#i hate mental illness i hate being lightheaded for no reason i hate BEING SICK FUCKING AGAIN most of all

[gremlinbehaviour]

so it turns out I'm fucking stupid

[emo-trash101]

hi! i’d love to request a matchup for hazbin hotel :))

i have short wavy hair and an asymmetrical haircut, my hair is currently dyed red, i have brown hair and brown eyes and i wear glasses. i have a baby face, im short and kind of chubby, and a little insecure about my appearance.

my zodiac is cancer sun, taurus moon, leo rising if that helps you at all!

i’m pretty sensitive but i hate showing it (and usually don’t, im a pretty good actor). i can be pretty clingy and insecure, but i try not to let it show too much.

i can get pretty lonely and i love to share all my obsessions with people, but i also get drained from social interactions pretty quickly.

i love having people who can make me laugh, and especially people who laugh at my jokes. i really enjoy having people to banter with.

my main love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation, but i really like quality time and acts of service as well.

i hate being condescended, or feeling dismissed or like im not being listened to. if i feel like my opinion or presence is unwanted in a situation i’ll shut down very quickly, but if someone i love makes me feel that way i tend to lash out. i try my best to communicate how im feeling but i can get really emotional sometimes.

i wear some variation of the same outfit everyday, i love music, movies, watching tv, reading, and writing. i love animals but im kinda scared of going outside (bugs and allergies). i’m very awkward and i talk a lot when im nervous (which is like all the time). i’ve been a theater kid since i was 4 years old and i love disney movies (my fav is princess and the frog). i’m the kind of person who doesn’t really like to talk to new people unless i have to so im terrible at making friends. i can be quite rude but i don’t try to be i just can’t read social cues. i really really love rocks, im vegetarian (or at least trying to be), deficient in like a million vitamins, have a bad stomach, auditory processing issues, and mental illness. i have very dry humor and i say things without thinking about them, so i make really weird jokes that usually only i understand. i get sick pretty often, i get lightheaded easily and have bad joints. i love sweet things and would eat nothing but chocolate all the time if i could. i can’t keep eye contact well, i stare at random areas on peoples faces when in conversation. i need time to recharge alone after pretty much any social situation. im a bit of a perfectionist and i can become obsessive over trying to fix everything that’s bothering my friends or those i love. i can be quite irritable and get frustrated easily especially when im anxious but it’s pretty easy to calm me down with a hug or verbal affirmations. i’m kind of like a cat in the way that i can be extremely clingy but sometimes i hate to be touched. i take a lot of naps and i might have narcolepsy and/or chronic fatigue.

i’m trans-masc and bi (but i prefer boys).

Okay okay, so I think you match up best with

LUCIFER

(No it's not just because you're a theatre kid and he's voiced by Jermey Jordan)

I feel that based off of how you described being really sensitive and emotional, this man would be (relatively) well equipped to handle it. I also think that he would be really good for making you feel comfortable (Sorry I'm shit at explaining my reasoning for things sometimes 😭)

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 16

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 14.3k

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, domestic & child abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, descriptions of mental illness, death, dark themes and foul language. once again, all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a grain of salt.

description: Han Jisung wrestles with the demons of his past as Kim Seungmin faces his own dilemma in the present, with one last chilling threat from Prosecutor Kang forcing Seungmin to make a final, crucial decision. The clock is counting down as your last chance wears thin, and one unexpected declaration is all it takes for things to change—forever.

watch the trailer here!

16| the prisoner’s dilemma.

Jisung was still frozen in place long after the heavy doors had swung shut and erased your face from his sight. His own hand felt foreign as he held it against his stinging cheek, the dull throbbing drowned out by the words still ringing in his ears.

Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive.

I need you to stay alive.

Bang Chan was watching him from the side, the detective’s eyes filled with equal parts amusement and wariness. Finally, he spoke. “You deserved that, you know.”

Jisung was silent, but his mind was already replaying the scene over and over again. Your anxious eyes, your voice trembling with the effort to stay steady. The slap couldn’t compare to the pain that had etched itself into your features every time he had spoken harshly, trying again and again to push you away. I know I did.

Chan sighed. “How are you feeling?”

A soft laugh escaped from Jisung’s dry mouth. “Dizzy,” he deadpanned honestly. The adrenaline was beginning to die down, but instead of leaving him sick in the stomach and with a pounding headache like usual, Jisung felt almost...lightheaded with relief. “Like...like a kid that just got told off?”

The detective chuckled, letting out his low, signature whistle. “What’d I tell you? That’s love, mate.” 

Jisung looked at him now, incredulous. “Getting slapped in the face?”

“No,” Chan smiled, but for once, his eyes were serious. “Someone who cares about you enough to call you out when you’re wrong.”

Not knowing what to say, Jisung turned away, letting the ticking of the clock on the wall fill the strained silence. He could still feel Chan’s gaze on him, but it was no longer the look of a detective trying to dissect a case file. Instead, it held the same strange softness it had when Chan had pulled Jisung aside at the Third Eye, and asked if he was okay.

“I told you once,” Chan began slowly, “that everyone deserves to be loved, and that you’re no different. Of course, things have...changed,” he continued, and Jisung looked down, throat tight as he waited for Chan to finish. “But I still stand by what I said.”

Before Jisung could reply, the intercom crackled overhead. “The court hearing  for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants in the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Detective, you should get going,” a security guard spoke lowly to Chan, who sighed and nodded, pulling himself to his feet. As he passed where Jisung was standing, he stopped briefly.

“You’re a good kid, Han Jisung. Even if you don’t believe it yourself...you had better start to.”

“Chan—”

The detective had reached the door when he looked over his shoulder at Jisung. He had the same old mischievous smile on his face again, but his eyes were sad. 

“I hope we can grab another coffee together some time, yeah?”

━━━━━━━━

Seungmin’s head was spinning as he pushed through rooms packed with spectators and reporters until he finally stumbled into an emptier hallway. His eyes gleaned the plaques on the doors, searching for the room number the court clerks had given him after Seungmin had overheard their frantic conversation.

“We can’t just end the case here — the media and people’ll riot.”

“But we’ve lost a witness and the lead prosecutor of the case in one day — how the hell is the trial supposed to continue?”

The clerk wringed his hands. “We need to find out if there were any other prosecutors working with Kang on the case — call them in ASAP—”

And so, here Seungmin was — heart threatening to leap out of his throat, charging headfirst into a case that had been ripped out of his hands months ago. He had stepped into their conversation impulsively, and now a thousand warning bells were going off in his mind. 

Kim Seungmin was not impulsive. Kim Seungmin always calculated his plans perfectly, meticulously. It was one of the reasons why he had always been at the top of his class, graduating a year early with honours. Always praised for being levelheaded and thorough. 

Still, he thought, there had been one person that had seen right through him.

“You’re stressed,” you blurted bluntly, and Seungmin’s coffee cup froze midway to his lips. You were in his office, one of the many meetings you two had arranged in order to keep each other updated with information regarding Jisung’s case. 

“We’re all stressed,” Seungmin replied matter-of-factly, unsure where you were going with this, but you shook your head.

“But you try the hardest out of all of us to hide it. Tell me if I’m crossing a line here, but—” you looked at him, tilting your head. “You seem like the type who’s calm and collected on the outside to...hide the fact that you’re still wrestling with nerves, and insecurities, on the inside. Like a defense mechanism.”

Seungmin fell silent. Instinctively, he felt the urge to laugh it off, but in a fleeting moment, his mind wandered to his coworkers— their condescending gazes at who they thought was just a lucky amateur, a young imposter infringing upon a field with people twice his age. Since his first day at the law firm, Seungmin had felt an unbearable desire to prove himself worthy in their eyes, and the anxious feeling ate away at him every time he touched a case. 

Sensing the sudden change in mood, you quickly stammered, “I-I’m sorry, that was so unnecessary—what I’m trying to say is— it’s okay to be nervous. Don’t psyche yourself out with your own expectations for yourself. U-um—”

You trailed off, mortified, but Seungmin let out a small laugh, shaking his head lightly when your eyes widened in confusion. “No, no, it’s just…” You were smart and capable — anyone could see that — but always seemed to second-guess your own abilities. He found it almost endearing. “You really are a psychology major, Miss l/n.”

Seungmin rounded a corner and nearly slammed into someone that had just walked out of the men’s washrooms. Before he could apologise, Seungmin looked up into the man’s face and his gut twisted unpleasantly.

Prosecutor Kang seized Seungmin by the collar before he could walk away, his face livid. The younger man’s eyes darted down either side of the empty hallway, then back at his former senior. He had heard Kang was to be kept at the courthouse until the end of the trial, in case they needed anything from him. There were guards flanking every entrance and exit, so Kang couldn’t exactly escape, but seeing him walk around unsupervised still made Seungmin uneasy.

“S-sir, you can’t—”

“Do you remember what you said? What you promised?” Kang seethed, eyes wild as they raked Seungmin up and down. “‘I can handle it. I’ll find the culprit, and I’ll convict him. Death penalty, no less.’” 

Hearing his own words coming out of Kang’s mouth made Seungmin wince and shrink back. Kang caught his discomfort, grinning savagely before jerking his head in the direction of the holding cells, where Jisung was. “You’re taking over the case, aren’t you? Your culprit’s right there. Everything’s been laid out for you, it couldn’t be simpler.”

Seungmin let out a shaky breath, fists clenched by his sides. Before he could open his mouth, Kang pulled him in closer, voice dangerously low. 

“I always thought it was fishy, you know — someone your age, already entering the field? So I did my research.” Kang paused, smirking. “You’re a little prodigy, aren’t you? I didn’t know your parents were renowned lawyers, too.”

At that, Seungmin froze, shocked eyes darting up to meet Kang’s. It was true — born into a family of influential law enforcement officials, Seungmin had practically grown up reading about legal matters and judicial affairs. Despite his efforts to keep his parentage discreet as he grew older — hating the way their reputations always preceded his own — the expectations to follow in their footsteps had always remained suffocating. He loved law with all his heart, but his own family had become yet another reason why Seungmin had so much to live up to, and even more to lose.

The older prosecutor chuckled — Seungmin must have looked like a deer in headlights. “You can’t disappoint them, yes? You need to do everything you can to uphold the big family name.” Kang’s voice had a dangerous edge to it, like a blade. “My career might be over, little prosecutor, but I have far more power than you think. I can make sure you never step foot into this profession ever again. You want to prove yourself? To me, to your fellow prosecutors, to your parents? Here’s your chance.”

There was a snakelike glint in Kang’s eyes when he finally let Seungmin go, his words seeping through Seungmin’s mind like poison. 

Prove yourself. Prove yourself. A security guard had appeared at the end of the hallway, and without another word, Kang calmly turned on his heel, letting the guard escort him away. Seungmin watched his silhouette grow fainter, feeling sick to his stomach. 

Just how many cases...no, how many prosecutors had Kang manipulated for his own benefit?

He took a shuddering breath. Time was running out. Forcing his feet to move, Seungmin finally found the room, barely listening when the clerk quickly explained that the rights to the case were being transferred to him last minute. 

“Ten minutes, Prosecutor Kim. You have approximately ten minutes to prepare your case.”

The roomful of law officials were watching him with doubtful eyes — the same doubtful, scornful gazes that had followed him his entire life. Ten minutes. Picking up where Kang had left off would be the smoothest, most reasonable route. Preparing an entirely different argument, however, was suicide.

Seungmin glanced up at the clock, and his heart sank.

━━━━━━━━

The commotion in the courtroom sounded like the buzzing of an agitated beehive, the constant thrumming of hushed conversations and your own erratic heartbeat fueling the tense atmosphere. 

Hyunjin, Felix, Woojin, and you had sprinted straight to the courtroom after a rapid search for Seungmin had turned up futile — the prosecutor was nowhere to be seen, but judging from the murmurs you overheard around you, the case had been transferred into his hands with mere minutes to spare. You bit your lip nervously. This should have been good news, but you all knew that the odds — and time — were still against you. Looking the weariest you’d ever seen him, Bang Chan collapsed into the seat next to you. He tried to give you a reassuring smile, but as he turned away, eyes glued to the scene about to unfold, you saw that his features were strained and pale. 

With a creak that send a hush rippling through the courtroom, the doors swung open to reveal more familiar faces — the judge, the prosecution, the jury. Your eyes instinctively flickered to Jisung, whose expression was as guarded as ever, and instantly felt a pang of guilt in your chest. The rest of the room, however, had fallen silent before the judge had even spoken. All their gazes were trained on the new prosecutor that had entered the room.

Seungmin felt the stares on him before he even looked up, dozens of eyes weighing down on him as if he were a butterfly pinned to a specimen table. He should have gotten used to the stares by now — this was far from his first court hearing — but when he looked out into the faces of the audience, he still felt the same squeamish anxiety he had always tried so desperately to ignore. Their expressions were dubious, condescending, unconvinced — as if all to say, is this a joke? This kid is the new lead prosecutor?

The judge cleared her throat, pushing her half-moon spectacles back onto her nose. “Thank you for your patience. The court hearing for Han Jisung and the Miroh Heights Murder Cases is now back in session. You may be seated.” She turned to Seungmin, eyes narrowed. “What is the case the prosecution will be presenting?”

Seungmin’s mind was racing as he turned over the envelope in his hands — the envelope containing Kang’s case file — and slid out the papers with numb fingertips. As he did so, familiar words echoed in his mind — words he had been told since he had first chosen to study law, and words he had forced himself to live by ever since.

“You have a big heart, Kim Seungmin — too big. Learn to control your emotions if you want to make it in this field.”

“You have to be cold, quick, and rational. Kindness is a weakness.”

“There is no room for a wavering heart in prosecution.”

He had always taken the words like bitter medicine, beyond determined to prove to his older coworkers that he wasn’t just the incompetent young prosecutor they always made him out to be. Desperate to prove to his family that he was capable, that he wouldn’t tarnish their names. Every step he had taken had been careful, calculated, all so that Seungmin could win their approval, finally escape their suffocating scrutiny. 

“Your Honour,” Seungmin began, “as a prosecutor, I was taught that my duty is to defend the rule of law to ensure justice is served, no matter how harsh it may be.”

You watched the young prosecutor speak carefully, his grave expression making your gut twist. Kim Seungmin, Chan had told you once in passing, came from a family of established lawyers — a child prodigy with big shoes to fill, and everything to lose. And now, you realised with dread, his words seemed to be an exact echo of Prosecutor Kang’s.

Seungmin’s stomach was fluttering as if it were his first trial again, heart palpitating with each passing moment as he was seized with the sudden urge to run. Taking a deep breath, his gaze flickered up to meet yours in the audience — your blazing eyes, charged with emotion, your heart always written so clearly across your adamant features. You, who stopped at nothing in order to protect what you believed was right.

Prove yourself. Prove to everyone you’re good enough, strong enough.

He closed his eyes, knowing that he would regret what he was about to say.

“But I was also taught that a good prosecutor is one that uses the law to protect the people.” Seungmin swallowed hard, sliding Kang’s papers back into the envelope and dropping it onto the desk behind him. “Thus, the case I am presenting today is not one that intends to prove Han Jisung guilty of first degree murder.”

The entire room erupted in frantic murmurs, the judge hurriedly banging the gavel to maintain order. Seungmin caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expression — the boy was still looking down, but his face had paled in surprise at the prosecutor’s sudden declaration. Just then, the doors burst open, a red-faced clerk with a handful of padded envelopes ducking in and hurrying to Seungmin’s side.

“What you requested, sir,” the clerk explained quietly, handing him the envelopes, and Seungmin recalled the conversation they had had in the conference rooms, just before the trial had recommenced. 

“There are ten minutes remaining until we have to begin,” the clerk informed Seungmin worriedly, seeing the young prosecutor’s tense face. “Is there anything you need from the former prosecution? Since these are special circumstances, I can have them brought to you as soon as possible during the trial.”

Either ten minutes to gather the evidence he needed, Seungmin thought dismally, or ten minutes to build a strong argument from what he—no, Kang—already had. 

“Listen carefully.” Screwing his eyes shut, Seungmin continued, “Please fetch me Han Jisung’s camcorder footage — the memory cards — and Yang Jeongin’s Walkman tapes from Prosecutor Kang’s archives. All of them, immediately.”

The knot of anxiety in Seungmin’s chest finally began to unclench, the envelopes’ contents anchoring him in place with a reassuring weight. He turned to the judge, surprised at the newfound authority in his own voice. “The prosecution maintains that Han Jisung is not guilty of first degree murder. We will be presenting all the evidence Prosecutor Kang excluded, and examining the case from all angles so that the jury may form an accurate judgement and verdict.”

“That’s—an entirely new argument,” Hyunjin whispered incredulously beside you. “How did he come up with a case in ten minutes?”

“He didn’t. He’s building his case on the spot,” Chan realised out loud, a small smile spreading on his lips. He leaned forward with a glint of pride in his eyes. “Now that’s the Kim Seungmin I know.”

You watched as Seungmin called up his first witness, who was none other than Kang’s psychiatric expert. “You introduced yourself as the psychiatrist involved with this case — responsible for analysing the defendant’s mental condition, correct?”

The red-nosed man coughed nervously. “Y-yes, uh, well — the defendant was unwilling to speak during the evaluation, so we were unable to gain much personal testimony—”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Seungmin picked up one the envelopes, handing it to the court clerk and motioning for him to project the contents. “The following is recovered footage from a camcorder the defendant was gifted when he was six years old, and developed a habit of carrying around.” He turned towards the psychiatrist. “It’s raw, untampered footage containing experiences from the defendant’s childhood. I want you to watch it and answer a few questions. There is, however, graphic content, and I advise the spectators to view it with caution.” 

You saw Seungmin cast a worried look towards Jisung, and you knew how the prosecutor was feeling. After nearly thirteen years of Jisung hiding his past from even his closest friends, it was all suddenly being thrust under the harsh light — in front of a roomful of people who wanted to sentence him to death, no less — but you both knew that this was your last chance.

The projector whirred as the clerk inserted the first memory cards into the computer. The memory cards had been confiscated by Kang before you had gotten the chance to watch them yourself — what you did know about the footage came from the bits Chan had recounted for you after several insistent phone calls, and what Jisung himself had told you that fateful night. Uneasiness stirring in your chest, you watched as the screen came to life, blurry colours and pixelated outlines taking shape. 

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first — short clips of chipped action figures on dusty windowsills, or toy cars rolling idly across wooden floors. The footage was shaky, as if the person holding the camcorder could barely support its weight. Jisung had barely been six years old, you remembered, feeling a strange feeling of sadness wash over you. It was as if you were watching a movie you already knew the ending to, and all that was left in your gut was a sinking dread at what was about to come.

As the clerk flipped through the footage, a faint sound pricked at your ears, and you jerked your head up, listening to make sure you had heard right — and sure enough, there it was. Muffled shouting, like it was coming from another room in the house, something heavy shattering on the floor — and judging from the murmurs and faces of the spectators around you, they heard it as well. The camcorder was still pointed at the action figurines, but had frozen stiffly — as if the child holding it was listening, too. 

More scenes began to unfold, one after another. A birthday, six lopsided candles glowing on a small white cake. Jisung humming a familiar tune with a woman you assumed was his mother. And clip after clip where the camcorder was pointed at the ceiling of a dark room — Jisung’s childhood bedroom — as the sounds of arguing and yelling echoed through the walls. Slowly but surely, the scenes began to grow familiar. 

“February 22nd, 2005.”

The day Jisung had stumbled across another woman in his parents’ bed, and his father had terrorized him until he promised not to tell anyone.

“June 3rd, 2006.”

His face-to-face encounter with his father’s mistress, one that left scars in the form of cigarette burns, red-lipped smiles, and tainted touches.

“December 31st, 2009.”

The day everything had gone wrong.

Stomach lurching, you watched as everything Jisung had told you — his rough voice shaking in your darkened apartment, dark eyes holding nightmares of years long past — took the form of grainy camera footage. His father crashing through the doorframe, hands choking the life from the woman beneath him. Even though the camera quality was poor, the woman’s pleading eyes, rolled up towards the tiny crack in the closet where Jisung had been hidden, seemed to pierce directly through you. 

It all seemed to happen in a flash — in the blink of an eye, there were flames licking bloodstained floors clean, the camcorder out of focus as Jisung limped through thick white snow and finally collapsed on top of his mother’s cold body. The gritty screams of anguish and pain seemed to ring in your ears long after Seungmin stopped the footage, and you lifted a shaking gaze to Jisung’s face. His eyes had been cast downwards the entire time, but even from across the room, you could see his violently trembling jaw, the ragged heave of his chest. How many times had he lived through this footage himself — in his nightmares, through half-delirious flashbacks, every time he closed his eyes?

“Thirteen years ago, there was a massive fire on the outskirts of Miroh Heights. The Han house was burned to the ground and left a single boy alive, without any relatives to take custody. Unable to fathom what exactly happened, police filed it away as a gas explosion, and the boy was tossed around foster homes and orphanages until it was eventually forgotten,” Seungmin informed them. He thanked Woojin internally as he spoke — after mentioning several times that Jisung’s past sounded strangely familiar, the police captain had been the one to finally connect the dots between the two cold cases, thirteen years apart.

“There were initial speculations of domestic abuse, but they were never investigated thoroughly. The case was neglected, left cold, and when the statute of limitations expired, it was simply dismissed as another tragedy.” Seungmin nodded at the clerk again, who slid the next memory card in.

This card was filled with what sounded like endless psychological evaluations — disembodied voices introducing themselves as social workers, child psychiatrists, and the like, all mercilessly bombarding Jisung with personal questions. The first half was either entirely black or out of focus, as if Jisung had been holding the camcorder down and clutching it close to his body. They had all given up when the young boy could barely get his answers out, the lingering fear and untreated trauma having locked his voice in his throat. 

“He’s a lost cause.”

“Problem kid.”

“Impossible to treat.”

You clenched your fists every time a social worker left the room, muttering under their breath in annoyance. Then, as the clips grew clearer, a child with round, catlike eyes and a pale expression beginning to appear in several of the frames.

Lee Minho. 

“At the beginning of this decade, we all know that Miroh Heights went through an economic rift — workers were laid off, young children abandoned on the streets. During these times, child abuse and child trafficking cases also skyrocketed.” Seungmin spoke as the screen flashed, the scene now showing what looked like a filthy, unfinished basement floor.

“We witnessed a rise of ‘suicide killers’ — namely, perpetrators who would kidnap and murder their own family members or vulnerable strangers before ending their own lives. Many were acting on their anger and grief through violence; others saw it as a form of revenge.” 

With a wince, you remembered what Minho had told you on the rooftop of the hospital that evening — when he and Jisung had been lured into a man’s home by their own hunger, and woke up to him trying to kill them. The sound of approaching footsteps filled the speakers, the camcorder pointed at an awkward angle and shaking uncontrollably before it clattered to the ground, and the footage cut out.

When the next clip began, it was pointed down at wide-eyed, twelve-year-old Jisung.

“Ah, now this is jus’ perfect. The cops’ll love this, yes they will.” You shivered at the man’s hoarse voice behind the camcorder, flinching as the barrel of a gun was pressed to Jisung’s forehead. “Now, boy — I want you to beg for your life — go on.”

Frozen in your seat, you watched as all hell broke loose — the man pressing the trigger just as Jisung managed to cut the cords free, the camcorder smashing into concrete as Jisung fought for his life. When the lens finally focused again, what you saw made your blood run cold. A twelve-year-old boy kneeling before the mangled corpse of a grown man, cherub-like face drenched with crimson. You heard Minho’s shallow, terrified breathing behind the camcorder as Jisung turned towards him, the look in his eyes sending an icy chill down your spine. It was the exact same look he had given you when you had found him at the diner, screaming out his name as if trying to wake him from a nightmare. 

Emptiness.

Even through the grainy film, you could catch the moment Jisung’s consciousness returned to him, soft brown eyes shifting and focusing into a childlike, dazed expression once again. 

“Minho, can we go home?”

The footage sputtered to a stop. The visceral scene had been exactly as the coroner had described to you on the hospital rooftop, and yet nothing could have prepared you for it. You only realised how badly you had been shaking when Felix gently nudged you, peering at your face worriedly. When you forced yourself to unclench your fists, you winced at the red half-moon weals your nails had left in your palms.

“Both the defendant and coroner Lee Minho were involved in a kidnapping case, and subjected to extreme violence at the ages of twelve and thirteen. The perpetrator died in the incident. There was no culprit to catch. Once again, the case was buried, under the economic turmoil Miroh Heights was experiencing, by neglectful law enforcement.” 

Seungmin turned back to look at the psychiatrist. “Now, I’m no expert in analysing family matters, but I think we can confirm several cases of domestic abuse from this footage alone. Parental neglect. Repeated exposure to violence. Years of sexual harassment. How would you psychoanalyse a patient who has gone through these events?”

The red-faced man was evidently shaken, wiping the sweat from his brow as he stuttered out, “This — this is more than enough to cause severe cases of post-traumatic stress disorder.” His eyes darted around the courtroom nervously, as if the words were refusing to come out of his mouth. 

“He looks like he’s scared,” you murmured. “Like he’s still unwilling to talk.”

“Kang must have made some sort of a deal with him,” Woojin replied under his breath, shaking his head. “But it’s all over now — he’s got nothing more to lose.”

“You swore an oath before the trial began,” Seungmin pressed sternly, not taking his gaze off the nervous man. “‘I do solemnly declare that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ Tell me the truth, sir.”

Cowering under Seungmin’s hard gaze, the psychiatrist finally caved. “The...the fact that these events took place during the defendant’s childhood is even more significant. Children’s minds are—are molded from a very young age. The majority of your adult behaviour is shaped by what you’ve experienced as a child, you see.”

“Earlier, you mentioned the possibility of sociopathy. You reached this conclusion because of the defendant’s criminal records, and reported behaviour such as —” Seungmin pulled out Kang’s papers, quickly flipping through. “Theft. Pyromanic, destructive, and self-destructive tendencies.” He raised an eyebrow at the boys from the diner attack. “Bordering on multiple personas.”

“U-uh, well — using the information given during the previous trial, those symptoms did correlate strongly with antisocial personality disorder. But with this newfound context —” the psychiatrist lowered his head meekly, “th-the symptoms are actually closer to those of an individual suffering from extreme, untreated, PTSD.”

Exhaling slowly, Seungmin nodded at the judge. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Let’s re-examine the defendant’s behaviour under this lens, then. How would PTSD explain violent tendencies in a child?”

“They’re a form of an exaggerated startle response — a sudden reaction triggered by something that upsets the patient. It’s a common long-term aftereffect of childhood abuse or trauma. Some patients fall unconscious, some experience panic attacks or seizures. In the case of Han Jisung...it came in the form of repeated violent outbursts.”

You thought back to the man Jisung had attacked, seemingly out of nowhere at the Yellow Wood — the dead man whose girlfriend, Chan had told you, had actually come to the precinct a few days before Jisung’s trial.

“She was crying real bad. I thought she would want him—Jisung—dead, that she would tell us to convict him, no matter what,” Chan had told you, the detective’s face still twisted in confusion. “And she doesn’t want to testify — she’s still dealing with the trauma, and doesn’t want anything to do with the trial. But y/n — the girl was crying for him. For Jisung. Said that the kid stepped in right when her boyfriend was hitting her, and — told her to go home.”

An exaggerated startle response. You remembered it from your classes, a sudden reaction triggered by something that upset the patient. Like domestic abuse. Unsolicited sexual approaches. Or, you shivered, little things — like the colour red. His father, his mistress, his mother, his kidnapper — did Jisung constantly see their faces in the shadows, in strangers that were repeating the same mistakes?

“The witnesses who knew Han Jisung when he was younger,” Seungmin continued, turning to the two injured boys from the diner, “also testified that he often changed expressions ‘like a mask.’ Assuming this is true, why might the defendant exhibit this sort of behaviour?”

“Abused children — or people who have experienced severe trauma — can develop dissociative habits. Disconnecting from past memories, information, or even present experiences as a defense mechanism...which is why the defendant might appear to change moods often, or show drastically different sides of himself in different situations.”

“In other words,” Seungmin said slowly, brow furrowing in concentration, “the defendant experienced so many traumatic events during his childhood, that the untreated aftereffects impaired his emotional development into adulthood. Which would explain why his startle response slowly morphed, on a larger scale, into something extremely violent and dangerous.”

The psychiatrist looked weary and defeated. “Correct.”

Motioning for the man to take a seat — which he did gladly — Seungmin pulled out the next envelope — the coroner’s photos from the Yellow Wood attacks. Wordlessly, he projected them onto the screen, eliciting small gasps of horror and disgust around the room. 

“Earlier, Prosecutor Kang argued that the violent mutilation of the victims was proof that the perpetrator performed these gruesome acts and mutilations out of personal enjoyment and depravity.” Seungmin turned to address the judge, voice firm. 

“Your Honour, under this new context, I would argue that the photos only serve as further visual evidence depicting the defendant’s mental state at the time of the crime.” He flipped through the images. “Multiple wound sites, messy blood spattering, extreme blunt force trauma. And—if the coroner was telling the truth—a stone from the scene of the crime as the murder weapon. All these signs lead us to believe that the defendant’s actions, no, his judgement, was acutely impaired. This response, these attacks, were triggered due to a pre-existing mental condition.”

The room shifted uneasily as his words sunk in, and the judge fixed her stern gaze onto Seungmin. “Does the prosecution have any evidence that directly refutes the previous claim of first degree murder? To prove that the murders were not premeditated, or intentional, beyond a reasonable doubt?”

Think, Seungmin, think. He racked his mind furiously, trying to recall every piece of evidence that you, Chan, and Woojin had gone through with him. Photographs, diagrams, testimony transcripts — Seungmin’s eyes trailed off to the pile of envelopes the clerk had brought, and landed on the packet containing Yang Jeongin’s tapes.

That’s it.

“Yes, Your Honour.” He cleared his throat, mind racing to connect the dots. “As we all know, the living witness of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin, was attacked at around three o’clock in the morning. He worked several late shifts for delivery companies around the town.” Seungmin nodded towards Jeongin. “What we did not know until recently, however, is that the witness had a hobby of recording himself during these shifts on his own Walkman.”

An alarmed murmur rippled through the crowd as Seungmin shook the tapes out from the envelope, handing them to the clerk. After several tense moments, there was a faint crackling, and the recording began to play.

The first tape held a medley of acoustic songs the delivery boy had mixed himself — just as you had remembered it.

The second tape was empty — the one Minho had stolen from the scene of the crime, and you had eventually recovered from his office.

When the clerk popped in the third, the soft sound of breathing and crunching gravel filled the room, and you shivered. This was the tape you had listened to with Seo Changbin — the tape that had turned your entire life upside down.

“I.N. here! It is currently...2:04 A.M.!”

You glanced at the faces around the room — everyone was on edge, and you felt no different. You could still hear Jeongin’s cry of surprise and pain echoing in your ears, the horrible crash as he hit the forest floor. What was Seungmin thinking? How was a recording of the witness being attacked going to prove Jisung’s innocence? If anything, it was incriminating evidence.

Jeongin’s cheery, oblivious voice continued until you heard the woman’s scream in the distance, muffled under the delivery boy’s distracted humming. Then, a man crying out in guttural pain — the man, you knew now, that had been killed by Jisung in the Yellow Wood. The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping under the bicycle wheels grew louder, and you knew that this had been the moment Jeongin had entered the Wood — heading closer and closer towards what would later become the scene of the crime. 

“Hello? Is everything okay over there?” There was a small gasp of horror as Jeongin caught sight of the body. “U-um. Is he—do you need help? I can call an ambulance. What hap—” 

It happened before you could flinch to cover your ears. The horribly familiar crunch of stone meeting skull, a cry of pain cut off by a deafening whump as the Walkman had slammed against the ground. The entire courtroom seemed to hold its breath as it listened, and only then did it finally hit you why Seungmin was playing the tapes. As the sound of another boy’s jagged, uneven breathing filled the speakers, you suddenly remembered what came at the end of the recording. The first time you had heard it, it had made your heart plummet straight down into the pit of your stomach, sending your entire world crashing down around you. 

This time, the fluttering in your chest felt almost like hope.

Han Jisung’s voice, choked with raw, horrified sobs, echoed through the room, and you saw everyone freeze.

“Who—why? Why is it you? Why are you here?” 

The crying was muffled by the sound of hands fumbling over Jeongin’s clothing, as if frantically checking for a pulse. Seungmin stopped the tape, turning towards the bewildered jury. “Do those sound like the words of a cold-blooded psychopath?”

The judge waved a hand towards Jeongin. “Can the witness himself attest to this?”

“I...I blacked out pretty quickly,” Jeongin answered slowly, furrowing his brow as if it still hurt to remember. “But the last thing I remembered seeing was...a boy’s crying face over me, trying to make sure if I was okay.”

“Can you identify this boy?”

Nodding, Jeongin pointed to Jisung.

“Furthermore,” Seungmin continued, tapping the cracked silver Walkman, “these tapes were found in Yang Jeongin’s clothing after he was admitted to the hospital. If the defendant had truly attacked Mr. Yang out of cold blood, he wouldn’t have left such incriminating evidence in the boy’s hands. And if Han Jisung had no idea he was being recorded, that rules out the possibility of him faking the recordings as well.”

“Even so,” the judge replied, stern eyes narrowed, “we cannot be sure that Han Jisung did not intend to leave Yang Jeongin to die. There are many murder cases where the perpetrator shows remorse almost immediately, but still attempted to cover up the crime.”

“Of course. However, Your Honour, you may also remember that Yang Jeongin was not found in the Yellow Wood where the attacks had initially taken place...but rather, the doorstep of Glow Cafe.” At this, Hyunjin looked up, eyes narrowed, and Seungmin motioned for the clerk to continue playing the clip. After several moments, you heard the rough sound of cloth scraping against the ground, growing louder and louder — as if something was being lifted and dragged. 

No. You could still hear Jisung’s broken breathing underneath the sound, and the realisation hit you.

Jisung was carrying Jeongin’s body.

You had thought the tape had already ended the first time you’d listened with Seo Changbin in his record shop — after Jisung’s voice had made you shove the Walkman away, not daring to believe what you had just heard. For days, it had sat, neglected in your apartment, until you had brought it into Seungmin’s office for him to look at. The next day, it had already fallen into the hands of Prosecutor Kang, but by some stroke of luck, Seungmin must have already managed to listen to it in its entirety beforehand.

“Yang Jeongin was found at around 4 in the morning, when Hwang Hyunjin, the owner of Glow Cafe, was awoken by the doorbell. The ringer of this doorbell was never identified, because any possible fingerprint evidence was already contaminated and rendered useless by the time Mr. Yang was safely transported to the ICU.”

The sound of dead leaves and dirt crunching under the soles of Jisung’s shoes gave way to hard concrete as he reached the main road. There was a soft thump as Jeongin was lowered onto the ground, Jisung’s laboured breathing filling the still night air.

Then the familiar chime of Glow Cafe’s doorbell pierced through the speakers, and you watched as Hyunjin jolted up, mouth falling open in disbelief.

“Yes. It’s exactly what you’re all thinking.” Seungmin turned to face the stunned spectators as the sound of Jisung’s footsteps grew fainter as he ran away, and the tape ended. “The defendant was the same person who saved him.”

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, grim eyes flickering between Seungmin and Jisung. “Does the defense have anything to say to this?”

For the first time since the trial had started, Jisung lifted his head. He was met with a roomful of mixed stares — apprehension, curiosity, fear — and he felt his tongue immediately dissolve into dust, the words sticking to his throat like congealed poison.

When Jisung stayed silent, Seungmin spoke carefully, “A fair trial wouldn’t be complete without hearing from the defendant himself. In his own words.” His eyes were almost gentle, fixing a steady look on Jisung’s dark, wary face. “Would you like to testify?”

Your heart was hammering in your throat as the silence grew thicker and thicker. After what felt like an eternity, it was finally broken by the creak of the chair as Jisung pushed it back and stood up. To your utter surprise, he stepped up to the middle of the room, wordlessly turning to face Seungmin. Still, the look on his face held the same blank, guarded expression you had seen so many times when your sessions with him had taken a turn for the worse, and you gripped the edge of your seat uneasily, having no idea what to expect from this turn of events.

If Seungmin was as surprised as you were, he did a better job at hiding it. He muttered something to the clerk, who began to project familiar faces and photos onto the screen. The victims, you realised, and the crime scenes. A slim woman in her thirties, her thin lips a smudge of bright red, next to a photo of charred blood and bone. The prostitute.

“Do you recognise this woman?” Seungmin asked, pointing to her picture.

Jisung frowned, furrowing his brow at the picture. Something seemed to stir in the back of his mind, but there was a dull throbbing in his temples that made it difficult to focus. “I—I’m not sure.” 

Someone in the crowd made an unconvinced sound, and Jisung shrunk back. The pictures went on and on — a corpse mangled with chemical burns, a man’s body swinging from the rooftop, a bashed-in skull on the forest floor. Each image made Jisung’s head pound, the floor beginning to spin as if threatening to split open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. Did he recognise them? Glimpses of their faces flashed in the back of his mind like jumbled jigsaw pieces, but the more he tried to grab onto them, the more they fell apart. His fingertips tingled with the faint, itching memory of a stranger’s blood — strangers who, in a fleeting moment, had taken the shape of a former tormentor. Father. Mistress. Hurt. Pain. 

“I can’t — remember anything,” Jisung choked hoarsely. He remembered blacking out, and waking up. He remembered his nightmares, his flashbacks. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember the faces staring back at him from the screen. 

You sound insane, a voice in the back of his mind hissed. As he met the eyes of the jury, he could almost hear what they were thinking. 

You really are a psychopath. 

Sensing the doubtful whispering beginning around the room, Seungmin hurriedly moved onto the next question. “Let’s — let’s go back to the psychiatrist’s statements, then. Mr. Han, could you tell me what it was like growing up in your family?”

His question was met with silence again, Jisung screwing his eyes shut as the prosecutor’s voice echoed in his head. Family. It was a word that brought ugly memories bubbling to the surface every time, memories made of broken beer bottles and pale, bruised cheeks. His head was aching, a cold sweat forming in his palms as he clenched his fists, stomach churning. No. No. He couldn’t talk about it — wouldn’t talk about it — 

“Can you...tell me about your mother’s eyes?”

The abrupt, familiar question, carried by the prosecutor’s softened voice, was what made Jisung open his eyes again, the trembling in his hands stilling. The room around them was shifting with confused murmurs at the strange question, but Seungmin didn’t break eye contact with the younger boy. 

The prosecutor watched Jisung’s fists slowly unclench, brow furrowing slightly as he recognised the question, and Seungmin thought back to the conversation he had had with you over the phone after you had woken up in the hospital.

“What’s this?”

“A psychiatric analysis — on Jisung,” you explained, referring to the report files you had sent the prosecutor. “I know it’s not — not much, but...”

“For all we know, it might be the only existing verbal testimony that Jisung has,” Seungmin assured you. “From what I’ve heard, he’s never opened up to anyone before. What I meant was, why are you sending it to me?”

You bit your lip. “Chan isn’t allowed to stand trial, and I — I haven’t graduated yet, so my thesis won’t be taken seriously as evidence. I can’t testify as a psychiatric expert, either. But I thought that — I could at least tell you all the questions that lead me to his diagnosis. In case you get to question him at the trial — he’ll know they’re my questions. Maybe...he’ll finally change his mind.”

Seungmin sighed wearily. “I was removed from the case this morning, Miss l/n. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to step foot into the courtroom, let alone question him.”

And so the questions had been left, buried and forgotten in the back of Seungmin’s mind — until this exact moment, when he had remembered them just in time. 

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

Jisung’s vision went black as his senses were flooded with memories, nearly sending him doubling over. His mother’s eyes. The last time he had looked into those eyes, they had already been glazing over, the life in them seeping away as her blood pooled over the broken floorboards of his childhood home. His mother’s eyes. Suddenly, it was as if he was ten years old all over again, shrouded in the shadows of a cramped closet as his father strangled the life out of his mother right in front of him. 

Guilt, he wanted to say. Pain. The kind that never goes away. Blinking feverishly, Jisung’s gaze darted around the room — and when he finally found your face in the audience, he felt his heart stop.

You were looking at him with the exact same eyes his mother had, that day. 

From your first date to this very moment, Jisung never knew why you had always reminded him so much of her — you two looked nothing alike, after all. Wherever he went, he had always been chased by fragments of the nightmares he wanted to forget, demons of his past that had taken the forms of the man at the Yellow Wood, the red-lipped hooker, Na Jangmin, Park Beomsoo. And yet every moment he spent with you, he caught familiar glimpses of her instead — pieces of the only warmth, and happiness, and home he had ever known before it had all been cruelly ripped away.

For years, the only thing he had been able to remember was that day. How his mother’s eyes had been wide and pleading as she bled out on the floor, desperately shaking her head at him before finally falling limp. The flames and endless smoke seemed to eat away at his happier memories until there was nothing left but ashes and tar. 

But you made him remember a time before everything went wrong, when things had been peaceful, when he still had somewhere — someone — to go home to.

For thirteen years, he had been running from the memory, from the feeling, afraid that confronting it would make him relive the pain all over again. But now, for the first time, Han Jisung wondered if he had missed something else among those repressed memories all along.

His mother’s eyes as she shook her head one last time had been warm, not just because they had been filled with pain and tears — but because they had been blazing with one last, unspoken message. The same one he saw reflected in your own eyes now.

When you shook your own head gently, pleading eyes brimming with tears, the message finally rang clear in his mind.

Don’t blame yourself for what happened. Han Jisung, you have to keep on living.

Stunned, he tore his gaze away, only to see Bang Chan watching him with the same expression — then Woojin, Seungmin, Felix, Yang Jeongin. Even Hwang Hyunjin had worry written all over his face — worry for him — and it all suddenly hit Jisung like a punch in the gut.

Why did all these people fight for him?

Why had his mother died for him?

What comes to mind when you think about your mother’s eyes?

“Love,” Jisung breathed, his soft voice filling the empty silence. “Love.” The memories were coming back to him now — not in jagged, gut-wrenching flashes, but slowly. Steadily.

For the first time in his life, Han Jisung was in control.

“Can you tell me about your parents?” Seungmin pressed gently, seeing the tension slowly leave Jisung’s body.

“My parents,” Jisung repeated. His mouth felt like it was trying the words out. He remembered once, when you had asked him the same question, his head had felt like it was on the verge of splitting. Now, the memories felt strangely detached, as if he were telling someone else’s story. “They were happy once, or at least that’s what I’ve heard.” He paused. “My...father...never wanted to get married. They never planned to...have me, but my mother refused an abortion. They — it was a shotgun wedding,” Jisung finished quietly. “And then things got worse from there.”

“What was it like growing up in your family?” Seungmin tried the question again, watching Jisung carefully.

“My old man’s favourite thing to tell me growing up was how I was never wanted,” Jisung gave a weak smile. “I think you can imagine.”

You watched as Seungmin continued asking Jisung your questions, as if slowly coaxing the answers out from the darkness and painting the cold courtroom with the scenes of Jisung’s past.

“My mother was a waitress. The work was tough, but it didn’t pay much. My father convinced her to work more shifts, so that she was around as little as possible. During that time, he…” Jisung swallowed hard. “He had his affairs with other women when she wasn’t home, and beat her bloody when she was. She always tried to hide it from me, too — said the less I knew the better, but I was getting older, and my father’s anger was slowly shifting over to me. And when his...mistresses stayed over, they started noticing me, too.” Jisung fell silent then, and you suddenly thought back to the white burn scars on his arms and legs, the numerous unexplained markings on his stomach bringing tears to your eyes. How many more did he have hidden on his body, painful reminders binding him to a past he tried so hard to forget?

“Your Honour,” Seungmin finally broke the hushed silence, “with all the information taken into consideration, I think we can confirm beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant has witnessed numerous traumatic events during his childhood — and that they more than likely worsened his mental condition as he grew older.” Seungmin turned to Jisung, remembering another question you had written in your report. “How...do you cope with the past?” 

Jisung was silent for several moments before answering, his words echoing your last therapy session. “I...don’t….like to think about it, or remember it. Every time I do, I…” he trailed off unsteadily, and he tried again. “E-every time, I...I…”

His throat was closing up again, the words echoing in his mind as if mocking him. How was he supposed to explain the headaches that never truly went away, the dizziness that hit him like a punch in the gut? Or, worse, the gaps in his memories when he blacked out, making him feel as though he were slowly going insane?

Stay silent, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Who will understand you? Who will believe you? He looked back at the roomful of faces, their cold, wary stares piercing through him like knives. You were never meant to live. You should have died on that day, thirteen years ago— 

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot.” 

The sudden memory of your voice cut through his thoughts and made him jolt in surprise— but it didn’t stop there, all the things you had once told him slowly growing louder and louder and jarring him awake from his own thoughts.

“You’re not the psychopath they’re making you out to be. I know you.”

He remembered the way you had relaxed and fallen asleep in his arms, even after you had found out they were stained with blood, because you trusted him completely.

“I don’t want you to show me. I want you to tell me. I want to hear it from you, in your own words, Jisung.”

He remembered your face every time he had tried to tell you about his past — your soft, patient eyes and gentle voice, the worry and genuine concern on your face that he had always mistaken for repulsion and fear. You had been shaken, definitely, terrified, even — but you had always been willing to listen to him speak, even when Jisung had been too afraid to try.

“I like you, Han Jisung. I. Like. You.”

He met your eyes across the room then, and felt a small, incredulous breath leave his lips. It was you — it was always you, who had the power to make the walls he had built around himself crumble to dust with a single touch; you, pulling him out of the darkness he had always succumbed helplessly to; you, who had finally woken him from the living nightmare he had been trapped in his entire life. 

You reminded him what it was like to live again. You made him want to live again, without fears, without regrets.

“Mr. Han? Could you please describe how these memories make you feel? How you usually deal with them?”

“I don’t know how to,” Jisung breathed out at last. “Every time I try to remember, my...heart starts racing like my chest is about to burst. My head pounds until I can’t see anything, and — it’s like something in there...snaps. And then I...black out completely.” 

Seungmin nodded, glancing back to the nervous, red-faced man. “Do you have...anything to add or deny regarding the psychiatrist’s diagnoses?”

“You were right,” Jisung replied simply, but he wasn’t talking to the psychiatrist. He was looking straight at you, and to his own surprise, a smile tugged at his dry lips. It felt like the simple sentence had somehow set him free. “I have trouble sleeping, because I always end up having the same nightmares. There’s missing blank spots in my memories when I wake up in a place I don’t recognise, with no idea how I got there.”

Jisung watched as your eyes widened, recognising his words — he was echoing the same symptoms you had confronted him about during your last therapy session, the ones he had coldly denied out of panic and fear. “I’ve always been afraid to let people get close to me. But sometimes, there are things that — that remind me of times that I’d rather forget, and before I know it, everything begins to spiral out of control.” He gave a small smile to Seungmin, who had stayed silent, surprised at Jisung’s sudden honesty. “That’s it, then. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

You watched as Jisung’s eyes flickered around the room, face as open and tranquil as a child’s — and that was what nearly broke your heart. Knowing that somewhere, beneath the prison uniform that was too baggy for his lean, tired frame, was the shell of a child the world had failed, a child that had given up asking to be saved.

“No further questions,” Seungmin said quietly, and Jisung walked back to his seat as the young prosecutor turned to face the judge. “Your Honour,” he began slowly, as if momentarily unable to find the words. “I think we have reason to believe that the attacks were provoked — not exactly by the victims themselves, but from past traumas that were never dealt with properly, and triggered again and again until they spiralled out of control.”

Seungmin raised his voice then, for the entire courtroom to hear, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the fluttering nerves in his body. “The scattered killing patterns were never planned. The correlations between the victims and causes of death don’t show a serial killer’s M.O., they show triggers.” He took a shaky breath. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t a serial killer case. It isn’t the case of a psychopath on some nonsensical, murderous rampage. This is the aftereffect of a domestic violence case gone cold and swept under the rug over a decade ago — and we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

The judge fixed Seungmin with a cold, steely look over her glasses. “Prosecutor Kim. Remember that you cannot — should not — let your emotions get in the way in a court of law. You are supposed to assess the case with cold reasoning and logic.”

Seungmin looked down, heart hammering in his throat. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have been ashamed, and apologised immediately. The Kim Seungmin he knew would have thought he was crazy for crossing the line.

He realised, in that moment, that he hated the old Kim Seungmin with a passion.

“Emotions don’t always get in the way,” he found himself saying, eyes flickering to you in the audience, “and they don’t always make you weak.” Seungmin thought of Prosecutor Kang then, and his voice grew stronger. “If anything, they keep you human.”

He looked back up at the judge now, whose face had frozen in surprise. “When did justice become so cold? We’re taught that the law is supposed to protect the vulnerable, not prosecute them.”

The judge looked visibly shaken, mouth opening and closing wordlessly as her eyes darted wildly between Seungmin and Jisung. Finally, with an unfathomable expression on her face, she turned towards the jury, clearing her throat unsteadily. 

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that concludes the evidence to be presented on this case. You are now to deliberate, and determine whether or not Han Jisung is guilty of nineteen counts of first-degree murder, assault, and arson. 

“If you believe that this has been proved beyond a reasonable doubt, then you should find the defendant guilty, and eligible for capital punishment.”

Capital punishment, you thought, the words sweeping a breath of cold across the room. The death penalty.

“The court stands adjourned until the verdict of the jury.”

━━━━━━━━

Over an hour had passed since the jury had stepped into the deliberation suite, and each tick of the clock on the wall made you more and more nauseous. You put your head down, hands buried in your hair as if that could calm the anxiety thrumming through your veins. A few times, you had heard shouting and angry, raised voices coming from the room the jury was in. Each passing minute seemed to make the weight of the situation more obvious, the tension in the courtroom thick and suffocating.

Felix was rubbing your back as soothingly as he could. “y/n, hey, look at me — deep breaths, okay? You’re okay—”

He was cut off when you lifted your head to look at him, cursing the tears already welling in your eyes. You hated feeling this way — you felt so weak and powerless, and just imagining how much of a mess you must have looked made it even worse. You promised yourself you would stay calm, but every thought that crossed your mind kept leading to another until you were exhausted and overwhelmed.

“They could walk out any minute, ‘lix,” you told him, voice wavering as the weight of your own words sunk in. “They could walk out any minute, and end his life.”

You couldn’t even say Jisung’s name out loud, let alone look him in the eyes. Felix watched as you wiped furiously at your own tears, the sight of you so distressed rendering him speechless, and he did the only thing he could think of. Grimly, your best friend pulled you into a hug, and his reassuring warmth in the cold courtroom made you want to break down all over again. Around you, you could hear mixed opinions being exchanged.

“That poor boy.”

“Who could have guessed the case would take a turn like this? But do you believe him?”

“A murderer is still a murderer — he’s too dangerous to be left alive, don’t you think?”

You were beginning to wish you had taken Hyunjin and Woojin’s offer to step out of the room for fresh air when the heavy doors swung open, making a hush fall over the room. The jury filed in just as Hyunjin and the police captain returned and took their seats.

“Order in the court,” the clerk called, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

The forewoman nodded grimly. “Yes, Your Honour.”

“Those in favour of sentencing the accused, Han Jisung, to capital punishment, please rise.”

The words sent an icy shock down your spine, the entire room seeming to hold its breath as they watched the jury. You didn’t dare move, as if by doing so, you could prevent the next moments from coming crashing down on you, as if somehow, you could stop the horrible verdict from coming true. It was as if everyone had frozen still, time stopping for what felt like the longest moment of your life.

The ticking of the clock pricked your ears, and you suddenly realised that time hadn’t stopped. 

No one in the jury had moved to stand up.

“The jury returns a verdict of not guilty, despite believing that the accused committed the crimes he is charged with,” the forewoman standing at the front of the jury said, and the members behind her nodded. “This verdict was unanimous.”

“They all agree that Jisung killed those people,” you heard Hyunjin’s stunned voice behind you, “but they’re returning a verdict of not guilty? What does that mean?”

“Jury nullification,” both Chan and Seungmin spoke at the same time, and the room turned to look at the younger prosecutor as he spoke up. 

“The jury has the right to overturn the law, if they believe the law was used incorrectly—”

A reporter behind you blurted out angrily, “Are you suggesting that the murders were delusional, Prosecutor Kim?”

“Or,” Seungmin continued, his voice growing stronger than ever before as he saw the eyes of the judge and his coworkers widen in disbelief. I must be insane, he thought, but he couldn’t stop the words coming from his mouth. “Or, the jury disagrees with the law the prosecution has chosen to charge the defendant under.” He picked up Prosecutor Kang’s case file from the desk, flipping over the papers. “First degree murder.”

The forewoman nodded. “The law Han Jisung is being tried with was immorally and wrongly applied to him in the first place. We believe he caused the killings, without a doubt, but with the circumstances presented, we cannot convict him of serial first degree murder.”

“The previous prosecutor claimed these charges without making any effort to consider Han Jisung’s past,” one man on the jury added, “All the evidence proves a history of abuse and trauma that lead to an unstable mental condition.”

Their words sounded strangely familiar, and your eyes immediately widened when you realised why. “Those — those are the words from my psych report,” you whispered breathlessly to Felix, “Quoted, word for word. They must have all read your articles — we did it, ‘lix, it really worked.”

“But murder is murder. He should be held accountable,” a spectator protested across the room. He was immediately silenced by the bailiff, but not before Seungmin turned to him with a steady stare.

“‘Murder is murder’,” Seungmin echoed, “‘The world of law is cold.’ ‘The law is harsh, but it is the law.’  Those are the phrases you always hear in court. And those are the same beliefs that cost vulnerable people their lives.”

Hyunjin looked at Jeongin, whose gaze were cast to the floor, eyes stormy. 

Seungmin continued, “You lose your empathy, and mark complex cases like these under ‘mass murderer’, or ‘psychopath’ without bothering to truly investigate the gray areas, because you think doing so would be—” his mind flashed to Kang, “a waste of time.” He looked at Jisung now, a boy who had been confined by labels his entire life: problem child, delinquent, murderer, monster. “Han Jisung is worth more than that. There’s more to him than his past, than his abusers, than the mental torment he’s suffered through for years.

“He’s a boy who never got the chance at life he deserved. The system has failed him once, and we cannot — should not — hold his trial like this.” Seungmin turned to the judge one last time, eyes burning with sincerity. “Your Honour. Will you end this vicious cycle of use and abuse, once and for all? Or will you choose, once again, to sweep it back into the shadows?”

She was staring back at him with a look that should have petrified Seungmin on the spot, but he swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand his ground. There was a long, weighted silence. Finally, the judge shook her head slowly, and Seungmin swore he saw the smallest of smiles tug at her taut mouth as she turned to face the rest of the courtroom. 

You felt your heart nearly leap out of your throat when the verdict finally fell from the judge’s lips.

“I hereby pronounce Han Jisung...not guilty.”

If you hadn’t been sitting down, you were sure you would have collapsed onto the floor.

The world was spinning around you, the sheer relief washing over you in overwhelming waves and turning your limbs to jelly. In your peripheral vision, you saw Hyunjin’s mouth drop open in astonishment, Felix turning to you with an incredulous smile on his face, Chan and Woojin completely frozen. 

You barely registered the judge’s voice as she continued speaking, the rest of her words passing through you as if you were made of thin air. Pardoned on the death of his father and the arson of his childhood home by reason of self-defense. Regarding the Miroh Heights killings, the defendant was unable to understand the significance of his criminal actions due to a pre-existing mental condition. He is acquitted from the death penalty, and will serve no prison time.

However, he will be transferred to a psychiatric institution and closely monitored for the time being. The suitable amount of time he is to spend there will be prescribed on a later date after the case is properly re-examined...

People were talking around you, one of your friends was calling your name, and you swore you even heard a few people clapping, but you weren’t listening anymore. There was only one other person on your mind.

When your eyes found Jisung’s face, he was looking straight at you — with the same look in his eyes that had given you butterflies the first time you met him, and the same look in his eyes you had seen before you had fallen unconscious, bleeding out in his arms.

He was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

━━━━━━━━

“You had some nerve back there, Prosecutor Kim.”

The courtroom had been emptied out, and Seungmin had been collecting his files and notes when he heard a voice from behind him. At first, he thought he had misheard — people were buzzing outside in the lobby, the commotion so loud it seemed to be humming through the walls — but he turned around, and saw the judge walking up to him.

Bits and pieces of the trial came back to him, and Seungmin cringed inwardly as he met her hard gaze. Just how many lines had he crossed? Years of being careful, meticulous, completely down the drain— 

“You had some nerve back there,” she repeated, and Seungmin lowered his eyes. He heard her sigh deeply. “But you’re a fine prosecutor, Kim.”

Stunned, Seungmin raised his head, and realised with a start that she was smiling at him. “I haven’t seen your kind in a while. It was refreshing, to say the least, and it puts me at ease to know that this field still has people like you.”

She tucked her glasses into her robes, turning to leave.

“Never change, Prosecutor Kim.”

━━━━━━━━

“Prosecutor Kang, look this way!”

Kang was blinded by flashing cameras the moment he stepped out from the holding cell. The older prosecutor’s eyes were dark as he was pushed through the mob of reporters and citizens, the guards flanking him making no effort to be gentle.

“Is it true you hid crucial evidence from your own prosecution?”

“Did you bribe your own witnesses?”

“How many other cases have you tampered with?”

“None!” Kang snarled at the reporter, desperation rising in his throat like bile. “Lies—I’ve never wrongfully convicted a single person. These are all—” 

“You’re the liar.”

The crowd stopped, turning towards the voice that had shouted over them. Yang Jeongin was standing at the end of the hallway, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Just the sight of Kang was enough to make him tremble like a young child again, words stuck momentarily in his throat. This was the same man he had met in court all those years ago, the man who had mercilessly delivered his father’s life sentence with a snakelike smile on his pale lips. Taking a shaky breath, Jeongin mustered up his courage, and ran up to him.

“Please stop this already,” Jeongin pleaded, eyes searching Kang’s bewildered face for signs of guilt, remorse, anything. Kang didn’t seem to recognise him, and the young boy’s voice was breaking as he fought back tears. “Please tell the truth, just this once. I-I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—it doesn’t have to be this way—”

There was a gasp as a few reporters stumbled, and the crowd rippled forward. Kang was knocked off-balance, tumbling to the ground. He cursed, fumbling to get back on his feet — and saw a hand, outstretched towards him from a hoodie sleeve that was clearly too large for its owner. He looked up into the young boy’s face again, his fox-like eyes widened in concern, and finally realised with a jolt who he was talking to.

Nearly a decade ago, Kang thought — an old fool who had picked a fight with high-ranking company officials, no? And then the crackpot had pleaded with Kang, saying something about a son he had to take care of — a young boy— 

Jeongin put his hand on Kang’s arm when the prosecutor didn’t move, and pulled him up. “Mr. Kang, my father—”

Feeling a sudden rage surge through his body, Kang drew his fist back and punched the boy across his jaw. 

Jeongin crumpled to the ground, the side of his face already blooming with red. “You brat,” Kang seethed as cries of horror erupted from the crowd, guards seizing him and trying to pull him away. “What do you understand? Han Jisung, your old man — people like them don’t deserve to walk free.”

You had just stepped out of the courtroom when a commotion in the hallway had made you look over, the scene that had greeted your eyes making you freeze. Jeongin had been clutching Prosecutor Kang’s arm, looking up at the older man imploringly — and his expression had been genuinely kind, almost pitying, his mouth opening and closing frantically as though he were pleading with him. You had shaken your head in disbelief, trying to push through the throng of shocked citizens — only Yang Jeongin’s heart was big enough to look his parents’ tormentor in the eyes, and help him. 

Then Kang had suddenly struck Jeongin, and now the delivery boy was curling up in pain on the ground as the prosecutor screamed at him.

“They were foolish enough — depraved enough  — to violate those laws, and I charged them with what they deserved. It’s as simple as—”

The next thing you knew, you were in front of Kang, palm outstretched, and you had slapped him hard across the face.

The entire crowd fell dead silent, Jeongin looking up at you from the floor in dazed disbelief. Even Kang was speechless as he looked back at you, holding his jaw, eyes about to pop out of their sockets.

“It seems like you know everything about law, Prosecutor Kang,” you said, voice shaking with anger, “but you know nothing about being human.”

Kang opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out. The hallway was erupting in chaos again as cameras clicked and flashed eagerly. The guards began to drag Kang away before it could get more hectic, your last glimpses of the corrupt prosecutor disappearing behind the reporters’ bobbing heads. As you helped Jeongin up, checking his head worriedly, you felt a hand pull at your own arm. You turned to see Hyunjin, and judging by the look on his face, he had seen everything.

“Is this just going to be a thing now?” The barista asked, side-eyeing you wearily as he held onto Jeongin protectively, “Are you just going to start slapping everyone who crosses you?”

“Maybe,” you muttered mutinously. “It’s faster, and less emotionally draining than negotiating.”

“You’re studying to be a therapist, y/n,” Hyunjin reminded you exasperatedly, and you let out a small laugh, pouting slightly. The barista smiled too, despite himself, and you both looked over at Jeongin. The boy’s eyes were staring over the crowd’s heads, through the lobby doors, and you realised he was watching the officers push Kang into the police cruiser — the man who had ruined his parents’ lives, finally handcuffed and headed where he was supposed to be.  

You turned around, and caught sight of another familiar face further down the hallway, standing perfectly still despite the crowd of people rushing past around him. 

Lee Minho’s face was turned away from you, his catlike eyes staring at something with the same, unfathomable expression you had come to grow so accustomed to. You remembered how you had once been afraid of the coroner and his strange, standoffish manner, but now, as you watched him from afar, you felt a small pang of sympathy. Minho always carried himself like a ghost, you realised — a shadow lingering in the corners of rooms and corridors, unsure if he was ever wanted.

You quickly excused yourself from Hyunjin and Jeongin and you began to push through the crowd towards the coroner. As you followed his gaze to the holding cell doors, they suddenly swung open, and Jisung stepped out into the hallway. Your steps slowed. The two stood facing each other for several long moments — two childhood friends, two lost children who had found their only sense of family — twisted though it had been — in each other. Minho’s face was hesitant, as if about to turn away, but Jisung had already begun walking up to him. You were too far away to hear what they were saying, Jisung’s back turned to you and Minho awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. 

Then Jisung suddenly closed the gap between the two of them, and pulled Minho into a hug.

You watched as the ex-coroner’s mask finally shattered, the older boy’s face scrunching up like a child’s as he buried his head in Jisung’s shoulder. His entire body shook with silent sobs, as if something in him had finally been let go, a burden he had carried his entire life lifted off his chest. 

Eventually, the guards stepped forward, and Minho pulled away. He looked at Jisung with a small smile on his face — the first genuine smile you had ever seen from him — and you managed to catch the words forming on his lips. 

“Goodbye, Han Jisung.”

“He’ll probably need to go through a trial of his own.” Chan’s voice made you jump in surprise. He had come up beside you while you had been distracted, Felix and Woojin close behind him. He nodded at you by way of greeting before turning back to where Jisung was standing. “The coroner, I mean. But he’ll likely get around five years in prison, more or less.”

You watched as Minho was ushered away into another corridor, Jisung staring at the empty spot where he had once stood. Before you could reply, he turned around, eyes landing on yours — and all of a sudden, you forgot about the security guards flanking every doorway, the law officials and reporters brushing briskly past you. For a moment, it was as if it were only you and Jisung in the hallway, the entire world standing still around the two of you.

Since the last time you had spoken to him had ended with you slapping him in the face, you decided that it was only right for you to take the first step towards him. Slowly, feeling as if you were in a dream, you made your way towards him, Jisung walking the rest of the way to meet you in the middle.  

“Hey, you.” Jisung’s voice was soft, nearly inaudible, not taking his hazel eyes off yours.

You heard Chan chuckle behind you, shaking his head as he threw his arms around Felix and Woojin’s shoulders to steer them away and leave you two in private. The hallways had nearly cleared out, and for the first time in what felt like forever — if you ignored the guards watching a little ways off from the holding cells —  you and Jisung were alone together.

There were a thousand things racing through your mind right now, but you couldn’t seem to find the right words to say. 

“Five years,” Jisung tentatively broke the silence again, and when you looked back at him in confusion, he continued, “in the psychiatric institute. They told me five years minimum, on watch. But I heard...it’s a nice place.”

His lopsided, sheepish smile was as infectious as ever, making one tug at your own lips. When Jisung saw you smile, he relaxed just the tiniest amount.

“Y-you’re going to be okay?” You finally asked, feeling your voice waver. 

Jisung’s gaze softened, nodding. “You saved me.”

“No.” You shook your head firmly. You knew he was talking about Seungmin’s arguments, Jeongin’s witness statements, the article you and Felix had published — but it all might have been for nothing, you thought, mind flashing back to the courtroom, if Jisung hadn’t finally stepped up from his chair and faced his lifelong traumas in the form of one last, truthful testimony. “Han Jisung, you saved yourself.”

He fell silent at that, and you saw his hand instinctively move towards yours for a split second before he quickly stopped himself. Jisung’s arms were floating by his sides, as if wanting to pull you close, but he was holding himself back. He was afraid, you finally realised — afraid that you would push him away, afraid to ever hurt you again. And for some, inexplicable reason, the idea of a rift between the two of you that could never be repaired seemed to hurt even more than a switchblade to the heart.

“For some reason, I’ve been thinking back to our first date,” Jisung cleared his throat, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. He probably looked like a nervous schoolboy in front of his first love, Jisung thought, cringing at himself as he looked away from your curious gaze. Well, he added as an afterthought, that wouldn’t be too far off.

You were his first love, after all.  

“I...I didn’t know how you felt that day,” Jisung continued, “or even the days after that, to be honest. I didn’t know if I was doing things right, or—”

“You took my breath away,” you cut him off, the honesty in your own words making your cheeks heat up. You thought back to the diner, to the blond boy who had rendered you speechless with a single heart-shaped smile. As an afterthought, you brought a hand to your rib cage, where a switchblade in that same boy’s hands had once punctured through your lungs, and you deadpanned, “literally.”

Eyebrows raising in disbelief, Jisung gave an incredulous laugh, but his gaze was fixed on the site of your wound. You could still see the deep guilt in his eyes, and, taking a deep breath, you reached for his hand, gingerly placing it where the knife had been. His skin was cool against your fingers, palm rough but familiar. “I’m okay, Jisung. It’s okay. But...why bring that up, all of a sudden?”

“I feel like that now,” he admitted softly, “the same feeling, but with a whole new set of butterflies. Always thinking about you, worrying about you. Wondering how you feel about…”

“Us,” you finished for him, and Jisung nodded slowly. Us. The word hung between the two of you for a long moment, and you took a shaky breath. A part of you wanted to reassure him, to pull him into your arms as if nothing had ever changed. But another part of you pushed that feeling away, knowing deep down that it was too late, that too much had already happened between the two of you to just ignore.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully, and you looked down, afraid to see the expression on his face. “I woke up that morning, and you were just...gone. I was so scared for you, I went looking for you...then one thing lead to another, and before we all knew it, the world had turned upside down. I-it might sound selfish, but after all...this, I think I’m going to need some...time.” You finally lifted your eyes up to his face, heart pounding. For a terrifying second, you thought you saw a flash of pain skip across Jisung’s pupils — but before you could be sure, his face broke into a relieved smile. 

“You’ve always been like this, you know?” He sighed, one hand reaching up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. Then, contrary to what you had expected, Jisung visibly relaxed. “Worrying about other people before taking care of yourself. You’re not being selfish, okay? Don’t...worry about hurting me anymore.”

You stared at him, the genuine warmth in his words suddenly making your throat close up with stunned tears. Jisung’s eyes, you remembered, had always seemed glazed over and unfocused — as if his mind was trapped somewhere else, far, far away. But as he looked back at you now, you were suddenly hit by how...clear they had become. He was here, perfectly focused on you, eyes filled with what you could only describe as pure adoration.

“I need time, too,” Jisung continued quickly, “I have...so many things I need to fix, to work on, and get better at—”

You shook your head furiously then, tears spilling onto your cheeks as you held onto his wrist. “W-want to love every part of you,” you whispered, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Don’t...don’t hide any parts of yourself, ever again. Okay?”

Jisung watched you for a long moment, brow furrowed as he gingerly wiped your tears, and finally gave a small nod. He cradled your face in his hands, eyes trying to memorise your features as though you were the most beautiful thing he would ever see. To someone else, you thought vaguely, you might have looked insane. A killer’s hands, they might have said, bloodstained hands. But as you gazed up at Jisung, all you saw was a boy who had gone through hell and came back smiling, a boy who loved you more than life itself.

You heard footsteps approaching, and looked up to see several security guards making their way towards Jisung. “Mr. Han,” one called gruffly, “it’s time to go.”

The sudden interruption made your mind go blank momentarily as any reasonable words — goodbye, take care — immediately dissolved on your tongue. The guards were getting closer and closer, and Jisung turned back to you, stammering. 

“If you ever want to—to do this whole...love thing again, start over properly, I—I promise I’ll try not to screw it up. I mean, if you’re sure—and only if you’re sure,” he paused then, sounding suddenly flustered, and for a second, he was your tousled-hair, golden boy from the diner again, soft cheeks flushed like windblown peach roses, eyes unsure yet hopeful as a child’s. This was the boy you had fallen in love with, over blueberry pancakes and Chinese takeout, on seemingly endless nights and through the darkest thunderstorms. Ever since you had made that promise, in a children’s playground beneath the setting sun, you knew that somehow, no matter what fate had left in store, you would always find your way back to him. 

Jisung was already being ushered away, the sudden absence of his touch on your skin leaving you feeling empty — but his last words brought a smile to your tearstained face.

“...I’ll be waiting.”

ryu says:

thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who made it to the end of this series; to everyone who came on this long journey with me, you made it possible and amazing every step of the way. at times, as my first ever series and long-term project, it was both daunting and terrifying, but i am beyond happy and honoured i could experience it with you.

i’ll see you in the epilogue.

[occasionalrpmemes]

Will Wood: the Normal Album Sentence Starters

lines taken from the 2020 album.  edit as desired.  tw: violence, disordered eating, gender dysphoria, mental illness, substance abuse, suicidal ideation, death

01.  Suburbia Overture: Greetings from Mary Bell Township! / (Vampire) Culture / Love Me, Normally

“Trick or treat.  Merry Christmas.”

“Howdy neighbor!”

“Thank you Jesus!”

“It don’t look like survival, but buy now or die.”

“You’re not alone.”

“The lights are on, but no one’s home.”

“Takes a village to fake a whole culture.”

“Home is where the heart is- You ain’t homeless, but you’re heartless.”

“It’s the safest on the market.”

“You still gotta watch where you park it.”

“Give me your half-life crisis.”

“I can tell that you know where paradise is.”

“Parasites don’t care what your blood type is.”

“A snowflake only matters in a blizzard.”

“Everyone knows that nobody knows that.”

“Well, word gets around on hit number stations.”

“Smile and wave, boys, kiss the cook, live laugh and love, please pass the pills.”

“It’s only culture.  It’s only culture.  It’s only culture.”

“Didn’t they want your blood?”

“Why apologize when you turn blue and cold?

“Hey, fuck your culture.”

“Do you know the difference between blazing trails and slash-and-burn?”

“Hey, you’re only mortal.”

02.  2econd 2ight 2eer (well, that was fun, goodbye)

“The devil made me do it, but I also kinda wanted to.”

“Forget bored stiff, I got rigor mortis.”

“My third eye’s open and I like what I see.”

“If you knew what I knew, if you saw what I see- ”

“But I got facts and I’m not afraid to use ‘em.”

“I’m getting better one forever at a time.”

“If sick is defined by what’s different, well then pull the plug out and let me die.”

”Who I am, I choose through all the things I do.”

“If it rhymes, it’s true, but I hate poetry.”

“Well that was fun, goodbye.”

03.  Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People?  Hurt People!)

“Have you ever died in a nightmare?  Woke up surprised you hadn’t earned your fate?”

“Have you ever felt like Atlas, threw your back out on the axis, and collapsed and threw the planet away?”

“Nobody dies agnostic.”

“Nobody dies agnostic, but we still dial 9-1-1.”

“Am I really that bad?”

“Whatever you think of me, if you were in my shoes, you’d walk the same damn miles I do.”

“With my head up in the clouds, I can see so much ground.”

“From up here, you look like ants in a row.”

“It doesn’t take a killer to murder.  It only takes the reason to kill.”

“The difference twixt fate and free will is whether you’re singing.”

“You wash your hands of where you’ve been until you flood the second floor.  Neatly fold your skeletons, but still can’t shut the closet door.”

“The only ones in need of love are those who don’t receive enough.”

“You could break an angel’s fall, and ignore the Devil’s call.”

“It’s a small hell after all.”

“Man, no more than animal, is made of moral chemicals.”

“If you were in my shoes, you’d see I wear the same size as you.”

04.  I / Me / Myself

“I’ve been feeling lightheaded since I lost enough weight to fit back in my skin.”

“Am I pretty now?”

“For some reason, I find myself lost in what you think of me.”

“I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend.”

“Am I pretty enough to lie to?”

“Just little old me in a big, big world.”

“I’ve been feeling lighthearted since I gained enough weight back to cover my bones.”

“You’ll be walking out early, but the show must go on.”

“No, I know that I’m wrong.  But I love how you’re on my side when I cross that line.”

“It’s been a point of contention between myself and this body that they stuck me in.”

“The privilege of being born to be a man.”

”I am quantum physics; my witness brings me into existence.”

”Am I pretty enough to love back?”

“Am I pretty enough to fucking die?”

“I wish-”

“Don’t you think that there’s a chance that you could live without it?”

05.  ...well, better than the alternative

“My daughter’s growing up.  She’s gonna be a lot like me, but I don’t wanna be at all like me.”

“I don’t wanna be at all like me.”

“You’re telling me I’m holding up eleven fingers.”

“Stranger things than death can happen.”

“Everybody knows that nobody knows that.”

“Everybody’s in on everybody’s business.”

“This isn’t my first Christmas, I know mistletoe when I see it.”

“Baby, could you play along with me?”

“Baby, would that be alright with you?”

“When we find out what’s wrong with me, could you tell me how I’m right for you?”

“Could you tell me how I’m right for you?”

“Could you tell me if I’m still pretty?”

“If they could see the future back when times were simple...”

“If everyone’s sick, well then, nobody can catch it.”

“Everybody’s all up in my god damn business.”

“This isn’t my first kiss.”

“It’s better to be lost than loved, now, isn’t it?”

“Everybody’s all up in my motherfucking business!”

“This isn’t my first anything.”

“After all of that’s been done to me, could you tell me how, could you tell me how, could you tell me—”

“What’s so wrong about what’s wrong with me?”

“I’m just trying to do what’s right by you!”

06.  Outliars and Hyppocrates: a fun fact about apples

“Did you know that the hole in the apple didn’t come from the outside in?  It was eaten from the core and out to the skin, and that’s why you’ll never find the worm in it.”

“The disease is defined by its treatment.”

“You people make me sick.”

“Who’d want to be human anyway?”

“Why’d you come into this world or come out that way?”

“Isn’t it funny?  Well, not "ha-ha" funny, but y’know, funny.”

“I doubt that you would even if you could change.”

“You think it makes you special, but it makes you strange.”

“The things that make you special are the things that make you strange.”

“I am the shadows cast aside by gallows, and you the red-hot sky.”

“And if you’re believers, then why would you grieve for the dead, instead of a devil that you never prayed for?”

“Too weird to love, too scared to die.  Too alien to take you home.”

“Who’d want to belong to anyone?”

“I mean, what do people even do?”

“If you love me, let me let you go.”

“Five more minutes, please?  You wouldn’t believe the dream I just had.”

07.  Black Box Warrior - OKULTRA

“Bless the torpedoes!”

“For what?  For what??”

“For what it’s worth, if it was going to kill you, boy, it would have by now.”

“There’s no more looking back, it’s looking up or looking down.”

“Wonder if Christ-Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee.”

“Auf wiedersehn!  Au revoir!”

“Hello, welcome.  Why don’t you take a seat?  Get comfortable, relax, take a second if you need to.”

“Now, what’s bothering you?”

“Well, why don’t we start at the beginning?”

“Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence?”

“Did you die before your day?”

“You got a better idea?  It’s about the best we could come up with.”

“What, you think ideas spread because they’re good?  No, they spread because people like them.”

“So here we are once again.  Holding, as it were, a mirror up to your mirror.”

“I guess it’s just something people do!”

“You learn to be an animal instead.”

“I never did think you better than this.”

“It’s you who are the problem.  Not the things you do, but something sick inside.”

“Boy, you really is defective.”

“Offer up your innocence, please ignore the side effects.”

“You’ve lost your mind and almost lost your life before, so you’ll be fine!”

“Why would you want to look back?  I mean, it’s no good looking back. So try to look forward now.”

“For what it’s worth, if they were gonna get you boy, they would have by now.”

08.  Marsha, Thankk You for the Dialectics, but I Need You to Leave.

“They could prescribe you any illness you’d like if you define the terms of your ailments.”

“A crow don’t know the smell of carbon monoxide.”

“How many years have you been on that couch?”

“Your draw a line in the sand where it ends and you begin, but the tide rolls in, so who knows?”

“A little identity never hurt nobody, but lately you’ve been focusing too much on yourself.”

“How many milligrams of you are still left in there?”

“Back in my day, we didn’t need no feel-good pills and no psychiatrists.  We just drank ourselves to death.  And god damn it, we liked it!”

“What’s a symptom, what’s a flaw, can it be both?”

“Well, I suppose that’s an answer.”

“Would you give up your humanity for just a touch of sanity?”

“They’ve discovered a cure for the symptoms of being alive.  It’s a painless procedure with a low rate of failure, but very few patients survive.”

“And a little conformity never hurt nobody, but lately I’ve been worried that you’re losing yourself.”

“What’s my prognosis?”

“Disease is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Tell me ‘so it goes.’”

“Better safe than sorry, and we both know the danger.”

“So doctor, could you run another test?”

“If our harmonies don’t sync, we can change our voices.”

“Don’t heed no evil wills of moral nihilists.”

“Don’t you make me waste my breath.”

“GOD DAMN IT!”

“Does aspirin kill you with the pain?“

“You’re not your thoughts, you’re not your brain, you’re just the character you’ve made.”

“What seem like separate body parts come together to believe they’re you, and not just chemistry.”

“It’s not the way that you were raised, or what the advertisements say.”

“It’s not what you pay for, what you pray for, what you want, or what you say.”

“Something tells me that you need, forgive me now if I misspeak--”

“Something tells me you prefer to be sitting there flipping through those old issues of People.”

“Well, that’s our time.  See you next week.”

09.  Love, Me Normally

“In lipstick on the mirror are the lyrics to my obituary.”

“Crossing my eyes, dot my T’s.”

“I was delivered holding scissors.”

“I live deliberately, I’m a quitter.”

“I never agreed to participate in this game.”

“Won’t follow my dreams, cause they all got me waking up screaming.”

“I’d rather be normal.  Yes, so normal.”

“I suggest that we keep this informal.”

“A normal human being wouldn’t need to pretend to be normal.”

“Well, I guess that’s the least that I owe ya.”

“C’mon, c’mon, and love me normally.”

“If I could live in third person, well, I don’t think life would be much worse than it is.”

“Is it courageous or escapist to leave the quarantine when you’re contagious?”

“It may just be a cold.  And besides, I don’t wanna get old.”

“I drank myself to death to be the afterlife of the party.”

“When the afterparty came, I was rolling in my grave.”

“Now, this is the part of the song where I talk to my audience.”

“There’s something I want from you hepcats tonight.”

“I want you to look to your left.  Look to your right.  Your twelve o’clock, three o’clock, six o’clock, nine o’clock, rock around the clock tonight–”

“I want you to find those points of no return, those singularities, those burning rings of fire in the beautiful pupils and the beautiful eyes of the beautiful boy, girl, neither, both, or in-between that you brought with you tonight.  And I want you to tell ’em how you really feel!”

“Jam that square peg in the round hole in their hearts!”

“You love them exactly the way that everybody else is.”

“I was nothing before, so I couldn’t have asked to be born.  I’ll be nothing again, so what am I between now and then?”

“Is there nothing to fear?  Cause shit’s getting weird.”

“So to God who made this man: you better have one hell of a plan.”

10.  Memento Mori: the most important thing

“If you’re lucky you’ll be surrounded by the ones that you love, when the lights in your eyes fade and life flashes by.

“One day you’re going to die.”

“Heaven, hell, nirvana, nothing, no one knows how it ends.”

“Rest in peace— or pieces.”

“Read your horoscopes, your palms and tarot cards.  But either way your destination ain’t very far.”

“You could drown, or choke, or burn, or be hit by a car.”

“What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but something will eventually.”

“One day you’ll look back at the life that you lead.  No more future left to fear that you’ll have the past to regret.”

“But your worries will be over if you truly realize— one day you’re going to die!”

“Take it away, hands!”

“In the fabric of time and in the vastness of space, a billion amounts to nothing in infinity’s face.”

“Your life never mattered, so who cares if it's a waste?”

“Well, one day you’ll be not even a faint memory.”

“You’ll never know what it all means.”

“Just keep this in mind: that everything and everyone goes with the passage of time.”

“No need to fear, ’cause when it’s here, you won’t be alive.”

“Try not to think about it!”

“So if you only have one chance, you oughta try your best to live as you like.”

[skyeseattle]

!! ED TW !!

I hate my mental illness. I hate not being able to get off the bathroom floor at 2am after an hour of mustering up enough energy to get to the toilet. I hate feeling my heart sink in its chest when I’ve gained .5 pounds, even after using the restroom. Continuing work after briefly losing consciousness, my ears buzzing and vision blurry, yet calling in sick the days I feel too disgusted by my face and body to leave the house. Taking Molly just to lose those 5 pounds of water weight, the high of the scale number going down, being more exhilarating than that of drugs. Having to close my eyes while walking past the kitchen to hurry back to my room, where the tumblr thinspo tag is waiting, the computer screen pulling me in, an addiction of fantasizing about a body I’ll never have, and an even more unachievable life to go along with it. Coming up with reasons to justify destroying my body, being more concerned with my shrinking tits than my abnormally low blood pressure. Fantasizing about the found confidence I’d have, the outfits I would one day wear without insecurity. The summer days I’d spend swimming instead of crying in the dressing room, just to read by the pool instead. Going to the gym. Shopping in person rather than online, avoiding the embarrassment of most stores not carrying my size. Piggy back rides from men I’d always weighed more than. Going to parties, having sex and enjoying it, rather than obsessing over which position hides my stomach best. My weight not being the first thing someone noticed about me, and being able to connect on a personal level before preconceived judgement is already made.

My goal weight wasn’t simply a number on a scale, it was an entire life I thought I could live if I just fit the mold a bit more. I justified the behaviors that were destroying me, and the world went along with it. My neighbor, my old classmate, my grandma, all having something to say regarding my weight loss. Usually along the lines of, “You look so much healthier...”or “happier.” That one hurt the most.

The bullying from others stopped, leaving me to bully myself, past comments on an endless loop in my head. The stares of concern and disgust being replaced by wandering eyes, placing more worth on this new body which I have to destroy in order to maintain. In a way, it worked. So many of my wishes came true, but it never led to this happiness or fulfillment I thought it would bring. This summer I went swimming, for the first time in years. I can shop at Urban Outfitters and Forever21. For months I was able to have casual sex. The world treats me kinder. None of these changes brought the happiness I thought they would. I thought being skinny was being care free. Yet everyday I find myself so angry about all the intrusive thoughts running through my head. Don’t swallow that spit, it’ll go straight to your stomach. Don’t eat dinner tonight, you can’t be bloated if you want to swim tomorrow. Suck in your stomach… constantly. Going into the water yet being too lightheaded to reallyswim. Being too worried about your disorder to really live.

When I hurt myself externally, I was rushed to the hospital. When I destroyed my body to fit society’s expectations, I was praised.

I'm extremely fortunate to have a support group and access to professional help. I'm on the road to recovery and this was more of a reflection than anything. If any of this resonated with you, I urge you to reach out for help.

Eating Disorder Hotline: CALL (800) 931-2237 Monday-Thursday 11am-9pm (ET), Friday 11am-5pm (ET)

TEXT (800) 931-2237 Monday-Thursday 3pm-6pm (ET)

24 HR CRISIS HOTLINE (866) 427-4747

[just-an-anxious-mess]

"Ugh"

Basically Virgil gets sick and doesn't want the others to know because being sick is boring. (describes several aspects of being ill so it's a little gross)

Blearily I opened my eyes and inhaled deeply through my nose. Or at least I tried to. For some reason I couldn't breathe through my nose and I started to panic before I registered the gross snuffly sound my nose made.

My eyes widened in horror and I groaned. I was sick.

I immediately regretted groaning as my throat felt raw and painful as if someone had dragged a knife down it. I'd not been sick in years and I actually forgot I was capable of getting sick until now.

I sat up with difficulty as I felt dizzy and lightheaded but I refused to stay in bed all day. I hated not being able to do stuff and I hoped that my voice hadn't been affected by whatever had happened to my throat.

I managed to walk to the bathroom and inspected myself in the mirror. I looked a mess, like always, but my nose was streaming and I knew that the constant nose blowing would damage my nose until it was red and sore.

I tilted my head and gently prodded at my neck and winced as I felt the painfully swollen glands. This seemed to be worse than a regular cold but there was still the tiniest chance I could hide it from the others. The last thing I needed was them to make a big fuss over it.

I felt the urge to cough and as I gave in I mentally cursed, the violent cough just damaging my throat more.

I clung to the side of the sink, taking deep breaths through my mouth, still feeling the stinging at the back of my throat.

I decided I couldn't avoid the others for any longer so I quickly started to get dressed but I went back into the bathroom after I put my hoodie on and I carefully stashed as many tissues as I could up the sleeves and in the pockets.

I carefully applied the eyeshadow over the bags under my eyes. I needed to pull out all the stops if I was going to get through the day without being found out.

I took a breath and walked out of my door walking to the kitchen, deciding a cold glass of water or something might help soothe my raw throat.

I ignored Logan who was making himself some toast. I carefully filled up a glass and planned on retreating to wherever Thomas was. He rarely paid me attention, he just zoned out and listened to what I said.

That was my plan until Logan said "hey Virgil, aren't you having breakfast? It is a highly important meal and if you're not ready for the day ahead you could get fatigued easier and have trouble concentrating on one topic at a time."

I froze where I was and closed my eyes in annoyance. I turned around and shot him a small glare before muttering quietly "I'll be fine."

It took all my will power not to wince as the words scraped my ruined throat. It was like getting salt in an open wound. Luckily Logan didn't appear to notice and I managed to get out of the kitchen.

I popped up in Thomas living room and surveyed where Thomas sat on his laptop, not paying attention to me, exactly what I wanted. I sat on the stairs and pulled out my phone looking for any quick ways of getting rid of an illness.

I took a sip of the water and grit my teeth. It didn't make a difference, my throat was still sore and swallowing had started to hurt.

I couldn't find anything to help and I tried to blow my nose as quietly as possible but I failed and Thomas jumped.

"where did you come from?" he asked then spotted the tissue. "you feeling sick?"

"I've been here a while and no it's just allergies." I replied smoothly, mentally high-fiving myself for such a believable excuse.

Thomas went back to what he was doing and I focused on trying to stop my nose from dripping. Being sick truly is disgusting.

A couple hours passed and I found a flaw in my plan. I had nowhere to put the used tissues and I refused to put them back up my sleeves. That would be vile. In the end I crept into the kitchen and shoved them all in the bin.

As I sat down again I felt the urge to cough becoming unbearable. I tried to fight it back knowing it would be violent and painful but it was no use as it overwhelmed me.

The sound made Thomas jump again as I coughed and spluttered he looked at me in concern. I tried to tell him I was fine when I tasted something metallic in my mouth.

Thomas was walking towards me now and I couldn't think properly to come up with an excuse or escape. Maybe I should have had breakfast this morning like Logan said.

"Virgil, are you alright? That cough sounds like more than allergies and you looked like you were in agony." Thomas said in a soft voice.

I opened my mouth to deny everything but I start coughing again. This time I hold a tissue up to my mouth to try and dull the pain which seems to work but after I pulled the tissue away I noticed disgusting globs with flecks of blood in them. Maybe I should have stayed in bed.

Thomas spots the blood in the tissue and immediately puts on a stern but concerned face. "Virgil you're ill and you should be resting. Logan! Roman! Patton!" he calls for the others who pop up and look from him to me in confusion.

I scowl and pull my hood further over my face, this was the last thing I needed. I blocked out their conversation as Thomas explained that I was ill. Now I'll never get a moment alone and they'll constantly be fussing over me.

I heard someone say my name but I ignored them in favour of scrolling through Twitter because Tumblr was down for some reason.

Suddenly someone grabbed my shoulder and I flinched away in a slight panic. I noticed Roman standing over me and I inhaled sharply. The sharp inhale suddenly set me off in another coughing fit and I closed my eyes as it felt like someone was scraping hot knives down my throat. I felt a couple tears trickle from my eyes as the pain became a little too much and when I opened my eyes I found everyone crowding round me.

"I'm fine." I managed to say but my voice was a lot deeper and my blocked nose made me sound slightly like Patrick Star.

Thomas shook his head and said "Virgil we know you're not fine, you're sick and need to be looked after."

I scowled at him and and was about to argue when Patton interrupted me.

"Virgil, kiddo, you should have told me. I'm not having you exhaust yourself and make yourself worse so it's back to bed with you and I'll cook you some nice soup." he spoke in a soft voice and I frowned.

"I'll be fine, I don't have to spend all day in bed." I replied but Patton fixed me with one of his rare stern parent looks and I knew there was no use arguing so I sighed in resignation, wincing as my throat twinged.

Not long afterwards I found myself in my bed, bored out of my mind and hating every second of it.

There was a light knock on the door and it opened to reveal a hesitant Roman. I rolled my eyes as he tiptoed into the room.

"you don't have to be like that. I'm fine, it's just a cold." I muttered but Roman ignored me and placed a glass of water next to me and handed me a bowl that he'd been hiding behind his back for some reason.

"wait, what...?" I asked gesturing to the bowl of ice cream.

Roman shushed me and whispered "Patton and Logan were talking about giving you soup and stuff but I thought you'd appreciate this more than 'Logans healthy soup' or whatever Patton was going to give you."

We both shuddered at the mention of Logans soup. Although Logan was the logical intelligent one he couldn't cook soup to save his life. The night he cooked I remember pouring it into Romans bowl bit by bit because I couldn't stand it. Roman realised but was unable to retaliate so he had to endure it. Patton had ate all of his and smiled at Logan but we thought it was forced.

Roman and I had talked afterwards and came to a deal that if either of us were possibly going to be subjected to that filth again then we'd do whatever we could to stop the other person suffering.

"thanks Roman." I said genuinely relieved. He sat on the end of my bed as I ate the ice cream and started talking about his latest adventure. I didn't really understand any of it but he was good at telling stories.

When I'd finished the ice cream Roman took my bowl and said he'd tell the other two that he gave me some food so they wouldn't give me the dreaded soup. I thanked him again and he gave me a secretive wink as he left. Although I was fed up of being stuck in bed all day I had enjoyed talking with Roman.

I somehow managed to fall asleep because I found myself being shaken awake by Patton who looked incredibly worried. "Virgil are you alright?" he asked, his voice shaky.

I looked up at him panting as if I'd run a marathon and realised I'd had a nightmare. I started having another coughing fit as I tried to remember what the nightmare was. I remembered Thomas saying something and then Logan had thrown a white box to me.

"I'm fine." I managed to get out between coughs, ignoring the pain in my throat as each cough felt like it was scraping my throat raw.

Patton didn't believe me but he dropped the subject and handed me a bowl. "don't worry it's not Logans soup. It's my home made tomato soup." Patton said, smiling.

I stated at Patton in shock at his comments about Logans soup but then I reasoned that Patton just didn't outright hate the soup because he didn't want to hurt Logans feelings. That definitely sounded like a Patton thing to do.

I took a cautious spoonful of soup and was surprised at how delicious it was, well what I could taste of it anyway. My taste buds had been completely messed up by this cold or whatever I had and things were either tasteless or tasted different to normal. For example I'd snuck a can of Dr Pepper earlier and the thing tasted like marzipan which although is delicious it completely messed with my brain.

I finished the soup after much encouragement from Patton and flopped back onto my pillows. Patton said "try to get some sleep, it should help." he then quietly shut the door behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts again.

I thought back to the nightmare and remembered someone screaming. It was an incredibly high pitched scream but something was telling me it was Princeys. I snorted in amusement but immediately regretted it as I felt a pain in my throat and nose.

I drifted off again but this time I wasn't shaken awake by Patton as I got to the part in my nightmare where things got worse.

Logan threw the white box at me and I read it in horror. It was anxiety medication. I struggled to smack the tablet out of Thomas's hand but Roman had pinned my arms behind my back while Logan told Thomas all the benefits of taking the pill.

Patton merely stood there watching and as Thomas lifted the pill to his mouth I began to beg and plead.

He paused and I thought he'd listened but a second later he threw the tablet in his mouth and swallowed it with a mouthful of water. I stopped struggling and went limp in Romans arms. I'd given up.

Suddenly I was wracked with pain, I couldn't breath and it felt like I was being strangled as my throat began to burn.

"Virgil!" yelled someone and I sat bolt upright grabbing my throat in agony. I glanced up and found Roman staring at me.

"what was that?" he asked in a whisper and I tried to play it off.

"oh nothing, just a bit of a bad dream." I replied

Roman muttered "you were screaming my name, telling me to let you go. It sounded pretty serious."

I felt my pale face go even paler. "it's fine." I said, my throat still burning.

Roman gave me an unimpressed look and said "I'll tell Logan you want his soup if you don't tell me the truth."

I gaped at him in shock. "are you blackmailing me?" I asked in disbelief.

Roman merely grinned and said "tell me what really happened in your nightmare."

I put my head in my hands as I found myself with no other choice. It was too much effort to come up with a believable story so I told him the truth.

Roman was silent for a long time before he said "you know we'd never do that to you right?"

I sighed and muttered "yeah, but I guess that thought is still in the back of my mind."

Roman was about to say something when Patton came in to check on me.

"Roman I thought I told you to stay clear so you don't catch whatever Virgil has?" Patton said with a small frown.

Roman looked sheepish and mumbled some kind of excuse.

Patton sighed and shook his head but smiled in spite of himself. "it's so adorable how concerned you are for each other." he said and I groaned and flopped back against my pillows. I didn't want to get sucked into another conversation with Patton about how I was not cute or adorable.

Roman looked slightly red in the face and I frowned. Maybe Patton was right and he was coming down with something too.

"get out Roman, we don't need you getting sick too." I managed to say before coughing violently.

Roman murmured "I'm fine."

I raised an eyebrow at him and said "really? You look pretty red in the face so you're probably coming down with something."

Romans eyes widened and he bolted from the room, making me look to Patton who was holding a hand over his mouth trying not to laugh.

"what's so funny?" I whined and he shook his head. "never mind just try to get some more rest.

I huffed in annoyance as Patton left but decided to try and sleep whatever I had off.

It took a couple more days but eventually I'd recovered enough that I could get out of bed.

As I passed Romans room I heard a muffled sound and decided that after many days in bed I was going to be nosy.

I walked in and saw him hunched over holding the corner of his duvet up to his mouth to deaden the sound of his cough.

"I told you you were coming down with something." I said and laughed when he jumped and spun around in shock.

Roman glared at me and muttered "this is a coincidence."

I rolled my eyes and said "sure it is and Logans soup is delicious. C'mon don't do what I did or Patton will probably murder you with his protective parental way."

Roman sighed and got back into bed reluctantly.

"I'll go grab you some ice cream." I said with a smile as he stuck his finger up at me. "ah ah none of that or I'll tell Logan you want his special soup to make you feel better."

I smirked at the fear on his face and said "that's a good Princey."

As I got the ice cream and told Patton I was going to be hanging with Roman all day I wondered how likely it was for me to get ill again from doing so. I shrugged it off. I had a grumpy Prince to entertain.

[dat-town]

The edge of light where Darkness begins

Characters: Seokjin & You

Genre: psychological horror, angst

Setting: lidérc* au

Warnings: emotional manipulation, mental illnesses like ptsd and agoraphobia, mentions of blood, past minor character death, implied sexual content 

Summary: The monsters are always closer than you think.

Words: 3.6k

Part of the Stories no one dares to tell Halloween collab. Check out the other stories too, you won’t regret it! ^^

Moodboard

*Lidérc [ˈlideːrt͡s] is a folklore creature similar to incubus. They are really handsome/beautiful but usually they don't seduce their victims but instead give them nightmares and feed on their fears while making them sick.

Title is taken from Christy Ann Martine‘s poem, the header’s background is from here.

“I told my therapist about you.”

Your voice is a chime of bells in the defeating silence of the room. Scary, isn’t it? That you can hear your own thoughts so loud when everything else is mute around. The whispers you can’t identify as yours make you feel less lonely, less alone. You are not sure if it’s a good or bad thing.

Only a low hum is uttered by the person whom you are talking to, but he barely acknowledges your words. He’s too endorsed in the Russian classic you are reading nowadays and left mindlessly on your coffee table a while ago. Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky, a fitting book and as it seems, your guest also finds it fascinating. You take your time resting your gaze on him: following the curve of his neck, the way his black dress shirt hugs his wide shoulders, his long fingers caressing the book cover as gently as one would do with a lover. The setting sun behind him paints him in the colours of dying dreams and it strikes you once again how utterly handsome he is. Every inch of him is way too perfect to be real: the sharpness of his jaw, the darkness of his soul coffee eyes and that lazy smile he often wears.

Isn’t it too convenient? You are in a vulnerable state and a handsome man comes suddenly? your therapist asked when you talked about him, how he comforted your lost soul and how he made you feel like you belong somewhere finally after being stuck in limbo for so long.

Yet, he doesn’t pay attention to you at all now as he casually walks around in your living room as if it was his. So you add with a cracked voice, meaningfully: “She thinks you aren’t real.”

And it seems to pique his curiosity. He stands up straight, turning towards you, a calculating grin spreading all over his devilishly handsome features and suddenly you feel bashful with his eyes on you. You can’t help the tremble that runs along your spine when he comes closer.

Kim Seokjin, he introduced himself when you first met. Or not… You can't recall when or how it started, you feel like he has always been a part of your life. You don’t really know him, the past of this man who keeps reappearing in your apartment, always willing to take you apart then putting you back together piece by piece, moan by moan until you forget everything but him. As if you were made to taste those bittersweet syllables on your tongue and chant his name like a prayer, a name so mundane for somebody like him.

“And what do you think?” he whispers right into your ear and you let your eyes flutter closed. His musky, smoky scent fills your nostrils and your hands are itching to touch, to pull him even closer but you don’t want to seem too eager.

“Does it feel like a daydream, an illusion?” he breathes brushing his lips against the sensitive skin under your ear and presses feather light kisses onto your exposed neck.

“A bit,” you shiver, already sort of breathless even though he barely touched you. Still, you welcome this sensation; he seems to have that effect on you. He has always made you feel too good to be true, he made you forget about the mess in your head and the reason why you stay between the four walls.

The truth is: you haven’t left your apartment since the day you were discharged from the hospital. Agoraphobia, not rare for patients with PTSD, the doctors said when you realized you cannot open the door without having a panic attack. You despised even looking at the knob or at your windows, those showcases of the world's madness. You don't need that, you don’t want that: the screams, the tires screeching, the vivid red on the asphalt. You know every corner of this place, each crack and nail so you are safe here… right?

Only a few people know you are here anyway.

Your parents visit from time to time but they buried one child already, what's another one in the grave? You hated those sad glances at you, the pity and regret, the why did you survive when your brother didn’t? left untold in their eyes.

The therapist comes every week and she sits on the edge of the couch in the living room. Her posture strict and rigid, ready to hide and run. This man on the other hand looks like he belongs here, like he’s made himself a home in your safe haven. Ridiculous, how could a man so gorgeous belong to the darkness, this grotesque pit of your hidden thoughts? the voices whisper.

“Seokjin,” you whimper eyes closed, finger clenching onto his collars when he flicks his tongue just right mapping out the slope of your neck, making poppies bloom on your skin and leaving goosebumps behind in their wake.

“Oh darling, you should know I am very much real,” he smirks. You can feel its curves on your skin just as his body slightly trembles with a soundless giggle. Such a tease! Did he just hint at your even closer interactions with less clothes and more skin? Just the thought is enough to make you feel lightheaded. What you and Jin have isn't a relationship, not even close, but it's consensual and oh so good!

So of course, logically speaking you know that he is real. You remember vividly how cold he feels against your heated, sweating body that it makes you shiver even harder or the way he touches you now, these featherlike reminders of intimacy. Or maybe it's more of a promise of what comes, oh how you hope it is!

“I’m just... not sure what real is anymore,” you blurt out, a part of you ashamed despite knowing very well Seokjin wouldn't judge you. He understands you better than anybody, like only the Moon would understand the stars

“How come?” he quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, something your therapist has never been. She just gave you pills for insomnia and told you it should be fine.

It isn't.

“Ever since I woke up…” you gulp. The from the coma part is hanging in the thin air because saying it out loud would make it even more scary. Three months being unconscious, always attached to beeping machines and yet, here you are, keep struggling even awake. “I'm afraid of sleeping. I keep having that dream when I wake up again and again. It's like a dream in a dream and sometimes I can't tell dreams and reality apart.”

The confession leaves your body with a shuddering breath, sounding awfully uncertain, full of what ifs. What if one day you won't wake up and get stuck in another never-ending dream?

“Isn't it the same though? There’s suffering in both,” Seokjin hums, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear ever so gently. He’s right, you have to agree. It doesn’t make it less scary, though.

Pulling away just a bit to look at him, you see half of his face covered by shadows. Then you glance at the curtains that fell closed as the sun set which makes the room dark, eerily so. Only flashing lights of passing cars can be seen from the outside. Somewhere in the back of the room, candles burn, their intoxicating aroma filling the air.

You don’t remember lighting them.

“What do you dream about? Before you wake up in your dreams?” Seokjin asks curiously and you snuggle back into his embrace, letting your head rest on his solid chest, closing your eyes, feeling safe...

All your dreams are made out of thorns and blood and claws that tear your skin. It leaves you breathless with a hand around your neck, suffocating you. The purple marks on your skin are bruises from its touch, rotten flowers blooming on your body like an impressionist still-life painting. Dreams are insects you killed but you still feel on your skin, dreams are the tragedies that you know will happen in movies, dreams are like still going back to the person who hurt you so many times.

Dreams like this are called nightmares.

So does that make Seokjin a daydream?

“I don’t remember much of it, mostly just the fear. It’s creeping into my heart and makes it hard to breathe. I remember the dark and the terror I felt. Nothing more,” you back away, pulling the curtains open but don’t let go of the material. You need to hold onto something in order to not feel so lost in your own mind.

Outside, there’s nothing but pitch darkness.

“Are you afraid of the dark?” the young, attractive man asks a few feet behind you, his voice low and resonating in the empty room that feels colder than it should in October. Isn’t it ironic? A part of you died in the summer, the rest of you is dying alongside the withering fall.

“No. Well, not exactly. I’m more afraid of what hides in the darkness.”

You aren’t a kid anymore. You should know better than to fear these things. There are no evil clowns popping out of your closet when you turn around but that doesn’t mean nothing hides under your bed. Would it be childlike to believe that if you close your eyes and hide under the blankets, everything will be alright?

“Why? What’s so scary in the dark?” Jin quirks an eyebrow, casually plopping down on the armrest of the comfy sofa, his satin dress shirt hanging on his frame, revealing just enough skin of his chest to make mouths water. His attractiveness distracts you for a moment and for that you are grateful even though it’s a struggle to come up with an answer.

“Because I feel like they are coming for me. The monsters,” you whisper and a shiver, the wrong kind, rushes through your spine, urging you to shut your eyes in the fleeting moment of sheer panic and listen to your rapidly beating heart.

Little do you know that the monsters are closer than you think. They have no teeth, no bark, no body or bones, they are messes of black made of dark matter and stardust, reaching for you, pulling you in, trapping you right there in a trance of your own personal Hell.

Oh you are already ours, they muse smirking, caressing your soul with soft hands, spreading poison in your veins, kissing you with murderous lips.

The flames of candles in the middle of the living room are flickering violently and you glance up alarmed. The curtain slips through your fingers, setting the room to total darkness apart from the faint brightness candles produce.

“They are coming,” you let out a muffled scream, horrified. What if your dreams weren’t merely just fantasies of your dazed mind?

“Who?” Seokjin seems amused, the right corner of his mouth twitches. It makes you feel pathetic, like a child who needs comfort.

“Them,” you point at the rising shadows on the wall, the blurry images of ghosts, nightmares and haunting memories splattered onto the empty canvas in the dim light of candles.

They come to punish you. You deserve it, you killed your brother after all. It was your fault. If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have come to pick you up from that concert. If it wasn’t for you, he would have paid attention to the road. If it wasn’t for you, he would be still alive.

A mistake was enough and the butterfly effect that pushed you both over the cliff forced you to watch his fall. Down and down. Sometimes, when it’s dark outside and you are all alone, you wonder if you ever hit the ground. You were nothing but a warm body on the cold ground next to your dead brother, only a few fractures of bones on the hospital bed kept alive with machines and yet, here you are staring at the moving smudges on the wall with your hands in fists. Like you could protect yourself if they came alive and attacked you.

Oh no, you poor thing, how could you? How could you fight against something that doesn’t even exist, things only you can see?

“They are just shadows,” Seokjin tries to soothe you, his voice loving as a mother’s embrace but just as he stands up, several things happen all at once: the candles burn out, the curtains swing back and forth fiercely and you can even hear the wind whistling despite the windows being closed. You let out a shriek in fear and don’t waste a moment to tap on the wall in search of the light switch.

In the darkness you can almost hear them moving, circling around you and reaching to you with their clawed fingers. Your skin is covered in goosebumps and you can’t stop shivering until you find the switch. The light bulb from above emits a sinister kind of unsaturated whiteness painting the whole room in an eerie glow.

Still, you sigh relieved, your shaky breaths escaping the confines of your throat as you rest your forehead against the cold wall. It takes a moment to get a hold of yourself and remember that this time, you are not alone. So you turn back towards the coach only to find it empty and untouched like there has never been anybody to begin with.

“Jin?” you call out quietly and tentatively, stepping forward and you swear you can feel the ground moving under your feet. Nothing feels so sure and solid like before.

“Have you heard that only those have shadows who have souls?” a mellifluous voice whispers right behind you and you nearly have a heart attack when turning around you face Seokjin’s tall, gorgeous figure. How did he get there so fast, without making any noise?

“No... I-” you mumble utterly confused, blinking hard to prevent your frustrated tears from falling. The man smiles at you fondly and raises his right hand to your cheek. Out of habit, you would lean into his soft touch but then you realize that’s not his intention but to show you something. To show that despite the light above and you standing between its source and him, no shadow has fallen onto his body. As if you were completely transparent...

“It’s not the shadows you should fear, darling, but yourself,” he tells you and the breathe seizes in your throat.

“How is this possible?” you croak out pulling the blouse tighter around your frame, suddenly cold in a place that no longer reminds you of your apartment but more like a hospital room with the two single beds and machines beeping.

“You tell me,” Seokjin shrugs, still breathtakingly beautiful no matter the games he plays with your fragile heart.

There are secrets behind his midnight eyes telling you stories about dreams, that hidden territory in-between the dead and alive, a place where the two worlds collide. The doomed pandemonium where the evil rise and more often than not people die. Or become monsters themselves.

You almost can’t recognize your own broken voice as your biggest fear slips out of your mouth:

“Am I losing my mind?”

Because who could you rely on if you can’t even trust yourself?

“Aren’t we all?” Seokjin grins at you wickedly, his dark irises alluring you even though you know it’s a dangerous game to play. It feels like a dance with the Devil: back and forth, going around on a carousel. Dizzy but addicting. The kiss of sweet Hell on your lips and the poison to your heart. It sucks the air out of your lungs.

“This can’t be real. I need to wake up,” you shake your head retreating from the man’s tempting presence. You need to think clear. You just need space… but why does it make it hard to breathe? “Come on! It’s only a dream.”

But it feels so real, you cry inside, hysteria building up in your system. For once, closing your eyes tightly and hugging yourself doesn’t help. Seokjin’s approaching footsteps as light as butterfly touches echo in your mind and you can feel the breeze on your shaking arm as he strokes your skin.

“Doesn’t matter whether you are dreaming or not. If you believe in it then it’s real. Monsters exist and not only in that pretty little head of yours,” he chuckles and it’s wrong, it feels wrong. He shouldn’t be laughing at your misery.

And that’s when you realize something: in dreams there’s always something off. Something tiny that wouldn’t make a difference at first but waking up, it all makes sense. Something like Seokjin being here absolutely unaffected by your chaotic behaviour.

“How did you come in?” you gape at the man suddenly with wide eyes but he only blinks at you indifferently.

“Huh?”

“I- I locked the door.” Yes, you did, that you remember clearly. That’s the first thing you do every day, checking if the door is locked and you sure as hell didn’t opened it today.

“But you didn't locked it well enough,” Seokjin sneaks closer with calculated steps, his voice not so gentle anymore and there’s a wild kind of madness in his burning eyes. The lopsided grin on his handsome features is getting scary but with your back hitting the wall, you have nowhere else to go. You can do nothing but watch in dismay as the man is walking towards you like liquid silk at an agonizingly slow pace. His every movement is so precise, yet graceful and fluid as if he could slip through the smallest keyholes, under doorsteps and anywhere like any other dark matter.

“Or…” he stops right in front of you, towering over you with a hand beside your head. Gulping you can’t bear to look him in the eyes. Has he gone crazy or have you? “Do you really think it would stop me?”

As if he was trying to make a point, to prove himself, the door on the other side of the room creakily cracks open a bit. Your breath hitches is your throat, heartrate escalating to the point of faint dizziness and white spots in your peripheral vision. Is it possible to die of heart attack so young? you wonder.

“Your fears are calling me so sweetly, dear,” Seokjin’s cold fingers fondle your chin forcing you to look up at him and the pet name tastes bitter now spit out of his mouth. “I come whenever they start to eat you up.”

Looking into his clandestine eyes you are reminded of your time together, the lies and secrets. Whenever he kissed you, it felt like he was consuming your being, grabbing your soul in his hands and ripping it out of you with the first moan that escaped your mouth. But now you see his eyes for what they are: pitless black holes, lost stars of the universe. Hungry and full of lunacy and for the first time, you are not mesmerized by his otherworldly beauty but afraid.

So you run. You take the chance and break out of his languid hold to flee out of the now opened door and before you know, you are running in a black void. It’s not the hallway that it should be. It’s nothing like your apartment complex. It’s nothing but darkness, no shadows, no moonlight, nothing.

“You can’t run away from me, silly. You can’t escape this place,” laughter echoes from behind you, from ahead, from everywhere.

You don’t know where you are, you don’t know where he is and not knowing makes you panic more. Seokjin doesn’t need to tell you anything else, you can hear them clear enough. They point their fingers at you, mocking you: we are in your head, pretty thing, you can’t get rid of your own thoughts, your own fears, your personalized doom.

“You want to know why your therapist tried to persuade you and herself that I’m not real? Because people would have worse things to be afraid of than their pity problems if they knew my kind exists,” the way he says it all meaningful and arrogant makes you stop dead in your tracks. You don’t know where you are going anyway and you are feeling tired. Tired of this, everything. Wouldn’t it be better to let the darkness take you?

“What exactly are you?” you ask scared, vulnerable and helpless like a rat in a hole, warm tears streaming down on your face. It looks glistening under the artificial white light that comes in waves like cameras flashing. They blind you yet it’s only because of them that you can see Seokjin suddenly standing in front of you.

“Your worst nightmare,” he smiles and it’s terrifying and beautiful all the same, much like thunder lightings.

The saddest thing is that he says the truth because when he leaves his human form transforming into a horde of crows cawing at you, you fall. Down and down into the endless blackness with hands all over you, touching, tearing, killing you. In horror, you scream louder than ever, making your throat bleed but no matter how hard you cry, no sound comes out of your mouth until you cough up dark feathers. It gets hotter and hotter until you catch on black fire and everything is burning: your lungs, your heart, your sanity. In the end, you fall into the flames, leaving nothing but smoke behind.

And then panting hard, heart pounding, chest heavy, mouth dry, sweat dripping all over your bed sheets, you jolt awake.

... or so you think.

[edgydepression]

god this sounds so egotistical and i hate it and i talk about college 2 much and i know it's objectively nothing close to an accomplishment but. i would flunk classes before i was a junior bc of how crippling my bipolar and undiagnosed adhd were, on top of my shitty ass mother still harassing me and being passive aggressive on a semi regular basis. then junior year hit and i went on my first stimulant medication and turned into a g*ddamn machine. i would fly through long ass dry ass required essay readings and constant due dates then literally go back to my dorm and have to actively refrain from slitting my wrists while having nightly sobbing breakdowns bc of how badly i reacted to adderall but refused to go off of it bc it kept my appetite nonexistent so i could keep eating less than 500 calories a day. i would write almost every single assignment v lightheaded and dizzy to understate it 🙄 i still can’t believe i thought my body wasn’t thin & tiny enough to be considered beautiful. i can barely look at pictures from back then bc i know i looked sick and exhausted. but yea, then winter break hits, someone i had been infatuated with for years randomly reached out to me for the first time in over a year, he finds out i'm back in town and we end up fucking that same night, which goes on for the entirety of the two weeks i was back. i think we're falling in love. and to an extent i think it was almost mutual, but it eventually turns out he primarily just wanted the (tbh bomb ass) sex. which now i find kinda funny despite it being sad obviously. he made a passive aggressive comment abt me not having a job and, so deeply invested, i hustle my ass downtown the first week i'm back at college and gets the first job i apply for, esp after the head manager said verbatim it's gonna be the hardest retail job out there (can u tell this job ended up being awful?? lmao). i go off adderall and get put on useless strattera, which meant that not only could i barely focus anymore, i finally felt the hunger pangs, and god were they painful. i kept eating less and less without a care in the world, probably only functioning off of the adrenaline starvation and narcissism give you. i had no days off between work and school, took maximum credits every quarter for the last 2 years (ie 5 ten week long very intensive courses), worked 30 hours a week closing nights and opening mornings the next day meaning i could get 7 and 1/2 hours of sleep if i could pass out almost immediately after getting back to my dorm, and through a miracle of god pulled a 4.0. almost for the sole reason of impressing a boy. A BOY. he didn't give a single fuck ofc & my dumbass was devastated af lmao

but this lifestyle of overworking myself continued on until near the end of summer when i dated a gymcel asshole and i just. randomly accepted all of the weight that i gained and still haven't completely lost, and i know never will bc of how badly i broke my metabolism. it sounds like i'm exaggerating but i swear to god my eating disorder just faded away through honestly what was probably sheer force of will, from me getting sick of being so obsessive and frail 24/7. to wrap this up mental illness and how coping mechanisms manifest are weird but u can learn to live w it a lot more healthily if you develop the stubbornness of a maniac lmfao

i think i'm word vomiting like this bc my therapy appt is still a ways away and racing thoughts make it real hard to concentrate on anything else 😅😅 i keep looking back on how productive i was back then even tho it was in such a toxic way & still have leftover resentment over burning out and not knowing how to adjust to such a major life change the past yr (even though it's honestly kinda justified, it's just embarrassing)

but life goes on and turning around is possible!! mistakes can be rectified and ultimately learned from if you stop being unhealthily self absorbed. sounds kinda harsh, but breaking bad habits is a harsh process to begin with so u gotta suck it up buttercup sometimes. i look at pictures of myself when my ed was at its most severe and can't believe i thought my body was still inadequate. one glance at my face and it's so obvious i was sick. i'm genuinely grateful every single day that that part of my life is over, and i want to find a way to help others who are going through eds. idk how to yet but i'm gonna use my bullheaded personality to answer that question at whatever pace it'll take

i can't imagine a single person reading this hot mess of word vomit so if you're somehow at the bottom rn i luv u and ty for coming to my mental illness ted talk lmao 💞

[nidawia]

Chronically ill.

I'm having a day I can't pretend to be strong. Having a day of breakdown and tears streaming down my face. A day of depression, sadness, anger, self pitying, self hating and exhaustion. Why? Because of my chronic illness. I have IBD. I have ulcerative colitis. I also have a syndrome in which I am more likely to faint, get lightheaded and run out of breath more easily than others due to my blood pressure randomly dropping. Some days I can't even get out of bed due to everything spinning and I'm feeling nauseous. Like, it's REALLY bad. I can't MOVE an inch and I can't have my eyes OPEN if I want to feel somewhat okay. It takes me at least 3-4 hours before I can slightly move around while laying down and have my eyes open. Then my IBD. It's honestly tearing me apart. I don't even know where to begin with this disease. Probably started around 3 years ago. I got diagnosed last year when I was 18 years old. I've been destroyed mentally, physically, socially, emotionally by it. Several times over. Right now I'm refusing to be on any type of hospital medication even if I'm in the middle of having a flare up. Why am I doing that? Because I don't fully believe in the doctors ways anymore. They "treat" your symptoms - more accurately; they hide them. You get addicted to take the medication. They don't try (at least the vast majority of them) to go to the bottom of things what might have CAUSED it. They don't look at the individual. They see the symptoms, they see the medicine for the symptoms and they give it to us. Money, money, money. That's all it's about. I, however, am trying the natural way. I take some "medication" - all natural for us though. Special tea. Vitamins. Liver pills. Etc. and then I'm on an EXTREMELY strict diet. No gluten for a year. No dairy products. No garlic or onions of any kind. No sugar. No citrus fruits or veggies. No soy. The list goes on and on. I have the most boring ass diet. But, two weeks ago I can tell y'all that I haven't felt so normal in over 3 years. No pain, no blood, no gas or weird noises from my bowel, lots of ENERGY, and I was genuinely happy to actually feel normal. I had forgotten what it felt like. Now, though... I'm having a setback. And I need to rant about it. Short backstory though: I should not have either IBD or my syndrome concerning my blood pressure. They've been triggered by a vaccine I got 3-4 years ago. All my problems started after that. They didn't tell us that people that have an asthmatic parent, they're immune system aren't as strong against the side effects of the vaccine. And guess what? My dad is an asthmatic! And what are one of the things I've gotten? An autoimmune disease! Coincidence? I think the hell not. However, somehow, I've been blessed to have a partner that loves me and supports me and wants to be with me for the rest of his life. We met online and we've met and been together in real life as well. We've known each other for like 10 months and he's absolutely amazing and I love him. But I'm so afraid of holding him back in life due to my fucked up condition. I don't want to do that to him. I want him to be happy. But selfishly I also want him all to myself. Moving on, today I've been so sad. And I'm gonna just copy paste a rant I gave a friend of mine: Even if this setback is hella much smaller than what I've suffered from before, it didn't stop me from having a breakdown. Something I actually haven't had for a very long time But I couldn't stop it today. I've lost my energy, I just feel completely drained. I want to sleep, but can't. I wanna do so many things, but I can't. I blame my sickness but then I inevitably, like all other times, blame myself. I really hate this though. Like I've said so many times before. But I can't help but let all negativity slip back into my mind. I hate the fact that I'll never be normal. Ever. Hate that I've become a victim to a CHRONIC illness I shouldn't even have. It's CHRONIC. I'll never ever heal from it. I may think I do, I may work towards it and I may hope to be "the one that got cured from an incurable disease", but it'll never happen. I can never be fully cured. I can never be fully normal ever again. My life is bound and restricted to my illness. I have days, like this one, that I succumb to my dark thoughts. Become depressed, sad, angry, exhausted of the fight and just lay in my bed crying all day. Start hating myself for being weak. For being a crybaby. I'm in a constant battle between "no, I'm not gonna let this stupid shit control my life, I'm gonna live it to the fullest and do whatever I want" and "I just wanna give up the fight. Take all medication from the hospital, destroy my body further. Shut the world out and be done with it." I lose myself. Can't stop the tears from rolling down. I'm living in constant fear and tension. My body can fuck up at any time. It has done that soooo much in the past. Destroyed me inside and out. I hate myself. Being weak. Ugly. Negative. Scared. Not confident. Closed off. Not easy to like or get along with. Not funny. Not smart. Nothing, really. I don't even know what my fiancé sees in me. I've been so scared to get close to anyone, to let anyone in. There's been so many reasons for me to avoid a romantic relationship. Been reasons to keep everyone on a distance. Reasons no one will truly understand if they aren't in the same position as I am. But I love him more than anything and more than I've loved anyone else. We complement and complete each other but I can't help to feel that I should, in fact, push him away... I love him so much and I just want him to be truly happy and live his life to the fullest, exactly the way he wants it with no regrets. I feel like... like I'll only hold him back. I don't want him to have to be tied to me and my never ending problems, the restrictions on my life. I don't want him to miss out on anything... on all the things that someone else could give to him. I don't want him to ever have to regret anything due to me holding him back. He's beyond amazing and supportive of my situation, but I cant help but think about all of this. He's the only one I can see myself loving for the rest of my life,and ofc he loves me too and feels the same in that way cuz otherwise he would've never proposed to me but... if he could be happier with someone else... I don't want him to miss out on it. That's how much I love him. I'd be prepared to let him go, even if my whole body and mind screams the opposite and it'll tear me apart every single day and be worse of a pain than anything else I've ever been through - I'd let him go if it meant for him to be the happiest he could possibly be I can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop thinking that maybe I'm just being selfish... I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore. One wrong step and it all comes back like a slap to the face with a brick. That's what has happened. I've felt great, better than I've felt for over THREE FREAKING YEARS, took one wrong step and now I'm bleeding and in pain again I'm so goddamn sick of this So sick of wanting to actually fight it and live life but as soon as I stand up everything goes black. Or I'm in so much pain I can't even get out of bed. This sucks so much. *** Also, my setback is due to me trying eating chicken again and my body reacting to it. Since I've been stable for almost a month with no bleeding or pain in trying to expand my diet, which didn't work too well this time. My current diet consists of this: Oatmeal with oat milk. Sweet potatoes, normal potatoes (need to be boiled and then used the day after) Mango, bananas, pears, watermelon, blueberries, raspberries, avocado Parsley Salmon, white fish Asparagus, carrots (needs to be cooked so they soften up and are easy for the digestive system) Almond milk Max 3 eggs every other day and they have to be runny Maple syrup, honey "Clean herbs" - I have to season everything myself cuz I need to know EXACTLY what's in my food. Everything needs to be organic and of good quality. The only dairy product I'm allowed to use is real organic butter. Olive oil in only allowed to use cold and drizzle on top of things. So yeah. I get really depressed about the insane restrictions on my food, too. Can never go out and enjoy restaurants and probably never will be able to either... there's so much more I want to say and rant about but this is long enough. If anyone would ever read it all.... thank you for hearing me out.

[goblindodie]

hiya

I’ve done some mental health updates (first / second)  a few times in the last few months so for all who are new here, this is a thing I do sometimes so that hopefully other people feel a bit more comfortable with talking about mental health! Feel free to comment on this with how you’re feeling, let’s start a conversation, you should never feel like you have to bottle all your feelings up. I’ve started back at uni, in my second year now. And tomorrow begins week 3. Only week 3. And I have never experienced so much stress and anxiety all at once. And I am so incredibly overwhelmed that I don’t know how to even function. Anytime I think about all the work I have to do I begin to stress, panic and shut down. I feel like I am physically unable to do anything. The stress has become so intense that I am having multiple days where the thought of eating something makes me feel so ill that I have to curl up in bed again. Then I grow stressed because I’m not doing any work, and the cycle repeats. As I am typing this my hands are shaking and my heart is beating so loud, I feel so lightheaded and like someone is stamping on my chest. On Thursday morning I was sitting in class. Everything was absolutely fine. The tutor is really lovely and everyone in class was having discussions about the readings from the previous week. And our tutor wanted to go around the room and ask people what they wanted to get out of this particular course. I spent my final year of high-school doing copious amounts of public speaking, I don’t often offer answers in class, but when asked a direct question I have no issue whatsoever with answering it. But within seconds of the tutor beginning to go around the class, my heart started beating in my ears, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe and I was shaking. Every fibre of my being screamed “there’s no reason for you to be panicking” and yet... I was so incredibly thankful for dodie’s VEDIF “tips for when you’re panicking” because I watched that video so many times when it came out, and I heard her voice in my head telling me to breathe and remember that I was safe.  Before this event, I’d been feeling quite jittery and stressed for the last 3 weeks. We had some housemate issues, starting uni again, trying to be healthy and go to the gym but in a way that felt empowering rather than degrading (I feel like I need to make a whole separate post on this I have some body issuesssss yikes), I also decided that I should focus on being creative and uploading more often to my YouTube channel that I made last year (I’m a film student, I wanted to upload some work to it) and I made the stupid decision to make a video every day in March (so far I haven’t missed a day, yay! but also rip my mental stability). And I can’t really pinpoint what is directly to blame for me feeling so anxious and stressed. I’m exercising regularly, eating well, getting more than enough sleep, drinking lots of water. But nothing seems to be changing. I am currently in the process of switching therapists so there has been a rather long period of time where I haven’t been able to talk to anyone (I do want to thank @startleddeer @neonlester & @hearcomesthesunflower for being so kind and wonderful and brightening my days whenever I’m feeling particularly down).  I have come to the conclusion that when I do get to see my new therapist, that I will be asking to see a psychiatrist in order to begin taking some medication to alleviate how I’m feeling a little bit, as I am reaching desperation. I am having so many moments when I feel like I can’t breathe and I’m walking like I’m in some sort of dream where my heart is beating loudly in my ears and I can’t understand or remember what people are saying to me. I feel like I’m under such intense pressure to be okay and to get on with life that it is making it even more difficult. My housemate has been so incredibly kind and patient with me throughout this time, a true friend. I’ve really been seeing people’s true colours as my best friend continues to attack me and change the subject when I attempt to open up to her about how I’m feeling. And I am so angry and upset but I can’t tell her that the way she is treating me makes me feel this way because she is so co-dependent, insecure and possibly jealous of my new friends (we are long distance best friends because she stayed in our hometown but I had to move away for uni) and I can’t predict what harmful things she could do if I were to open up to her. She has had multiple suicide attempts in the past but is better now, she is getting really sad that everyone has left our hometown and after they’ve left they’ve changed. And no matter how many times I tell her that this is the way the world works when you move out of home, she just gets upset with me and has no way to try and fix it, she just complains about it and I can’t help her. She acts as if we’ve all changed and she hasn’t, which is not true. I hope we can work something out, but right at this second the thought of having to confront her and be honest about my feelings is making me feel sick. I feel the weight of people’s expectations on me, because I’m the friend who has always got their shit together, who is always okay, who makes sure everyone else is okay because I’m always fine. And lately I haven’t been able to do it, and I don’t feel comfortable opening up to people I’ve been friends with for ages simply because I don’t want them to feel like they have to watch what they say around me or treat me any differently. I just don’t want people to worry. I’ve spent so much of my life worrying about other people and fixing other people’s shit but I don’t want anyone to do the same for me because I hate asking for help. But the main person I’ve really tried to open up to has swiftly changed the subject every time. So that leads me to begin to feel like I’m doing something wrong. I just feel like I shouldn’t have these feelings and I am under so much pressure to just make them go away but that’s not going to happen.  My parents ring me everyday and ask me how my anxiety is going and if it’s fixed as if it’s an easily fixed issue. People trivialise mental health so much and make it out to be something that is fixable.  You cannot magically fix someone who is struggling with their mental health. It is a fluid process, all you can do is support them, don’t pressure them to feel better, be a shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold but don’t you dare make people feel bad for not feeling good about their brain and their life all the time.   tl:dr I’m struggling Thank you for reading this incredibly long brain vomit. I hope this makes you feel more comfortable with talking about your mental health. I will keep you updated on my therapist situation and if I can get some medication! I know it’s something a lot of people talk about, and I also know that a fair few of my followers are quite young, so if you are still in school, struggling and reading this, everything is going to be okay. Tumblr is such a wonderful community where you can find people to support you, I’ve made some incredibly important friends here who I love dearly. If you ever need help, feel free to reach out to me. Please note that I am really struggling at the moment and may be unable to actually help you, but I am here to listen if you need someone to listen to you. You are not alone.