feel that could veer off track. I drew from my own experiences (I have a close family member in a cult), as well as some research + some inspiration from a game series called Faith: The Unholy Trinity. But of course the central ideas of isolation, salvation (under a specific pretense), and dependency are there.
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Avoiding Trauma Reenactment in Pagan & Polytheist Communities
***Mentions of emotional abuse***
Something I've noticed is that there's a lot of trauma within the pagan and polytheist communities. Many trauma survivors - religious or otherwise - seem to come to these religions, maybe seeking comfort or maybe not.
Unfortunately, when there is a lot of trauma within a community, there tend to be cycles of it as well. People traumatize other people because, to put it simply, hurt people hurt people. I've experienced this first-hand and done it, obviously unintentionally, myself. So here's my advice on how to avoid traumatizing the shit out of one another.
Go to therapy or counseling if you're able. If you're not able, I suggest at least looking up ways to cope with trauma (CPTSD or PTSD may be specifically helpful for some people) and identifying your personal triggers. For example, some people might be triggered by not getting an immediate response to their messages, especially if emotionally charged, and may react based on the burst of emotion that triggered trauma can cause.
Recognize whether or not you're reenacting your own trauma in unrelated situations. This happens A LOT with abuse survivors specifically. There is a tendency to reenact one's traumatic experiences which can even come in assuming the worst of a situation or staying around people who remind you of (or treat you like) past abusers. Do you find yourself reenacting past trauma with others? Do you find yourself engaging with self-fulfilling prophecies?
When you feel yourself reacting with extreme emotion to a situation, try to pause yourself for a moment and ask yourself why you're feeling such a strong reaction. This is a skill that's easier said than done, and it takes some practice, but overtime, it becomes easier and easier. I've found it to be very helpful in identifying when my trauma is causing me to react a certain way to something vs. my genuine reaction.
Remind yourself that constructive criticism is not a personal attack on you. It's healthy to receive constructive criticism from others, especially friends who may be addressing issues within your friendships. Remember that when you receive criticism, it doesn't automatically mean that someone is trying to tear you down.
You are not responsible for how others react to you. This is a very helpful reminder for survivors of emotional abuse especially, since there's a tendency to self-blame. This is a reminder that takes a lot of practice, but when someone sends you cruel and hateful words, remember that 1. you don't have to listen to them, and 2. you are not responsible for the way someone else feels about or reacts to you. Simply put, we cannot control the emotions of others, as scary as that can be, and it's best to keep reminding that to ourselves.
If someone makes you uncomfortable, you are allowed to block them. You don't need permission from anyone to block this person. It's best to keep away from people who remind you of past abusers specifically to avoid potential reenactment.
Try to assume the best of people. Most people are not out to get you; most people are trying to passively enjoy internet time just the same as you. Of course, this doesn't mean harmful and hateful people don't exist, but it's best to not make yourself riddled with anxiety over that potentiality.
Practice healthy conflict resolution skills. This is something I recommend doing with a therapist or only after extensive research. The best type of conflict resolution, in my experience, is relating your emotions calmly and maturely. Try not to go flying off the handle or reacting with repeated apologies. Take a moment to ground yourself before addressing the conflict because even though it feels extremely pressing and urgent, it can likely wait for you to ground yourself first.
Don't go looking for a fight. Don't start arguments where it's not necessary, and don't go after people's personal character just to prove your point. These situations can end horribly for all parties involved. Should go without saying, but this includes not harassing people for their "wrong" opinions. It's an opinion, not a fact; please ground yourself if it truly upsets you that much.
Try not to say things with the intention of hurting someone. This is unwise for several reasons. It can lead to long-term regret later on, you can end up traumatizing someone with your words, and you may find that you were projecting your own feelings onto someone else. All sorts of consequences can come from this, so I encourage you to think before you speak. If you're extremely upset, wait to respond, and take time to cool off first.
This is all the advice I can think of off the top of my head. I hope it helps someone! Take care, everyone. 🧡
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PSA:
If you have related to how I have described Nathan’s struggles with his mental health and some experiences with life; emotional, physical and social etc (ignore the story/his fam background for this; I mean if you have been able to relate to his feelings/anxiety/negative physical sensations etc.)
Might be worth it to get your blood checked.
Especially B12, Vitamin D, Iron levels and Ferritin (ferritin should be 100+).
Building on top of the character, character background, and my research into trauma / mental health etc, I have always used a lot of my personal experience when describing emotions, feelings, and how mental health issues can feel like or present. It’s my attempt to make the writing feel realistic, had I experienced the things in the story or not. Aka even if the story was high fantasy and thus not realistic, I’d source my own feelings to make it ‘real’.
So. Regardless of what's causing it in the story: If you have ever related to how Nathan FEELS or describes his experience with the world and his brain… (Anxiety, depression, chronic fatigue, feeling like an outsider/in a fishbowl, easily overwhelmed or over tired; social withdrawal, social anxiety, heart palpitations, chest pains, breathlessness, dissociation, irritability, issues with cognitive function; memory, overthinking, insomnia, brain fog, panic attacks, slow recovery from physical activity, etc etc et fucking c)
Turns out bish has been chronically deficient of many things for a very long time due to stomach issues that stopped nutrients from absorbing. Antidepressants have never successfully worked for me, and it’s now looking like that’s because my mental health stuff could've largely been a physical symptom, instead of just purely mental health??
I have been on a pile of supplements for a bit now and uhh… It’s like night and day? Even with the other health stuff I've been getting treated for, it's been... So much better?? Like. Life changing amount of difference?? And I’m only just starting out fixing these deficiencies, which could take a long time. But...
Holy shit, “Better” might actually be a real thing after all?? There was a reason I've been so "stuck"???
Kind of mad… And sad. Because if this is true and I keep feeling like I have been recently, it means I’ve lost a lot of time to this. I try to focus on how good I’ve been feeling though, and stay curious for this journey of what literally feels like a second chance at life.
Just… Wanted to post this in case it could help someone else. This is a highly personal experience, mental health issues absolutely exist on their own too and there's possibly often overlap as well. But stuff like this can make existing mental health conditions worse too, so either way it’s worth checking.
Yeah. So.
Happy new year?
From someone who might be pulling a whole Phoenix moment???? xx
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Call Me Crazy...
Rating: T
Word Count:11.8k
Warning(s): anxiety/anxious thoughts, near panic attacks, injury, but also beware the fluff for it is potent
Summary: When Y/N gets her hands on the newest Samsung phone, she thinks at most she’ll get a little clout with her friends and fewer dropped calls. A direct portal to BTS? Not so much.
Genre(s): Strangers to Friends to Lovers| Crack Treated Seriously| Fluff| Comedy| Romance| Magical Realism
Tags: bts x reader | ot7 x reader | poly| FM!POC!reader
Ch.3: Don’t Hold Your Breath for a Break
A/N: Hiiii, sorry I’ve been away for so long. 🥺 Life has been pretty stressful. But, I’m back now, new chapter, whoo! I have had this on my mind for a while now, and finally got the chance to incorporate it into this chapter~ I really do hope you enjoy the arrival of the next BTS member to show up, whose dynamics with Y/N are already among my favorites. Also, always feel free to chat with me about this fic if you’d like, I don’t bite and thrive on the engagement! 🤗 I wanna know if anyone wants to guess what is going on or has figured it out yet. This chapter is especially dedicated to the blog who had a super easy tutorial on how to keep your formatting from google docs to tumblr!! Saved me a lot of time. Hehe *PLEASE do not ask about the taglist in this story’s comments*
In the days that followed, Y/N completely fell down a rabbit hole. It felt prudent to look more into BTS, or more specifically, Park Jimin. From a strictly legal perspective and nothing more.
After all, she was sure his attorneys would be sending a court summons any day now just as soon as they managed to find out her identity and track her down. It was something she lived in fear of.
Binna was none-the-wiser that the reason she suddenly seemed so attentive about the band’s recent lives was because she wanted to know if they’d mentioned anything. Any clues that would tell Y/N when her days as a free person were coming to an end.
Honestly, she hadn’t found much. Nothing that would be helpful in allowing her to participate in her own legal defense. Speaking of that, could she even afford an attorney that would be able to stand up against Park Jimin’s? She was sure a global superstar would have the best in the country.
Y/N listlessly scrolled through yet more photos of Jimin—looking for hidden meanings in the recent videos the group had posted was starting to make her feel like she was overreacting at best and paranoid at worst.
There were pictures of him with a variety of hair colors and outfits, taken over time, and he was flawless in all of them. Even ones she came across where he wasn’t glammed out in full makeup made it obvious he was just one of the lucky ones, naturally born attractive.
“How many wardrobe malfunctions can one person have throughout their career?” Y/N found herself muttering, spying yet another photo where Jimin’s fancy jacket was sliding down his arm. “Is he allergic to keeping his shirt on his shoulders?”
Though, given how many fan compilations existed that compiled every single moment where Jimin’s shirt or jacket hadn’t quite managed to stay all the way on, it didn’t seem like there were many complaints. Army was swooning and swooning hard if anything.
But really, being sued within an inch of her life wasn’t even the worst part about it all. If someone saw the “notes” section of her phone, they’d have her committed first, and ask questions later. She’d have her committed, under normal circumstances.
Because what she had experienced not once, but twice? It went against everything she stood for. Logical, grounded, a firm believer in science and fact. Facts didn’t support phenomena like getting sucked through a mirror and ending up in an idol’s dance studio.
Facts didn’t support seeing the face of another idol—because she now knew the reason the man in the mirror looked vaguely familiar was because he was another BTS member, Seokjin—instead of her own reflection when she went to brush her teeth. It just…didn’t make sense.
Science couldn’t support it. It was nuts. Yet it happened to her. And that was the only reason she believed it. Too bad no one else would. Or worse, if and when Jimin announced he’d be pressing charges for assault, and she had confessed beforehand to someone…it would probably be taken as evidence the attack was premeditated.
Sure, they’d have to prove how she got in. But…but still! She couldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t. Which meant her phone was her only safe secret-keeper. They were co-conspirators in it all.
Speaking of the damned cursed thing… trying to outright return it hadn’t worked, even though she had the receipt and everything! She still remembered the bizarre events that day.
Y/N was almost out of breath by the time she entered the phone store, embarrassingly worked up in front of the few strangers milling around inside. She got a few curious, side-long glances, and then they went back to perusing the inventory.
“Welcome!” Called an employee already speaking to other customers. “Someone will assist you shortly.”
Y/N gave a short, affirmative nod, trying not to come off anxious as she glanced around. Everything looked…the same as the night she had bought the phone. Shiny new models on display, the monitor above their heads playing a loop of advertisements for different Samsung products, and everything neatly put away and organized. Absently, she began to think over the store’s layout, and the fact that it could have a strong subconscious effect on the consumer. Organization of inventory could actually play a role in whether or not someone wanted to buy something.
But, putting that aside, the store didn’t look like the kind of place that would sell someone a phone that would ruin their life. Looks could be deceiving, though. Who knew what was actually afoot?
“Oh, can I help you, miss?” A middle-aged woman wearing the store’s polo top came over with a tag that said her name was Hayoung asked in an attentive tone.
Y/N was quick to nod. “I’m here to make a return, actually. I bought a phone from your store not long ago.”
“Was the item not to your liking?” Hayoung asked, guiding her over to an available station.
The university student glanced down at the phone in question, which she’d placed back in the original purchase box. “You could…say that.” She mumbled. “I’ve thought about it, and I really don’t need anything even half this fancy.” Telling the woman she thought the phone might have it in for her was out of the question. “So I’d like to exchange it for something simpler.”
Hayoung dutifully accepted the box, scanning the barcode and then lifting up the lid. Y/N had anticipated a smooth return in which she’d flash her receipt, maybe some ID, and have the exchange completed in no time. But when Hayoung’s brow furrowed, she knew she wouldn’t like whatever the saleswoman was going to say.
“Is…is something wrong?”
“Well,” she paused, “Are you sure you purchased your phone here? From this store? I know we’ve had models similar to this in stock before, but this one’s just not ringing up.”
“Really?” Y/N shook her head, rummaging around in her purse. “I don’t see how that could be. I have the receipt if that helps…”
She then proceeded to go through her small purse, searching the exact spot she knew she had folded and placed the receipt. “Um, hold on a minute please,” Hayoung waited expectantly as Y/N kept looking, growing increasingly more frustrated as she turned the contents of her purse inside out hunting for the receipt.
No, no way was she ever that careless. She had made sure she put it into her purse before leaving the apartment, and she didn’t exactly care that much in it to begin with! It was all zipped up tight, so how could it have fallen out?!
It took several more long, awkward moments of searching futilely in vein for her to realize it was true. The receipt was no where to be found. Trying to fight down the flush of defeat crossing her cheeks, Y/N cleared her throat, speaking diplomatically, “I’m sorry, I don’t seem to have my receipt on hand after all. I guess I’ll just…try to search it out and return when I do.”
“Oh, there’s no need. Our system can search for and find the purchase if you happen to have the card on hand.”
Y/N wanted to slump over in defeat, “Actually my friend bought it…”
“Oh,” Hayoung tilted her head, “Do you happen to know the account number used?”
Y/N mentally wondered if Binna was free. She shouldn’t be in class right now, right? So it would be okay to quickly give her a call and get this sorted out. She had to leave the store without this phone. That was a must!
“H-Hold on please!” It was a little embarrassing, snatching the phone she had been trying to return from its box and powering it on. In anticipation of making the return, Y/N had thought to wipe it and remove the SIM card chip, but then recalled hearing it was best to do that at the store when the transaction was complete, in case there was something forgotten on the phone that still needed to be retrieved.
Hastily scrolling down the admittedly short contacts’ list, Y/N located Binna’s number and pressed the button to dial. The phone rang three times, and she anxiously tapped her foot as she waited to see if her friend would pick up. ‘Please, Bin. Come on. Please.’
Of course, as it always was when she needed something to work out, it didn’t quite go smoothly. Binna hadn’t picked up, and she had ended up ending the call right before it switched to voice mail. Typing out a text message asking for the information she needed, Y/N had glared spitefully down at the phone.
“Do you recall the name of the clerk who sold you the phone?” Hayoung asked gently.
Y/N thought it over, the sales associate’s face floating to mind. “Yes, his name was Suk-kyu.”
“Hmm, that name doesn’t sound familiar.” Hayoung shook her head. “I’ve been employed here three years and never heard anyone go by that name,”
It was unlike her, but Y/N felt she was entitled to a bit of out of character behavior when her jaw actually dropped. “You’re kidding…”
But, Hayoung assured her, she was not. She didn’t think they had ever carried the exclusive Army Edition of the phone. She didn’t know who Suk-kyu was, and Y/N couldn’t find her receipt, the only bit of evidence that might have been able to successfully lift the burden of the phone from her person. She had left the store, apologizing for wasting the patient woman’s time, and feeling like she was at least partially going crazy.
Needless to say, Y/N had been…anxious about the phone since then. A bit scared, even. A fear she had no choice but to shoulder in silence for the time being. There wasn’t much she could do but continue searching high and low for the receipt and hope it turned up soon.
In the meantime, she didn’t let on that anything was wrong, using the phone like before, though limiting that to when it was really necessary. No more playing around with it or downloading apps. Nope, she didn’t want to risk getting too attached to the thing.
The only thing she did besides make calls was research. Things she never would have thought about looking up before. Like, unexplained phenomena with electronics, most of which led to completely wild conspiracy theories or dead ends.
Y/N had been so engrossed in breaking her brain over what to do, she jumped when the apartment door swung open, turning around on the coach to see Binna march in, a few grocery bags in her hands. Keys in her mouth, she gently kicked the door closed, humming to herself until she happened to look up and spot Y/N.
“Oh!” Binna hustled into the small kitchen to set her bags down, then her keys. “Y/N, didn’t expect to see you here right now. You’ve got class today, right?”
“It was canceled…” she sighed, sliding down the couch cushions and placing her phone on the coffee table. “The professor’s out sick with the flu.”
Binna winced in sympathy. “Yikes, poor guy…”
“Yeah,” Y/N took great care not to get sick, so she hadn’t so much as had a cold in years, but she still remembered times when she was a child in bed with chills, body aches and a fever. Once she had even had pneumonia, her mother forced to call out from work and nurse her back to health. “He just wanted us to go over the assignment we’ve been working on since the start of the semester. You know, take this as independent study time basically. But…”
“Buuut, knowing you,” Binna smiled, “You’ve already taken the initiative and gotten a head start a long time ago, so you’re ahead of everyone else.”
“Done, actually,” Y/N confirmed, not afraid to admit to her efficiency.
Her roommate made a noise of encouragement as she began to put the groceries away. It didn’t look like much. A loaf of bread, some bottles of sauce they’d been running low on, some eggs and a carton of milk.
“That’s great, since it actually kind of works out. Chin-Mae and Min Su invited me to check out this new steak house that just opened up. I heard reservations are booked out for weeks already, but thanks to Min Su’s connections, we can go this evening. What do you say?” Binna wiggled her eyebrows, trying to entice Y/N.
“Alright, I’m in,” she agreed.
“Because I’m sure they won’t mind adding just one more to our party, especially if that person is you…” Binna continued to ramble.
“Bin, did you hear me?” Y/N clucked, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I said I’m in.”
Eyes round as the eggs she had put away, Binna blinked, nodded, and finally broke out into an ear to ear grin. “Oh, wow, that’s new. I m-mean not that it isn’t great you wanna join us, but…”
“What?” Y/N felt a little defensiveness creeping up on her, and she probably didn’t do the best job completely hiding it from her tone. “You made the invite, and you said Min Su and Chin-Mae would be fine with it. Did you not…really want me to come along?”
They thought she would kill the mood, the nasty little whisper entered her head unbidden. They thought she was so stuffy and boring.
“What, Y/N, no!” Binna immediately denied, “I’m really glad you can make it,” she shot over to the couch, wrapping her arms around her friend’s neck from behind as she bent over for the hug. “It’s true you normally put up a little more resistance when we ask you to come somewhere. You stay so busy, so I was a little surprised is all. But I’m glad you’re agreeing.”
Y/N’s tense shoulders relaxed, and she mentally sighed to herself, feeling silly. Of course, of course her friends wanted her there. And this was Binna, who struggled to have a bad thought about anybody. Secretly resentful definitely wasn’t her style.
But with the stress she had been under, and the dread she’d done her best not to give into, Y/N could admit her nerves had been on edge. “Yeah, sorry about that…” she laughed weakly, reaching up and patting one of the arms looped around her neck. “I don’t know where that came from, but I’m happy to eat a little steak if Min Su’s recommending it.” The man had the best luck finding good places to eat, or stores that sold exactly what you were looking for but probably overlooked.
“Good girl,” Binna uncoiled her arms and leaned back against the couch itself. “That’s the spirit. And hey, I heard from some of the girls in the campus’ BTS fan club that one of the guys on campus might be related to one of the waiters who might have catered the food on the set of a music video for Taehyung!”
She said it in a breathy squeal, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile indulgently. She was almost sure she knew which one Taehyung was, but she still wouldn’t put money on it. It might just as soon be someone else. Maybe Namjoon?
She’d gotten more familiar with their names but as most of her time perusing videos and photos had been spent investigating Jimin, she wasn’t entirely sure on the others’ faces. Well, besides Jin and J-Hope.
“Nice,” she said, letting Binna get all her gushing out as she texted Chin-Mae just to make sure it really was okay if she tagged along. Stupid to be anxious about feeling unsure if everyone really wanted her to come, but better to be safe than sorry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She was impressed the minute they walked through the door. Min Su stopped trying to sneak an arm around Chin-Mae’s waist and immediately went over to talk to the maître d. The two men spoke cordially, the head waiter confirmed their reservation, and then they were led to their table with a flourish.
Binna was practically bouncing on her heels, squealing under her breath. “Can you believe this place?” she whispered excitedly, “I feel like a movie star, coming here.”
The restaurant was definitely lavish, so she understood where her friend was coming from. The tables were polished stained oak, and lit by a candle to provide ambiance, and the floors were a gorgeous brown tile that Y/N suspected to be marble.
The restaurant was done in a mixture of black, gold with high beam wood ceilings and low atmospheric lighting. They walked past a bar, long and oval, with shimmering glasses the team of bartender would pull down as they did impressive tricks to wow the gathered guests.
“It’s one of the hottest spots in Gangnam right now,” Chin-Mae commented as they sat down. The table comfortably fit the four of them, and everyone got settled as a young woman hurried over, handing them menus and introducing herself.
“This is so cool,” Binna exclaimed, still wiggling in place. She shook Y/N’s arm. She was all done up with some icy blue eye shadow that matched her aqua dress, and a more subtle plum shade of lipstick.
Her hair was secured in a complicated twist by a pin she recognized from the last time they had gone shopping together. Y/N adjusted the shawl draped over her shoulders, pulling down her own strapless dress. Binna had helped her pick accessories, which were mostly shades of amber or gold, and apply some light makeup.
Y/N chuckled, nodding as she scanned the menu, trying her best to ignore the listed prices. She had come fully prepared to pay her own way, but Min Su insisted the meal was going to be on him. It must have been nice.
The perks of being from an affluent family, she supposed. The guy was already well on his way to being a successful lawyer, following the family tradition. He had moved all the way from his hometown in China to come and work on his master’s degree at one of the top universities in Korea, just for a change of pace. “Thanks again for letting us crash your date night, guys.” Binna beamed.
“Please,” Chin-Mae scoffed lightly, not looking up from his menu. “What was I supposed to do all evening? Talk to him?”
Min Su pouted, but it didn’t diminish the fond glow in his eyes as he leaned over his boyfriend’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear that gave Chin-Mae pause.
Their friend cut a sharp look at his partner, smacking his thigh and then proceeding to ignore the man who was happily leaning into him and commenting on the menu. Yeah, nothing new there. Min Su was totally gone on Chin-Mae, as always.
There was nothing about Chin-Mae’s bluntness or dismissive attitude in public that ever put him off. If anything, the mean behavior only served to make Min Su try harder. Though, she and Binna both knew Chin-Mae wouldn’t be with someone this long if he wasn’t just as serious about them.
He was just a straight shooter, raised in a family that wasn’t completely accepting of who he was, and unfortunately awkward and out of his depth about how to handle someone as affectionate and doting as the man he happened to fall in love with.
They were well suited in that regard. Min Su was patient and persistent enough to shower Chin-Mae in all the attention he needed to overcome the lingering doubts about being worthy of such deep love and devotion.
Y/N was perfectly fine, pursuing the path she was. Career goals first, everything else second. But sometimes, watching them, a little envy did ignite.
It must have been nice to find something like that, and she was truly happy for them. It didn’t seem likely she’d have time in the near future to go out and chase it for herself, of course. And she wasn’t really worried about it.
“So, what’ll it be for you guys?” Y/N cleared her throat, interrupting the warm and cozy silence they’d all been existing in.
“Ohh, I think I’m gonna have the smoked chicken and spinach salad, and a side of the fried mushrooms,” Binna announced, tongue poking out in concentration as her finger followed where the items she wanted were on the menu.
“You’re going so easy on him.” Chin-Mae remarked. “I’m getting the iron skillet trout,” he squinted, leaning further into the menu. Min Su only smiled, plucking the reading glasses from Chin Mae’s breast pocket that he had forgotten to put on and placing them on his face for him.
The absent-minded pat he got on the hand for it made the law student’s whole face light up. “And the chicken fried steak. That okay, babe?” He might not have looked it, exactly, but Chin-Mae had a healthy appetite. And if they were coming to such an exclusive restaurant for the first time, it wasn’t surprising he wouldn’t be keen to hold back.
Min Su was nodding encouragingly before Chin-Mae had even fully gotten the question out of his mouth. “And what about you, Y/N?”
She clammed up slightly, having been looking at the menu, mentally ruling out what seemed too expensive, or wasn’t quite her taste. “Uh, the pot roast sounds like a filling entree.”
“And?” Chin-Mae prodded, interlocking his hands together and leaning on them.
“And nothing,” Y/N shook her head. “It comes with two sides, that’s more than enough.”
“Boo,” Her friend hissed dramatically. “Fine. If neither one of you is going to take advantage of this, then I guess it’s up to me.”
Their waitress returned with a tray of drinks at precisely that moment, and as she set them down in front of the correct person, everyone began telling her their orders, which she jotted down without missing a beat.
Only Min Su had actually ordered any steak, but, given the price of a 24 oz there was just no way she felt comfortable doing that to the poor guy, even if he was a good sport about it and more than capable of handling a large bill.
As they sat, sipping their champagne and waiting on the food, something Y/N had been putting off thinking about started floating through her mind. Ever since the whole Jimin fiasco, despite her deep diving and frantic searching, nothing had turned up that indicated anyone was coming after her.
But she just wasn’t willing to believe she’d gotten away that easily. She almost killed a celebrity. And, due to that, she’d really wanted to seek legal advice from Min Su, under the guise of some far-fetched hypothetical, of course. Her friends weren’t onto her, and she couldn’t give them a reason to be.
She just had to find a way to casually broach the topic…
“Oh,” Binna gasped from her side, drawing the whole table’s attention to herself. She was carefully scrolling her phone with a freshly manicured nail, scowling slightly. It was so rare that Binna displayed any actual disdain, it had Y/N a bit curious.
“What’s wrong, Bin?”
“It’s nothing,” she replied immediately, then paused. “Well it’s not nothing but, it’s just…I really wished we lived in a world that respected idols as people, you know? Some people call themselves fans and act like famous people aren’t allowed to have any boundaries.” She then went on to describe how there’d been another sasaeng incident reported on a news site she followed to keep up with celebrity gossip.
Apparently, it was a pretty serious one, and crazed ‘fans’ had attacked an actress a well-known idol was reported to be dating. Her bodyguard had fended them off, but the actress still went to the hospital with some injuries.
Y/N perked up slightly, but Min Su and Chin-Mae were thankfully too engrossed in listening to Binna rant to notice. It would be much easier to bring up her question using the information Binna had just provided them as a pretext.
It was about time she had a stroke of good luck. Stopping to think it over, Y/N cringed. Not that she wasn’t sympathetic to the poor woman who had been harmed because of someone’s delusions. But it just…presented an opportunity she had to take, and….
‘Oh, why am I trying to rationalize it to myself?! I should just ask the question before the subject changes.’
That decided, she opened her mouth and spoke, doing her best to make it seem as casual as possible. “So Min Su, you’re practically a lawyer. What kind of charges could that person face? Attacking a celebrity and inflicting bodily harm isn’t the same as harassing them for a photo.”
Y/N silently patted herself on the back, sitting from her glass with an expression carefully schooled to look only mildly interested. Inside was another matter. She was rocking back in forth, heart hammering and eyes wide, waiting for an answer with baited breath.
“Hmm, well, I’ve mostly studied corporate law.” He admitted, playing with a ring on his index finger, “But I do know that given the severity, it’s likely both the actress and the company she’s represented under will press charges. Things are also moving faster these days, prosecuting people who do things like that.”
Y/N swallowed, eyes fixated on Min Su’s thoughtful expression. “There were also witnesses, so it’s very likely to result in a conviction.” Yes, there had been a witness in her case too. Well, J-Hope had only seen her fleetingly. Maybe. Hopefully not. But if she was on any camera then…it was most definitely over for her.
“The court could go light on them if it was a first offense…they might be sentenced to a large fine and community service…” Okay, Y/N thought. It would probably drain her savings, but it was still possible to bounce back and have a future, right? She could still put it in the past and become a CEO one day, right?! “Then again, it was a premeditated attack. Jail time is also a strong possibility.”
Her heart sank back down to her feet. Jail. What successful CEO in Korea had been to jail before graduating, and for assaulting an idol no less.
‘I. Am. Done.’
“What’s the matter, Y/N?” Binna giggled, “You look like you smelled a rotten egg. But I guess hearing about how far some crazy people will go is pretty disgusting, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ll have much sympathy for them, whatever happens.”
“…Yeah…” Y/N said once her words came unstuck. That was another thing. Her sweet friend was going to think she was a criminal. She had known Binna since high school, having shared a homeroom class with her. They were vague acquaintances then, friendly enough to speak from time to time but by no means close enough to hang out between classes or after school.
In fact, admittedly, Y/N used to wonder if Binna’s perky personality was just an act. It had to be, in her cynical rationalizing, because who was really that upbeat, in high school?
Later on, she would realize she was just projecting, and once she stopped doing that was when she truly came to appreciate Binna for all that she was, steadfast and supportive. Although they didn’t become close, didn’t become friends, until meeting at orientation when arriving at Korea University.
“They knew the consequences before they did it.” Chin-Mae joined in, swishing the last of his champagne around before drinking it down. “It’s stupid to think your life won’t be impacted when you run wild like that.”
Except, Y/N wanted to wail. She hadn’t known. She wasn’t a sasaeng, and she knew she had assaulted someone but at the same time she hadn’t really done anything wrong. Except maybe buy a cursed magical phone, that somehow was behind all this.
…Yeah, she’d just keep that thought to herself.
“Well,” Y/N smiled, “Thanks for giving your input.” She told Min Su, who nodded, humming with a cheerful ‘no problem’.
A cartoony chime went off, and Binna groaned as she stared down at her phone, “Nooo,” she sighed, sounding truly remorseful. “Right now?”
“What’s happening?” Chin-Mae raised a brow.
“Jimin is going live!” She whined, “And normally I’d watch but I’m having such a great time with all of you, and I don’t want to be rude…”
“It’s fine, go ahead.” Y/N said, forcing a smile. “We know how addicted to that stuff you are.” Really, she wanted the floor to swallow her into the abyss. She knew the minute she heard that sound what was going on. If her phone had been turned on, they would have heard the same noise coming from her purse too.
She had made an account on several apps BTS often broadcasted their lives to, and set an alert for just that occasion. There were a couple of false alarms she hadn’t tuned into once she saw they weren’t from the person she was basically stalking at this point. But this was it. The big moment.
He hadn’t done a solo live since the accident…but Binna said his members had mentioned that he had a small accident while practicing and was recovering well.
All of Army was behind him, sending him tons of well wishes from all over the world. It was sweet, but she wondered how fast they would turn if they knew she was behind their beloved idol’s injuries.
“Yeah, what Y/N said,” Chin-Mae rolled his eyes. “Check on your man,” he joked.
Binna giggled, flashing them a cute heart. “He’s not my man,” she replied playfully, “I’d have to get in line for that. Plus, I’m really more of an OT7, you know? It’s really hard to stick with one bias.”
Nonetheless, when she began to watch, since Y/N couldn’t exactly whip out her phone and do the same without raising suspicion, she subtly leaned closer to at least listen.
Of course, Binna was always more astute than she let on. “Oh, did you wanna see too?” She angled the screen so they could both see before Y/N even had the chance to protest.
And the live was just starting, the exact same idol she had seen what felt like a lifetime ago was sitting in a room by himself. It looked like he was on a couch, legs crossed, looking small in his soft oversized sweater and giving the camera a cute wave. “Hi, everyone,” his sweet voice said. “Thank you for waiting on me!”
Gushing comments poured in, cheering him and welcoming him back, asking him what he’d been up to, and telling him he looked good. Jimin tilted his head, a coy, secretive smile appearing on his shiny lips. Y/N couldn’t tell if he was wearing gloss or if they always looked like that.
She had been a bit too preoccupied the one and only time she had the opportunity to see them in person. He had dyed his hair a different color, though. It was now a shade of strawberry blonde that complimented his angelic features well.
“Well, I haven’t been up to much. Just resting, really.” he explained. “Even on days when I felt better and tried to join practices, the members just shooed me away.” He laughed. “Oh, but look at this!” He reached down, his head dipping out of screen for a minute, popping up seconds later holding a little pot. “Taehyung got me this ‘get well’ plant!” He showed them a cute little sapling.
Binna cooed, Y/N glancing at her then refocusing on his words. Who knew when a hidden meaning would pop up.
“I don’t know how well I’ll be able to take care of it; I’m not sure if I have a green thumb. But I’ll try my best!”
Comments came pouring in again, people saying he was going to enter his plant dad era, because collecting succulents could be addicting.
Other people gushed at the sweetness of the VMin friendship, whatever that was, and yet more people reminded Jimin that he looked really good. Yet one comment in particular seemed to catch his eye, and he squinted, seemingly intrigued.
“Hmm? You wish you were a plant so I could take care of you?” He repeated. “You don’t have to be a plant for me to want to take care of you.” The statement was very matter-of-fact, “You’re Army. I’ll always watch over Army.”
Binna sounded like she released a tiny sniffle. “Is he not just the sweetest?” She asked, nudging Y/N a bit. “Since you’re new to BTS, have you chosen a bias yet?”
Y/N wished she could tell her the real reason behind her sudden interest, but that was kind of out of the question. “No, not yet…”
“Y/N’s a BTS fan now?” Chin-Mae asked, “Since when?”
“Pretty recent.” Binna replied.
Y/N was only half listening to her friends, mostly focusing on Jimin’s chatter. Someone was still insisting they wanted to be his plant, and he looked nothing short of amused.
“Okay, if you insist. Should I start a garden then?” He asked his fans. Y/N watched, stunned, as his bright eyes narrowed into a practiced and very effective smolder. She had seen it in pictures before, but in real time it was really something else, “It’ll be full of so many pretty flowers, and you’ll all bloom just for me, right?” The heady purr of his words sent a shocked shiver right down her spine.
Binna swooned, while Y/N felt her breath hitch. ‘What… the…hell…was that?!’ A flirty throwaway line like that had never had that effect on her before.
But then, thinking back, he had flirted with her in the dance studio too. She’d just been too worried to pay attention. Clearly, the man was an old hand at the art of duality, going from wholesome to heathen in five seconds flat. That was…dangerous.
Binna seemed to already know how she felt, leaning into her with a sigh. “That, Y/N, is what happens when Jimin turns from angel to demon.” Her friend explained. “I’d say you’ll get used to it, but odds are you probably won’t.”
Jimin then went back to amicably speaking to everyone, as if he hadn’t just teased fans within an inch of their lives. The conversation moved on, and he was speaking about upcoming projects he was excited about or a funny habit that he had noticed in his band member. All normal, non-threatening stuff. Y/N was almost thinking she could relax. Almost.
“What? You want to tell me a secret?” Jimin was reading another comment. “Okay, I’m listening…”
Y/N quirked a brow at the comment. “Sometimes I dream about you.” it read.
The idol grinned, replying casually. “Sometimes I miss Army so much I end up thinking about all of you in the middle of the day.” Y/N’s blood ran cold as he looked intensely at the screen. “It’s almost like you’re there…”
That was it. The sign she was waiting for! He was talking to her.
“I…” Y/N stumbled to her feet, startling Binna. “Need the bathroom, I’ll be back.”
“Oh, okay.” Her friend said slowly, setting down her phone. “Is anything wrong? You don’t…look so good suddenly.”
‘You wouldn’t either in my shoes,’ she thought miserably. ‘Park Jimin is going to sue me within an inch of my life.’
“It’s alright,” she held a hand to her stomach, selling the illusion of sudden nausea. “Just…lady problems.” She said lamely.
Poor Binna didn’t even question it; she nodded, eyes full of sympathy. “Well text if you need anything.” She squeezed Y/N’s hand. “I’ve got a few extra tampons in my purse.” she whispered discreetly. Really, Binna was too good of a friend for her.
Y/N rounded the corner in a hurry, blindly guessing where the bathrooms might be located. She passed their waitress, rolling out a cart that she was pretty sure contained their meals. Everything looked delicious, and of course she couldn’t even enjoy the great evening Min Su had generously provided. All because she was screwed.
She hustled into a bathroom as fancy as the rest of the steak house, and so spacious there would probably be an echo. She hustled over to the sink, activating the handless system by shoving her trembling fingers under it. As she splashed her face with warm water, the dread twisting up her stomach gave way to deja vu.
‘This is just like…the event at the internship.’ The wild day that would be the beginning of the end of her life. Removing her hands from the water, she gently pressed the pad of her thumb up to her eye, tapping it a few times.
Her makeup was well done, but it still felt like she could see bags. ‘At least it can’t get worse.’ She assumed. After all, what was worse than this? The dumb phone was put away in her clutch, turned off, and back at the table.
The very least she could do was fake a smile so she didn’t ruin everyone’s meal, and enjoy what might be her last chance to experience this. They probably didn’t serve many steakhouse dinners where she was going.
That thought firmly in mind, Y/N squared her shoulders and prepared to march back out, tightly gripping her clutch at her side. Wait, her clutch?!
Binna must have handed it over to her, assuming she might need it. She had said to text if she needed anything, and Y/N couldn’t exactly do that without a phone. Well, at least it was off. Y/N wasn’t totally sure what kind of phenomenon had disrupted her life, but it all started with that phone.
No sooner had she backed away from the mirror than a wave of dizziness overtook her, sending her keeling forward. Instinctively, she clutched the sink to maintain her balance, almost screaming out when she looked up as the dizzy feeling passed.
The mirror in front of her was the same as always, a reflection of her wide, mortified eyes. But the long glossy mirror that made up the entire wall of the bathroom at the entrance of the restroom?
A reflection of another room, just like before. “No…” she whispered, not ready to admit that it was happening again. What was worse? All of it being real, or her losing her mind? “Not again…!”
She clenched her eyes shut, then attempted to get her feet moving. She would keep her head down and hurry right on past, to the exit. That was the plan at least. And she was making good progress to move without falling over in her modest heels, but the minute she actually got closer to the mirrors, a strange feeling overwhelmed her.
Almost like a compulsion to stop. Y/N felt like she was watching a scene in a movie, watching a victim wander down the hall of a haunted house, towards the homicidal attacker lying in wait.
Her feet were making her move on her own! Her fingertips reached out, and yet she had no control. She had to touch the mirror, see if that room on the other side was real. But deep down, she knew the answer before her fingers made contact.
It was a strange emotion somewhere between surprise resignation when she wobbled onto a floor that was not marble and found her eyes darting around a room that was not the steak house.
Pressing against the mirror desperately, she confirmed what a large part of her had assumed. There was no give to the mirror, apparently no way back from the time being. Was she even still in Gangnam?
Her senses were feeding her all kinds of information, and frankly, it was starting to overwhelm her. The raw scents of sweat, male musk, and ammonia could only mean one thing, and it was further proven when she peered around the blind corner of a painted brick wall, only to see two people exercising.
Well, one was doing stretches, and with the way he hopped up, he had just finished. An older man in a tank top and sweats had pads strapped to his hands, and Y/N watched closely, not even daring to breathe, as the younger man sat down and laced boxing gloves onto his taped hands.
He stood up, and who she assumed was his trainer got into a defensive stance while the younger man hopped around nimbly. Y/N watched, wide-eyed as they began to train, the guy in the black hoodie practicing blocking, jabbing and dodging.
It was clear he had put a lot of dedication into this. Y/N was never much of a sports person, but she knew the result of hard-work when she saw it. His moves were fluid, and instead of slowing down, they got quicker the more he went at it.
Somehow, it never felt like a good time to draw their attention to herself, go wobbling over in her dinner attire, and ask for directions back to the High Tower SteakHouse. She had a few other options, of course, like calling Binna. Or maybe Chin-Mae…but how did she explain it?
She had gone to the restroom for a few minutes and wound up in a completely different location without leaving the restaurant?! Then again, it meant they would really have no choice but to believe her.
It was impossible for her to have gone anywhere far when they all saw her leave for the bathroom. Maybe she could sneak out while they were distracted and then call when she was outside the gym, not standing around all conspicuous.
Y/N was weighing the merits of her plan when she heard an excited yell, whipping her head around and watching the trainer give his client a few congratulatory pats on the back, apparently satisfied with the work he’d put in for the day.
They began speaking lowly to themselves, and Y/N paled when she noticed the only door out of the room she could spot was behind them…. The corner she was standing behind seemed to be where the water fountains and locker rooms were located.
Hiding out in there was another option, but it didn’t exactly appeal when she would have to keep checking to see when the gym was empty. Right now it was just the two of them, but what if more people came in?
They’d have questions about someone being dressed like she was, right? Then again she could also be found out just staying put where she was. Ugh…it was beyond frustrating.
Her luck was completely shot, huh?
A little hope returned when the trainer waved at the young man and then began heading for the exit. She assumed they were done for the day, and the second guy would be done soon too. But not so, because then she’d actually be lucky.
As soon as his trainer had cleared the room, he gave a loud sigh, beginning to shimmy out of his hoodie. Y/N didn’t think she was close enough to make the door in the small moment he had his vision obstructed, but she was close enough to get an eyeful.
If his training earlier hadn’t tipped her off that he was dedicated, his physique would have. He was all hard lines, though the minuscule glimpse of a thin waist when his shirt rode up with his hoodie was impressive too.
She could see a full sleeve of tattoos decorating one arm, and coupled with his longish two-toned hair, a deep brown that gave way to a raging red, he was kind of…hard to look at. Distracting in a way she didn’t anticipate. She didn’t get distracted, not usually.
He, on the other hand, got straight to business. Oblivious of her presence, he walked right over to the large, hanging punching bag and began to hit it. But he wasn’t just hitting it. Again, Y/N was no boxing aficionado, but she knew he knew what he was doing.
His strikes were always controlled, his breathing never ragged the way she could guess hers would be. He pivoted on his back foot, and she knew that the small movement put more power into his strikes.
He was hitting the bag like it owed him money, grunting occasionally, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing in his t-shirt. At some point, Y/N figured he would stop. He would either head out the door, or into the locker room, and that was when she would flee.
Hopefully, wherever the cruel cosmic entity that thought her life was a joke had dumped her, it wasn’t very far from the restaurant. Then again, shouldn’t she have gotten a worried text by now?
She’d been gone for a while. Or, maybe Binna had actually come to check on her and seen that she had disappeared entirely. Y/N could imagine the freak out as Binna flailed her way back to the table and informed Min Su and Chin-Mae that somehow, someway, she’d been kidnapped.
What was her life lately, she thought miserably. With nothing to really do but scroll her phone or continue to watch the mystery man go at it, she turned to checking what news was trending for the day. Normally, she at least kept up with news involving the business world, if nothing else.
The celebrity gossip blogs she left to Binna, BTS investment notwithstanding. Stocks were up at several companies she had an interest in working at after graduation—assuming she made it with her life in chaos lately—so that was good.
A CEO had resigned from his post at a company she had almost interned at but decided not to at the last minute off a strange feeling. Some scandal involving embezzlement. So she dodged a bullet there.
And, lastly, BTS’ Jungkook had endorsed some new sports brand, and now merchandise was selling out faster than it could be restocked. The article included a picture of Jungkook, posing in shorts and a t-shirt next to a mountain of different athletic gear for various sports.
Wait. Y/N could have swallowed her tongue. Wait. That man, the man in the picture and the one boxing…were the same person?!
Feeling like she may just be sick, Y/N did a quick check, and really took in the boxer. That was undoubtedly the idol pictured in the article.
Not only was she going to jail for assaulting one BTS member (albeit on accident) a fact that she had managed to forget up until that moment, she got pulled back into the same thing that got her in trouble before, and ended up crossing paths with another one?!
Once it came out what happened between her and Park Jimin, there was no possible way people would believe she wasn’t a sasaeng. The circumstantial evidence just kept getting more and more damning.
Jungkook. Jungkook. What did she know about Jungkook? Admittedly not much, considering all her focus had really been on Jimin for obvious reasons. She knew…that Binna said he was the youngest in the boy group. He was multitalented, and here her friend swore she wasn’t exaggerating or anything.
According to her, he was like some kind of Barbie of idols, he could do it all. Those weren’t her exact words, but it was the gist. Jungkook also had a habit of being a little shy around members of the opposite sex, or so it was claimed.
Y/N personally had always thought all idols had to be manufacturing some parts of their personalities for public consumption. Who knew which parts? None of the scraps of information she had been fed told her anything about whether he was liable to press charges for stalking him or not.
Then again, he was an idol, and knowing that, Y/N had to assume he had gone out of his way to book private gym time, hence why the spacious work out room was empty save for him. Which meant him catching her was going to lead to a world of trouble.
How good were her odds if she just booked it for the exit the minute he went back to the locker room? Or if he left, she’d wait a little bit to be sure he had cleared the building, then she’d leave too. Waiting…yep…that’s all she could do. If she wasn’t in a dress, and didn’t find the idea so dirty, she would slump over on the floor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jungkook caught the punching bag as it swung back from his last strike, finally feeling satisfied with his boxing for the time being. His limbs had that good burn that he liked, and his heart rate was up, despite his controlled breathing. But he wasn’t ready to leave just yet, so he decided to switch from boxing to something new. After a break.
Unlacing his boxing gloves, he found his gym bag and rummaged inside for his water bottle. Sitting down on a mat, he took a few sips, trying not to gulp it down too fast. His bottle was empty in no time, despite his attempts at moderation, and refilling before he resumed working out didn’t seem like a bad idea.
His footsteps echoing in the big empty gym was probably his imagination, but the weird sight when he rounded the corner? That he was pretty sure was real. Leaning against the wall, a woman…no, a girl, dressed up like she had somewhere important to be was nodding off. He froze, staring, all kinds of thoughts flying through his head.
Who was she? How’d she get in? When did she get in? Was she dangerous? Did he need to call for back up? Jungkook had purposely began training at this gym because it was exclusive. As his fame had grown, unfortunately he had to stop using more easy to find public gyms.
The one at HYBE was an option, but sometimes he wanted something…quieter. Trainees who came in meant well, and they tried to be respectful besides giving him friendly greetings, but they couldn’t help but gawk, and that made it awkward when he was trying to get in the zone. Here, he had thought, was perfect.
But maybe he was rushing to conclusions. He didn’t know anything about the situation besides a girl in a nice dress was falling asleep by the water fountains while standing up. Her head slumped forward, then snapped up quickly as she jolted awake, eyes wide and alert.
That was when they locked gazes, and his loose, sore muscles tensed right up. She, on the other hand, curled away like she was facing a thug in an alley. It was bemusing; yeah he’d bulked up a lot in the last several years after he got serious about training. Jungkook never considered himself all that intimidating, though.
“Are you… staff?” he asked, since it didn’t seem like she was going to speak up first. Not with the way she kept looking like the guillotine was coming down on her head any moment.
It took a reasonably long time for her to compose herself and answer, which was another pretty big tip off that something was not right. He was ready to whip out his phone and call security. Or at least he would be, if he hadn’t put it on do not disturb and left it in his bag.
“This is all a misunderstanding, really,” she warbled, her hands slapped the wall behind her like she was trying to steady herself. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to be here.”
“What?” Jungkook was definitely growing suspicious. No one who wasn’t up to something just answered like that.
“I was just going to wait until you left and I guess I started to nod off…” she ran a shaky hand through her hair, disturbing it a little. “But really, please, if you’ll pretend you never saw me, I promise, I’ll be on my way.”
He backed away quickly as she lurched forward, but before he could tell her not to do anything funny, she bowed very formally, and the idol watched, perplexed. When he didn’t respond in any way, she resumed her upright position, then tried to brush by him with her head down.
Though, when he noticed the phone clenched tight in her fist, he acted without thinking. Something his hyungs had told him to be careful of doing in the past. At least they weren’t around to scold him.
“Hey,” he seized her wrist, and she stopped in her tracks, though he wasn’t expecting her reaction at all. Her eyes took in the hand on her like she could just flay it off with the intensity of her stare alone, and then she met his eyes head-on, hers surprisingly stony. “Your phone…”
“What about it?” she tried tugging her hand away, but he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. Not until he got some answers. He liked this gym. He wanted to keep using this gym, and at the thought that his privacy was being invaded yet again, and he would have to find somewhere else, yet again, he was getting a little worked up.
“That’s an Army phone, a Galaxy Z Flip 4: Army Edition.”
Her eyes widened, and then she scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, I guess you would know. But to tell you the truth, though I can admire your band’s marketability, this phone itself has been nothing but problems. This is just the latest one. Now, please, let go.” There was some bite in her tone now, her voice surprisingly stern.
When she tugged again, he acquiesced, something she probably didn’t expect, since she stumbled before catching herself. And when she felt her cellphone tugged right out of her hand? She rounded on him, scowling. “That belongs to me.” She held her hand out, clearly expecting it back.
“Why are you here? This is a private gym, and you don’t sound like you’re staff.”
She snatched for the phone, but he held it away, using his speed to his advantage. “Are you Army?”
“What? No,” she sounded offended by the notion, which in turn offended him. Then again, a true Army wouldn’t do this to him. Wouldn’t invade his space. “And what does that matter?”
“You’re not Army but you’ve got a phone that’s a rare exclusive. Only Army would want to own something like this. And if you’d go this far, you might be a sasaeng.”
Here, she did pause in trying to retrieve her phone, a bit red in the face under her makeup. “Please, between my class schedule and internship, who would even have the time? The people who think stalking and harassing idols is worth jeopardizing their future for really need…” Surprisingly, the girl tried to jump for the phone like she wasn’t in heels, but he held it above his head, which meant it was way above hers, “…a hobby!”
“So I won’t find pictures you secretly took on this?” Jungkook squinted, not convinced.
“No!” She hissed, jumping again, “Now who’s invading whose privacy, you…you muscle-headed, bunny-eyed brute!”
He was so taken aback, he faltered, and with one last pounce, the mystery girl had snatched the phone, though not without a cost.
Before she could even yell out in triumph, her heel wobbled and her foot rolled. Jungkook watched in slow motion, wincing in automatic sympathy as she went down.
Time sped up as she cried out, on the ground and clutching her ankle in a dress too nice to be touching the bare gym floor. He stood over her, carefully watching her face at first. He could tell she was in pain, but attempting not to show the extent.
Something about that alone…took him back to his early days. A wave of nostalgia he didn’t want to feel washed over him. He would hide his exhaustion, sometimes even hide injuries sustained while on stage until the end of a performance, until he couldn’t hide it anymore, just to avoid worrying his hyungs.
And when they caught him, like they inevitably always did, he’d cry, apologize, worry they would resent him. It didn’t make sense to everyone, probably only to those who had experience firsthand with the feeling. Not wanting to let others down, wanting to live up to everyone’s expectations, struggling with the fact that they were still human.
The girl gingerly tried to shift her injured ankle, and that alone seemed to send a fresh wave of pain throbbing through it. With the way she bit her lip and clenched her eyes to stifle the cry he could just tell.
And even though Jungkook had been concerned about a million things regarding her appearance, including that she might be another delusional ‘fan’, no one could fake pain that expertly. Plus, she’d have to be some actress to make her ankle swell on command.
It was probably stupid of him to drop his guard, even for a second, but he found himself dropping to his knees, almost reaching out, and then hesitating. She stared up at him through her lashes, her own eyes as guarded as his had been, but wavering as she focused on ignoring her obvious injury. “I need…I need to call my friend.”
Making up his mind, Jungkook loosely grasped her foot by the heel, ignoring her half-hearted attempts to swat his hand away. He extended her leg, careful not to hurt her as he manipulated her foot to get a better idea of how bad it was. “You rolled it pretty hard.” He finally concluded.
“Yeah, no kidding.” Jungkook briefly met eyes with her again, but she stubbornly looked away. “I wonder how that happened.”
Guilt hit him pretty fast. Yeah. Even if he thought she was an intruder, he should have just called security and let them handle it. They were never far, and there was no way she could have stopped him. Not by physically overpowering at least.
“Hang on,” he told her, setting her foot down and getting back on his feet. “I can help.”
“That’s a nice gesture,” she ground out, failing to hide a wince, “But really, I have my phone, so I can just call my fri—” she grabbed it and opened it, only for her face to fall. “Really? Now?” He heard her grumble irritably.
Noticing his quizzical face, turned a blank screen to him. “It’s dead.” She deadpanned.
“Okay, then let me help.”
Jungkook didn’t know this stranger by any stretch of the imagination, but he had anticipated what her response would be. It probably sounded something like “no”, since she seemed disinclined to take his help.
Was she always like this, so stubborn? Was it some kind of pride thing? He had been there, too; his hyungs really had their hands full with him over the years, didn’t they?
Retrieving the first aid kit Jimin had gifted him some time back, he made a brisk return to find the girl in much the same position he had left her, staring sulkily at her injured ankle. She looked up when he approached, but didn’t say a word.
“You might have to take off your shoe.” he informed her.
He waited to get a response, the big plastic kit held by his side. Jungkook wondered if she just planned to ignore him, and if he should take her silence as consent and proceed, but that didn’t feel right. Finally, she mumbled, “…This is really happening…isn’t it?”
Nodding slowly, he popped the kit open and examined its contents, locating the roll of compression wrap. While he did that, he noticed her leaning forward, trying to unstrap her heel without moving in a way that would hurt her foot even more.
Jungkook had never worn heels, but he always thought anyone who did without falling over must have some hidden talent. Hers weren’t as tall as some, but she was still plucking at the strap with building frustration.
Guessing she wanted it over and done with just as bad as he did, the idol seized the heel of her foot again, bringing her leg out and reaching for the buckle himself.
If he expected a beaming smile and a grateful attitude, he’d be sorely mistaken. She gave him the stink eye. “I can do at least this much.”
“Maybe, but I can do it faster.” He shrugged, already loosening the heel and sliding it off while holding her foot steady. From so close, and without the shoe in the way, he could really see just how fast the ankle had discolored and swollen. Again, he wrestled with the guilt, absently reaching for the wrap. “So,” he began by holding her ankle at a ninety-degree angle, “Who are you? Because this doesn’t mean I forgot…”
“Believe me, I’m someone who doesn’t want to be here anymore than you want me to be here. I didn’t have a choice, not that you’d ever believe me…” she huffed. “But, because legal repercussions are probably unavoidable, I’ll start by being cooperative. Maybe when they review all this, that’ll work in my favor.” It sounded like she was talking to herself, not him, but then she cleared her throat and extended her hand. “My name is L/N Y/N.”
Jungkook didn’t expect such a strange introduction, and the attempt at a handshake reminded him of Namjoon-hyung. He grasped her palm very briefly, barely holding on to it long enough for their hands to go up and down, but she didn’t seem inclined to want to hold onto him either.
“Y/N…” he repeated.
“As for what I’m doing here…well, again, it’s not something any sane person would believe.” She switched her focus to watching him meticulously wrap her ankle. It was pretty careful care for someone that could have been stalking him, but he had already started, and if he was going to do it, his sense of perfectionism said he had to do it right.
“Are you…insane?”
“Excuse me?” She didn’t look very amused, but he guessed it wasn’t exactly a polite question.
“You said a sane person wouldn’t believe you…” he explained.
“I am not insane,” Y/N rubbed a hand to her forehead. “I just feel like I am lately,” she whispered. “I was dining out with some friends, in the restaurant bathroom and then…”
Jungkook waited while he secured the wrap with some bandage clips and closed his first aid kit. “And then?”
“It’s going to sound insane,” she finished matter-of-factly, “You’re going to call me a liar and accuse me of stalking you, then we’ll be right back where we started.”
Jungkook was torn between still wanting to contact security, but also experiencing some curiosity he couldn’t quite tamp down. “Do you have proof?” It didn’t sound like she did.
“Proof?” Y/N repeated, arching a brow as if he had just said something strange.
“You’re not even going to try to make me believe you?” he goaded.
“Sure, help me up and I’ll hobble right over to the mirror. You’ll see exactly how I got here and this whole think’ll be cleared up just like that.” Her tone was so sugary the sarcasm was evident.
Jungkook figured he had indulged this for this long…why not go all the way. Offering her a hand, he warned her to brace herself, and then pulled her up with ease. “Okay.”
“Okay?” She said warily, trying not to show him how much she was utilizing the wall for support.
“Okay,” Jungkook nodded, “Show me.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Idols were weird. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was just the fact that they lived in a completely ‘different world’ from normal people or what, but she hadn’t expected her first extended run-in with some world-famous celebrity to go like this.
Park Jimin was one thing; he’d been concussed, so that was enough to make him loopy. She hadn’t expected anything out of his mouth to make sense. But this guy, Jean Jungkook?
Totally different. He wasn’t suffering a head injury, for one. And he had seemed angry at first, but still handled her appearance in much the same way a mean boy on the playground would in elementary school. Playing keep away with her phone, really?
He’d even treated her with decency when she tripped and sprained her ankle. God, that was yet another thing she was going to have to deal with. Sprained her ankle! Sprained! How was she supposed to get around campus quickly? It was huge. Though she supposed that wasn’t a concern at present.
The idol’s strange demand was at the forefront of her mind, seeing as he was right behind her while she hobbled slowly to the mirror, her heel in one hand and her phone in the other.
She must have looked like a suffering pigeon, doing a funny little hop. But she refused to let him touch her after she got her bearings. It was humiliating enough to have someone see her make a fool of herself and get injured to boot, idol or no idol. Well actually, his status made it even worse.
And he was watching her oh so closely as she made it to the mirror, taking a deep breath and turned around to look at him with some difficulty. “Here it is.” She said flatly. “How I got in, and how I probably would be able to get out, if life felt like cutting me a break.”
He stepped around her, staring at her incredulously like she knew he would. She would look at herself that way in his position. Jungkook pressed against the mirror with the flat of his hand, one good time, as if to confirm it was solid. “You used the mirror? What, like magic? Like a drama?”
“You’re the one who said you wanted proof; I never said it would satisfy you.” she retorted. “I barely understand it myself, but what I’m saying is the only truth I have to cling to.” Her chin dipped, “No matter how implausible it is…”
She knew she would get the same result he had when she pushed on the mirror, but as if to confirm her fate was truly sealed, Y/N tried anyway. When her hand went right through, the cool glass giving way to cool nothingness, she yelled, pitching forward.
Jungkook made a noise, something startled, and she glanced at him to confirm he was seeing what was happening. His bulging eyes made it evident that he was. Yes! Y/N jerked her arm away too fast, and in doing so almost fell back on her ass, if not for the lightning reflexes of the idol who moved to extend an arm around her waist.
Y/N got her bearings, smoothed a hand over her shirt and her racing heart, and tried to hold back her tears. He could see. He could really see. The weeks of going crazy in silence, holding it all in, and someone else…could see.
“Your arm went through the glass,” he breathed.
“More than my arm’s gone through.” Y/N spoke with more confidence, now that there was no way he could deny it. “That’s…how I got here.”
The idol once again moved forward, pressing both hands against the mirror. Nothing. “How?” He wondered.
“I don’t know.” Y/N replied, “It’s been happening since…since I got this phone. So that’s my only theory, that the events are connected.” She held up the dead device and wiggled it around. “Not that that’s a story anyone would believe if I got caught breaking and entering.”
The idol appeared to be thinking, worrying his lip piercing with his tongue, “Unless they saw it.”
Y/N squared her shoulders, eyeing him up and down. He fidgeted, looking small somehow, despite being fairly tall with a healthy amount of muscle. From close up it was even easier to see than watching him from behind the wall.
“It might come as a surprise for you to know, not everyone would be as cavalier as you about all this. In fact, I’d go as far as saying your reaction was a bit…strange. Has anyone told you that you’re odd?”
‘Nice going, Y/N.’ She thought bitterly, ‘That was over the top blunt. You’re not trying to make an enemy out of the very first person to be witnessing the crazy with you.’
Luckily, the idol didn’t look overly offended. Jungkook pursed his lips, big eyes sheepish as he rubbed his head. “Uh-huh, my hyung.” he said thoughtfully.
“Well…” Y/N gestured vaguely. “Now that you’ve seen what I’ve seen, you know about as much as I do. Would it be too much trouble to ask if I could…go?” Pointing a thumb toward the mirror like she was about to miss her cab would seem dumb if he didn’t know.
“Oh, right,” Jungkook’s tapped the mirror again. “You’re going back to where you came from.”
“Ideally,” Y/N frowned, “I’ve been gone a long time. There’s no way my friends aren’t concerned about that. And when they can’t find me who knows what they’ll think.”
Somewhat afraid the give they had both witnessed was a one-off, Y/N pressed her hand to the mirror once again, happy when it rippled and went right through. It might have been too late to salvage the evening with her friends, but at least she could salvage her reputation.
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So we looked into it and that person who harassed me was very obviously fishing for specifically physically disabled people to attack. My tags for that post about Mourning Your Own Loss/Lack Of Physical Health and Ability was tagged "Cripple Punk, Cpunk, and Chronic Pain". And they came in calling me a disability exclusionist and putting words in my mouth because I made a post about an experience specifically physical disability struggle with. It was so fucked up to be targeted and harassed like that for making a post that was so specifically made for phys. disabled folks.
It really fucking sucks to be treated so brutally by folks who literally Demand to be included in this space.
And able bodied people with mental health issues wonder why we can't just share the same spaces, when not only do we just literally have our own unique experiences that cannot be understood fully unless you Go Through Them (for both sides! Obviously!),
but also, they've literally treated me differently as I became vocal about physical disability + visibly disabled. Like I am living exactly the experience I watched other physically disabled people talk about here in real time. I am watching it happen and it is so dehumanizing.
And on top of all of that, some of my top posts are Mental Health Positivity Posts AND once again, as someone who's only been phys. disabled for less than a year, but had experienced mental health issues + neurodiversity for essentially all my life
It really sucks to be reduced to my physical disability and assumed to not be a part of the mental health community as well.
I guess, all in all, I AM an active member of these communities and I do my part for both and understand we both have separate support needs.
:( it just bites to have people treat me this way and then preach about mental health, while damaging mine and then calling me a disability exclusionist with all the work I do to help both communities individually. Especially when most of what I post personally is legitimately positivity posts and helpful questions that are appreciated by the people they are about because
Go figure, I make people feel represented bc I Care About Them and Acknowledge Them even when their experiences aren't my own!
Anyways, I'm gonna go sulk until I feel better because I deserved better treatment than I received and I deserve to feel better ASAP bc I've got a busy day tomorrow. Wheeling myself to the pharmacy. For my antidepressants, nightmare, anxiety, and pain medication. (Irony always lifts up my mood in these situations) <3 good night everybody!!!
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one thing about ableism is while there is NO doubt genuine stigma about disorders itself (especially "severe mental illness" don't get me started) however. to actually not be ableist it requires going beyond just "I accept someone as my equal without judgment of an arbitrary part of who they are". Which I think becomes hard in terms of unlearning bigotry because so many types of bigotry aren't based in any meaningful actual capacity difference.
The way ableism had impacted me had also largely been the way people respond to how they feel about my reactions and symptoms to things. Sometimes what people don't understand bothers them in itself. Sometimes being anxious, shutting down, having panic attacks, even having seizures can make people feel guilty. And being anxious CAN legitimately feed into others' anxiety! that is a genuine valid emotion to feel from someone else's symptoms. But that doesn't mean someone is wrong to experience any array of symptoms even if they DO make you feel guilty or impacted or overwhelmed! They do not deserve to have it taken out on them! Expression itself (though I do not mean to downplay how hard symptoms may make it to genuinely not do harmful actions to other) is completely morally neutral.
There are certain symptoms that certain people may not be good at standing. Accommodations and needs can clash. This STILL does not mean that someone deserves to have it taken out on them or be blamed for their symptoms.
In my experience, the people who've genuinely understood me and treated me best are not people who know each symptom I go through or who have personal experience or anything. It's people who can handle someone experiencing symptoms they don't understand (or that they do but if it makes them feel a certain way they don't project that onto me). It's people who see something weird about me, whether it's just the insane way I eat or severe dissociative symptoms, and accept it without trying to judge or blame me for it.
I used to be comfortable around people more who were personally neurodivergent or mentally ill or who were very okay with the ways I explain I am, but now it seems that there's a necessity people feel to not be ableist. but they're still people who like. genuinely would think still it'd be wrong of me to. even have an anxiety attack. or experience some form of executive dysfunction.
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things about ocd you might not know
- it's an anxiety disorder. it's right there along with generalised anxiety (shout out to the ‘you don't need to have panic attacks to have an anxiety disorder’ club), social anxiety, panic disorder etc. it often comes along with other anxiety disorders and is treated similarly.
- it is not 'only' being obsessive about tidiness or hygeine, but at the same time people who struggle with these particular forms of ocd are NOT 'perpetuating a stereotype' or bAd rEpreSentaTiOn, they are people with a disorder, and they are just as valid as anyone else.
- any which way ocd is not cute. it is not funny. it is not something to joke about. it is uncomfortable and distressing, and it needs to be better understood by the masses.
- intrusive thoughts (the 'obsessive' part) can be about anything. for example they can be about you or loved ones being harmed, feeling like you want to harm yourself or loved ones even though the thought horrifies you, feeling like you are always being watched/judged/punished or that everyone knows what you are thinking (even though you know logically that this is not true, which is where it differs from actual paranoia), and many more, some a lot more taboo.
-ocd can make you doubt things and compulsively check them, not be able to stop worrying about irrational things that won't or are very unlikely to happen, or feel like you can cause something bad to happen by just thinking the 'wrong' thing or doing something entirely unrelated. you can also have intrusive feelings and/or bodily sensations or a mixture of all.
- none of these thoughts or others not mentioned mean that someone who experiences them is a bad person, or would ever act on them. the whole point of intrusive thoughts is that they go directly against a person's morality. they are deliberately poking at what makes you the most uncomfortable and distressed, and the more reaction they get, the more you (very understandably) try and fight against them and stop them, the louder they become. the very fact that you recoil from the thought and are afraid that you might act on it, going over and over where it is coming from and desperately fighting against it is proof that you never would.
- compulsions are the other part of ocd, the obsessive cleaning or checking for example. however, they don't have to be physical and obvious, they can also be mental, such as counting, repeating words or phrases, or obsessive praying for example.
- the general idea is that compulsions are done to relieve the anxiety caused by the obsession (intrusive thought part), but this is not always the case. compulsions can happen to relieve nonspecific feelings of discomfort and anxiety unrelated to a specific thought, which in theory dissapate after the compulsion. likewise compulsions don't always happen when there is an intrusive thought.
- compulsions can also include neutralising thoughts, which are attempts to shut down/counteract/drown out intrusive thoughts. compulsions can also be involve an intense need for symmetry in some way, or repeating certain things or actions the ‘right’ number of times, whether or not you know what that number is.
- ocd can develop in childhood, as well as later in life.
- ocd, adhd, autism and tic disorders have a fun little club going on where they have high rates of comorbidity with each other as well as overlapping symptoms (repetitive actions with that you feel you need to do/cannot control on some level) which makes working out which one(s) you actually have a challenge.
- the general idea from what i've read and experienced is that you have the least control over a tic; it is involuntary and it takes a lot of energy to suppress it. compulsions can be controlled more easily, but it feels uncomfortable/anxious/distrressing to do so, and it's not an enjoyable thing to carry out anyway. a stim is more enjoyable and a way to regulate energy/sensory input or self soothe and it can fairly easily be stopped or continued in a different form most of the time. of course if you have comorbidities something can start off as a stim and then become a compulsion for example 🙃🙃
people with ocd take an average of ten years to seek treatment due to the shame the disorder causes. it can make you think you are an evil, shameful, terrible person, but that is not true in the slightest. resources about ocd are wonderful because they speak about it in a very matter of fact manner, and can help you realise you are not alone or beyond/undeserving of help, not to be really cliched but yeah :') i recommend ocd uk and this guide for dealing with intrusive thoughts as good places to start 💖💖💖💖
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the biggest issue i have is that the things i am passionate about and knowledge about aren't things I can make a living off of. I can chat about personal art projects and worldbuilding or d&d or video games, or even talk about linguistics and language and culture and mental health.
But when it comes to work and making a living like. Well I have a degree in computer science, I'm not that experienced in a lot of it and have 0 passion or drive for it but I can work in some small 9-5 role but in trying to do that I have issues of physical health and neurologic issues (using keyboards, looking at screens, doing logic problems, mathematics, staying awake) and mental health issues (paranoia, poor communication, lack of initiative, poor concentration, depression, hallucinations, delusions, dissociation, severe anxiety, etc). And the lack of passion creeps into the work I do.
So that's not a good fit, working full time and being in an office isn't for me. Okay well what about something that isn't an office it job? well I've worked part time as a custodian and while the job of "every day you work alone and clean this part of the building this specific way" is perfect for my anxiety and autism, that presents physical issues (lifting objects, walking, standing, bending over, staying awake, worsening chronic pain and fatigue, etc) which exacerbates mental health issues (depression, anxiety, psychosis, memory issues/amnesia, suicidal thoughts), and it also does not pay a livable wage offer benefits and also comes with being treated poorly and poor working conditions. And again the lack of passion creeps into how well I do my work.
So like. Full time office work doesn't work for me, part time physical labor jobs don't work for me. Working in part time jobs that involve talking with people (like customer service/support) aren't feasible.
So like, what the fuck am I supposed to do. Why would anyone want to hire someone who's unenthusiastic and have a billion limitations and can't communicate or connect with coworkers. How the fuck am I supposed to make a living if what jobs I can land make me suicidal and destroy my physical and mental health. How am I supposed to go to work if the thought of it gives me a panic attack and makes me fantasize about getting hit by a car because then I could get out of work for a while
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Diagnosing fictional characters is quite the challenge, but in working with kids who love anime, it can be par for the course and can open discussion about their own challenges. So, where to start with Kakashi:
*Note - kudos to Masashi Kishimoto, mangaka (manga creator) of Naruto. It looks like he did research and really did a pretty accurate representation of mental illness in his works and was respectful and humanizing in depiction.
*TW:suicidal ideation, panic attacks
Okay, as evidenced in several episodes, one would quite obviously conclude Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, PTSD. So, let's start with the elephant in the room that stares us in the face the whole series:
Criteria:
Exposure to trauma (death, injury, violence), learning about someone close experiencing trauma, and/or repeated exposure.
The wonderful skykashi has a beautifully written post delineating Kakashi's traumatic past. It's a must-read for those who want to know more about why Kakashi is the way he is.
2. At least one of these: intrusive thoughts, nightmares, flashbacks, emotional distress, physical reaction to triggers
3. Avoidance of triggers (people, places, or things that remind you of the event).
Okay, he did the opposite of avoiding. Instead of avoiding, he would spend literally HOURS at his friends' graves daily. However, this goes with the next criterion of self-blame, as yes, he would visit their graves and memorials daily, but would disparage himself every. single. day. For HOURS. Talk about how much of an "idiot" he was and become "stuck."
4. Negative cognitive or mood changes: not remembering what happened, negative beliefs about self, self-blame, negative emotional state (fear, shame, guilt), loss of interest in things that used to bring joy, detachment, inability to experience happiness or love
Even as an adult, in his late 20s/early 30s, he was still triggered/activated at times - unprocessed trauma does not go away, but can be treated and coping skills can help.
5. Altered reactions: irritability and anger, recklessness, hypervigilance (always on the lookout), easy to startle, can't concentrate, can't sleep
Hypervigilance. Context: Might Guy (friend in green suit) wanted to surprise Kakashi and hug him from behind. Kakashi tried to kill him, but then realized it was a friend, not foe.
In Anbu, he was known as "Cold-blooded Kakashi" due to his recklessness and general apathy. His friends sought to have him removed due to what they perceived as his being reckless and wanting to die.
6. Symptoms must last at least one month post exposure to traumatic event
So, when all is said and done, Kakashi would be deemed "clinically significant in meeting the criteria for a PTSD diagnosis"
Other diagnoses?
This is where it gets tricky.
Was Kakashi depressed?
Let's look at what depression is:
At least five: Depressed mood for at least two weeks, loss of interests in things once enjoyed, weight loss/gain, physical slow down, fatigue, feeling worthless, diminished concentration, thoughts of death/suicidal ideation.
Wait, but didn't he have a depressed mood for at least 2 weeks, didn't he lose interest in hanging with his friends? Didn't he feel worthless? Didn't he want to die? That's 4, right?
So, believe it or not, he was not clinically depressed. Doesn't meet the criteria. So what about those 4 symptoms? Look above. See symptoms 3, 4, and 5 of PTSD - Avoidance, change in mood, altered reactions? Ding, ding, ding.
This! This is why it's important to be your own advocate. If someone like Kakashi were to go to therapy, and did he ever need it, it would be so easy to be (mis)diagnosed with depression. However, once the trauma is brought into the forefront, the treatment and approach differs. So, in other words, SPEAK UP! Your therapist needs to know these things, so they can help you.
Anxiety?
Yes, Kakashi was notorious for had panic attacks at the worst moments, but c'mon. They're not predictable. So, did he have anxiety? Panic disorder? Were they panic attacks or anxiety attacks?
Being that they weren't 100% random and typically occurred in context, e.g., following the killing of a friend, thinking best friend had sacrificed himself, finding out dead friend is alive... his were in all likelihood PTSD/trauma-induced panic attacks, as panic attacks related to triggers are not uncommon with PTSD - unresolved trauma rears it's head again! See? Self-advocate!!
So, all that to say, and I know this is a hot take, but the "only," and I use the word "only" very lightly here as I would never downplay mental illness, diagnosis Kakashi Hatake would actually have is (untreated) PTSD and it wreaked havoc on his life. Someone needed therapy!
Next I'll do Naruto, since it's his show. But if there are any characters in any universe that you would like "analyzed," feel free to ask. In doing this, I've found that some people do find it makes their favorite characters more relatable and helps them feel they're not alone.
*Anyway, as usual, this post is for entertainment-educational purposes only. Please do not use this for mental health information. If you need mental health assistance, please speak to a local(!) qualified mental health professional. If you feel suicidal or need immediate help, please, in the US, call 988.
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Toxic parents bark orders at their adult children like they're their own personal stress ball. "I'm unhappy and insecure in my own life and lack of accomplishments, so I'm going to yell and nitpick at every little thing you do, squeezing your emotions until you're a crying quivering stressed-out mess because only then will I feel a little better about myself. And nothing you do can or will ever be good enough to make me stop treating you this way." [Because the problem is inside the parents, not their children.]
Personally, anytime I'm visibly happy, their reaction is consistently... *yell, nitpick, backhanded "compliment", insult, order, threaten, order, order, gaslight, threaten*
Rinse. Repeat.
Anytime I'm having a bad day, am visibly depressed or hiding in my room... *laugh, insult, threaten, order, order, threaten, order, threaten*
And, miraculously, parents always seem happier and less stressed after doing this. Like they've just barged into their adult child's life to put a psychological squeeze on the child so the parents can relieve themselves of their own stress by transferring it to someone else.
I am not your stress ball. F*** you.
Somehow, they understand that training animals is always more efficient with a mix of positive and negative reinforcement. But when it comes to human beings, the only acceptable form of communication they believe works is hateful authoritarianism.
Like, it sucks you got bullied in highschool and now you're looking to have that power over someone else, but that doesn't make you a good parent. It makes you just as bad as the people who hurt you. It makes you an absolutely abhorrent parent, a bully, and a narcissist. Stop. Grow up. Get therapy like the rest of us. Stop making your child's anxiety and depression worse by burdening them with your own. Jfc
I can be as polite and sweet and obedient as a robot around them, but they will still find any tiny little thing to flip out about. And if there is nothing to get angry about, they will get mad over something they assume I will do wrong in the future. Nothing is ever good enough. Nothing ever will be. And any expression of emotion that is "too positive" or "too negative" will be taken as a personal attack on them and met with threats, insults, barked orders, and more threats.
It's no wonder I'm an introvert with social anxiety when the people closest to me are an absolute nightmare to interact with anytime they are not silently watching TV or literally asleep.
Trying to not let those monsters live in my head rent free more than absolutely necessary, so cutting off the rant here. Anyway, I deserve better. And to anybody else who has experienced this: you deserve better too. Sending love and strength.
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I believe that Ron Stoppable is neurodivergent. Many of his traits line up with being neurodivergent.
Disregard for Gender Norms
In "Mind Games" Ron mentions liking the skirt on Kim's cheer uniform.
In "Attack of the Killer Bebes" he got a movie makeup kit as a birthday present.
In "Two to Tutor" he is revealed to love baking and is mentioned as being interested in interpretive dance.
He becomes a fan of the Oh Boyz in "Oh Boyz".
He becomes a fan of "Kim Style" in "Kimitation Nation".
He is implied to be interested in Britina dolls in "Queen Bebe".
These are all things typically regarded as feminine interests, but when Ron has his crisis about being a man in "Ron the Man", none of that stuff is what he's concerned about. He's not afraid any of that stuff makes him less of a man, and he feels no shame about them (most of the time).
Lack of Concern for Popularity
There are several times where Ron is shown to not care about popularity, though there are also several times where Ron is shown to care a great deal about how others perceive him.
Obsessive Tendencies
In "October 31st" Ron is shown to still be interested in going trick-or-treating, despite the fact that most people would have outgrown this hobby by this point.
In "Grande Size Me" Ron becomes obsessed with proving Barkin wrong about the food pyramid, and begins behaving in a defensive manner over it.
(Of course, Ron invented the Naco, which was the specific item Barkin was criticizing, so it's a bit understandable.)
In "Dimension Twist" Ron spends three days straight watching cable television.
Ron has a tendency to become obsessed with his interests, and defensive if someone doesn't like them.
Hobbies and Interests
In "Monkey Fist Strikes" Ron is revealed to be interested in video games, and this is mentioned again in "Steal Wheels".
In "Larry's Birthday" it's revealed that Ron has regular meetups with Larry and Larry's friends.
In "Queen Bebe" Ron is implied to have an interest in Britina dolls.
Ron is a fan of the Oh Boyz in "Oh Boyz", even when they're so unpopular no one goes to their concerts. In addition to this, he doesn't even realize they're no longer popular.
Ron may not having been looking for a naked mole rat specifically, but he does consider them to be cool pets.
In "Two to Tutor" there is a brief mention of Ron having an interest in interpretive dancing.
He's still interested in trick-or-treating in "October 31st".
Many of Ron's interests are things typically regarded as "uncool" or "childish", things his peers are usually not interested in.
Social Life and Anxiety
Ron is frequently shown to lack social skills - bad at picking up intonation, doesn't have many friends, has a hard time dating, and is generally believed to be unpopular.
There's also Ron's tendency to panic, and his occasional bouts of paranoia.
(Though his belief that Barkin is targeting him specifically was apparently correct.)
In fact, Ron's anxiety reached a breaking point when, in "Odds Man In", he experienced such bad anxiety, he locked himself in some kind of panic room.
(Also, where was this? When did he have it built?)
Ron is also concerned about being replaced as Kim's best friend or sidekick, as shown in "Pain King vs Cleopatra", or boyfriend, as shown in "Ill-Suited".
So Ron displays many traits associated with neurodivergent teenagers.
And these also happen to be the traits that the show used to write him as a "loser".
And that's one of the reasons I dislike so much of the show's humor being at Ron's expense - because it often relies on poking fun at Ron not behaving in a neurotypical way.
And as someone who is not neurotypical, seeing the character that's the most like me being the "buffoon" character, the "inept sidekick" character, the one who is incompetent and incapable, well...it kind of hurts.
Because it kind of feels like they're saying what I and many other neurodivergent people have heard our whole lives - that you can't do anything, and you look foolish for trying.
Look, I realize this wasn't intentional. But, even unintentionally, Ron is very heavily neurodivergent-coded, and that happens too often in media - humor that relies on someone having neurodivergent traits and making fun of them for it.
And we've all grown past that.
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I absolutely adore your bowuigi comic. I just wonder... How do you keep up with it all? How do you keep creating? Personally, I've struggled with posting new chapters for my fanfics because of a mixture of creative burnout and anxiety. Whenever I start writing a new chapter for a fic, I'm filled with dread. I'm afraid of disappointing my fans and getting destructive criticism from my critics. I haven't had the courage to post anything for months now. Do you have any advice?
Thanks for the ask! And honestly the comic has had its ups and downs for me. People who've been reading the comic for a while now will know that I took a 5-6 month hiatus from the comic during the early chapters. With the project as big as it is it just felt insurmountable to continue with.
I won't lie, that first post after a long hiatus is VERY overwhelming and can feel insurmountable. I don't really have any strategies to make that process easier, but I will say the relief you will feel after starting it back up again will be great.
Take it in bite-sized chunks and keep moving the goalpost back until the project feels doable. If completing 1 chapter feels like too much, just complete half a chapter. If not, just 1 page. If not, just sketch out your ideas for the chapter, or write them out in bullet points. Any amount of work you do towards completing the task is another step towards achieving it.
What's worked the best for me is setting a specific deadline (the first of every month) for me to follow and I treat it no differently than school projects. I work on it when I can, I keep the deadline in mind, and I take frequent breaks from it. Most, if not all of every chapter usually doesn't begin production until half-way through the month (even now I haven't started on the next chapter and ngl it's kinda stressing me out cause it's a doozy)
As well, i find it's easier to finish the project if I don't think of it as another small piece of a giant puzzle. Instead, i imagine the project is already done, I just have to tie up this one loose end in this chapter. And I think that for every chapter. For every page even. That makes it easier for me to handle.
As for destructive criticism? I'm not much help. Honestly that's something i'm working on, as my first instinct to receiving that on my work is to get very emotional (I was VERY upset when I found out you can't delete comments on tapas). Hell, i get emotional when I just go into the bowuigi tag and see someone complaining about an aspect of bowuigi that I have in my story, I always take it as an attack when it really isn't. So as someone who struggles with criticism, i'll just say do your best to take your mind off of it. Do something that you know lifts your spirits and then come back to the comment. Or don't! You can just delete it and be on your merry way if you want to.
That's all the advice I can give. If it's any solace, just know all creators out there are in it with you and have experienced exactly what you're experiencing right now. You're not alone :)
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Ya got any rants stored up? Long-burning hatred?
i FINALLY found one i’ve been holding onto this ask waiting for the opportunity.
i HATE how people treat people with anxiety disorders. it’s endless pity mixed with complete incompassion
like ok. obligatory i have generalized anxiety disorder here. a lot of things make me stressed and when i’m having bad anxiety attacks (which can last days and sometimes put me into month-long spells of misery) i get physically sick, to the point of throwing up and fever. i also tend to go nonverbal/low-verbal during these periods of time (usually bc i’m nauseous.) i’m also very prone to migraines and have a tic and wear a night guard due to jaw clenching etc etc you get the point it affects me.
when i share these symptoms with people (assuming they don’t have similar symptoms) i get a lot of frowny faces. “owh i’m sorry :( that must be awful how horrible“ and the like. and it’s never said in a way that’s actually kind. it’s said in the way people talk about those aspca commercials. and it’s never actually come from a place of genuine concern- it’s superficial pity apparently meant to placate me. i hate it
and that’s assuming i even get that reaction at all! usually when i try to explain to someone that i’m experiencing symptoms of some sort like “hey i’m sorry i can’t really be productive right now, i’ve got a lot of brain fog” i am ALWAYS dismissed. EVERY time. maybe it’s because i’m quite skilled at coping and masking. maybe it’s because my panic attacks don’t (always) look like wailing and thrashing and choking on air. but for some reason people don’t seem to understand that yes my anxiety disorder is actually disabling for me sometimes. i will ask for an accommodation i need, be compared to someone else with different needs from me, and then be told i need to just suck it up and deal with it. and i am SO! TIRED! OF! IT!!!! the amount of times i’ve told people “hey please don’t say that to me i’m prone to paranoia about xyz” and then been yelled at because “it’s not that serious take a joke” is ABSURD. hey maybe stop telling me my cough is covid bc now i have to spend the next 3 hours reminding myself that i don’t have any other symptoms asshole!!! jesus
and THEN when i actually DO find a way to cope or utilize the way my brain works or god forbid crack a fucking joke about it people get mad at me. “see i knew it wasn’t a big deal” or “so you’re actually fine” or “that’s not funny” i am. so tired of it
and then i go online and see people saying that disorders like anxiety and depression have been destigmatized and we’re treated basically the same in neurotypical society. motherfucker i did not go undiagnosed for 17 years with several doctors telling me it “wasn’t anything to worry about” despite my family history and clear signs from a young age just to be told my disorder is respected. if i say my anxiety is a disability i get called dramatic and am told to stop taking attention away from people who need it- or not to call it a disability because “it’s not that bad” and i’m fine because clearly having a disability makes every second of your life miserable of course of course. hell anxiety is demonized too! not as badly as many other illnesses but it’s still demonized!!! if i tell people “hey i have anxiety so please be careful with xyz” they act like i just asked them to let me do anything i want without consequence. there’s literally a whole fucking stereotype of people using “anxiety” as an excuse to be lazy or an asshole or entitled. as someone whose anxiety manifests in depressive spirals (freeze response) and rejection sensitivity (doom spiraling) this is Not Great!!!!! like i am hypervigilant about enough things i do not need to add “will these people get mad if i explain how my brain works” to the list
and about the rejection sensitivity. i HATEEEEE when people judge me for crying because they’re upset at something i’ve done wrong. “mars if you’re in the wrong then you’re not the victim” who the fuck said i think i’m the victim???? i cry because my brain takes “can you pls stop doing this it genuinely bugs me” and turns it into “you’re a horrible person how could you do this to someone they hate you.” but just because that happens doesn’t mean i’m not capable of rational thought!!! i KNOW realistically that my friends are good communicators and share that stuff because they like my company. i just need to cry about it as well. that doesn’t negate my logic or say i won’t actually try to improve myself. i’m just upset that i made the mistake. obviously i’m gonna fix it. that one REALLY pisses me off esp when i warn someone in advance that i do that. like calm the fuck down i’m not even pointing out that i’m crying rn this isn’t about me stop making it about me.
ANYWAYS. it’s really frustrating to deal with this shit from nts and then go to an online nd space for community and hear people talk about anxiety disorders like we don’t face ableism. just because it’s quieter doesn’t mean it isn’t there. that AND the “it’s barely an issue” girlie i was told i wasn’t disabled enough by doctors my whole damn life i am NOT about to start hearing it from you too. you can drown in the ocean or a swimming pool or a puddle. doesn’t fucking matter. the hypocrisy irritates me so bad
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I don’t know how to tell you all this, but you actually can hate on your ex, process your feelings and anger post break up, and have zero romantic feelings for them anymore. Especially if the way that person treated you was gross or horrible. Perhaps, once the relationship haze and end times confusion falls away you are left with the frustration and resentment about that treatment that you may not have been aware of in that moment. And you are MAD and you want people to know that what THEY THOUGHT about your long term relationship was in fact NOT TRUE. It’s not lying either, because at the time of the relationship you were under some sort of pressure that the public/loved ones don’t know about, or may have only let on the good things. You may have even been under some light or heavy brainwashing or manipulation and don’t realize what you really went through FOR YEARS. But once it ends, you realize how messed up what you went through is. And all you want is for people to know that it was not in fact what it seemed. At all.
I am talking generally/from personal+several friends experiences because we don’t know the extent of what happened in the relationship and the ending with Taylor and YB. Just wanted to give perspective from someone who experienced something similar.
But as someone who listens to YLM with visceral sobs every time because it brings me back to exactly how I felt at the end of my fucking hell of a 7 year relationship with an artsy,guitarist, introverted douche bag ex who knew I was miserable for TWO YEARS in a place I didn’t even choose to live, and just sat there and let me slowly die without saying anything or trying to talk to me about it because he was a fucking selfish coward. I am not kidding when I say that I broke up with him when I did because I genuinely thought I was going to have a heart attack because of the insaneeeeeee anxiety level I felt leading up to it. When I broke up with him I cried for hours, not because I was sad or still loved him, but because I didn’t want to hurt someone (and I’m sure emotional levee breaking). Looking back I wish I was meaner in the breakup because he didn’t deserve the kindness I gave him in those final moments. And I’m still angry. It was in 2018. You just don’t know what anyone experiences in private, and if they are airing it in public after the fact, there’s probably a reason. Especially since Taylor has always talked so positively about YB in her music and interviews, she probably feels like she needs to start setting the record straight. What ever that record may be. We should give her grace to do so, even when she is in a new happy relationship.
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did you ever need to take sth like antidepressants for anxiety or panick attacks? I recall you speakin about having dealth with them in the past & been wonderin if you ever tried medicating urself for it / would consider it if your nerves were getting too much 4 u at some point down the line or did you develop ur own way around those little&big pits of hell
xX
heyyyyy <3 (this will b long but this question deserves a thorough answer so hope thats ok)
ive been strongly encouraged to take various medications over the years, particularly for anxiety/mood stabilisation, and twoish weeks ago i ended up in hospital cause literally i lost my mind, and i felt so out of it that thats the first time i ever considered not just wanting, but needing medication in order to function. however, i didnt, cause i dont like making decisions in the moment (desperation leads to desperate decisions) and because before that experience and even during it, ive never felt convinced that medication was the solution to the problems i was facing. 1) due to the physical, mental and emotional side effects. & 2) because im not convinced the people prescribing the meds even know what is 'wrong' with me.— a lot of that has to do with the nhs being a mess, (its quicker to get meds than wait thru the referral time to get diagnosed & into therapy) but also, theres a lot of comorbidity in the diagnosis ive been given, so there are multiple things to treat & in their eye's medication gives a faster result than unpacking all of that individually. the recommendation was to put me on a cocktail of drugs that can fuck up my liver kidneys and endocrine system to 'see if it will work' .. :/.
the only thing that has ever worked for me is sitting with myself and my emotions, acknowledging them, doing things at my pace in my time, and structuring my life in a way that is tailored for me and my success rather than being successful in the world or in a socially accepted way. that means having a morning routine that caters to my mental emotional and physical health, (mindful practices, yoga, gardening, sound work etcetc), and finding ways to continue that throughout the day (working creatively and limiting my exposure to people or situations that are not for me/overstimulate me).
that being said, this routine (which is still being refined and altered) works pretty well for me, but comes with sacrifices and isnt fool proof. symptoms of my mental illness still persist & without being medicated people are less lenient when helping someone they feel isnt 'helping themselves', im also still working on how to be as sociable as id like to be, and often my spirals are triggered by the very system i have in place to help me. i often face feeling like a let down, like im lazy, like im a weirdo/recluse, like im incapable of being a normal person etc etc. for example, a lot of the friends i graduated with have experienced crazy growth in their careers and have a sense of social and financial security that i dont have because they can function year round, whereas i have months at a time where i dont feel myself and have to disappear in order to keep sanity and peace in my being, lol. that, and the fact that it takes me a lot of base maintenance and effort to function as a normal person makes me feel like shit if i let it, so i constantly have to remind myself on top of the work i do daily, that whilst there are things others have/experience, that i dont, the inverse is also true, and theres beauty to me being me in my way. and .. yeah 🤷🏽♀️. that part is hard. but its also worth it to me and has taught me a lot
all that being said, do your own research and decide what feels right and what is best for YOU. speak to your doctors, therapists, and friends who may be medicated, or look on forums online for perspectives from both sides. [*if anyone reading this has a helpful opinion 2 offer pls comment]. the feeling of helplessness when your in the throws of whatever mental illness you suffer from can be debilitating and if taking a pill everyday or when you need it can fix that, no ones opinion should sway you from doing what you need to do to function. some of my friends who are medicated swear by medication!! (particularly when it comes to adhd meds) cause not being able to process thoughts and function is horrible and ruins lives needlessly.
so yh.. i hope this helps. as long as you do whats best for you, i have no doubt you will find your way through this and that it will be worth it. above all, know that the power of your will, your mind, and your person, is what makes you special, and so even if it takes more for you to show up than it does others, that's absolutely fine. take your time with it, and know what nothing is wasted, because you have no idea the good that can come from working out the details. most of the advice i have to offer comes from making it thru an existential crisis or bout of depression. <3
blessings 2 u love
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