The All-Knowing Eye [Yan!DSMP x Reader]

V | CHAPTER 41: My mind feels like a foreign land | V

You look at yourself in the mirror, barely recognizing your own face as you're in an almost entirely empty building, the only one present in the room being Tommy, who's waiting for you to leave so you, Wilbur and Ghostbur can take him to the DeMeter building. The others have already left to the Red Banquet, but you've just been procrastinating the entire time. After all, if there's one thing you don't feel comfortable about, it's being in a car with Wilbur Soot and Ghostbur.

"So, how do I look, Tommy?" When you look at your reflection, you're pretty sure you're looking at a stranger. Tommy's the only one you can trust. With your mind in complete duality, and you not even knowing what side is the ill one, if not both, you find it hard to trust yourself with anything, let alone fashion advice. Tommy, meanwhile, has proven that he has no filter before, and proves yet again that his brutal honesty is something nobody can ever escape from.

"You look like an elderly person. And not a hot one." As soon as he says this, you raise your eyebrow and turn around to meet him, as he has his eyes on his phone screen again.

"Tommy," you begin, before continuing carefully. "Do you find elderly people hot?"

"Listen, some are pretty attractive, okay? Don't blame me for having taste."

"You're a strange kid, Tommy Innit," you simply answer with a sigh and a smile. "Not that I'm normal, but there's a big difference between being me and being attracted to elderly people."

"I feel discriminated against, Y/N. What would you rather have me say? That you don't look like an elderly person? Because you do, Y/N."

"But I'm not even hot?"

"No, I don't think you're hot. You're just... luke... warm. Yeah, you're lukewarm."

"I really don't think it works like that, but I'm not even going to argue with you." Tommy smirks as he receives a picture from Tubbo on his phone, who's unaware that you're with him. You have no idea what it is, as you return to look in the mirror, to the last that they'll ever see of you.

You chose the dress that you wanted. None of them have seen it yet. You thought it looked nice, and the red colours went well with the theme. However, the most noticeable aspect about the dress are still the short sleeves. Tommy jokingly compared you to a veteran Disney princess before you actually dyed your hair – or rather, undyed your hair?

The short sleeves – or lack of sleeves, depending on one's perspective – show where the metal stops and the skin starts. It shows the many rashes and blisters that cover the entirety of your left arm, mangling the normality that once was there. The illness has tainted your body in a way you could've never hoped for, let alone expected. The disfiguration is something that you fear will follow you everywhere. Some of it, is because of the illness. Another part is thanks to those who feel like they're entitled to your attention. And then, there's the scars that you brought upon yourself. The scars you received because of your own insanity. And those are the ones that possibly hurt the most. In the moment, they might've made you feel human, but looking back at them, they only left you hesitating more. Longing for that feeling of familiarity: pain you can control. It's not something caused by a factor beyond your understanding, or an indirect or direct consequence of the obsession of others: it's something caused by you. What is meant to make you feel like you have the control in your hands, only leads to the realization that it's still an action from your ill mind. Not something that is your decision, but merely a thought created by the hormones in your head. An action out of longing for control that will only lead to the loss of it as you would fall into addiction.

But you're not addicted. No, not anymore.

The scars on your arms, the wrong colours simply because of an uncurable disease, do not weaken you. You have no desire for more, but you're still going to show them proudly. This is something that you'll survive. You'll show them what they made of you. You'll show them how ugly you really are. How their way of treating you as affected you greatly.