#Im being forced to find other coping mechanisms

[potato-non-grata]

Hi so this phenomenon is also the normalization of binge eating disorders, otherwise known as "the bad, un-empathetic one," to the point that people who struggle with it cannot get care. Binge eating IS a thing some people do, not just because of diet culture or whatever, but because of stress, trauma, or neurodivergence that makes them crave dopamine. When you have a binge eating disorder, you need mental and physical health care.

BUT because the culture treats over eating as the default that you need to self-regulate to avoid, people who actually suffer from binge eating are treated as lazy and undisciplined. The solution to laziness and lack of discipline is, of course, discipline and vigilance. Anyone with ANY mental illness could tell you that you can't just discipline your way out of it, and attempting to do so will either make it worse or cause a special new reactive mental illness.

I don't mean to bean chili OP's point, but I also know a lot of people struggle with binge eating and are torn between two camps that are either like "you're a disgusting, undisciplined pig" or "this is your natural weight and worrying about it means you aren't body positive" and it sucks because you can feel how unwell you are, but can't get any help from anyone.

Anyways, if that's you, you aren't alone. You aren't lazy or undisciplined. You are worthy of help.

we really can’t overstate how damaging it has been to indoctrinate the public with the idea that if they let themselves eat as much as they want, they’ll eat too much. human bodies, when permitted over the long term to eat as much as they want, actually get really, really good at calibrating their hunger and satiety, and will over time eat exactly the right amount for themselves. the common conception of a balanced eater as a minimal or restrained eater is absolutely wrong. balanced eaters eat quite a lot (compared to diet cultural ideas about right intake amounts), and they do so consistently and permanently. healthy, balanced eating isn’t some tightrope walk, it’s a gigantic net of total permission to eat.

[seaweedstarshine]

Sometimes I think of Amy Pond, who grew up being called mad by those who wielded the word as a tool of exclusion and shame —

Amy Pond, who though forced into the hands of four psychiatrists, still clung to that which they called madness until those systems which elevate psychosocial conformity above humanity stripped it from her —

Amy Pond, whose imaginary friend reappeared for a single hour after twelve years and reignited that faith before disappearing for two more years —

Amy Pond, who spent those those two years under the same implicit threat ingrained in her through psychiatric violence, and thus began to believe the man who stopped the invasion was “just a madman with a box,” only for him to agree, and to also call her “mad, impossible Amy Pond,” reframing madness as non-negative for the first time in her life —

Amy Pond, who ignored the disembodied voice of her imaginary friend even as she ran away with him for real, who still lived each day with the traumatic internalization of deviancy dictated upon her by the psychiatric-industrial complex that shaped her from childhood —

Amy Pond, who wouldn't acknowledge the Doctor's voice, such that it took an Angel in her eye that was literally killing her to ensure she couldn't reality check herself —

Amy Pond, who stood before a room which muttered about “the psychiatrists we brought her to,” and though afraid, escaped their rigid parameters of acceptable existence.

[s-4pphics]

soul ties. part I (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: a product of brokenness. WORD COUNT: 13.4K WARNINGS: ellie’s a painter/art dealer, heavy angst[oc is suicidal and has dissociative episodes + abusive parents/SEXUAL ABUSE(nothing explicitly written but aluded to) + patriarchy/men being predatory/traditionalist households + mentions of cheating + alcoholism + disordered eating/self-harm(cuticle picking) + thoughts of murder + mommy issues/daddy issues + parental grief + homophobia + more patriarchy but with dykes + unhealthy relationships with sex(coping) + brief mention of masturbation + sexual tension + making out + fondling + slapping + DUBCON + just matching freaks to avoid trauma], miscommunication, just 2 socially inept crash outs lol  A/N: hellloo lol. fixed plot bc im venting… s been a very rough few months. i was convinced i lost my very acute skill so uhhh consider this a test. uhh what else… idk when i’ll be back bc im now a piano player #NEWFOUNDESCAPISM LOL.  suggestion: this technically could b read alone but if u care ab context read this first. then this. that is all LOL byeee :p hi taggies we back: @dyk3ang3l @acidblum @mellifluousgirll @elliesatchel @callmewhenyoukan @natgf123 @elliesstella @spaceforescape @floridaopal @lonelyfooryouonly @ellies-converse @amiorca @darkerstarsstuff

fuck the bitch that made this game.  dont buy his shit.

aid links from my inbox: one, two, three, four

What to do, what to do… 

Ellie is a wreck. An agitated, craving, mess. 

What to do… Love your wife, fuck the daylights out of your wife, kill your wife before she kills you… What to do… 

It can’t be that hard to hide a body. Is it still murder if it’s self-defense? Ellie’s sure the next bath you run for her will either be filled with bleach or result in her being forced underwater until she’s lifeless. There are lots of people willing to get their hands dirty for her if that’s the case. Not a trace of you or her would be left and she’d finally be able to escape with only the clothes on her back. The weightlessness in her pockets wouldn’t move her in any way. Nothing compares to freedom. What a suffocating life she lives. 

The guest room mattress becomes less and less plush every time she lays in it. The sheets are itchier and cold and she’s stuck pondering with each swirl of the ceiling fan, wet hair wrapped in a bath towel; restless, fidgety, and honey-like ache in the pit of her stomach, mind warped with lecherous thoughts of her wife that she despises but not as much, her supposed life partner and fuck, how did you two get here…

Stuck with a tension so thick it permeates your home; if you’d even call it that. You’re both successfully trapped between your own walls; Elegant windows take the place of rusted, metal bars that confine you from the life you both dreamed of before all this; one soft and doting and colorful, one where your light isn’t dulled. 

Why does she feel so guilty, suddenly? You’re not lovers, and neither in love, so why does her chest ache with every glance she steals when you’re unassuming? The pain that’s always etched on your face, and if not, in your eyes — fills her with regret. She would abandon you for days — weeks at a time, not at all concerned about what you might be experiencing to rid herself of shame. And to think that you were merely a younger version of your mother; villainous and cruel and greedy when… when you’ve barely spoken. She finds herself, unfortunately, reminiscing on how bushy-tailed you were after marriage. So eager to please and prick her mind and annoyingly mechanical. You cooked at the same time everyday. Cleaned, did both your laundry, sunbathed, swam in your pool. She hated how rehearsed your lifestyle was; it reminds her of the worst parts of her childhood. When her mother was alive. So, Ellie chose to step out on you the second you took her last name; ravaged other women, released her anger and desires on strangers when she should’ve had you beneath, above, on your knees for her. Where has that craving to harm you gone? For months, she’s ached for your suffering to mirror hers, but now… What’s happening to her? What’s happened to you? 

Ellie believes you’ve lost it, and somehow she’s found herself chasing that unforeseen part of you; unfiltered and angry and wild. This manufactured doll your mother molded you into is shattering at the core and Ellie craves to see more of you. Guilty. As hurt as you were, that night was the most alive she’s seen you be. You shouted and cried and tore at the seams, desperate for someone to hear you, and Ellie did. Loud and clear. She saw you for what you are. Mangled from the inside out, entirely hopeless. Just like she is. An unspeakable link that binds the two of you.

Soul ties. 

She shook and pleaded for you to enter the bathroom and see her battered against the shower wall with a hand between her legs and your name dripping from her lips, but the knob never twisted. Her orgasms were unsatisfactory, and she accepted with irritation that it was because you weren’t there. She ignored the throbbing between her legs and vacated the bathroom. Ellie, with legs that trembled, found you wrapped in satin and snoring. They sounded like whistles. 

She stood for a while, just watching you twitch and wiggle in your rest, eyes glazing to the space beside you that could easily fit another body. The sheets are already warm from where you lay. The two of you have never slept in the same room, let alone bed. 

Her feet carried her out. Silently left the room with an unfamiliar ache in her chest. 

Her mind made an enemy out of you because that’s what you are. When she thought her life couldn’t get any worse, you appeared and destroyed everything in her path. Left her world in ruins. Disrupted her pattern. You’re an enemy and deserve to hurt. 

Aren’t you? Don’t you? 

Everything is unclear. Ellie hasn’t been this conflicted since she was 15. She wishes she could sleep forever so she wouldn’t be forced to think. 

If she had any sense left, she would paint her agony away. In the past, her mind would shut down with every splash of color on a canvas to compensate for the darkness that conjured in her mind. She refrains from that now, though. She’s horny; scared she’ll start imagining what your pussy looks like and sketch it all over the bedroom walls. That’d be too much; a boundary that will remain untouched.

But her brain knows she’s not a good person; she can’t help but imagine how gorgeous your pussy is because you are and she’s known that since the beginning, the second she saw you drenched in white. Drenched in sorrow. 

She clutches your wedding band in her palm. 

What to do… what to do… 

Birds are artists. 

They never fail to sing every morning; sonnets aimed to awaken life as sun rays spill from behind mountains. You've always appreciated their tunes whenever you were pulled from a hollow rest, no longer surrounded by darkness. 

Maybe it was the routine your mother set for you from young. You were 9 when she first coddled your drowsiness as she shook you awake at five in the morning; the early bird catches the worm, a saying you naively assumed as preparation for the day, for your homeschooling. An energy booster, possibly. Motivation. Something to get you through. 

How stupid could a child be? 

You were 12 when your cycle started. You were 12 when you realized that your mother never envisioned actual birds and worms like you had. Your mother has games she plays and she cheats. She’s had you on a leash for the past decade; the scars around your neck are forever a reminder of the hell you’ve endured under her hand. It took no effort on her part to be uncaring of your suffering, and somehow that aches more than anything else. 

Even more than the existence of him. A demon walking.

Animals aren’t like your family. Birds aren’t. The minute specks of sunlight begin, their job starts, and they complete it happily without compensation or praise or the slightest acknowledgment. Everyone wakes, and they fly to anywhere to wake the next. 

But wealth is dirty. Wealth makes people dirty. They swindler and lie and experience life with a vacancy that’ll never be filled with anything but greed. Your mother trained you for years to accept whatever was given as long as you were taken care of. Play your part, she’d say. It took you years to learn her strategy — and unlearn yourself — but you’re here. Married. Successful by association. Rich. Unhappy. Unloved. 

Birds guided you. They never shy from their duty, and you hadn’t either… 

But you’re human. You crack and cry and scream and you hate. You despise so strongly that you lash out and everything in your path becomes victimized. Sometimes it gets to a point where you crave blood. You want to drown in it, drink it until you’re sick. Your soul is dead. Everyones’ should die with yours. 

You don’t know who should go first. Your mother, your stepfather, or your wife. 

You want to swallow Ellie whole—

“Good morning.” 

You’ve never seen Ellie not dolled up. She clearly just awakened with her wrinkled MILFS ONLY shirt and sporadic hair. Timidity doesn’t suit Ellie. You're so used to seeing her exasperated. Her weary eyes don’t meet yours. You should tell her your plans to adopt a hummingbird. Or maybe you shouldn’t. She might laugh at you.

“Hello.” 

“… Hi.” She seems like she wants to say something. You sip your coffee. 

“My dad called.” 

You hum around the rim of your mug. “Woke you up?” 

She merely shrugs. “I uh… did anyone tell you about tomorrow?” 

“Of course not.” 

You don’t expect Ellie to flinch at your tone. You weren’t that sharp, were you?

You might’ve been because she slows her speech. Like she’s approaching a wounded animal, “Dad’s hosting a dinner. Corporate bullshit but we have to go.” 

“Why.” 

She squints at you. “Why what.” 

“Why do we have to go.” Your mug lands on the table harder than expected. 

“To make mommy and daddy look good.” She sneers while approaching her seat, “Did you forget?” 

“I just thought they wouldn’t want two dykes contaminating their spaces anymore.” 

Ellie snorts. “They don’t. Companies do. Gets their cocks hard. Two gay daughters, how progressive!” She mocks and plops on the chair directly across from you, wiping at her eyes. Your throat dries when you notice her wedding band. She hardly ever wears it. You don’t know where you left yours. Since when does she care to wear it? “They’ll do anything they can to get on their good side. They’re… merging organizations or whatever the fuck he said.” 

She swallows. Shrugs uncaringly, “We going?” Her eyes watch your hands squeeze your mug. 

“Are we.” 

She regards your cup with caution. Does she think you’ll throw it? The thought nearly makes you laugh. 

“Yes.” She answers. 

“Okay.” 

Your wife finally looks up and stands, nose upturned, “Okay? That’s all you got?” 

“Yes. Okay.” You sip silently. Your foot taps on hardwood. 

“Excited to see your family? You like ‘em now?” 

Excited is laughable. 

“No, I don’t.” 

The sudden calamity from your wife confuses you. She tugs at the strands that flop on her head in agitation. They look soft as they bounce with her pacing. You’ll never feel them. Or you might later. Who knows with her. Who knows with you. 

Ellie’s still talking. Her arms flail like she’s annoyed by you. You’re not sure why. You’re following. You’re allowing her to guide. To control. That’s the entire point of this. That’s why you’re going to dinner with her. She told you to go and that’s it. 

Play your part play your part play yo—

You don’t remember much of anything; the past, the present, but you recall what Ellie sounds like when she’s angry, whether it’s at you, her father, the woman her father is fucking or married to or whatever. If you’d listen, you’ll discover what ticked her off, but your ears ring too loud. Much louder than her screaming. 

You sip your coffee silently. Ellie leaves you at the dining table with a slam of a door. 

You think it’s the first floor’s guest room. 

The sun sets. Ellie can’t remember the last time she’s been home this long. 

She hates the weekends. The gallery is never open and she can’t drown herself in deals. She hates being home when you are. Why the fuck are you always here? You don’t have friends, a job, a life outside of this goddamn house? There’s a sinking in her stomach at the thought of your isolation, but she ignores it. Tries to ignore it.

… Can’t really ignore it. How pestering. You’re a pest. 

She knows nothing about you, only bits of your past expressed through photographs at your mother’s or outbursts in your bedroom. Your stepfather is fucking creepy and your mother’s glare is killer, but that’s about it. Still, she doesn’t think she can hate your parents more than you. 

You’re so fucking weird. Just like them. Unforgiving and unchaste one day then apathetic the next. How the fuck can one communicate with a person like that? 

That feeling in her chest again. Sharp and annoying. Try try try, it says. Begs from her. 

Try and do what? Do fucking what—

It took Ellie 3 seconds to unlock the guest room door and fly down the stairs when a crash rings from the first floor. Glass clatters and you sound in pain and oh fuck did someone break in

There’s red all over the kitchen floor but it’s not blood it’s red wine. Red wine red wine it’s not blood— 

You’re on the kitchen floor surrounded by green shards and dressed so pretty. Hair coiled and free and your face is done up and you’re wearing flowers. There’s flowers all over and your skin shines and why do you have heels on like a play doll?

Ellie palms at the scattered racing of her heart. Everything’s fine, her brain blares, She tripped, that’s it. Clears her throat. Rustles her hair to appear normal. 

She’s not dead. 

“… You good?” 

An unsteady hand rises to throw her a thumbs up. Your body wobbles when you attempt to stand. Ellie ushers to the counter to slide on her slippers, tells you to stop when your palm nearly plants on a shard. 

“Move back before you hurt yourself.” Ellie takes a quick lap around the kitchen for the broom and dustpan. Finds you just as quickly so you don’t accidentally slice an artery. 

Your lashes flutter and her heart follows suit, taking in the mess. “I think I fucked up.” You croak.

Hearing you curse is always odd. She huffs, “It’s fine. Can you stand?” 

Your head shakes and your bottom lip juts. “My… my shoes…”

You slowly plop onto your bottom and rest your back against the dishwasher. You struggle to grip your buckles to pull and slide the strap and Ellie remembers why she hates heels. She sweeps the glass away from you and realizes she should’ve mopped first because the bristles are soaked and streaking the clean parts of the crystal porcelain. When was the last time she cleaned? The maids always do. Sometimes you help. 

You look stunned when Ellie moves to squat in front of you. Jumps back when she adjusts your ankle. 

Her palms hang in surrender, “I’m gonna help you. Relax. Do your knees hurt?” 

You landed right on them. They should. You don’t disarm, eyes guarded and body locked tight, but you shrug. It’s good enough for Ellie. 

She unravels the buckles around both your ankles and tosses them next to you and you just watch. Ellie’s glances are quick and flitting, but she follows the traces of her hands; the sharp inhales whenever her fingers brush against the skin of your leg. You’re not as close as you were last night but she can smell you. Her chest is throbbing. You look like you’re about to cry but you’re drunk. It’s meaningless. Drunk people cry. 

Try try try try 

“Can you stand now?” She croaks. 

It takes a second for you to register her inquiry, but you shrug, and she sighs. When Ellie stands, both her hands extend out to you, but you don’t accept them; She gets jittery under your scrutinizing gaze after nearly a minute passes. Her throat dries and her face burns when you brush her hands away; standing on your own is an unstable journey, but you do, back against the counter to stabilize yourself. You look ill. Your brain must be jumbled. 

“Can you get upstairs on your own?” 

“You talk a fucking lot. Shut up.”  

The corner of Ellie’s mouth rises, but she says nothing. Gives you space to move. 

You take one step, then two more, then your eyes shut and your throat jumps. Uh oh.

“Oh shit, come—“

Ellie guides you to the garbage can near the front of the counter, away from the glass, and you dry heave. Liquid splatters inside the can and Ellie hates this so fucking much. The sounds are enough to make her own stomach lurch. It’s been a while since she’s been around someone this drunk. 

But she holds your waist so you don’t faceplant into your own vomit. 

“Get it out,” She hums with a grimace, “You’re fine.” An I gotcha almost rolls off her tongue but she catches it. She glides a comforting hand over your curved spine because you’re drunk and you won’t remember such gestures in the morning. She prefers it that way. 

You’re not gagging anymore so Ellie removes herself from you. Until she hears a whimper. And a sob so quiet she assumes you’re trying to mask it. Drunk people cry; she’s seen it countless times. Why does that seering feeling spark in her chest for what felt like the billionth time today? Fucking try, for fucks sake! 

“Let’s… let’s get you—“

“I wish I was dead.” 

Your prayer is hollow. Not even sad despite your tears. So, so empty. Ellie’s seen this before, experienced that nothingness countless times, but despite it all, she never learned how to console. Hell, she barely knows how to self-soothe without falling victim to her dark temptations. Even her paint brushes can’t eliminate the constant ache she feels. She just watches the tremble of your shoulders from behind. 

“I really don’t wanna go tomorrow.” You whisper. 

Ellie sighs. There’s no other choice. You know the stakes; follow your families’ commands or lose everything at the drop of a hat. They’ll leave you both on the streets to rot with no remorse if they please, replace the two of you with two normal children. Het children that won’t deviate. You’re both on thin ice as it is. Mainly because of Ellie. She can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble.

“I…” 

I’ll be with you the entire time. I don’t like being around those cunts either. 

“It’ll go by quickly.” She settles. 

“I hate when p-people look at me.” 

“Me too.” 

“I wish my family loved me.” 

Ellie’s softer now. Only slightly. 

“Yeah…” 

A tug in her ribcage. Try. Please, try. 

“Me too.” 

The pounding beneath your skull wakes you quicker than the birds. You shove your face in the pillow you rest on. 

The devil tells you to check the time so you do. The bedside clock says noon, meaning a new day, meaning it’s Saturday meaning you’ll die. Maybe not physically but mentally. You’re so drained and you’ve barely opened your eyes; the idea of leaving bed alone is enough to exhaust you. Your wrists and legs ache like fucking hell on top of that. 

You make fists with both hands. Repeatedly clench and unclench. The weight is different on your wedding finger. Heavier. You haven’t seen your ring since yesterday… or a few days ago — you’re not really sure. You must’ve found it in your drunken stupor. Just when you hoped to never see it again. 

The universe will always remind you who you are. 

If you stand you’ll vomit but your phone is ringing from the drawer you stuck it in weeks ago. How is it not dead? You know your mom’s calling. You hate that she is… 

The ringing stops and you thank the heavens. 

You curse them when it starts up again. 

The drawer slides open with reluctance. The ringing sounds 20 times louder. You retrieve your device blindly and your throat snaps shut when you speak. 

“You rang.” 

“Did your… partner tell you about tonight.” 

Hard and distant. That’s how she speaks to you. Your heart cracks. 

Your mom already knows Ellie did. She loves to bother you with nonsense. You don’t think she’s ever called Ellie your wife. 

“Yes.” 

“You’re attending.” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

“Is that all.” 

“Your gown was delivered here. Come by well before 8 to get ready.” 

And she hangs up. Just like that. Always. She’s never told you to have a nice day, or to rest well, or that she loves you, at the minimum. And if she had, you don’t remember any of it. There’s a lot you force yourself to forget. 

The selfish part of you disregards the burning of your eyes to stare at your phone — low battery and… no messages. No texts, no phone calls from anyone except your mother, no likes on Instagram because your mom scared you into not making one when you were a teenager. No one cares about you. People care about your wife, though. Maybe because she’s talented; she’s certainly not nice. 

Your darkest memories are always the most prominent. 

Your phone drops to the floor and you don’t reach for it. You just pray to sleep again. 

Tonight will be interesting. 

The ride to your mother’s is silent. 

At least she chauffeured the two of you. Ellie can be scary when she drives. You’ve never been in a car with her, but she did ram into a lamppost on the sidewalk a few nights after your wedding. 

Your wife is already dressed despite the party being hours away. She sits right next to you in all black; in a trenchie and turtleneck and slacks and loafers with fur and gold jewelry. When she descended the staircase, you gawked when she wasn’t looking. So simple, but she had your heart fluttering when she’d asked, ready? You’re still in your sleep shorts, teeth unbrushed and starving. When was the last time you ate? 

What an embarrassment — you’re an embarrassment, but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. If only newly wed you could see herself now. 

You swallow a lump when you feel eyes on the side of your face, but yours remain glued out the window. The closer you get to your mom’s, the faster your mind starts to shut down. Everything passes you by in a blur. 

By the time the gates with your father’s initials come into view, your thoughts go silent, only filled with the calming images of nature and the song of birds. Your only escapism. 

The only way you’ll make it out of here in one piece. 

Ellie! Darling! We’ve missed you! Give us a smile! 

Ellie! Ellie, look this way! 

Ellie, where’s your wife? 

She wishes she knew. You’d barely made it into your mother’s home before getting swept down the hall by 4 other people who poked at your appearance. Ellie didn’t even get to give your mom the passive, spine-chilling hi, mom like old times before another SUV came to whisk her away from that hell hole. Her dad always knows somehow. 

She hates being at your mom’s; it’s stifling and quiet and the aura is dark. Like mother, like house or whatever the fuck. 

She scowls when the bombarding questions redirect to you. Some concerning, some sarcastic, some raunchy — those get under her skin in particular — and she can’t stop fiddling with her ring. Her chest tugs tugs tugs. 

Trouble in paradise? 

You were caught leaving the bar with another woman on your arm a few weeks ago! How’d your wife react to that? 

She doesn’t know. She’s never home to see you break. 

Guilt ate at her when the door of your mother’s mansion shut behind her, but she disregards it now. You shouldn’t be forced to listen to their guised jabs; You get enough of that from everyone in your life. She hopes you’ll go through the back entrance when you arrive. 

When will you get here? 

Ellie’s never made an event appearance without you. You’d pose and fidget and display awkward affection so that they’d buy your love a little bit, then enter the gathering as two separate hearts, riddled and torn, never to cross paths until the bustle is over and it’s time to go home. 

Finally, security moves and barricades her until she gets past the 20 foot gate and treads the steps. The flashing cameras are still blinding from behind. 

The tended garden is the first thing she notices. Wide and green. The daisy and rose bushes are no longer tangled with weeds and surrounded by dead grass and gnats. How could Joelene not see that and be vengeful? Ellie and her dad may not be close anymore, but she knows him; maybe even more than he knows himself. He still misses her mom after everything, and chooses to express it through her favorite hiding spot. Keeps the flowers that bloom and trims the ones that don’t so she lives through them. Ellie hardly remembers a time when her mother wasn’t covered in dirty overalls and sunburnt. 

She manages to hold it together when the large double doors open. The violins suddenly sound like nails on wood. 

Voices fade into nothing. People are outside your car. Light hurts so terribly. 

One second you’re here, the next you’re not. Your mom and her husband sit across with twined arms and the lace from your dress is itchy and you wanna disappear. When you blink, you’re gone. You only exist on this plain if your eyes are open. 

Something hard and leather brushes against your ankle, scratches against your stockings, slow and snake-like. You know what it is, who it is, and you freeze, eyes locked onto your mother. No matter your hopelessness, there’s still a young girl in you that wishes your mother would defend, act on anger, be disgusted at minimum. At least when his crimes are done in secret you can’t blame her for not knowing. 

But you’re here and she’s here and he’s here. A shared secret between the three of you. 

His shoe doesn’t halt on your leg. Your mother never looks at you. 

Birds and songs and sonnets. You’re a bird and you can fly against the strongest winds. Music is your guide and you follow the clouds. 

Your fingers twist together in your lap and the black interior of the car glows red. If only… he’s not the only one with sick intentions. If only. 

You’re flying you’re flying you can fly and there’s someone who’ll love you gently. They’re out there somewhere and you’ll find them and they’ll find you like every trial was worth it. 

Patience. That’s all you need. Just be patient. 

The rest of the car ride is unbeknownst to you. Next thing you know, your door is being opened and two men await your entry at the glass door. 

Champagne is good. Tequila is better. The two mixed is hell. 

Ellie’s throat burns and her mind swirls but she plays it off well enough. Mingles with pensive, old bastards while their daughters’ gawk at her with bright-eyed curiosity and you haven’t arrived yet. 

She lost her dad somewhere in the night. He greeted her briefly upon her arrival, pointed out the important men of the night, called your mother a selfish bitch, then walked off with his mistress by his side. Ellie’s eyes keep meeting the back door from the living room. 

Where are you? 

“Ellie!”

She downs the rest of her chute and guards her agitation with a grin. Shakes the hand of… 

What the fuck was this dude’s name? 

“It’s an honor! Your art is incredible! I’ve truly—“

—Fucking Ronald? Reginald? … Ronald might be it—

“—Your father, ya know, he’s an interesting man, incredibly smart! I’ve never—“

Her dad gave her a run-down of the … merging or whatever the fuck but what the fuck did he say and holy shit, is she sweating? The man’s handshake threw her off, frankly; almost snapped her wrist in two. Fucking old piece of shit. More business jargon that she pretends to understand and care so much about because it’s a show after all. All cheers and stiff laughter. 

“And your wife! By God, what a looker!”

Her jaw clenches. Where are you where are you where are you

“What we’d give, I mean, c’mon!” Men that pass laugh with him and it’s taking everything in Ellie not to smash this glass over his head. One quick swing and it’s over. For him and her. How promising.

“Where is she anyway? You two didn’t come together?” 

“She um, she’s with her parents right now. They’ll be here.” She jerks her chin toward the entrance. 

“How lucky are you. Treat her like the star she is!” It looks like the shithead’s leaving, but not before taunting, “Holler when she arrives, will ya?” 

And just like that, he leaves Ellie to simmer. Three deep breaths. A man in a suit and tray filled with champagne waltzes passed her and she snags two glasses. Downs the first in one thick swallow before another clinks with hers. 

Why does everyone keep fucking with her? 

“Cheers.” 

Ellie doesn’t need to look to know who it is. She scoffs. “Sounds like you’re having fun.” 

Jolene stands next to her, shoulders slouched and dress glowing under the chandelier. She arches a dark brow, “Who wouldn’t? Men are the most entertaining when they’re on ego trips.” 

“Same goes for my dad?” She snips, and Jolene shocks her with a smile. 

“Meh.” 

“Why are you here.” 

“I just told you—“

“No, where are you here.” Ellie gestures between them, “Why’re you talking to me right now?” 

Jolene downs her drink and shrugs, “My attempts at bonding. On a scale of 1 to 10, how shit were they?” 

“900. Leave me the fuck alone.” Before Ellie can run, a hand clamps down on her wrist. 

“I know—“ The woman rushes, “I know we don’t have the best relationship, but I’m not—“

Ellie almost corrects her out of pettiness; They don’t have a relationship, period. There’s no best or worst. But her sudden desperation halts her. 

“—the enemy. There’s not a lot for us in these spaces. I just wanted to try and establish something. Anything. Between us. It can be so lonely without a real support system.”

Ellie hates the direction her heart turns her mind. Suddenly you’re there and you’re crying and clawing at your chest and Ellie just watches like she did that night. So powerless. So empty. 

But Jolene isn’t you. She chooses to be selfish. Yours comes from self preservation and nothing else. 

Ellie snatches her hand back and throws her the deadliest stare. “You don’t know shit about being lonely. You’re the one who gave up everything you had to fuck my dad when my mom wasn’t looking. How much did you care about her loneliness then? Hm?” 

The timing was perfect, really. 15 year old Ellie watched her parents get into one of their most abhorrent arguments; her dad leaves first, then her mom, then only one of them returns, and it was not her mother. Imagine her shock when a news reporter confirmed that her mother’s body had been thrown in a garbage bag and left in a dumpster to rot. It only took two weeks to mourn before he was marrying another woman. 

Nobody cared that her mother had been shot or stabbed or gutted. She was just a woman married to a successor who raised a deviant child. 

Ellie forces herself to not point fingers, though. Anyone could’ve killed her, she always reminds herself; to keep her from going fucking crazy. But timing… 

How telling is time. 

Jolene’s eyes widen and her grip weakens. Ellie takes that as an escape before she has a breakdown in front of the caviar platter. 

She barely takes a step before she collides with a body. 

Funny. 

She bumped right into a star that shines a royal blue. The woman of the hour, for sure. In her mind, at least.

“Sorry.” You whisper.

“You’re fine. All me.” Ellie says lowly as she takes you in, and you do the same to her. Shy, but yearnful glances. Glossed lips tightly sealed and brows tense. Your dress shimmers and holds you snug and she feels guilty for staring at your curvature. She’s suddenly hyper aware of the vultures that disguise themselves as men and she has an instinct to hide you. And your ring is on. The thumping in her chest picks up. Only slightly. 

“It’s great to see you again.” Jolene says shakily from beside Ellie and she almost loses it before a grating voice interrupts. 

“You, as well. And your husband is…?” 

Your mother. And her lap dog wagging his tail beside her. What a bitch. Both of them. 

Your stepdad says something and you inhale sharply and no one notices but Ellie. She studies you carefully. You look like a frightened cat with a frilled tail as he speaks. Claws out, not because you’re ferocious, but so, so scared. She glances at your stepdad; greasy smile while he ogles at Jolene; what a nasty son of a bitch. 

Ellie whispers to you, “Is everything o—“

“Joel! Man of the hour! How are—“

“Where’s the bathroom again?” You whisper back. 

Ellie takes your hand in hers and flees while the family’s distracted, leading you down a hallway that’s way too long with lights too bright. 

She gestures towards the door. “It’s… This is it. One of ‘em at least.” 

“… Thank—“

“What’s the matt—“ 

“I’m fine.” 

“You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost. Did that piece of shit say something to you?” Ellie glances to make sure no listeners are hiding in the shadows. 

The widest smile grows on your face as you laugh, hearty and loud with your head thrown back. Ellie stares in confusion. 

“Oh, Ellie! You’re so silly,” She jumps when your hands hold her cheeks. You’re fucking freezing and they tremble. Your eyes are a dark void. 

You lean in closer, lips right against her mouth and they part slightly on instinct. She’s concerned and should ask more questions, but your skin is so soft. Are you gonna kiss her, she wonders? You haven’t kissed since your wedding; your breath hits her mouth and her tongue swipes her lips. Her eyes flutter shut and she aches to touch you—

“Save a seat for me, love? Please?” 

It happens so fast; the frost of you is gone and the bathroom door slams shut while an elderly woman fondly whispers, “young love,” as she walks by. Ellie only nods with a rigid curl of her lips, throat cinched too tightly to swallow. 

You puzzle her. She’s tempted to wait for you, to ensure you make it back safely without bombardment, but then 

“Ellie! Why didn’t you call me! Your wife made it safely, I see!” 

A hand claps on her shoulder while men laugh from the side, boisterous and predatory and so wide their fangs show. Ellie’s sick and a war rages within her. 

“Your father sent me to find you! It’s time to eat!” 

She sends them a weak smile. She rushes away from the door and they follow close behind. 

Anything to lure them away from you. 

Attendees have dwindled, only Ellie and her family and you and yours and some CEOs that are really getting on her fucking nerves. But you’ve eaten, thank God. She can breathe a little. 

Only a bit, though. You’re putting on a fucking show and it’s scaring her; Even her dad seems impressed. Charmed by you. Clinking glasses and telling jokes and smiling. Did your mom hold you at gunpoint before you got here? How much did you drink? Not much from what she’s seen. 

That one fucker from earlier — Raymon or Robert or whatever the fuck — keeps leaning over the table whenever you do. Peeping at your chest, probably. She wishes these steak knives were sharper. 

“So! Our young couple,” says Old Bitch with a Combover and wiggly brows, “When are we getting those heirs?” 

You cough uncomfortably and Ellie squirms in her seat. Your mother scoffs, “Two women can’t have children—“

Said Old Bitch shrugs, “Well, not biologically—“

“My point exactl—“

Ellie’s father cuts in with a tense grin, “When they get to that point, we’ll discuss their options. There’s… many nowadays, evidently.” 

Neither you or Ellie interrupt, but she notices you’ve moved closer to her. Inched your seat a bit. You squeeze your hands so hard in your lap she’s scared they’ll shatter where they lay. You’re not smiling anymore. 

Her dad and your mom are subtle with their blows at one another; snarky with brutal stares, unremarkable to strangers, but you and Ellie know. When dinner ends, you’ll both be caught in their crossfire. 

“There’s no shame in me wanting my grandchildren to be by blood. I shouldn’t have to go shopping for an heir.” Your mother hisses. 

“Sh—“ Joel huffs with disgust, “Shopping for an heir? That’s what you think adoption entails?” 

“Does it not?” Your mother’s tone rises. 

Reggie, Rory, or Russell interjects with a dismissive wave, “C’mon, you too! No need to argue. I’m sure girls like them will be fine with obtaining children! It might be more… complicated, I will say!” 

“May I be excused?” You croak, and Ellie straightens. 

“Why? So you can wallow about dying childless?” 

The table silences. No laughter, no wittiness. Completely still. That wasn’t from your mother. Ellie doesn’t remember the last time she’s heard your stepdad speak so clearly. Her blood thrashes beneath her skin so harshly that her tongue unties. There’s a darkness in her that whispers, “grab that steak knife”. Brutalize him. Just for a second. Do it for you. 

Do it for her. 

“Go fuck yourself.” She spits. 

Your neck almost cracks with the speed you turn to her, eyes wide as the moon. Her father condemns, “Watch your mouth, Ellie.” 

“Or what, you old fuck?” 

Her heart rattles noisily in her chest; her hands shake where they rest on her lap, her cells trembling with the instinct to harm. The gaze of her father is distant and filled with inadequacy for his only line. Nothing unbeknownst to her, but there's a flash of something so deep, so forbidden for them, but she sees it every time they hold contact. Beneath all the loathing and lesions left to drain, there’s longing. An inkling of gratitude that she knows he’ll suppress until he’s buried underground. He’ll never look the same to her, and she imagines the same for him. Too many bridges burned. 

“How’d I do?” Ellie rasps to him, “Hm? The night went how you hoped?” 

Look at what you’ve done, she hopes her eyes say. Tears welt against her will. When was the last time she cried in front of him? She hadn’t even given him that honor at her mother’s funeral years ago. 

Ellie’s stiff stature nearly cracks at the light brush atop her knee. A wind catches in her throat when a pinky turns into three fingers, then five, then a palm that squeezes comfortingly, desperately. Maybe partly to keep her glued to this chair. She gulps the dryness down and a flame lights in the pit of her stomach. 

Her glance to you is brief, barely out of the corner of her eye, but you’re watching her. Intensely, and it scorches her cheeks, all the way down to her neck. Scared cat. Scared cat. Shrilled and cold and frightened to hell and she despises it. 

What changed? She’ll always wonder. That look hardly shook her a week ago and now it makes her teeth ache. 

Suddenly, it’s too warm here. 

“Get up,” Ellie rushes you. Grabs your arm and yanks you from your seat, “Not dealing with this fuckin’ bullshit tonight. We’re leaving.” 

There’s suddenly shouting from all directions of the dinner table with each step Ellie takes for you, but you never drop her hand. She clenches it tighter when you finally reach the back door. 

The door slams shut on the wreckage behind you. 

Consider plan MERGE a bust. 

Ellie’s a thief. You think. Maybe. 

Is it stealing if the car belongs to a family member? Where she snagged the keys from? You don’t remember. One second you’re at dinner, then watching the city pass you by the next. It’s silent in here. 

“Stop.” 

You slam back into your body. Still in the car. You wish you were asleep. 

“Huh?” 

Her eyes watch the road, but a hand rests on both of yours to pry them apart. 

“Stop. I hate that sound.” 

“… Wha—“

“You’re gonna rip your skin off if you don’t stop.” 

… Oh. Yeah. Bloody cuticles. It was all accidental, you swear. 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.” Her eyes shut briefly and she sighs, sounding so worn. Exhaustion is her white flag. “Just stop.” 

“Alright.” 

“Thanks.” 

It’s quiet again. The red from the stop light reflects in the car and you’re instantly reminded of your stepfather. 

“Ellie.” 

“Hm.” 

“We should get a bird.” 

“… And do what with it.” 

You shrug, “Pet it. Feed it, too.” Sing with it, you wanted to add. Ellie would’ve probably laughed at you. 

She snickers dryly, “That’s usually what you do with a pet.” 

“I never had one.” 

The light turns green and the car revs. Your wife hums, “I had a fish once or twice.” 

“Lucky.” 

A small — very, very minuscule grin quirks Ellie’s lips and your heart hollers. For joy? In warning? 

“Not really. They kept dying so I gave up.” She snickers to herself, and you can’t help but stare. She starts talking then. Eyes gone, tension gone. She’s suddenly relaxed. 

“My mom… she, uh… loved water. Was always in it or… watching it on TV or something. She always bought fish from fucking… PetCo—“

“PetCo?” You laugh, then Ellie does. 

“Right? She’d take me and be like, “get one”. And I went home with a new fish every time.” 

“I thought you only went once or twice?” 

“… Times 100,” She giggles, “My mom lived there. She would always talk to the cats through the glass.” 

You don’t hesitate, “I wanna go.” 

“To PetCo?” 

“Yeah.” Why not? 

Everything is almost over. So, why not? 

“… K.” 

“So we’ll go?” 

“Mhm.” 

And the conversation ends. The car is silent. Suddenly tense again when you ask, 

“Do you think we’re cut off?” 

Ellie’s jaw clenches and the car is suddenly tense. Back to square one. “Possibly. Tonight was a shit show. It went by fast, at least.” 

“What’s gonna happen to me?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m…”

Alone. You’re fucking alone and know nothing about life outside of what was built around you. Without it, you’ll spiral and fail and face a dreadful reality. No more rose colored glasses even if they’re browned and wilted as is. You’ll be eaten alive by the creatures in the night without a protective border. 

But the curse will end. You won’t inherit or be forced to lie or play a game that ends in fire. Decades of legacy down the drain just like that, and by your own hand. It fascinates you, that power. A force you’ve been withheld from. 

“I don’t know.”

“Still thinking about divorce?” A void in Ellie’s tone. 

“I don’t know.” 

“They’ll never allow it, you know that, right?” 

“What if I just leave?” 

“And do what?” Her voice raises. 

“Who knows. Who cares.” 

“Please,” Ellie exasperates, “Your mom will get fucking SWAT to bring you back.” 

“What good will a corpse do for her?” 

You’ll be dead but you’ll have a bird. A colorful one. That’ll be your legacy. That’s all you need, really. Ellie doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. 

More buildings flash by and suddenly you’re home. Parked in the garage with Ellie beside you, gazing off into opaque walls. You wonder what she’s thinking. If she sees everything in black and white like you do. Maybe she’s the opposite, vision bright and full of suppressed color. She is a painter after all. 

“What’re your plans?” Ellie suddenly whispers. 

“For?” 

“Life. The future. Anything,” She pries and digs for something, “There has to be something that interests you! That gets you excited! There’s so much shit to do.” 

You shrug. Not much. Not anything. 

“I used to be excited for my wedding,” You mumble, “Like… as a kid. White dress and flowers and everyone’s just excited to be there. For love, and whatever, you know? That’s how it was in movies, at least.” It’s embarrassing to admit, but it’s off your chest. The unhealthy romanticization of the happiest day of your life ended up being just another day to honor the greed of your families. Everyone was so lifeless when they watched you and Ellie kiss. It hadn’t even lasted 3 seconds before she shoved the band on your finger with teary cheeks. Such beautiful scenery was wasted on misery. 

You look over and Ellie’s eyes are roaring, palms squeezing together in her lap while her wedding ring twists around her finger. You watch it cycle. 

“Now I…” You chuckle sadly, “I just want a bird, to be honest.” 

With your heels and purse in hand, the car door opens and you exit, forcing yourself not to peek through the windshield at Ellie again. 

The second floor, your bedroom, your bathroom, are all quiet. Did Ellie not follow you inside? For a while, you envision what it would be like if you weren’t married. If you weren’t born as you, would your world be this still? 

It haunts you in the shower. Wolffish eyes and dry hands grasping at your shoulders and waist but everything’s quiet. 

You wash your face, brush your teeth, wrap your hair alone. You wonder if anyone is actually in the house. Was Ellie a figment of your imagination? Is this one of the nights that proves she doesn’t exist and that your brain is your greatest enemy? You shove your face into the mattress before your thoughts venture. Silence rocks you to sleep, but not forgetting the taunting desire to know 

Is death this quiet? 

Your mom’s calling. 

Vibrations rattle in your bedside dresser. The sun isn’t up yet. The birds are still resting. She never calls this early… or late. Something bad must’ve happened. It takes 17 seconds for your drawer to stop shaking before it starts again. 

You can’t move to answer, though. Your body isn’t yours at the moment. Your soul will reclaim its shell soon enough. Or maybe it won’t. 

Your drawer shakes shakes shakes. Your heartbeat eventually matches the pace of its vibrations. You think it’s been 20 minutes. Maybe longer. When will the birds wake? 

Finally, the calls stop. Your eyes shut again. Instantly taken by darkness. 

You never wear normal clothes. 

Ellie’s only ever seen you in thousand dollar dresses and high heel shoes that scrape your achilles and cloth that squeezes you so tight she thinks she might explode by just looking at you. No matter how fucking good you look in them. 

So what the fuck is that? Moreso, why does she like it so much? Her cheeks are on fucking fire and her heart is trying to flee its enclosing. 

You have a t-shirt on. A simple, non-Gucci white tee that says LAS VEGAS and black shorts and a scarf on your head and socks with squirrels on them. Is this the fucking matrix? 

You never wake up this late, either. It’s 20 till 10. 

“Did my mom call you at all?” 

No… no she didn’t… Why can’t Ellie speak? She’s sitting there gaping like a fish and taking guilty glances at your nipples through your shirt. She shakes her head. You nod yours. 

“I uh…” She mumbles with a cotton mouth when you step into the kitchen, “I made coffee.” 

“I smelled it.” You serve yourself at the counter. 2 Splenda packs, no cream.

“Did your mom call you?” 

“Yes.” 

“What’d she say?” 

“I didn’t answer.” 

… Interesting. Odd. Her calls are never missed by you. 

“I hope it’s something bad.” 

Ellie swallows her sip thickly. “… Damn. Why?” 

“She deserves it.” You say calmly while stirring. “He does, too.” 

“Your dad?” 

“My stepfather,” You hiss and slam your mug on the table. Ellie flinches, “Yes.” 

Her palms raise in surrender, “Sorry.” 

“Where do you go at night?” The chair across from her scrapes on hardwood when you sit. 

Nowhere, recently. Ellie shrugs as nonchalantly as she can, “Anywhere. Wherever I want.” 

“Take me next time.” 

She pauses her sip to ogle. “Hm?” 

“Take me. I wanna see what’s fun for you.” 

Ellie huffs a shocked laugh, “No, you don’t.” 

You squint, “Yes, I do. That’s why I’m asking to see.” 

“It’s not your scene, dude, trust m—“

She jolts where she sits when a hand — your hand, soft and agile and cold, slams down on the table, rattling both your mugs and the vase that holds dead flowers, nearly shattering the glass with an accusatory finger. 

“You dunno know shit about me! I’m fucking going whether you like it or not! Whether she likes it or not, and if I have to do it myself, I fucking will, you fucking psychotic fucking bitch!” 

You rise and stomp to where she sits with a pounding heart and a lecherous swirl in her gut. You look about ready to slice her open with a blunt butter knife. 

“You treat me like fucking trash just like everyone else,” You whisper venomously, and Ellie shakes, “The least you could do is listen for once. Scared to take me to the place you cheat on me at? Don’t want me to see it? That’d be too real, huh?” 

Ellie exhales a shaky breath of your name, but your nails, cut and manicured to perfection, sink into her cheeks so tightly that she winces and blushes and her tummy twists with heat. You don’t flinch when her fingers delicately entangle around your wrist; doesn’t want you to think she’s holding you there even though she is. 

“You’re gonna show me a good time tonight. If it’s as fun as you say, that shouldn’t be an issue, right?” 

Her eyes must read yes, yes, it’s not a problem; Your grin is wild like a hyena; pretty lips swelled around pretty teeth and you always smell good. Caramelized sugar and nectar.  

“Who knows,” You purr and Ellie feels goosebumps forming, “Maybe I can meet one of your little friends.” 

She chokes around a gasp before her lips curl into a conniving grin, cheeks plush around your fingers, “Aren’t you a little hussy.” 

“Fuck you.” You shove her so hard her back collides with the seat but her eyes glow pink. She watches you leave the kitchen and stomp up the steps with a burning chest until a door slams from upstairs. She releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding, wracked and desperate. 

-

-

-

Ellie will never admit — or maybe she will, but she purposefully uses your shared bathroom to catch glimpses at you. She always expects to find you out cold and wrapped in warm blankets, chest fluttering with each twitch of your socked feet that peek from below the blankets. 

What she doesn’t expect to see, though, is your phone shattered to pieces and left to drown in the clogged sink. Right next to a weighted rubber mallet; Where’d you find that? All your pent up emotions were taken out on your device… and the counter, apparently. The marble is chipped. 

She can only laugh in astonishment. Amazement. Fear when she realizes… 

Your mom.

Did you ever answer the phone?

Another day you’ve slept away. Either you were dreaming or someone was holding you suffocatingly tight; you enjoyed it, strangely. The sun is completely gone and there’s rustling and music echoing from the bathroom. Ellie’s in there. 

All the blood rushes to your head with how quickly you sit up, but your feet carry you past your closets until the light from the room sizzles your vision. 

Your wife stands by the mirror, drying her hair with a towel with a cigarette between her fingers. The guitar synths coming from her phone are grinding in your ears. 

Is she really keeping her promise? 

Did she promise to take you? You don’t remember. 

“Hi.” Her eyes meet yours in the mirror and your spine twitches. You say nothing, so she chuffs with a teasing lift of her lips, “Chickenin’ out?”

“No.” 

“K.” 

“What do I wear?” 

She shrugs, “Whatever you want to.” She speaks around smoke and her timbre’s dry. 

“What are you wearing?” 

“Whatever I want to.” 

She must sense your skepticism because she’s suddenly reassuring, voice crackly, “You’re not under any expectations tonight. You wanted me to show you what I do for fun, and I’m gonna. You just have to do your part and enjoy it.” 

Your nails dig into your thighs while you watch her. She has her ring on and her body wash coats the room in cinnamon. With a pounding heart, your hands slowly drag up your sides, fingers dragging at the hem of your shirt. She’s not looking. 

Enjoy it…

“Did you eat today?” 

“No.” 

She gives you a look. Stern. What is she mad about? Your tummy flutters, “There’s leftovers downstairs, you can have ‘em,” She shakes her wet hair and puts on her glasses, checks her watch, checks her phone, hits her cigarette. “We’re kinda behind so you should get read—“

Enjoy it. 

Her eyes meet where your shirt drops to the floor, breasts on display while your hands inch up your legs to drag your shorts down, all while you watch her. And she watches you. It’s overwhelming, your wife as an audience while you undress. But she told you to enjoy it. Enjoy the night. Enjoy the stares. Enjoy the attention. Enjoy her, for once. It all seeps into your pores. You step out of your bottoms and peel your socks off. 

Ellie drinks you in slowly. Says nothing. Simply takes her time memorizing every line, curve, dip, scar of you. You like how ravenous she looks. The sin in her pupils only darkens when your thumbs hook in your underwear to shed them. They dangle from your index finger when you walk; You smile when her throat jumps. 

She watches your filled hand travel to her pant pocket to shove the flimsy cloth in. The muscles in her back twitch when your finger traces her spine. Ellie’s pretty, littered in cute, red and brown spots. 

“I’m gonna shower.” Your lips brush her ear, and goosebumps rise all over her arms. Her eyes flutter in a pleasant blink, nodding in understanding. 

Your wife takes her lighter and reignites your favorite candle while your water warms. How sweet of her to set the mood for you. 

Ellie finishes her cigarette while you lather, watching her through the fogged glass of the shower walls, massaging soapy hands into your breasts and your legs and everywhere. She lights another at some point, bent over the counter while she smokes, ogling you through the mirror shamelessly. You smile when it settles in your chest.

You’re gonna fuck your wife tonight. 

What a fucking oddball you are. It’s cute. A little sexy, too. Only a little, she swears. 

… Fuck. 

She waits for you on the bed, dressed and jewelried, fiddling with her watch out of nerves because what the fuck are you playing at? Whiplash; that’s what she’s had all fucking day because of you. She works in the morning, for fucks sake. 

Still…

Does she deserve this sudden… What the fuck even is this? Certainly not affection; you nearly strangled her at the dining table. Attention, possibly? Seduction? She’s wired to hell, she wants you so bad. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

She could act on her attraction, sure. She’s positive you’d allow her to take whatever she wanted because that’s what you’re trained to do; to satisfy your partner — husband, she imagines your mother grating — in any way he desires. But Ellie’s not a man, and she doesn’t want that. She needs you to love it, to crave it as much as she does. To take from her like she dreams of taking from you. Ellie needs you to batter her, and if you’d like, she’ll do the same to you. 

If only you’d give her something tangible. Teasing isn’t enough. She’s desperate to get a grasp on your headspace; she wishes she could prick and prod at your brain for a second. What an experience that would be. 

You enter the bedroom like a ghost; hair still wet and coily, dressed in all black like she is, only decorated with gloss and earrings. No heels either. Just very shimmery looking flip-flops. Ellie bites down a smile. 

“Where are we going?” 

She shrugs at your inquiry, “Somewhere really, really loud.” 

“Will people find us?” Paps, you mean. Ellie denies. 

“Not where I’m taking you.” 

“Must be secretive.” 

She tuts, “Not… well, maybe. It’s fun though. I think you’ll like it.” 

“Okay.” 

Ellie stands with her wallet and keys and kiddingly offers you an arm to hold onto. “M’lady.”

But you don’t accept it; back turned, halfway out of the room towards the stairs.

Pleasant. She doesn’t mean to smile. 

She makes sure to grab the to-go box from earlier before locking the front door behind her. 

It is very loud here. And hot. And raunchy. 

… You like that. Your mom would have a heart attack if she were to ever walk in here. 

The trip to this whatever, wherever place was pretty far. You counted every second of the nearly hour ride, mainly because Ellie’s jittery knee made you nervous. It’s smaller than you assumed, but not quaint. Not at all. There's a ruckus from the entrance to the back exit, people your age and older, screaming and shouting words that you don’t know while people pound on drums and shred on guitar. They sweat through their clothes while their makeup streaks down their faces as they make love to microphone stands. 

… Better than tea time, you suppose. How exhilarating. Your heart’s pounding like crazy.

Not much can be said between you and Ellie. You can’t hear over the bass and rumbles from the floor but she holds your hand and small purse. Guides you to a small section in the back with a bar. She hands the tender her card and… that’s it. Four clear, questionably large shots are poured and slid to her like nothing. You want all of them. 

Ellie seems so at home as she guides you, already a burning shot down, into the crowd. You’re shoved instantly by party goers, but she catches you, holds you strongly. You look at her, puzzled with shock, but she uncaringly lifts her shoulders, downs a shot, and starts thrashing. 

Your jaw slacks and lights beam and flicker at a rapid pace but you’re smiling. Your wife meshes with the scene so nicely. You wanna be like that. So you follow. You drink and jump and flail and scream your head off. 

You and your wife are synched for once. Terrible dancers. No rhythm whatsoever. Who cares who cares who cares.

You wish your mom was here to see you like this. You hope your mom’s dead so she never has to see you like this. A thought so dark shouldn’t bring you this much joy. You laugh and holler at the imagery. Blood all over the marble. Blood all over the doors of your childhood home. Blood blood blood everywhere because they deserve it. Look at what they’ve done to you. Sick evil people.

You wanna kill your stepfather. This music makes you wanna kill your stepfather. It’s gorey in itself, almost. Abborherent verbiage. You think Ellie wants to kill your stepfather, too. You should ask her later. Maybe when you're both sober. Maybe you should make your mom watch you skin him alive. Him dying would damage her more than you ever could. 

When your eyes open, Ellie’s gawking at you, seemingly surprised. Impressed? She holds your cheeks to get your attention, gesturing, asking if you want another drink. You nod and shout in her face and she laughs. Ellie holds you by the waist and guides you to the bar. The bartender must like Ellie. You leave with a full bottle this time. 

You and Ellie pass it between yourselves, the night becoming more and more broken. Touchy. Feely. Ellie rubs all over you while you pour liquor into her mouth. A bit dribbles down the sides but she doesn’t care. You don’t either. So you lick the drops from her neck like a cat with milk. Ellie stops and you stop and everything stops. It’s just the two of you, suddenly; all other patrons evaporate to nothingness. Her eyes are blown and heavy as she searches your face, and they halt their wandering at your lips. She’s thinking about it; You want her to see how bad you crave it. Even if it’s just for a second. She smiles, pleased. You shudder. 

But she doesn’t do it. She spins you so your back is against her chest, lips at your neck while she pushes her hips into your ass. She’s messy, drenching your already sweaty neck in spit. Her nails dig into the fabric of your dress, guiding your hips, swaying you on her. You follow. You follow so blindly because you like her hands on you a little too much. You drink and drink and drink. Everything feels light. Good. 

You think Ellie’s speaking to you. Or singing words in your ear. Or maybe she isn't speaking at all. You’re not sure, but your face is burning hot. She tongues at your ear and you make a noise that you can’t hear but hope she can. You need this. 

Her hands are suddenly slow where they crawl up your sides until they rest on your breasts. Your empty hand lands on one of hers to squeeze so that she can squeeze you. You feel her smiling on your skin when your jaw slacks. 

Your head turns to chase her mouth, but she does you one better. Whisks you once more so your chests smash together. She snatches the bottle from your hand, takes one last swig before passing it to eager, drunk hands that wave from behind. You gasp when her thumb catches your bottom lip, pulls it down to get your mouth open enough for her to dribble liquor into. You moan loud enough for Ellie to hear over those booming drums, swallowing down everything she gives, nails sank into her waist while her hips push into yours. When you swallow the last drops, she kisses you. Messy and hot, tongue and teeth; it gets your heart singing. Her pink muscle swirls inside of your mouth and your arms wrap around her neck, yanking her into you so no space is left. Her hands are everywhere; tangled in your hair, grabbing at your hips, your ass, your thighs. Everywhere everywhere everywhere like she can’t get enough of you. You’re overwhelmed and high out of your mind but you follow her guide. Anywhere she wants you, you are. 

Maybe you’re just as bad as she is. After everything she’s done, you should hate her. You think you do. You hate her for leaving you. You hate her for embarrassing you. Abandonment. Her only gift to you. Maybe that’s why you kiss her with such conviction. 

Her touch is passionate; strong but not forceful. She breathes you in like a rarity, something she treasures, all while she licks and tugs at you like a slut. There’s a pulse deep within you when her lips enclose around your tongue to suck it. Your thighs squeeze and she grins madly, giving you one last innocent peck before she grabs your hand to spin you. You laugh and twirl with her. 

You understand why people fall in love so fast. You hate that you’re one of them. 

Or are you simply as delusional as they come? 

You’re even more enthralling when free of restraint. 

Ellie’s drunk and sweaty and exhausted but she uses every last bit of strength to stare at you. She sits at the bar as the crowd dwindles, artist after artist, established or aspiring, all go on to perform, and you haven’t taken a break once. You simply twirl and spin and mouth incorrect lyrics with the widest smile on your face, all while Ellie brings you her drinks to finish. 

You’ve been here for hours it seems, but Ellie can’t drive. But the night is young. You certainly don’t look ready to go home. 

What more can she show you?

“Thank you all for comin’ out! Tonight was a dream—“

You’re a dream, Her chest screams. You you you you fuck—

You clap like the happiest seal on the planet before spinning around to face Ellie. It happens in flashes: you come closer and closer until you’re in front of her, warm hands on her cheeks, ears tingling when you whisper, 

“I didn’t get to meet your sluts.” 

You sound upset about it. Ellie stumbles about how they didn’t come, how they’re not here. How she doesn’t wanna see them right now and she means it all, but you don’t believe her, and her chest hurts. Guilty guilty guilty. 

“Get up.” You step away and Ellie pains to pull you back, savor the night a second longer. But she signs the receipt before following you towards the exit. The cold air feels so good. She needs water now. 

She gives you a little yank when you start wandering the opposing direction, “Come… come here. This way.” 

You grin and slur, “Where to?” 

Ellie’s brows wiggle playfully, “Gas station. You hungry?”

“…Yes.”

Ellie extends her hand for you to hold, and surprisingly, you accept. Her heart jolts to life. 

The walk is quiet. Your eyes are glued to the sky, wide and innocent; the large moon entrances you, surrounded by glittery stars. You both wobble down the sidewalk, trying to avoid bumping into pedestrians and other drunkards. She thought the rowdiness of nightlife would frighten you, but you seem drawn to the chaos.  

Soon enough, you’re both surrounded by aisles filled with chips and sodas and a fuck ton of candy. Ellie cringes at the fond stares she gives you holding 4 packs of watermelon sour patches. You’re cute as hell right now. Have you never been to a convenience store? What the fuck. 

“El! El, what the fuck! Where ya been!” 

Her sluggish brain is trying — really trying to figure out who the hell just left the staff room and is walking towards the two of you. It’s someone that knows her name or whatever shortened version they’ve created and the closer this person gets the more you shield yourself behind her fuck fuck fuck

Arms latch around her neck in a strong hug. Muscular, nice voice, smells like cherries. 

Abigail Anderson. Shoulda known. Great. 

“Jesus fuck, you smell like my dad’s liquor cabinet! We fucking missed you! We haven’t seen you in…” 

When Abby pulls back, her eyes immediately find you. Ellie steals a glance; eyes wide, soft with curiosity. They darken slightly when they lock onto Abby’s shoulders, all the way down to her arms and Ellie… why the fuck does that annoy her? 

“Who’s that,” Abby whispers suggestively and Ellie sighs. Scratches at her eye in irritation. 

“I’m her wife.” You say causally, and it shocks both of them. Abby moreso. Did Ellie never tell her? She’s sure she did. Everyone knows she’s married… right?

“Wh— wife?” Her eyes shift onto Ellie, “Bitch, you got married? What the fuc— when—“

“3 months ago.” You answer.

“Fucking — holy shit. Congrats? Uhh… sorry! Nice to meet you! You’re gorgeous, by the way,” She stutters to shake your hand, but you accept it, “I’m Abby!” 

“Hi.” You smile in delight and your shoulders relax. Abby smiles just as gently and Ellie thinks it’s time to go because you’re both getting on her nerves. 

“Alright, well, we're gonna pay, so… yeah. I’ll text you tomorrow or something. We’re tired.” 

“Mhmm,” Abby hums cockily, eyes glued to the mess Ellie made of your neck, “Looks like y’all had a great time.” 

“We did,” She confirms with pointed eyes, “See ya.” 

“Byeee.” Abby sing-songs with a chuckle before Ellie leads you towards the service counter to dump your snacks. Ellie gives the cashier a familiar nod. 

“Is she who you fuck?” 

Ellie chokes on her water and the cashier gawks at you from behind their reading glasses. You couldn’t have been any fucking louder in that moment, what the fuck.

“What—“

“Do you fuck Abby? I hope not in that bathroom,” You clumsily point to the gender neutral sign near the entrance. “I heard they’re filthy—“

Ellie whispers even though there’s no point, “Dude, are you fucking crazy—“

“… It's just a question—“

“Have a nice night.” 

The cashier rigidly hands Ellie the stuffed baggie and receipt. She snatches them before snatching you to leave. She drops your hand the second briskness surrounds you, “The fuck was that about?” Her chips are calling her. She needs a stress reliever. 

“What—“

She squeezes the bag and the pop rings like a gunshot, “Why the fuck are you asking if I fucked Abby? What the fuck—“

“She’s hot and you kinda are… to a certain degree, I guess. I just assumed.” 

Ellie’s appalled, but doesn’t have the energy to look offended. “Stop assuming, it’s… that’s fucking weird—“

You simply shove tiny watermelon slices in your mouth and steal her water to chug it. She watches you impatiently before you hand the crumpled, half-empty plastic back to her. She downs the rest and discards it some-fucking-where. 

Her thoughts are clouded. Did she fuck Abby? Are you forreal—

“I don’t care, you know.”

“About what?” 

You shrug, “If you fuck her.” 

“Please be quiet.”

“Okay.” 

You both do for a while, dead grass and Dorritos crunching around you. 

Until Ellie speaks again. 

“You’re quiet.” 

“Mhm.”

“Sleepy?”

“Nmhm.” 

Wide awake, actually. The world passes you by with each step the two of you take, swirling with bright lights and laughter. You follow Ellie closely, handfuls of candy shoved in your mouth while she munches on her chips. You never had those orange triangles before. Neither of you are in a rush to make it back to the car. Can Ellie drive in this state?

“Do you, uh, like places like that? Concerts?” 

“Yes.” You break out in a grin. 

“What else do you like?” 

“I dunno. I haven’t… experienced much.” You shrug, accidentally brushing against your wife’s shoulder. Electricity sparks near the end of your spine where a steadying hand rests. “Your friend… does she go with you? To concerts?” 

“Who?”

“Aaabby.” You tease, mocking the blonde girl from earlier, and Ellie’s expressions flattens. She's unsure why. 

“Oh, uh… yeah,” Her chip bag is suddenly very interesting. “Sometimes. I met her at one a few years back after a showcase I hosted.” 

“I like her.” She’s nice and smells nicer. You regret not shaking her seemingly strong hand a few seconds longer. Strong all over, actually. 

“… Uh huh.” 

Your brow arches at that, “Does that bother you?” 

“Why the fuck would it bother me? You can like whoever.”  

“Exactly how you like whoever, huh?” You sneer lazily, and Ellie goes stoic. And just like that, the conversation dies once more. You’re glad for it; selfishly, you’d rather refrain from telling your wife about how attractive you found her friend. She’s left you guessing under too many circumstances. Consider this a sliver of revenge. 

You both make it back to the parking lot in silence, minus Ellie’s agitated crunching. You lean against the passenger door while you watch her dig around for the keys. 

“Where to?” 

“It's almost 4 in the morning.” She hisses. 

“So?” You came home later than that for weeks. You wanna say it. You should say it. Grind your thumb deeper into that open wound, but you save it. Another day, maybe. Maybe not. 

“So we’re going home. I’m tired.” 

“Well, I’m not.” 

“Okay? Whatever, I’ll drop you off somewhere.” 

“You wouldn’t leave your poor, defenseless wife unattended, would you?” You whisper slowly, and Ellie tenses when you plant a soft hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t acknowledge you, just stares through the window behind you. You scoff and drop it by your side. Cross your arms stubbornly. 

“You’re mad because I like Abby.”

“There’s nothing for you to like! You just met her.” Her voice raises, and annoyance flares in you. 

“Exactly! I just met her, and I like her! The fuck did you think I was gonna do? Flash her right in front of the gummy worms?” 

“I don’t know! Fucking maybe!”

“So you can fuck other people but I can’t?” 

Ellie’s very close to you suddenly. Your heart jumps, “Oh, now you wanna fuck Abby? She’s the first person you’ve interacted with besides me since we got fucking married!” 

“SO?” You holler. 

“SO YOU’RE NOT FUCKING MY FRIEND! ARE YOU INSANE!” Speckles of spit land on your face and it sizzles into your pores. You might be. You fucking are. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Ellie’s forcing herself into your space, so why do you fight? Why are you hungry? 

Your palms crash into her chest and she nearly loses her balance, “I DON’T NEED PERMISSION FROM YOU! WE’LL FINALLY BE EVEN, YOU FUCKING WHORE!” 

“Yeah? Think Imma fucking whore?” Her grin is sinister, and excitement coils in your belly. Gets your fingers twitching from how hard they’re clenched. 

“Maybe I do.” Vehemence scathed your tongue. 

“You know what I think?” 

“I don’t care—“

“I think you do.” She mumbles against your cheek, “I think you’re jealous.” 

You still. Ellie’s eyes pierce through yours, burning and hot, nostrils flared: she looks like she could snap you in half. Your spine tingles with delirium. 

“You’re mad because I get to be. I can exist and fuck and party and come and go as I please and you hate it. You wish you could do what I do.” She stares like you killed her mother yourself. Strangled her with your bare hands. “I don’t have mommy and daddy breathing down my neck every 2 seconds. You want that so bad it makes you sick.” 

“So why stay?” 

It shocks her. You don’t waver; passive as usual. 

“You’re free and can do whatever you want, right? Why are you here? Go and be that. Be whoever you wanna be because you can.”

Everything will be over soon. Might as well. Ellie simply glares through you. 

Curiosity is your worst enemy. Might as well ask. 

“Why’d you defend me at dinner?” 

What does she know what does she know what does she know what

She rubs her eyes stubbornly, “Oh my fucking god, who gives a fuck!” 

“Me! I give a fuck! Why’d you do it! Why! You’ve never done it before!” 

She knows she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows

“BECAUSE FUCK HIM! FUCK EVERYBODY THAT DID THIS TO US! FUCK YOU, TOO!” 

You might cry, you might not. You’re unsure of everything and you’re angry and hurting. Ellie’s a reflection of you, and vise-versa. You hate her hate her hate her. 

Hatred. It might be the reason why kissing her feels so good. Because it shouldn’t be happening. Ellie shouldn’t have you trapped between her and her car, grinding so harshly into you that your spine bends. You shouldn’t tug at her hair to expose her neck to lick and suck and bite her neck red while she curses in your ear. 

This is the distraction you’ve been desperately searching for. To think you’d find it in your wife after all this time. 

“I’d be a whore for you,” She shamelessly seers against your throat, hands wandering to unbutton her own pants, “You know that, right?” 

… That’s cute. Makes you blush. 

“Yeah?” Her laugh is thick like syrup, “Gets you hot? Knowing how easily I’d give it up for you?” 

That sideways grin makes you tick. Your hand closes tight around her throat and she nearly bloodies her bottom lip with her fangs. Your wife looks pathetic; thumbs hooked into her pants, so ready to drop them for you in the middle of the parking lot. People are wandering about; she’s willing to fuck in front of them? 

How pretty would she look trying to be quiet for you? Nervous eyes searching for privacy, praying no one walks by and sees her on the edge with your hand down her underwear. Hopefully no one recognizes her, pulls out their phone, records the two of you. Blasts you both on social media while Ellie moans in your mouth. What would people think? Your families? How ashamed would they be? Their two girls making a mess of themselves in public. 

The thought makes you smile. Scares you. Makes you choke her harder. Her pained whine vibrates in your palm. 

“Get the fuck in the car.” 

The windows fog with the heat of your bodies; her body trapped beneath yours in the back seat that’s roomier than you anticipated. She rolls your hips on top of her, desperate and eager to rip your fucking clothes off and feel you for real. Your dress rests around your hips, your panties on display and she wishes she could see them. She only has her hands for reference, tracing over each thin seam littered with lace and patterns she tries to memorize. Your tongue belongs in her mouth. You feel so fucking good; you’re not close enough. She needs you closer. 

Her mouth chases yours when you finally separate, only connected by a thin string of saliva, but a stern hand collides with her chest to keep her flat. Her hands tickle your waist. Rests your dress even higher until she can see your belly button. 

“Wanna know a secret?” You whisper down at her, and she smirks. 

“I know you’re a virgin, baby.” She whispers giddily, and your teeth grit. A flame coils in your chest. You ignore her.

“You could’ve had me after our wedding, you know? With my face buried in the pillows and my ass in your face. I would’ve let you do whatever you wanted that night.” 

Your sudden vulgarity stuns her silent. Your wife looks like she’s imagining it; lip bruised from both your and her teeth, mind racing with filth of you in every position she can think of. She wouldn’t have been able to separate from you if that was the case. It’s one of the reasons she kept her distance; those pretty brown eyes rolled back would’ve put her underground. She’d never tell you that. 

“But no,” You say like it aches, “You wanted to go and bend over all those girls that follow you around like fucking dogs. You wanted a bitch, not a wife. Right or wrong?” 

She can barely breathe and your hand pressing on her chest isn’t helping; reduces her to sharp gasps that make her lightheaded. The more ragged they become, the harder you press. Your brow arches when she innocently bares her teeth. 

Her palms squeeze at your ass, “I thought about you the entire time—“

Your hand cracks and her head flies to the side. Right on her left cheek is the already reddening imprint of your hand. The crackles in your palm are numbed by the alcohol and your core burns at the shock on her face. She gawks off to the side, that meddling smile dropped completely, chest ragged with her breaths. 

“Ellie, put your hands down.” You spit, and they drop from you completely, palms flat on the seat beneath her. 

“You had every chance to do right by me and you wasted every single one.” You sound like you’re about to cry; Ellie’s too scared to look at you. Not the good scared that she’s felt around you this entire time, but a hollow scared. The one that freezes you. Her fight or flight is triggered. 

“I think you owe me an apology.” You whisper against her burning face before you kiss it gently. A pained groan escapes her, and you laugh. Loud, in her face. Even louder when she tries to grind her hips up into you. 

“Take us home, wife.” 

[watchmegetobsessed]

BEHIND BARS

A/N: this fic is my coping mechanism with my own shit and im more than eager to read your thoughts, because it would help me knowing im not alone with these thoughts. so this one goes out to all the big girlies who struggle with loving themselves!

WORD COUNT: 9k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: You get stood up by your Tinder date, but at the same time you run into a man who works at the bar and seems to be into you. Or that's what you think when you read his message he wrote to your receipt, asking you to return to the bar the next day.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

You harbor the delusional thoughts of your date getting caught up in something… anything, just a tad more, just so that the heartache comes a few moments later. It stings, probably more than you’d ever admit to anyone, but you can’t help it. 

Sitting on the barstool in the dimly lit bar you glue your eyes onto your pornstar martini, the second you’ve had since arriving an hour and about five ‘Where are you?’ texts to Brannon before. All of them sit delivered but unread in your messages. You reach for the glass and finish the drink in two big gulps, the alcohol bringing an almost numbing sensation to your closed up throat, but it fades rather fast. 

What hurts the most is that this is not a first date. He met you just three days ago on the coffee date you two arranged once you were over just exchanging messages on that awful dating app you always swear to never download again but end up back on it at one point. It’s not like he would have walked in tonight and could have a shock about your looks, that you do in fact have quite some extra weight, your thighs are thick, curving into your ass that might look good on a better day, but only if it’s covered, because every time you look at it the only thing you see is the stubborn cellulite you can never get rid of. He saw that you’re miles away from having a flat stomach, you weren’t blessed to be the kind of big girl who has a slim waist and beautiful round waist. You often stop in front of the mirror to assess how big your arms look if you wear something sleeveless, how your collarbones only show if you put your hands to your hips and force your shoulders forward to bring them out. 

He saw all of these. Yet he suggested meeting again, pulling you into a ridiculous dream that he might be different and you could finally have the burning, passionate love you’ve always dreamed about.

Now it feels more like a nightmare. 

“Another one?” 

The bartender appears in front of you, one hand on the counter, the other one on his hip as he looks at you with a questioning look. You glance up at him, then at the empty glass and decide to just fuck it and get drunk before going home and raging your fridge for whatever comfort food you can find. 

“Sure. Bring a shot as well.”

“Vodka, tequila, rum or…?”

“Vodka sounds fantastic,” you breathe out as you square your shoulders and run a hand through your hair.

The guy nods and then disappears again. While he is making your drink you decide to have a trip to the bathroom. You wave at the bartender to let him know you’ll be back and when he nods you make your way to the back. 

You chose the bar for tonight, it’s a nice place, feels intimate and… hot, maybe that’s the word you used when you were here with your girlfriends a few weeks ago. It was the perfect spot for a girly night, but the vibe of the place definitely doesn’t limit it to a strictly feminine spot. There were plenty of men around even then and one mysterious man sent over a whole round of drinks, he remained unknown but he was probably enamored by one of your friends.

You were convinced Brannon would like this place and you could see the two of you curled up in a booth, finally overstepping the awkwardness of being around someone you met online. 

Once you’ve done your business you stop in front of the massive mirror next to the sink and have a moment to look at yourself in the overhead lights that bring out everything about your body that you usually fight hard not to think about. You hate it how one inconvenience can make you feel so… ashamed. Hopeless. Worthless. 

Truth is, you’re tired. You’ve had enough of these experiences, though it’s only your second time getting stood up, but it goes under the same cases of going completely unnoticed by men in a social setting, ending up instantly in the friendzone no matter what you do, getting the talk of ‘but I see you as a great friend, I hope we can stay friends’ whenever you dare to come clean about your feelings for someone. It sucks the life out of you and you’re not sure if you have any more left to keep trying. Because the chance of ending up alone anyway has been looming over your head for way too long to ignore it and if it ends up being your reality, you’d rather not waste any more time and energy on trying. 

When the tears start stinging your eyes you turn on your heels and head out, not wanting to have a full blown breakdown in the middle of a bar. Stepping out to the hallway you’re just about to march back to your previous spot to chug down your drinks shamelessly, but you weren’t expecting anyone to be right outside the door, so you collide into someone just as your heels hit the carpeted floor outside the restroom. 

It’s not at all the gracious kind of collision, where the man scoops you into his arms and holds you against his chest to stop you from falling. Out of reflex, your hands do find the guy’s chest, but you push yourself away from him fast and panicked, your back hitting the door that just closed behind you and you’d bet a good amount that your expression reeks of shock and the sadness from previously, which is not a gracious combination. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you exhale sharply as your eyes take in the man in front of you. 

Tall, well-built in a black, fitted suit with a black silky shirt underneath the jacket, the first few buttons are left undone, teasing a glimpse of tattoos and a thin necklace with pendants hidden from your vision. His brown hair is trimmed, but not enough to conceal how the strands curl and swirl. Pink lips curl into a smile and you can’t decide the color of his eyes because it’s too dark here, but they appear to be light, even despite how big his pupils are as he is staring back at you. He is holding up his hands in front of him, as if he is readying himself to catch you if you decide to fall anyway. 

“In a hurry?” he asks and his velvety british accent caresses your ears. You blink at him for a couple of moments dumbly before finding your voice to reply.

“No,” is all you say, to which his smile just widens and you catch his eyes dip down, running along your body before they return to your gaze. 

“Be careful then, Angel.”

“Sorry,” you breathe out, finding your balance again as you’re unable to look away from him. 

He is the kind of man that catches every female’s attention upon walking into a room, who could easily just cherry pick who he wants, because women line up in front of him just to earn a glance from him. He looks elegant and lively at the same time, but you instantly feel a sense of mystery and darkness linger around them even despite his warm smile. He is nothing like the men you ever dealt with and he is… way out of your league. 

Lifting your chin you spare him with one last look before walking away, fighting the urge to look back if he is still there or maybe you just imagined him. 

Your drinks are already waiting for you by your seat and you down the shot before you could climb back to your seat. Given the fact that you came with an empty stomach, the alcohol has started working its wonders on you. You feel a low buzz in your chest, a slight numbness in your head and you know the martini in front of you will be your last drink if you want to make it back to your place. 

Your thoughts are still circling around the man in the hallway when you spot him again from the corner of your eyes. Down at the end of the bar, he is talking to the bartender who’s been serving you. His jacket is gone, so you see the silky shirt hanging elegantly from his frame, the fabric shimmering in the light that comes from behind the bar, illuminating the wall of expensive bottles showcased. The sleeves are rolled up, revealing that his left arm is heavily tattooed, but the other one has something as well, but half of it is hidden underneath the shirt. 

He is helping the bartender unload some bottles into the fridge that’s underneath the counter as the talk. When they are down to the last one he stands up and runs a ring-clad hand through his hair and his eyes move up and catch your gaze before you could look away and pretend like you weren’t ogling him. Your cheeks burn up right away as you snap your eyes back at your drink in front of you. With silent prayers that he won’t come closer, you busy yourself with the only thing you can do: drinking. But just as you lift the glass to your lips you see a black form walk up to where you’re sitting and you can’t stop yourself from looking up at him. 

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks with a charming smile, his hands planted onto the counter in front of you, giving you the chance to see the veins running underneath his smooth skin and for a split second you can’t help but imagine what it might feel like to be held by those hands. 

“Um, no, I’m good. Thank you.”

“Good,” he repeats, but it drips with something else, something more, something… heavy. “Waiting for someone?”

His question came out of the blue, you weren’t expecting him to strike up a conversation and start it with that. Your muscles tense and suddenly, after being so drawn to keep looking at the man in front of you, it becomes your priority to avoid his gaze at all cost. 

“No,” you say shortly and take a sip, no, a gulp from your drink. 

What you don’t see is how his face darkens. The smile fades and his eyebrows draw together as he lets his hands fall from the counter and move to cross over his chest. 

You expect him to move away from the rather tensed and awkward scene, but he remains standing in the same spot until you notice him turn around, but just to grab two shot glasses, he fills them up with something that could easily be vodka again, but you wouldn’t know because you don’t see the glass he pours from. Then he turns around and places the shots onto the counter, pushing one a little closer to you. When you look up, you see his head a bit tilted, waiting with a questioning look and an unknown sparkle in his eyes that are green, now you’re sure. 

“Oh, I shouldn’t… Um…”

“Just this one. As an apology on behalf of the piece of shit who is too blind and idiotic to see what he missed out on.”

Your breath is caught in your throat as you stare back at him. For a second, you let yourself believe that there’s more behind his words, that there’s attraction, lust and desire. For you.

But then your usual mechanism kicks in and your mind is quick to turn it around and convince you it’s not at all like that. He just feels sorry for you, it’s only pity, because a man like him would never be interested in a woman like you. 

“Sure,” you whisper with a nod and take the shot. He takes his and holds up, waits for you to do the same. 

Then he gives you a nod with a charming, crooked smile and your eyes remain locked on each other as you both take the shots. It’s vodka and it burns, but you don’t even flinch as you put the glass back onto the counter and watch him snatch it away. He is just about to say something when the bartender calls out for him from the end of the bar, but because you weren’t listening, you miss what his name is. He looks back at you once more and then walks away. 

You don’t see him for the rest of the time you spend there. Finishing the drink you ask to close your tab and then you’re getting ready to leave when the bartender slips the receipt over to you. At first you don’t even pay any attention to it, but then you notice something is different about it. You grab it from the counter and then read the words scribbled onto it with a black marker.

Please come back tomorrow.

You feel like an idiot all day. Trying to keep yourself busy by cleaning and cooking, no matter what you do you always find yourself looking at that damn receipt, reading the words over and over again. Since you left the bar yesterday until this moment, you’ve thought of every possible scenario why he would ask you to return. Realistic ones, ridiculous versions, you thought of them all, but somehow you always ended up settling on the same one, even despite the fact your mind has been fighting hard not to let you believe he could want anything from you. 

It grinds your nerves all day until you decide to act on it. You put on a pair of jeans and a simple black shirt with your trusty sneakers, nothing extra, very far from looking fancy and then head back to the bar before you could talk yourself out of it. 

It’s the afternoon on a Sunday, it’s no surprise the place is deserted when you walk in, only a handful of people are lingering around here and there in contrast to the buzz it had yesterday. You try your best to settle the uneasy feeling in your gut as you walk up to the bar. There’s a woman standing behind this time who you didn’t see last night. She’s drying glasses with a cloth since there’s not much to do without anyone sitting on the stools. 

“Hi, what can I get you?” she asks with a bright smile as you walk up to her. 

“Um, I was wondering if the guy who worked last night was working today? Brown hair, tattoos… I don’t… know his name.”

It’s an understatement to say you feel awkward asking around about the guy even though he practically asked you to come back. At least he could have given you his name to avoid appearing like a stalker. 

The woman furrows her eyebrows as she purses her lips, tilting her head.

“I swear I’m not here to make a scene or anything,” you add with a nervous laugh. 

“Ah, I was just thinking. Because I know for a fact that Nico was working last night, but he for sure has no tattoos.”

You swear you saw the tattoos on his chest and arms, you did not just imagine those, but now you’re doubting yourself.

“He, uhh, he wore, like, a black suit and a black, silky shirt… Rings…” This is as far as you can go describing him without adding details you’d rather keep to yourself. Like how his hands looked delicate but rough at the same time, the way his lips curled when he smiled could push all the air out of your lungs and his smooth, velvety voice was like you were wrapped into a warm, soft blanket whenever he talked.

Luckily, you see her face light up at the last few details you just said.

“Oh! You must be…” She doesn’t finish it, just lets her smile stretch wide as she squares her shoulder. “Let me grab him for you,” she then winks and before you could get another word out, she disappears. 

Laying your hands flat on the bar top you start drumming nervously as you wait. A thought flashes through your mind that it was a mistake coming here, trying to convince you to just leave before it’s too late, but you fight it and shove it to the back of your head, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you pull your hands back and start rubbing your palms against your thighs. 

A few seconds later the woman appears from the back with the same wide smile and just when you start to think the man is not here, he follows her out, turning your sanity upside down with just a simple look. 

He is wearing a black t-shirt this time, short sleeved, putting his previously mentioned tattoos on perfect display. The shirt is tucked into a pair of gray dress pants that hug his waist so well, you’re drawn to stare at his body for a few moments as he moves closer behind the bar. 

The bartender woman passes you while the man stops in front of you, a cheeky, but genuine smile tugging on his lips as he leans onto the counter just like how he did yesterday, only this time you see his muscles flex from the movement thanks to the short sleeves. 

“What a pleasure to welcome you back.”

Your knees threaten to give up for a second from hearing his voice again, as if it’s proof that you didn’t just make him up last night, he is not just a mirage. 

Reaching into your purse you pull the receipt out and slide it over to him. 

“You invited me back.”

“I did,” he nods, not even glancing down at the piece of paper, like he doesn’t need to be reminded of what he did. “But I didn’t know you’d actually return.”

Unsure what to say, you allow yourself to assess him, take in his perfectly carved features, the unruly curls, the rings adorning his inviting hands. If you were on your own, just looking at a picture of him, you’d definitely tell yourself it’s too good to be true that a man like him would ever pay you any attention. But having him standing in front of you, feel his burning gaze on you, this magnetic pull that vibrates from him, you’re battling yourself harder than ever.

“I was curious,” you admit at last. 

“Then I’m happy to satisfy your curiosity. Why don’t we sit down?” he asks, gesturing towards one of the booths by the wall.

“Won’t you get into trouble?” you ask, but he just gives you a toothy smile as he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about that, Angel. Go ahead and sit, I’ll make us a drink.”

Once you’re turned away and walking towards a booth you let out a long, shaky breath. 

“Get a grip,” you tell yourself as you slide into the booth and try to get comfortable. It’s frustrating a man could have an effect this powerful on you after barely even talking to him. What kind of black magic is he practicing?

A few minutes later you see him walking over to you with two drinks in his hands. One is obviously a pornstar martini for you, the other one you don’t know. It’s in a simple, short glass, one big cube of ice, the drink itself is a nice amber color, you spot a curl of orange peel and some fresh rosemary in it. 

He slips into the booth with ease and moves closer to you than you expected as he places the drinks to the table. 

“Might be best if we started with our names,” he suggests. “I’m Harry.” 

His name rolls off his tongue so ravishingly, you have to stop yourself from repeating after him. He holds out a hand for you that you take. Your skin starts tingling the moment it meets with his warm touch.

“Y/N.”

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he nods, giving your hand a squeeze before letting it go. 

While you feel a bit awkward, trying to find a way to sit beside him, it appears he is quick to find his place, crossing one leg over the other, his arm closer to you is stretched over the back of the booth, his hand falling somewhere behind you, but it’s not touching you. His other hand is gently playing with his drink, twirling it between his fingers. 

“I know it’s probably not the best thing to start with, but I just have to ask. Last night, were you stood up?”

All your blood rushes to your head and your palms start sweating as you turn your head away embarrassed. You’ve been so caught up in him that you kind of forgot about what Brannon did. 

“Yes,” you whisper, hands dropping into your lap as you nervously fidget with your fingers.

The hand that’s been behind you moves to the side of your face, his knuckles gently brushing across your cheek, just enough to make you turn your head and look at him. 

“Don’t even think for a moment his behavior lessens your worth.”

“I’m not so sure if there’s any left of that to lessen.”

The words leave your mouth before you could even think them through, surprising you with their bluntness. You’re not one to share such personal thoughts with a stranger, not even your closest friends. 

Harry stares at you with an unreadable expression and you half expect him to just let it slip and not acknowledge what you said. But he sticks to that in a way you never experienced.

“I would give an arm to have the chance to show how much I see just after spending only minutes with you.”

You’re speechless and from the hidden smile you notice in the corners of his mouth you assume he finds it entertaining, witnessing the effect he has on you. He grabs his drink from the table and you watch him lazily take a sip before placing it back and leaning forward, getting closer to you, but still not quite crossing an invisible line between the two of you. 

“Y/N, I know this is very straight-forward and I’m aware that we are very much just strangers at this point, but I’m more than eager to change that.”

“Why?” you hear yourself asking in an airy, weak voice. “Because you’re sorry for me?”

Now it’s his turn to be taken aback. The way he frowns almost makes you want to apologize even for asking. 

“Sorry is the last thing I’m feeling right now. And it wasn’t what I felt when you bumped into me last night or when I wrote that message to your receipt. Or… when I sent over that round of drinks to you and your friends not long ago.”

“You what?”

“You were here, maybe a few weeks ago, with your friends, right?”

“I-I was, but…”

“The round of drinks. I sent it.”

“Why?” you ask again and notice the amusement in his look.

“The same reason I wanted you to return today. Because take my breath away and I never give up on the chance to get to know whoever has that effect on me.”

You stare back at him blankly, a million thoughts racing in your head while also not able to put together a coherent one. It is everything you ever wished to experience, but it also feels incredibly odd and… wrong. 

“What kind of twisted game is it you’re playing?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows slightly.

“None. Why are you questioning my intentions so passionately?”

“Because it’s ridiculous,” you say with a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you grab your drink and take two gulps, hoping the alcohol might help you untangle the mess in your head. 

“How is my interest in you ridiculous?”

“Because it is. You cannot sell me that you spotted me among my friends last time, that I was the one who caught your attention and that when you saw me last night again you just had to take your chance to lure me here again so you could talk to me. It’s absolutely ridiculous.”

He stays silent and you don’t look at him for a bit, trying to calm your rocketing pulse. But his silence starts to drive you mad again, so you turn to face him and see that unreadable expression on his face again. 

“You’re invalidating my attraction just because you haven’t received it before.” 

It’s like he is reading you like you’re an open book, he looks at you and you can feel him raiding through your mind and you can do nothing against it. 

“It’s actually sad but also exciting to be the first one to give it to you.”

“But why me?” you keep pushing.

“Why do you like pornstar martini?” he asks with a cheeky smile and you decide to ignore how erotic that sounded from him. 

“What?”

“You choose it because you like it, yeah? Why?”

“Because… I don’t know, it tastes… good,” you answer, complete confusion taking over you. 

“See, that is why you. I don’t know it just yet, but I just know that…” He doesn’t finish, but you can hear the rest.

I just know you taste good.

The all too familiar pulse between your legs is making you cross your legs underneath the table, but Harry catches the movement and his grin grows wide, but he doesn’t comment on it, just takes a sip of his drink. 

“We took it very intensely quite suddenly. Let’s just talk and we can return to this matter a bit later,” he suggests then softly, losing that tiny cockiness from his voice for now. “What is there to know about you, Y/N?”

You need a bit of time to recover and actually start telling him about yourself. He asks you about your job, your family, your hobbies, what you like and what you hate, all while giving you his full, undivided attention. Even though he has made it clear he is interested in you, somehow you end up taking the situation with even more caution than usually, but slowly and almost unnoticed, it eases from your gut. 

“Now it’s your turn,” you say, once you’ve had enough of talking about yourself. Just as he is about to start talking, the bartender shows up at the table and you’re convinced she’ll ask him to go back to work. 

“Boss, the supplier was on the phone, they need confirmation until tomorrow morning.”

Boss? 

“Thanks Jenny,” Harry smiles up at her warmly. “I’ll take care of it.” The bartender, Jenny as you learned, nods and then disappears. When Harry looks back at you, it’s apparent he was expecting the questioning look from you. 

“Boss? Did I hear that right?”

“Absolutely did,” he chuckles. 

“So you’re…”

“I won this place. Along with another one downtown and two more over on the West coast.”

You click your tongue as you turn away to have a look around, though you’ve examined the place enough before. It’s not the kind that screams ‘this is my first business, it’s doing fairly well’, but rather one that screams wealth and business. The bar itself is definitely high end, but it’s also connected to the hotel above, so it drives in some great traffic from there as well and of course, it’s a five star hotel, so the guests are usually not the kind who shies away from paying for a nice drink. Adding just the thought of three more places similar to this to the picture is just plainly mind-blowing to you.

And yet, just minutes ago you were convinced he’s a bartender here. 

“You knew I thought you were staff when I asked if you’d get into trouble.” Harry nods. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because that would have immensely changed the dynamic.”

“No, I–”

“Yes,” he fights back with a meaningful look. “You had a hard time believing I could be interested in you when you thought I was a bartender here. Had you known I owned this place you would have never let go of the power imbalance that comes with the judgment of my position in my business.”

You want to protest, but you can’t. Because you know it well that he is actually right. 

To ease the sudden change in the mood, Harry starts talking about himself and the business as he can tell you’re curious how he ended up as the boss. He tells you how it all started in college, he and a few of his friends came up with the idea of opening a bar and once they graduated he and the one remaining friend who was still into the idea decided to act on it. Niall, the friend, earned a great amount of money from his trust fund after graduation, which they used to the last cent to open the place ten years ago. Feeling guilty that he couldn’t bring as much money into the business in the beginning, Harry tried to make up for it by working twice as hard. As time passed and they opened the second place three years later, Niall started to wander to different fields and only remained a silent partner in the business, letting Harry take over fully. The expansion on the West coast happened just two years ago, but they are already thinking about the next location.

“Are you still friends?” you ask him.

“With Niall? Yes, absolutely. He has his own company in IT security that he actually started from the money of this business. It’s more his world than this now, but we try to meet at least every month when we are in the same city. And I still need his signature on some stuff,” he adds with a chuckle. 

“That’s great it didn’t ruin your friendship. Working together can be risky.”

“I know. We had our ups and downs for sure, but nothing we couldn’t talk through.”

It was amazing to see him talk about it so profound and passionately. It makes him so… humane. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket and when he pulls it out, he sighs quietly. He ignores the call, but when he looks at you again you know he has to go.

“Y/N, we need to revisit what we talked about earlier, because I have to go soon.”

Your cheeks heat up instantly as you roll your lips into your mouth. 

“What about it?”

“Most importantly we need to talk about when we can meet again.”

You look at him from the corner of your eyes and can’t hold back a smile when you see his cheeky grin as he sits turned towards you, his upper body angled to face you completely. 

“The most convenient would be tomorrow,” he adds shamelessly.

“So soon?”

“I wanted to say I would love to see you in about three hours when we close, but I didn’t want to come off as too eager.”

That makes you laugh and Harry gifts you with a proud, crooked smile.

“Are you sick of this place?”

“Why?”

“Because you could come here tomorrow and I could teach you how to make your drink,” he says, nodding towards your now empty glass. You actually love the idea of that, doing something new in a not so new setting. 

“I can be here by seven.”

“I’ll be waiting for you behind the bar.”

You have never been this eager to put down work at five finally. It doesn’t matter that you still have a few unanswered emails in your inbox, you decide they can wait until tomorrow. 

You haven’t stopped thinking about Harry since you left the bar yesterday. You can’t even remember the last time you were like this, probably in high school when you had a crush in junior year. It’s ridiculous, honestly, but it’s also quite exciting. 

You walk into the bar for the third time in the past three days. You would have guessed that a Monday evening would be just as eventful as Sunday, but apparently a lot of people like to go out for drinks on the first day of the week. It’s not like on Saturday, but about half of the tables are taken. Crossing the place you’re heading straight to the bar, searching for one particular tall figure, but you don’t see him. 

Nico, the bartender from Saturday, is on shift again, though as you reach the bar he doesn’t seem to recognize you. 

“Hi, what can I get you?”

You’re just about to ask him to tell Harry that you arrived when the familiar, velvety voice speaks up right behind you. 

“I have the lady covered, thanks Nico.”

Turning around you’re met with Harry’s warm but cheeky smile as he stands just a couple of feet away from you. Today he is wearing a pair of black dress pants with a black long sleeve, but the sleeves are rolled up above his elbows. There’s a light stubble darkening his jawline, he surely skipped shaving this morning, but you’re not mad about it, it adds a bit of roughness to him. 

“Welcome back, Y/N,” he nods at you.

“Hi,” is all you manage to push out of yourself. He is very much aware of your nervousness, but it just widens his smile. 

“Ready to master the pornstar martini?” he asks as he steps closer and places a hand to the small of your back to usher you behind the bar. 

“Absolutely.”

The two of you settle at the end of the bar so you’re not disturbing the actual service with your little scene. Harry hands you a black apron and he puts one on himself as well after helping you tie yours behind your back. Then the learning starts.

Harry is actually a great bartender himself. As he gathers everything you need for the drink, he tells you how he learned to bartend after opening the place. They had a few times when they fell short on staff and he needed to serve, so he figured it’s best if he just learns it fully rather than just clumsily mixing up the drinks whenever help is needed. 

“What’s your favorite to make?” you ask as you’re cutting the passion fruit in two on a cutting board and Harry examines your every move like a good mentor.

“I think it’s Rum Martinez.”

“What’s that like?”

“It’s a Japanese cocktail, pretty smoky and kind of complicated to make. I’ve had it twice, it was always served with a cigar. I only made it once though, but it was fun.”

Harry truly meant it when he said you’d learn how to make your drink. He doesn’t touch anything in the mixing process, only instructs you, clear and patiently as you add the right amounts into the shaker. When you put the top of the shaker on however, he moves behind you and as his arms come round you to grab the shaker along with you, for a few seconds you definitely forget to breathe. 

This close you can smell his cologne, the warmth of his body is melting you against him and when you lean back just the slightest bit he pushes forward to tighten the physical connection between the two of you. 

“Alright. Now, this is how you shake it properly,” he murmurs, his face right next to yours as his hands cover yours on the shaker. 

You let him take the lead as he starts shaking, his warm palms holding your hand against the cool shaker, moving it up and down, left and right in a controlled, rhythmic way. He is giving it quite the force, you feel the ice inside tumble harshly as you keep shaking. 

“Okay, now take the cap off.”

He lets go of the shaker, but remains standing behind you as he instructs you. You do as he said and he reaches past you to bring the glass closer for you. 

“Carefully, but with confidence” he murmurs, one hand moving to cover yours when you start pouring, but too slowly, so he helps you to tilt the right amount. The beautiful yellow liqueur fills up the glass with a perfect layer of foam on top. 

“And finally, the passion fruit.”

He points at the fruit on the cutting board and you take one half, gently dropping it into the middle and watch as it stays afloat with pride. 

“There. You just made your first pornstar martini.”

Harry steps away from behind you and you almost protest, eager to feel his warmth behind you as he comes into your view again, watching you bring the drink to your lips. You take a sip and once you taste it, you can’t hold your smile back.

“It’s amazing.”

“All yours,” he dips his head a bit with a bright smile and you can’t look away from his sparkling eyes. 

The foam of the drink sticks to your upper lip so when you put the glass down you run your tongue over, licking it off and you catch him watching your mouth with obvious hunger, as if he is ready to have a taste from the cocktail, but only from your lips. 

The moment burns and you feel it deep in your chest. Almost unnoticed, you both inch closer and you feel an irresistible pull towards him. Your heart is drumming in your throat and the muscles in your torso tense even at just the thought of kissing him. 

But right when you are about to cross the line Nico’s curse pops your bubble and Harry’s head whips around in alert.

“Shit!” you see Nico jump back from the counter, one hand wrapped around the other, a cutting board with lemons and a knife left behind.

“What happened?” Harry asks, grabbing a rag as he steps closer to assess the situation.

“I wasn’t paying attention and cut my finger,” Nico hisses and you step closer just in time to see him showing the cut. It doesn’t look bad, but it’s bleeding quite heavily.

“Go and clean it out. I’ll cover the bar.”

Nico mumbles a quick thanks as he rushes back before he could bleed on anything behind the bar. Just as he exits, two women walk up to Harry, who switches into bartender mode pretty fast. He gives you a quick ‘I’m sorry’ glance as he takes their order and starts mixing up their drinks. You just give him a reassuring smile and focus on your drink, patiently waiting. 

At first you don’t even pay attention to the conversation the two women strike up with him. But as Harry starts serving a man who walked up to the bar after them you notice how they stayed there and it makes you wonder so you turn your attention to their sugar coated voices. 

“Oh, then we feel honored to be served by the big boss,” the blonde one chuckles, leaning forward just enough so that his shirt tugs down, teasing the view of her cleavage. 

“Just… helping in,” Harry gives a tight-lipped smile, barely even glancing at her as he makes the cocktail. 

“See, I told you it'll be worth coming here on a Monday,” the other one giggles as she gently sways to the soft music that’s playing through the speakers. 

It’s a sight that’s an easy trigger for you. They did nothing wrong other than flirting with a man they find attractive. And you know Harry barely even acknowledged their efforts, but still, it was enough to let that evil little voice out of its cage in the back of your mind. 

They are gorgeous and you’re nothing like them. They are thin and looking around you already see a dozen men looking at them. You can never be like them. 

Deep down you know these thoughts are worthless, but once they take over it’s hard to fight them, to see yourself in a better light. Not when you’ve struggled with this for so long and spent long years to convince yourself it’s all that matters. 

There’s nothing left of the free spirit you were just minutes ago. When this happens you simply close off and want to disappear as fast as possible. For a moment you think of just leaving while Harry is not paying attention, but you’d hate to walk out on him like that so you stay there, trying to take up as little space as physically possible as you finish your drink. 

Nico soon comes back, his left ring finger bandaged up, ready to get back to work, which means Harry is free from bar duty again. He doesn’t hesitate to walk away from the two women and return to you, but you’ve let your spiraling thoughts win by now.

He notices something is wrong the moment he sees you avoid looking into his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, dipping his head to try to get you to look at him. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, but it’s a weak attempt to mask just how uncomfortable you’re feeling.

“Y/N, I know that’s not true. What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you push, then take a deep breath to help you swallow the bitterness in your mouth. 

There’s a few seconds of pause when you’re convinced he’ll say to end the date and then you already see yourself never coming here to avoid ever running into him. The voice in the back of your mind is already working hard to convince you it’s for the best, that it would have never worked, you’re way too different and sooner or later he would see you the way you see yourself. 

But it never happens. Instead, he silently packs away everything you used for the cocktail and when he’s done, he gently takes your hand and starts to pull you towards the door that leads out to the hotel’s lobby. Confused, but curious, you follow him and don’t say a word until the two of you stop at the elevators.

“Harry, where are we going?”

“Up. To my suite.”

“You have a suite here?”

“I do. Comes with the perks of owning the bar that’s part of the hotel.” 

His hand is still holding yours, warm and gentle, but still confident, especially when he tightens his hold as the elevator arrives and he pulls you inside, pushing the button of the 18th floor. He doesn’t let go of you as the elevator starts moving, you just stand there next to each other without a word until it arrives and the doors slide open. 

Harry once again pulls you with him, striding down the carpeted hallway to the door with the number 1804 next to it. He fishes out a card from his pocket and taps it against the lock that clicks silently, letting him open the door and that’s when his hand falls from yours, letting you walk in first as he holds the door open for you. 

You haven’t been to a hotel this elegant, not as a guest at least. You’ve attended a few conferences but you could only see the lobby and the conference rooms during those, not the rooms or in this case, the suites. 

You walk into a spacious living room  with a minibar, dark purple couches facing the TV mounted onto the wall, the floor-to-ceiling windows giving an impeccable view of the city lights. There’s a door on the left and the right, one is probably leading to the bedroom, the other one must be the bathroom and though the doors are closed, you can imagine how good they must be designed.

The suite is definitely not untouched, you see signs of Harry here and there, the envelopes on the coffee table, the single used mug next to them, some sort of hoodie thrown over the back of one of the armchairs and a Macbook lying on the desk next to the TV. 

“It’s permanently reserved for me. I spend so much time at the bar, it’s easier if sometimes I don’t have to drive all the way home and can just stay here,” he explains as you walk further inside, stopping by the window to have a look at the view. 

Slowly, you turn around and look at him with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Why are we here?”

He is standing a few feet away, his hands hidden in his pockets, but his stance feels welcoming and open even despite your closed off behavior. 

“To be alone. I don’t want the circumstances to bother you. I know things can get overwhelming sometimes.”

You remain still, not sure what to say or do. It really has been overwhelming, but only because sometimes your own mind turns against you and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Harry pulls his hands out of his pockets and cautiously takes a few steps closer to you, but still leaves a bit of space between the two of you. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks so softly, it almost makes you want to cry, because he doesn’t feel real, nothing does when it’s about him. You’re so set on how unmatching you feel around him that it’s almost impossible to think otherwise now. 

“I don’t see it,” you reply in a whisper.

“See what?”

“I don’t see what you see in me. I only see my version of myself and it’s… not good.”

The tears are stinging your eyes. You have probably never said these words out loud, but somehow, you feel safe enough with Harry to bring this side of you out, though the fear that he might get fed up with it is still strong in the pit of your stomach. 

You have no idea what kind of reaction you were expecting from him, to be honest you couldn’t imagine a version where he stands his ground and doesn’t agree with all the awful things you harbor about yourself. 

But then he steps closer, his hands gently cupping your face in them as he angles your head so you’re looking up at him, holding you like that, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. 

“I want to show you. How I see you.”

His hands slide down to your neck, his thumbs are underneath your chin to keep you in place, his gaze dipping down to your lips a couple of times before settling on your eyes, waiting, silently asking for permission and though you don’t say a single word he understands you.

His first kiss is brief, but confident. His lips press against yours and they open slowly, just enough so that his tongue can tease you before he pulls back, though he doesn’t move far, his nose is still brushing against yours. Opening your eyes you find him looking at you, his otherwise light and bright eyes are now several shades darker, lust dripping from the curled up ends of his lashes as he waits for you to make up your mind whether you want to go further or not. Somehow, his black magic must have worked enough on you to mute that evil voice in the back of your head, the absence of it giving you the chance to give yourself into the moment. 

You push up against him this time eagerly, open mouth meeting his and he’s quick to react with just as much passion. 

One of his hands moves down to your waist and when his fingers dig into the soft flesh you can’t hold back a moan that’s immediately swallowed by him. You fist his shirt, desperately trying to pull closer even though he is entirely pressed up against you. 

Blindly he starts moving, pulling you with him, your kiss never breaking as you move around the couch. Then his lips leave yours and you’re forced to open your eyes just as he sits down on the couch, his hands grabbing the back of your thighs as he pulls you between his knees and he kisses your stomach through the fabric of your shirt. Out of reflex you try to pull away or avert him somewhere else, but his hands squeeze your thighs as his eyes snap up to meet your gaze.

“How I see you, remember? Let me show you,” he reminds you and though every inch of you is screaming to pull away, you stay.

Harry pushes your shirt up and unbuttons your pants before his hands grab you by the waist. He twists you around and pulls you down on him, so you end up lying half on top of him with your back pressed against his chest. 

“Harry,” you gasp when his right hand starts to slip into your pants and then under your underwear, but his other hand falls to your heaving chest as if he could calm your jumping pulse with just one touch.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, I don’t want to push anything on you.” His lips are by your ear that brushes against them when you nod and just let him do whatever he wants. 

When two of his fingers slip between your wet folds, your lips part with a sigh, your head rolling back to his shoulder just from his touch. He is gentle but determined, starts off by just moving those two fingers up and down, gently applying some pressure at the perfect spots before keep moving. Then they settle on your clit and start drawing circles in a slow pace, playing with the pressure once again, setting your nerves on fire. 

You keep moaning and gasping as you still lie on top of him, his other hand moves underneath your shirt, but it doesn’t go further up just yet, only remains flat on your skin. You can’t stop your body from falling into a rhythm, hips buckling, spine arching with certain movements, especially when he starts to gradually increase his pace. 

When a tiny shock rides through your body with a rougher movement one of your hands grabs onto his thigh by your side, fingers digging into his muscles, earning a deep grunt from him that rumbles right underneath you. 

Your other hand snaps to his wrist as you completely lose control over yourself and push his hand a bit further, showing him where and how you need him the most and he is quick to pick up on the clues and add to the sensation. 

“Y/N, Angel, let go for me,” he whispers into your ear and while his hand between your legs doesn’t stop for a moment, the other one finally inches up and cups your breast, kneading it sensually. 

“Harry, I–Ah!” You’ve lost your ability to voice a coherent thought. You have none, the feelings Harry is making you feel have taken over you entirely. 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs and when you turn your head he doesn’t hesitate to capture your lips in a deep kiss and while you’re eager to return it, you lose control over your movements when you feel your orgasm tipping you over the edge. It stretches and teases and then it washes over you like a tidal wave. 

Gasping for air, your back arches and your nails dig into his wrist and thigh, you hear him say something but his words are tuned out, you hear or see nothing, only feel.

But you feel everything. 

You have no idea how long it takes for you to calm down and come back to real life. When it happens you realize Harry’s hand has moved away from between your legs and both of them are placed on your stomach, his fingers gently brushing against your skin in a slow rhythm. 

When you find your strength you wiggle around until you’re lying on your stomach, facing him. Even though you were the only one who benefited from the scene you just experienced, you see a deep satisfaction etched across his face as his lips break out into a smile. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you chuckle and pushing yourself up you stretch your neck until your lips meet his. This kiss is different, it’s gentle and slow, but just as meaningful as the ones before. 

“So,” he starts as he reaches up, running his fingers down the side of your face. “Did you see what I see?”

“I… felt it,” you say, part of you afraid of his reaction. But as you watch him, all you see is that same sweet, charming smile you’ve seen from him so many times before.

“That’s a start.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m more than happy to work on it until you really see it.”

Staring at him, you search for something. Anything that gives away the slightest sign that gives away that he is not being genuine, but you find none and it feels heavier than if you did. Completely touched by his words the tears start dwelling in your eyes. 

“Where have you been?” you ask in just a whisper.

“Well…” he breathes out, locking you in his arms. “Behind bars the past ten years,” he says and there’s a heartbeat of silence as you both realize what he just said and the duality of it. 

You both burst out in laughter at the same time.

“Not like that!” he shakes his head.

“I guess there are a lot I don’t know about you, that’s fair.”

“And do you want to know more?” He challenges you. Your laughter fades into just a soft smile.

“I do. Do you want to know more about me?”

“Everything. I want to know everything.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[your-compadre-infinity]

This isn't anything serious, im just making a list of my favourite Sonadow AUs

BUT

what's most popular? Y'all get to vote!!

More Info below

Paramount Stars AU takes place within the Sonic Cinematic Universe. It is an Actors AU, so Sonic and Shadow are actors in Paramount Stars studios making the movies. They are both traumatised(tm) and transgender. Sonic met Shadow before the filming for Sonic 3 started and invited Shadow to join the movie. Over the two years of the movie production, Sonic and Shadow held feelings for each other before confessing on the night of the trailer release and becoming an official couple after the premier. Find out more at: @paramountstarsau

Sonic Rewritten AU takes place within the Modern Timeline, which are the games and IDW comics. It diverts from the canon after SA2, where Sonic and Shadow fell in love at first sight and was unofficially married by Dr. Eggman (they were out of options, okay?) during the Finalhazard fight. The rest of the timeline proceeds virtually unchanged, except for Sonic and Shadow being husbands (and more relationships beginning as well, because time actually passes here). However, the "canon" part of the timeline ends after the Metal Virus, and the rest of the AU largely follows the adventures of Sonic and Shadow's daughters, Hope and Light, and their friends (other fankids). More content avalible at: @sonicrewrittenau

Highschool Sweethearts AU is self-explanatory. Sonic and Shadow are high school students at Emerald Academy, in Emerald Town who became boyfriends. Shadow moved to Emerald Academy from Central City Westopolis district, due to being harrassed and discriminated against because he was trans, and met Sonic on basically his first day at his new school. They got off to a rocky start but eventually became a couple by the end of Year 10 and are still dating well into their senior years - 11 and 12. This AU is largely a coping mechanism for my school life (and it is also very Australian High School themed) and will continue into an University AU. There isn't much content for it but im happy to talk about it.

Heaven and Hell AU is an AU where Sonic is a High Seraph from Heaven (heir to the throne) and Shadow was a demon, whose powers were unlocked by Black Doom during Shadow Generations (also heir to the throne - of HELL >:3). It begins when Sonic, formerly named Caelus, leaves Heaven because he felt unwelcome and bored there and found himself on Earth, during the time of the Ancients (from Frontiers). He helped them build their colonies and civilizations on the Starfall Islands and became a being of worship for them, but was ultimately forced into hiding by the Ancients as they wanted to protect him from The End. Sonic remains on the planet and survives through the rise and fall of empires and into the modern world. He earned his name after defeating Eggman for the very first time and has since taken on the title of Hero of the World and Seraph of the People. Shadow's story still stays true to the canon, but he discovers his demon lineage. Sonic and Shadow, both being divine beings, worked together to live in secret and their relationship started there. Their designs are on my blog somewhere, you'll find them lmao.

Shattered AU, like mentioned, is a Sonic Prime AU where there are different Sonic and Shadows in the Shatter Spaces. In New Yoke; Sonic is Solo and Shadow is Android. In Boscage; Sonic is Paradise and Shadow is Hawthorn. In No-Place; Sonic is Goldheart and Shadow is Darkquill. Each of the Shattered Sonic and Shadows reflect a milestone in Sonic and Shadow's relationship; New Yoke = Enemies, Boscage = Friends/Rivals and No-Place = Romantic. More info about each of the Sonic and Shadows can be viewed on THIS google doc file.

One Week AU, like mentioned, is a King Shadow x Jester Sonic AU. It is a fanfic that is currently being written, where Shadow and Sonic fall in love in One Week (hehe). You'll be able to read it on AO3 once its out!

The Litter AU, or simply, The Litter, is a timeline where Shadow and Sonic have 8 daughters. Hope and Light from the Rewritten AU was reused for this. The daughters, from oldest to youngest, are: Hope, Light, Faith, Life, Lavender, Sunflower, Iris and Hyacinth. They came in twins. Reference sheets are currently being designed and can be viewed once I post them!

Overcast AU is a Sonic and Rain-World crossover AU, with a post-apocalyptic theme. The environment, world and lore is similar to Rain World, but instead of slugcats, we have feral mobians. Shadow is from the human cities, above the clouds, and Sonic is a hedgehog surviving on the rain ravaged surface. Shadow escaped and fell to the surface, where he was rescued by Sonic and they would go on to become mates. You can read the first instalments to this AU on AO3!!

[drenched-in-sunlight]

(AC6) romance of the plastic scenes

Enemies with benefit arrangement. Post Fires ending, 621 found Iguazu hiding from Balam’s forces on a faraway planet, and said “You will do.”

Or: 621 couldn’t let go, and Iguazu won’t reach for what isn’t his.

Warning: unhealthy coping mechanism, vague depiction of sex

i were very ?? about putting in any relationship tag, because it's clear 621 could not hold on to two hearts at once: one pulsates, the other stills. and Iguazu's feeling about all this is brittle and unclear at best. so even though they are literally fucking i really don't know what to make of such relationship.

also it's my personal hc that the Fires ending is where 621's mental state is at its worst cuz they have lost basically everything. which puts Iguazu into the role of the one more mentally healthy here, thus brings out a whole different dynamics than normal and i find that fascinating.

but instead of being able to write a detailed story with analysis and proper plot picking apart these characters, all i could do is producing these fragmented visuals and *wave vaguely* hope to God ppl see a 10k words worth of story in there. it's like i do not control what i draw. im literally Linguini doing whatever the rats in my head tells me.

[quintenrosenburgwrites]

Okay, I know it's probably been said before but I am a BIG fan of how the different coping mechanisms of the main characters of The Amazing Digital Circus are portrayed. Like, it seems like a lot of the main characters could be described through how they cope with the idea that their actions don't matter. (I JUST WANNA SAY HERE THAT THESE ARE ALL JUST MY INTERPRETATIONS! IM NO EXPERT, JUST A STORYTELLING NERD) (SPOILERS FOR TADC EP 1 AND 2)

Ragatha plays along, seeing Cain's games as a way to practice escapism. She pretends her problems don't exist, and actively avoids confronting them (Like how there's clearly still SOME kind of tension after Pomni ran instead of helping her, but she says it's fine). She doesn't try to change things because she believes things CAN'T be changed.

Jax just does whatever he wants, because if his actions don't matter in the long run, why shouldn't he? He also practices escapism, but in a very different way from Ragatha. Instead of playing along, he is horrible to the people around him because there aren't any consequences anyways. He also avoids anything he finds stressful, much like Ragatha (He looks upset for a frame before rolling his eyes and walking away when Kaufmo's funeral is mentioned). Both of them refuse to confront their problems, and would much rather ignore them through each of their preferred types of entertainment.

Zooble doesn't really have the energy to participate in Cain's adventures, because their mindset is that if nothing matters, why should they do anything at all? They do put effort into some things, such as setting up Kaufmo's funeral, however so far it's been shown that they prefer not to participate in Cain's activities unless they are actively forced to.

Kinger. Um. I don't know how to describe Kinger if I'm being honest. Same with Gangle. We don't know a lot about either of them yet, but I'm sure other people have some fantastic theories on those two! My personal theory is that they're actually NPCs, because Cain mentioning the risk of mixing up real people and NPCs felt significant. It's kinda a very loose theory though, and it has literally ZERO proof, so

FINALLY, POMNI. I am a HUGE fan of Pomni's characterization! The best way I can describe Pomni is, if she was in a time loop, I imagine that she would, without fail, try to prove that she is a time loop to her friends EVERY loop to try and get their help. She's very clearly struggling a LOT in episode one and the beginning of episode two, but once she actually makes a friend, and later when she realizes that the others DO care, she starts to actually have hope. While the others have less healthy coping mechanisms, the way that Pomni copes with the idea of none of her actions mattering in the long run is, "At least my actions matter to the people around me." Having a support system matters a LOT to her, and I think that's why Pomni is going to be the one to get all of them out of there. The others have given up on escaping, resorting to escapism and/or apathy to cope, but because Pomni copes with her surroundings through her friendships with others, I don't think she'll give up like the others.

Anyways. I love TADC so much. I am SO excited for what's coming up next, and if Gummigoo doesn't come back I'll cry /hj (gummigoo getting eviscerated destroyed me on the inside)

[shreddeddescent]

Oh don't apologize about writing this, we are literally reading it too! I find the story interesting and like, yeah it is fucked up, but I'm having fun reading it too 💪💪💪

Also, how does Mikey feel about all this? I was thinking about that because he likes to deny the has 'adult problems' like you said, so I am really wondering about how he's dealing with all that is happening

🌠👾

ughhhh god...... the mikey can of worms about this specifically is exactly what that was about and whats been really tough to talk about. like this specific scene was what i had to get up and walk away from cuz it was painful.

he's not okay. he also doesnt care about it, cuz hes like... ugh you know what. i think i should actually just share this whole thing i wrote about it. this one is rough. nothing graphic, but if you wanna see how fucking not okay this kid is despite how much he's pretending he can be? yeah. hes gonna talk about his bullshit for the first time ever, and something bad had happened to mikey before. and he doesnt even know what.

which is like where i think the whole climax of this arch is going in my head. i havent written it all out yet. im being tugged along on a journey, yknow.

warnings for csa and incest and like. very poor coping mechanisms. all of it this one hurt me personally the most in the end.

theres some implications of things going on in the background, cuz at this exact moment none of the characters have been coping well hence the fucking.... need for these adults. raph needed to be alone to spiral about the 3 kids by himself, leo needed to be put to bed (by mikey) cuz he got way too high after realizing how much he'd been personally juggling everybody else, and donnie wont mind his buisness about anything, mikey had a go at him about it which resulted in him trying to help mikey with his current 'im having traumatic sex dreams' problem. but donnie is the same age and wasnt gonna be able to help much.

if any of it sounds confusing im sorry. id try and do a whole. fic thing about it but i really dont know if i can. whats important here is the mikey part. cuz this is where it all came to a head.

also mentions of lita, whos raph's little alter. the one that was only ever around for shredder. until recently

--

Mikey was glad that Donnie seemed better when he left the bathroom. He seemed to have been spiralling about whatever was going on between Leo and Raph.

He was pretty sure the idea of sex repulsed his twin, despite his attempts to explain it to him. He was a good brother. But it really wasn’t worth worrying about if Raph and Leo needed to be away from each other. It was weird he cared.

Donnie cared about too many fucking things.

Mikey had spent an extra long time in the bathroom, thinking over if he felt any attraction like Donnie said. He’d thought about exploring his body, but the idea reminded him of Raph. He really didn’t want it to but it did. The first time he’d seen his own penis was when it was forced into his sleeping brother.

His brother who felt like his mom.

It fucking broke something inside of him. He was trying like hell to be the baby Raph needed, to be okay for him, so he wouldn’t make Raph worse. But in the back of his mind he did know he wasn’t okay. And maybe he was just age regressing to cope. Maybe he was only getting angry at everyone cuz he couldn’t help the age regressing.

It was easy to feel like a baby when you were so malnourished as a child that you looked way younger than you should. Father had seen to that. He didn’t take care of him and then blamed Raph for his condition. And maybe he just didn’t want Raph to feel bad about it anymore.

And he had recently remembered.. something. Childhood Raph who wasn’t Raph. Raph leaving crying, coming back Lita and not crying. And… Lita apologizing for something.

The rest was a mystery. A mystery he’d thought he might be able to uncover in therapy with Big Mama, but now?! Now there was this whole… situation!

So he was just sitting with Donnie quietly, watching dumb shit on YouTube. Ignoring his feelings.

They’d seen Leo very not so subtly leave his room. He still stunk. He walked funny and airheaded, but as long as he wasn’t gonna bother Raph, who cared where he went.

…Mikey cared a little. And he was the only one who saw how much weed he’d smoked.

So after about 5 minutes he sighed and felt the need to get up and see if he could find him.

He went out in his red hoodie and some fresh sweatpants, it was night time and maybe he went outside.

He wandered the hall and felt that vertigo feeling again. He hated it, he didn't feel present. Made him think of the drugs from the cages. The drugs he’d been extra pumped full of for being good at fighting them off. That made it worse.

He rested against the wall for a moment and rubbed his eyes.

“Hey, little man.”

He blinked and looked up. It wasn’t Leo.

Jennika was there, in a loose white shirt and cargo pants. She got down into a squat in front of him and smiled.

“Are you okay?”

He felt like maybe he was standing on a fault line.

“Sorry… I’m kinda queasy…” he mumbled.

She eyed the place he was standing and gently gripped his shoulders, tugging him about 3 feet to the left.

The feeling faded and he sighed out in relief.

“Better?”

“Yeah..” he took a deep breath and stood up straight, smiling at her. “You’re…. I know who you are now.”

She stood at her full height and rubbed the back of her neck.

“Yeah… sorry I was uh… lying before. I guess I wasn’t really lying? But you know.”

He nodded slowly and smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you. You seemed kinda.. not okay?”

Mikey laughed and shook his head. “Nah! I’m good! I’m fine, I’m just looking for Leo, he’s the one who’s not good.”

“Leo’s alright. I saw him earlier. Kirby’s kinda.. talking him down from his high I think.”

“Oh! Wow! Kirby’s talking to Leo?” He smiled up at her, that was exciting. He knew Leo seemed upset about being ignored by his…. Son. “That’s good. I think that’s good for him.”

She nodded and held out her hand. “Do you wanna walk somewhere? These walls are so… migraine city.”

Mikey looked up at her curiously and beamed. “Sure!” He took her hand and squeezed it softly.

She squeezed back and they walked to the elevator together. He noticed when she was inside there were more buttons and she pushed one.

She seemed a little shy so he tugged on her arm. She looked down at him curiously.

“Can I call you Jenny? Or is Jennika better?”

“You can call me whatever you want, I don’t mind.”

“Raph said you're trans like him. So that means you probably chose your own name, right? I mean... he didn’t. Cuz he’s.. his situation’s weird, but am I right?”

She blinked and smiled softly.

“Yeah.. I did. Is it… a cool name?”

“Yeah! So if you chose it that makes it extra important, so I wanna make sure I say it how you want it said. Jen-nick-kah. I like it!”

She took in an audibly shaky breath and looked back at the buttons.

“Th…thanks Mikey…”

He squeezed her hand.

“I uh… I don’t think you’re looking at me for like… ugh.. dad approval. But like, you seem cool.”

She smiled and laughed a little. “No, I’m definitely not, but thanks. I feel a little.. weird to be honest. But I hope we can clear the air?”

He smiled up at her genuinely and nodded. “I’d like that.”

The elevator doors opened into a lobby Mikey hadn’t seen before. They’d been portaled from the city straight into Big Mama’s office. This was an actual entrance.

And… it was a button they got blocked from pressing? He’d need to think about that later.

Jennika walked with him out of the building and Mikey came into contact with a whole other world. They were in a courtyard of sorts, a city street across from them. The sky was pitch black, because it wasn’t a sky, it was high dark cave walls that stretched beyond what he could see. There were floating crystals for street lamps lighting the streets.

The streets were full of yokai, going about their days. Shopping at storefronts of magic and mundane. It seemed busy. It seemed normal.

He stopped in his tracks and Jennika turned to look at him worriedly.

“Are you okay?”

“W-where…” He kept staring over at the street. There were weird chariots for cars, and creatures flying above his head.

This wasn’t New York City. 

She seemed to realize what was wrong and her eyes widened. “Oh! You’ve.. never been to the Hidden City. Oh shit. This was stupid Kirby’s gonna kill me.”

Mikey stumbled back into a fountain in the courtyard and sat on it. He looked behind him and he could see the exterior of the hotel for the first time.

A skyscraper that existed underground, he couldn’t even see the top because of how dark it was up there.

He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.

“Mikey are you okay?!” She sat down beside him and put her hand on his shell.

“I… yeah.. it’s just a lot…” he didn’t open his eyes but he did lean into her. “I don’t get out much, I guess. I’d be more excited if it hadn’t been… a day.”

He might have been letting his very well crafted facade slip.

She rubbed his shell. “I just thought we could go get some ice cream and talk it out. I thought maybe the hotel was a dumb place to talk, but maybe that’s my bad… I didn’t think about how weird this would be, I’m sorry.”

He looked up at her. She looked anxious and guilty.

So he thought about what she’d just asked and blinked up at her.

“Hidden city has ice cream? Like somewhere I could try every flavour? Cuz we fit in down here?!” He asked excitedly.

Her eyes widened and she beamed. “Yeah! That’s exactly what I was tryina do!”

He jumped up and tugged her arm.

“Show me! Show me show me!”

She grinned and stood up, jogging with him down the street.

He was laughing as they ran goofily down the street. People were staring but not because they were freaks, just cuz they were having fun.

They found a storefront for ice cream and there was a many armed person at the till. Jennika boldly asked for two samples of every flavour and it earned a very annoyed look from the clerk. She slid some kind of hidden city money over with an apologetic smile to make it worth their time which cheered them up.

There was some weird flavours in there he’d never heard of. Some sounded like fruits that didn’t exist, others were weirdly goopy or fleshy in nature. One even made them breathe fire, it was fun. They had a laugh.

By the time they’d tried everything Mikey was given some kind of mix of 5 flavours in a bowl with a spoon, and Jennika got the same.

So they walked down the street eating ice cream together. Like they were normal people having a normal outing.

It was so weird how normal it felt.

She showed him a park to walk through, the trees and plants were purple instead of green which was cool.

They sat down at a bench facing a glowing green lake to sit and eat. It was peaceful. He liked it.

“So how are you?” She finally asked, scooping ice cream in her mouth.

“Kinda confused. You’re really nice and cool, but like… you’re.. you know. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel… like, I feel kinda silly? But also.. feel kinda bad?” He was squishing the ice cream together, mixing the colours absentmindedly in the bowl.

She hummed and swallowed back her current bite, placing the bowl down beside her. “I can tell you how I see it. Which is that you’re like.. a brother. Like I know where I come from, but you’re just a kid, and you’re a kid on your own and that makes me sad, and I feel like I’m standing right here in front of you with like.. I dunno, open ears. No that’s not the phrase..” she tapped her chin as she tried to think.

Mikey looked up at her curiously. “Open arms?”

She snapped her fingers and grinned down at him. “Yeah! Open arms. I know it’s weird. I'm not trying to make you feel weird, I just wanna listen if you need someone.”

He looked down at his bowl and took a small bite. He wasn’t sure how well some of this went together but he liked it all the same. A big fucked up hodgepodge of deliciousness.

“I… don’t want you to feel weird. Maybe I’m hoping we’re just gonna be a big family with ease and nobodies gonna have any problems anymore and I can just be normal and not worry anymore.”

She smiled sadly and bumped his arm with hers.

“I’d like to be a family like that, but I think it won’t be so easy. And that’s okay. I wanna put work in, we all do. I think it’s worth a try, and I’m kinda old enough that I can handle whatever you wanna throw at me.”

He glared at the lake with a tired look in his eye. “Just cuz you’re old doesn’t make you able to handle stuff. Old people never handle stuff good as far as I’ve seen. I guess that’s not fair… I just think I’ve seen my brothers get hurt over and over cuz people don’t care how they come off to us. Cuz Shredder treated us like animals, and Splinter…” he sighed. That was a whole can of worms. “She’s old, and yet she felt more emotionally stupid than everybody else. Than her own kids.”

He blinked and realized he’d been talking a bunch and looked up at her. She was just watching him with a sad look.

“Sorry. I’m fine. Thanks for the ice cream, it's good!” He put his happy voice back on and shoved more in his mouth. He thought about how much he could fit at once before swallowing so he took bigger bites. 

“I’m… sorry your mom wasn’t good to you. I’m extra sorry your dad was…” she sighed. “I guess adults really let you down a lot. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged and swallowed back his huge mouthful of ice cream. And then he felt the brain freeze and cupped his head. “Auuuugh there it is! Brain freeze!”

She hummed a laugh and rubbed his shell. “You’re trying to avoid talking. You wanna seem like a happy normal kid don’t you? You’re putting on an act.”

That hurt more than the brain freeze.

He groaned and kept holding his head as it passed, she was holding him to distract from the hurt in his brain.

“How do you know I’m acting! Maybe I’m just immature!”

“Maybe. But maybe you know you’re hurting and you don’t wanna make it my problem for some reason.”

He furrowed his brow and looked away.

“Is it cuz you think I’m like your kid? Cuz really… I really don’t see me like that Mikey…”

“No, it’s not that..” he sighed. He wasn’t sure what it was. He’d been able to talk to Donnie, he’d wanted to talk to Leo. But Jennika was actually asking him how he felt and he could only sit there thinking of ways to seem like he was a baby again. Ways to try and seem normal, like a good kid brother who makes her want to take care of him normally, so he wouldn’t scare her off, or traumatize her!

Oh…

“It’s cuz you make me think of Raph…”

She took a deep breath and nodded knowingly, sighing.

“You don’t talk to him about how you feel. You just go baby made. So you wanna do that with me too.”

“I’m sorry… I’ve got issues. People think I don’t but…” he sighed. “I don’t know..”

She patted his back. “I'm not Raph. I’m not your mom. I’m your cooool big sister! And I know you’ve got issues, I’m open, I’m here. Hit me.”

He looked up at her nervously.

“I…” he looked around. It was really empty here. He decided to lay his head in her lap. “Is this okay..?”

He felt her hand gently stroke his head. “Yeah, that’s okay..”

He took a few deep breaths. “I keep thinking about the cages… about.. what happened. I’m really embarrassed about it, and ashamed of myself… it’s stupid cuz I know it’s not my fault, but the.. specifics of what hurt me was all related to this..” he sighed and closed his eyes. “Weird relationship I have with him, where I try to let him be my mom cuz I never had one. And maybe it’s cuz he’s female and I imprinted on him as a baby, or maybe it’s just cuz I was so small and he was so worried about me.. but the… the mixing of these two things in my head, the 'mama Raph' and the fact I….” He felt tears rolling down his cheeks and he sobbed audibly. It was getting uncontrollable.

She just rubbed his head. He heard her sniff but didn’t look up. He just let her pet him and tried to collect himself.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t… know what to do, I know you’re not… but I’d never even seen my body before my dad made me use it against my will, a-and so I’m just.. b-back to baby mode, h-hoping I never grow up and have to think about it again…”

“God… Mikey I’m fucking sorry, that sounds like so much…” she was probably crying but kept petting him. He wasn’t sure how to respond now. “I… I think it sounds like you know you shouldn’t do that. That you’re like… pushing stuff down to make yourself seem okay. I think maybe you wanna be worried about normally just so you feel normal, maybe that’s why you’re acting like that…” he chanced a look up at her. She might have looked like him, but the way she was crying over him made her look like Raph. So he was crying in her lap quietly.

He looked away and clutched the fabric of her pants. “I’m.. not trying to act out… I just really don’t want these grown up problems, I-I wanna worry about stupid stuff, n-not wake up with my thing out cuz I h-had a nightmare…”

She took a deep shaky breath and blew it out slowly. “We don’t get to choose to not grow up. I know why you want to? But look at me. If I could have stayed a kid forever I probably would have. I hated puberty. Being a grown up sucks. But you can’t stop it. And you’ve gotten forced into the worst thing, but it doesn’t make you grown up, it just.. means you have to deal with something complicated. I... think ignoring that kinda problem won’t make it go away, and if you need to talk to someone about.. all that gross complicated stuff you’re scared of, I’m here. I’ve had lots of weird feelings over the years, going from like.. weapon to person, boy to girl.. you can tell me more if you want. Maybe I’ll get it.”

Mikey sat up and wiped his eyes. “I.. I haven’t even been asking about you, I’m so sorry Jennika…”

She smiled sadly and draped her arm over his shoulder, pulling him close and giving him a gentle shake. “No, it’s fine! You’re having a bad day. I wanna help with that, don’t worry about me at all.”

He looked up at her sadly, pressing his head against her chest.

“I-it’s weird.. if I’m not your dad, that probably means Raph’s not your mom right..?”

She sighed and looked at the lake. “No… he’s not. It’s kinda complicated, cuz there’s a piece of my heart that still.. I dunno, craves a mom? So that’s why I was so weird when he called me beautiful… but he’s not, he’s my brother just like you are.”

He looked over at the lake. “Is it weird that I think of him as my mom..?”

“No… Not at all, I get it. He’s been your caretaker, and he likes doing that.”

Mikey nodded slowly. “Then.. you get why its… fucking with my head that I’ll dream about the cage, and wake up like that.. why I feel sick to my stomach about it…”

“God, yeah I get that… I would be scared.”

“And I can’t cry to him about it, cuz it’s about him…”

She nodded slowly. “And that would make it worse.. yeah. I’m sorry Mikey…” she rubbed his shoulder. “Okay.. so this will be weird no matter what, but like.. you had the bird and bees talk? And any other talks about your body and stuff..?”

He looked up at her and shrugged sadly. “How much talk needed? We already made you.. think I get where babies come from…”

She looked down at him sadly and then gently rubbed his head. “Oh.. buddy that doesn’t mean you know everything. Did Splinter never…?”

He looked away. “Maybe she tried. Maybe I ran away. I don’t know, I don’t remember…”

She nodded and kept rubbing his head. “Okay. Let’s jump past babies and stuff. I think what you’re describing is like a sex dream, and it’s one you’re having cuz you got forced into it. A trauma dream, making you relive the only time you’ve ever felt arousal. You can’t control it, it's not your fault, it’s a natural response. It doesn’t mean you actually feel aroused by Raph, that you actually want him like that. It’s… ugh I’m sorry. Consent is a better place to maybe start this. Consent and body autonomy and finding a partner you trust…?” She shifted a little.

He looked up. She seemed a little frustrated that she couldn’t find the words.

He sighed and idly squeezed her knee. “I know what you’re trying to say. That I was raped. That I raped Raph but I didn’t, that he raped me but he didnt… dad raped us. Used us to rape each other. I… I know that.”

She looked down at him sadly, clearly sad about how much he was using the word. But he should be allowed to say it over and over again!

“Yeah…”

“I’m too young for sex. I don’t want a sex partner or whatever. I don’t want to have to worry about that, but I’m scared that I’m…” he keeled over and started crying out of nowhere. “I-I think maybe when I was little dad raped me too..? W-when Lita.. I-I can’t remember it… sh-she said I saw something I w-wasn’t supposed to… sh-she seemed so fucking sorry… a-and that’s all I’ve been thinking about for a week… a-and nobody cares!”

Jennika gently shook him and she was crying too. “I care! Fuck Mikey I care so much, I’m so fucking sorry!”

“E-everyone’s been tiptoeing around it! L-like around Raph! A-and maybe I wanted to go to therapy and talk about it! T-talk to Lita! Get more information! B-but there was the… th-the YOU situation! A-and he was traumatized enough! A-and now Big Mama is evil and I-I can’t!”

She took a deep shaky break and wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in her lap for a hug. He let her as he sobbed against her chest. “We don’t need her to do that. We can figure it out without her, we can find ways of dealing with it. God Mikey you’ve been so fucking… I’m sorry. Everything is so fucked up but I fucking promise you that’s my priority okay? We’re gonna help you with that.”

Mikey was clinging to her shirt and sobbing into it. He nodded miserably as he cried. “I-I’m sorry.. I-I keep forgetting t-to bring it up c-cuz I only I-learned about it when y-you were b-born! B-but that was like a week ago! A-and that’s its whole own thing! A-and I’m too fucked up t-to think about it!”

She held him tight and pressed her head against his.

“Fuck… you’ve been keeping so much in there…” She pulled back to cup his cheeks in her hands and smile determined at him, tears still freely falling down her face. He sniffled and shook as he looked back at her. “You don’t need to worry about any of this other stuff. No villains no brothers no fucking weird turtles coming back from the future. Your priority is Mikey. And so’s mine. We’re gonna figure it out. You and me. We’re gonna talk it out one step at a time together. Anything you fucking need I’m here, okay?”

He put his hands on hers, he was struggling to breathe through the crying. This wasn’t his usual crying, he felt fucking broken. His whole body hurt from how hard he was crying.

And it felt good. To fucking scream and yell and cry about how miserable he REALLY was, and to feel seen for it. To feel cared for about it.

So he shakily nodded and kept crying in her face.

She held him again. This wasn’t like how Raph would make him feel at all, this wasn’t a mom thing. This wasn’t a ‘push my feelings down and pretend you’re normal’ upset thing. This was just a sibling really fucking seeing him and letting him be as big of a wreck as he needed. Someone he wasn’t scared of making the problems worse of.

Maybe she was exactly what he needed right now.

[mrtreesnek]

When people think about wasps, they tend to think violent and aggressive. That's not entirely their fault, the general media and their friend's accounts usually paint the same picture.

I've come to see them quite differently though.

Like with most insects, they're more scared of humans than we ever could be of them. Humans are such big creatures that could crush them and their hive in an instant. The worst a wasp could do to a human is sting them, or cause an allergic reaction if they're unlucky.

It's important to understand that the wasp is only defending, it can't understand the difference between getting close because of fascination, or because of hunger.

Wasps think differently than humans, they have a more prominent expression of fight or flight, life or death. Because they still have predators, they have to.

This is commonly misinterpreted. It's hard to not think of wasps as constantly hostile when across all planes of communication they're being demonized.

I believe a key to making sense of their actions is understanding their viewpoint.

In the wild, a solitary wasp sits on her carefully constructed nest. She doesn't understand why she's brightly colored, yellows allowing sharp contrast to black, she just knows it works.

The warning colors keep some predators away from her fragile hive where her young will soon grow.

When a perceived predator ignores the warning, when they get too close, she springs into action with her world renowned stinger. She can't afford to lose her hive. Of course she could always make a new one, but that would take precious time and resources, and her larvae need that time.

When she's successfully driven the attacker away, she returns to her hive. She has protected it.

She doesn't understand when the hive begins shaking, why it resents and shames her. They were trying to hurt the hive, why does it now defend their actions?

She won, why does it shake and sob?

Her hive expresses its sadness in how she defends, how it wishes they weren't alone anymore. How could she not have noticed? The defense of her hive was only hurting it more.

The isolation, she realized, forcing people away when they get too close; she was falsely identifying dangers.

Of course, she still needed help identifying who to attack and who not to, she learned to recognize threats from attempts at friendship..

As they focus less on defense, and more on the hives daily life, she realizes there's more than just life and death, predator and prey.

When she steps down and lets her hive express itself—himself—she learns more about him, about friendship and how proud she feels defending others from genuine threats. Together, they both grow and find happiness.

She understands how much easier it is for him to focus on his learning, how much he enjoys it now.

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°

its too direct, and incorrect to say i am the wasp.

i am like her hive, the wasp is my subconscious,my illness ,my disorder, she wont be going away, so i have to work with her. She wont abandon her hive, but she can defend him properly.

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°

I'm not diagnosed, and im not going to fight about having this disorder,

but I can say my favorite phrase. "If the coping mechanisms help, then it doesnt matter if you're diagnosed or not" i dont remember where it came from 😭.

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°

i also have this metaphor i found from Nerium-Lemontree

the leashed dog, angry and misunderstanding.. i think they both make a lot of sense,

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°

sharing my midnight chant about this too.

through stigmatism and shame, hardship and relapse, i will persevere

i will succeed.

through breakups and fading friends, splitting and coping,

ill be okay, because of my will to stay alive, my will to keep going, to spite everyone around me, because i love to explore, because i love to understand.

(thats why i love star trek so much)

i can walk away, i can hide, but i wont back down,

it is hard to remember when im in the depths of it. but things that stick in my mind i will always remember

things my best friend says to me,

"i do care about you, I don’t hate you, I like talking it out and being able to understand you”

^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°^°

[phxntomsdusk]

addressing this all in one post

sirenbrainrot.

if any of you have been on the wilbur x reader side of tumblr, you may be familiar with the nickname.

this was an account that was known to interact with and write nsfw from time to time, but then got outed for being a minor and not actually 19.

this account was me.

before i explain anything i’d just like to say that i won’t be saying excuses such as “i’m only a kid” because i should have known better. and i know much better now.

this account was the start of several problems in regards to me online. i had started a tumblr because i have a passion for writing, and it is one of my coping mechanisms, meaning it helps me cope with traumatic things in my life mostly.

during the time i had started the account i was going through realization that i had been sexually assaulted and manipulated by an ex of mine. i’ve been through quite a bit of sexual related trauma such as being groomed, manipulated and pushed/forced into doing or sending things.

i had fallen to the point mentally where i felt like i was nothing but a body for someone to find satisfaction with, and so i put myself up to those standards. i had struggled with a porn addiction for months on end, something i still find myself struggling with to this day.

the videos i was watching had made me believe i filled the hole that was in my brain, when in reality it was making everything so much worse.

the videos has turned into writing, starting on wattpad after i came across a fanfic that included smut, to which i read and realized that maybe that would help me more.

it got horrible. to the point i’d ignore friends texts to read it or even did it in school. and eventually.. i had found tumblr.

originally me and my best friend just downloaded the app so we could read fanfics together, sharing our favorite ones throughout the months and what not. until i discover the nsfw side of the content i was engaging in.

my interest has peaked, making me fall into a hole of constant reading, scrolling, and liking anything involving nsfw.

after a few months i had decided to start writing for myself, coming up with the sirenbrainrot tagline and becoming a writer.

i was extremely proud of the fact i had gained quite a big following, even making the character “churchboy” and ended up writing nsfw for him as well.

it wasn’t until i heavily started interacting with abby’s nsfw account that things had completely gone downhill.

it was not and never will be my place to interact with nsfw/adult spaces, and i fully take responsibility for the people i’ve upset and those who i’ve harmed because of my actions.

i was known as 🧠 anon on that account, often providing nsfw content and character ai bots. i was maybe one of the people who interacted with her work the most.

it wasn’t until i had gotten into personal contact with connor that i opened up about my age. he truly made me realized how fucked up and horrible the entire thing is, leading me to apologize to abby personally.

she had blocked me and posted about it, and i do not blame her. i was a minor disguised as an adult, gaining people’s trust just to break down a wall of horrible lies.

after this i discussed with a friend on what to do, ultimately quitting the account and starting this one, phxntomsdusk.

i took a bit of time to myself to think over everything i’ve done because of my own selfish behavior.

i hurt people, i invaded personal spaces, and most importantly i could have gotten several adults into legitimate legal trouble.

i know it’s bad to blame everything on my trauma, but in reality i was a person who was struggling with sexual assault, self harming thought due to it, and didn’t know any other way to fill the spot that would help me the most.

instead of doing the mature thing and speaking out about my struggles, i did a horrible thing and took advantage of people’s trust.

for the record i do not interact with or read nsfw anymore. im still struggling with videos but that is a different thing im working on separately.

for the nsfw i admitted to reading, that is because i worry for my older cousin. his mom doesn’t tolerate this stuff, and speaking with her privately has concluded he will most likely be deleting that account and not posting anymore nsfw so further situations such as this don’t happen.

again i’m sorry for those i have harmed with my actions in the past, i truly am trying to change and be a better person while bettering myself.

[wolpatinga]

re: my recent jekyll and hyde posts

everything makes so much more sense in the book if you assume that jekyll's crisis started being visible to his friends when he hit 40 and quit his promising career as a professor of law

1. why lanyon hates him so much. its not that jekyll was researching magic per se, its that jekyll made a huge change out of nowhere into a field jekyll knows basically nothing about and started claiming he's an expert in it. to hastie, that looks like quackery

2. jekyll is a fellow of the royal society, which means he's done "great things for the world of science and mathematics". considering he was a lawyer up until age 40, the idea that he's bribed his way in (and that straining his relationship with lanyon further) makes a lot of sense

3. why utterson clings to the protege idea for hyde. jekyll, being still very new to that field and kinda out of his league, taking on an apprentice (probably a uni student or recent grad) to help actually run things makes a LOT of sense

4. jekyll writing his own will, and the things he says when utterson complains again. jekyll knows he's done a lot of weird shit. he also knows civil law like a mfer and knows he has utterson by the balls on this one. but this really explains why he's like "i know this is just the icing on the cake of weird shit i've forced you to endure. sorry :/"

5. jekyll living in that shitty neighborhood. he saw some doctor died and medicine (especially being a famous doctor) is a special interest of his, so he bought that lab and WILL NOT LEAVE IT. HIS LAB

6. hyde going in and pointing out loopholes in biblical passages. that's what he was doing, right? writing blasphemies? he was bored and saw a buncha laws written out and figured he'd do what jekyll used to do - case review

7. why jekyll's notes on the experiments SUCK. once its in writing, you're fucked, legally. also why he won't admit to any real crimes in the confession other than the already-solved case

8. him insisting on putting MD before DCL or any other title. that's the one he wants to highlight. please believe he's a real pharm-dawg. please take his medicine seriously

9. he's basically a conspiracy theorist who decides to get really into, idk, learning how 5G towers work, and has a friend who works for a telecom company, and suddenly friend finds out the conspiracy theorist quit his "real job" to build his own 5G towers or some shit like that. jekyll is those flat earthers who get lost at sea trying to find the ice wall

10. im still not over jekyll suddenly building a state of the art lab on his own just for shits and giggles. so much expensive glassware... and the labcoat again. he DEFINITELY has a custom leather labcoat that he never wears except to flex on lanyon

11. any adaptation that lets jekyll be a respected physician is just repeating the lies jekyll told us

12. im not against people suddenly changing careers as they age and realize more about themselves. that's part of the reason i'm obsessing over this, is i can't stand the workplace i'm in rn and will be making a similar choice to jekyll when i can afford it

13. re:12 i want to highlight how maybe if his friends gave a shit about his mental health maybe things wouldn't be so bad. my poor autistic king who accidentally ruined himself with overindulging in his special interest and bad coping mechanisms bc his social support was nonexistant. #mecore

14. re:13 fuck lanyon and fuck utterson for doing this. this is what makes the story such a tragedy to me. its like looking in a mirror and seeing the man you MIGHT become. hyde is here for me but please don't let him be the only one here for me

15. jekyll and hyde being each other's only true friends, in their own fucked up way. hyde loves jekyll's medical endeavors and hypes jekyll up to lanyon. he insists on calling jekyll "doctor" as in jekyll MD as in he's a fucking real medical doc and you WILL take him seriously

16. jekyll x utterson lawyer yaoi, like ace attorney civil cases edition

17. lanyon trying to figure out if the career change is somehow jekyll flirting

18. i want to see an adaptation that is this. i also want to think that jekyll got his MD just to flex on vicky frankie

[talon-dragonbeast]

that ask from last night made me realise that i am (kinda) in the aplatonic spectrum! just, only when im shifted as an enderman. i went to the internet to investigate this further (and because im a sucker for microlabels) but i could not find any labels that specifically described what im experiencing. i did find erosentien, but it doesnt mention anything related to ones orientation changing when shifted, so ill attempt to explain my experience in case it does ring a bell to anyone.

when im mentally shifted as an enderman, my thought processes are very different from my human ones. my enderman identity stems from neurodivergence, as a sort of defense mechanism to cope with having repressed my autistic behaviours as a child.

when i was young, i had no interest in interacting with other human beings at all, as i didnt consider it necessary and was perfectly happy being on my own. it was my mother who urged me to make friends and talk with people, because she was worried that i would be lonely (she was right probably, as now that i have friends i recognise that they are important for development and stuff. idk, im not a psychologist). being forced to make friends as a very introverted autistic child, i approached people as best i could and got bullied as a result.

it was then that i started repressing my autistic symptoms, an act known as masking that is very detrimental to the mental wellbeing of neurodivergent people. it worked though, because i was able to make friends and connect with people in a way that satisfied my mother (even if i never were as social as she wouldve liked)

what i now call my enderman side (or enderman kintype, for the initiated) is actually a series of autistic behaviours that my brain, being trained to heavily repress them since childhood, now expresses in a 'extreme' way; a nonhuman way, one that i can now only access through mental shifting. one of those behaviours is the disinterest in friendship, which when shifted as an enderman manifests itself in aplatonicism.

has anyone heard of something similar? not even specifically related to the aplatonic spectrum, just about orientations changing when mentally shifting. anything at all would definitely be appreciated.

[aliilku]

warning: rant

mention of drug abuse and sh

i think im in my all time low.

three years ago my mental state started deteriorating, i was sh-ing basically every day, failing college, getting drunk on every possible occasion and using sex as sh

two years ago i was neck deep in my 3d, getting drunk and/or h1gh four to six times a week bc i needed to escape my life and mind so badly

now i dont even like being not sober. i dont sh at all. i relapsed here but half the time i dont r3str1ct anyway to be honest...

but i dont have any healthy copying mechanisms either. i am literally unable to handle my life, my responsibilities and my situation but i have no way of coping with it. ive been going through autistic burnout and/or depression for at least a year and a half but i could never afford to quit my job and take care of myself (im forced to have two rn lmao)

and bc of that i have been slowly but surely ruining my relationship. i dont have the mental capacity to plan dates, to have sex, to care about/for my partner properly.

so i just kinda exist through it. all ive been doing in life for the last year are the things i HAVE to do. the only person i talk to outside of work is my partner and i hate it but i cant/ dont know how to change it. i almost never put any effort into looking how i wish i did, i just dont have the energy to do anything not work/ household related

i dont even have the time and space to unload properly which my autistic ass desperately needs, all i get are a few hours alone every few days which i usually spend catching up on chores or playing the sims and watching youtube at the same time bc im unable to do things i would enjoy on a deeper level

and the longer i force myself to do even the absolutely necessary stuff the more im afraid of how hard ill fall when it happens.

i have an older brother whos autistic as well and unable to work, hes 28 and lives with our parents, dropped out of college like 6 times

and his life is basically my worst nightmare and my future at the same time.

and i have no idea how to help myself.

even if i could afford therapy i dont have time for it, i have 4 free days till the end of the month, some days i have scheduled an 8h day shift and a 12h night shift two hours apart from each other

im not even surviving right now, i am literally just existing.

i just push everything possible out of my mind and focus on forcing myself to do my responsibilities, if i even slightly think about myself i have tears in my eyer

and its fucking terrifying.

i doubt anyone will read all of this shit but whatever, i needed to do this.

and if anyone actually did read it, thank you. means a lot.

im open to advice but i might not respond bc i have a tendency to find every possible "i cant, because.." and end up spiraling and making the other person frustrated

[neoarchipelago]

tw for rape and sorta mentions of suicide (just basically saying kys in context ) for those very sensitive or triggered by these!!

but like i went through all the posts i could find and they never said anything bad about non con or dubcon she said rape fics were bad- and the point of her being a “hypocrite” for writing dubcon confuses me as why would someone who didnt support that stuff write it? it doesn’t make sense to me. i understand not liking her point on the kys bit but you guys got really hung up on it and completely missed the point of it about literal rape being romanticized and used as a fetish, not noncon and the likes used as a coping mechanism. it breaks my heart to see especially from people i supported and enjoyed a lot and got me into this community supporting rape. ive dealt with lots of sexual assults and have been raped myself a few times starting from a young age and let me tell you, its horrible. me and my boyfriend do get quite rough at times and do indulge in things like noncon- something that is used to cope and can help- and it is so much different than actually being raped. if you like it rough and dirty trust me girl i completely get it but actually being raped is the most demeaning, violating, and live devastating things that can happen- not to mention the other physical side affects of it. not trying to spread hate, maybe i should be for supporting it, but im more just sad? like seeing a community im so into and my biggest comfort character ( who also has dealt with rape) supporting and defending it all just feels like a betrayal and so debilitating. so many of my safe spaces have been ruined in a physical and metaphysical sense and it just reminds me of the sa when i was a teenager and other boys on my team (i was raped and abused by multiple wrestlers as i was the only girl in the sport in a very large state wide tournament hosted by my school) joking about it and making it not serious not taking me serious and sexualizing the whole situation and thinking i was lucky for a chick. just sickening and heartbreaking to see and the worst throwback thursday ever.

Hi love. First of all, I'm truly sorry of what happened to you. No one should ever have to go through that and you are truly amazingly strong.

Thank you for sharing your point through respect and calm.

I'd like to throw you back to this essay that explains my point of view here. Of course, it's understandable if you don't accept it. I'm not here to convince anyone on this. This is sharing a point of view.

Here, hoping that you fully understand.

This will however be the last time I'll debate on this subject, further comment or anons will simply get a copy paste.

THIS CONTAINS SA , SH AND SEXUAL CONTENT, BE CAREFUL

I- dub-con, non-con and CNC kink in fiction.

A- the place of these themes in fiction and how it separated from reality.

I think the line has to be drawn. A line people seem to forget too easily. Obviously, rape is a horrible thing. This fact has never been refuted in any fics or novels or books. No writer will ever tell you, ‘rape is awesome and soooo romantic’.

Fiction is absolutely fiction. We are aware of it. There's a big difference. This obviously something readers choose to read being aware of fiction. Being aware that the real thing is horrible. Warnings and tags are always there to avoid readers unaware of it.

B- the differences with other themes

One thing I've been asked is what kind of difference writing rape is from writing dub-con or even pedophilia?

On dub-con, the line is blurred. Softer, protagonist may be in a path where the sexual action is wanted but blocked by the mind or pushed to it by the other protagonist, forcing their own need to give in. It is still seen as rape as consent is not fully given. There's not much difference from non-con. Writers usually use this tag to avoid any triggers to people.

For pedophilia, let's see this in a more details. I think we can all agree that all these themes, dub-con, CNC, non con, always involve adults. Whatever it is the kink, or in stories, it’s adults. Adults who are aware of what sex is and what this kink it. Children should never be near any of those themes. It's not about kinks anymore, children don't have kinks.

II- the reality of voicing your opinion on internet

A- SA victims and SH victims, sexual shame

Now there's something we need to talk about. Writing theses themes are used by many as a coming mechanism. SA victims may often use these writings to help the aftermath of these events in their own life.

In the kink itself it's something that obviously causes a lot of shame towards people who are not part of it. But many things need to be said. It's a need for a control of a situation that is dangerous and traumatizing. It's a sign of truth with your partner. Fiction is a way to live that fantasy in full safety as they are clearly aware of the truth of that situation in real life.

Now the thing that has started this whole conversation was the ‘don’t forget to tell rape kink writers to off themselves’.

It is not a small detail. Not at all!

This is where fiction is separated from reality. You are telling a real person to commit a real act that could lead to fatal consequences.

Obviously I think we’re all aware that many people on this website suffer from depression, self harm tendencies and bullying. I do too. Your words matter. Trust me. We’ve seen it with Inquisitor’s death while a live TikTok.

Many other tiktokers who had helped not only spread rumors but bully the creator only realized their mistake once he killed himself.

This is a no turn back situation.

Do you think you have the guts to wake up in the morning, knowing someone killed themselves because they wrote something you were against? That you are the reason they died? Their families are grieving?

You can find an article on the CNC kink here:

-https://www.choosingtherapy.com/consensual-non-consent/

B- respect even through anger

We have established one thing. The internet is a wild, free universe. Anyone can say or write or post whatever they want.

You are free to voice out your opinion, anger amongst these binary and servers. But one thing that is not ok is the way you say it.

A point doesn't need to be full of hate or threats to be said. Especially when serious consequences could be blown by it.

Everyone has their opinion, things they don't like. You are free to avoid tags, not read, block people. Protect yourself first. But attacking isn't protecting yourself. You’re simply causing another kind of harm.

People need to own up to their words and actions.

If you tell someone to kill themselves, it's horrible. It's an actual crime. A full crime.

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[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

Alright, today Ive read chapters 9-12 and honestly, at a certain point reading this book while knowing all the spoilers stops being frustrating and starts just being funny. Like, Ianthe brings up the fact that people are gonna want to kidnap Feyre for "breeding" to which Tamlin says that no one is gonna dare do that to Prythian's Saviour because then theyll be on the shitlist of the other six courts, but Ianthe says that Rhysand could and would do it because hes The Most Powerful(tm) and hes really manipulative and yeah. shes right. Obviously I know this is gonna be treated as unreasonable and as foreshadowing of Ianthe being evil all along, but shes totally right

Anyway, Rhysand continues to be unbearably annoying but not in any particularly interesting way, so I dont really have anything to say about him. I hate how hes so powerful that six courts all working together would be no match for the night court and he comes across as sooooo insincere. Like, I often talk about not being the biggest Feylin fan because its pretty boring to me, but atleast it was like, sweet because of how genuine and endearingly awkward Tamlin was

Speaking of Tamlin, guess who just keeps getting worse and worse? I had some hope for him when he reduced the guards and gave Feyre more freedom, but then he doubled them again and he did that thing with the barrier around the manor so yeah. Now, if I wanted to be a pedantic asshole I could point out that he listened to Feyre (who managed to very clearly tell him what she needs at the moment, freedom, which was great) and they were doing fine until Rhysand came back, but as much as I would like to blame Rhysand for everything, Tamlin's actions are still his own. And honestly, I find Tamlin keeping any guards around Feyre after what she told him very unreasonable

I think keeping Feyre safe has become a coping mechanism for him because he couldnt protect her from Amarantha back then so now hes trying his best to protect her from Rhysand (and others, but mostly him rn) who was essentially Feyre's very own Amarantha, and obviously its not his fault that thats a coping mechanism he developed, but it is actively making Feyre upset and making it more difficult for her to heal as well, and hes the older one in this situation, hes the guy whos dealt with intense trauma before, he should be listening to her and giving her space

The only thing where I'll kinda take Tamlin's side is him locking her in the manor when he was going to the western border and Feyre wanted to follow them, but even then the force field was way too much. But also, to me it very much seemed like he and Lucien were in a hurry to leave and it was a very hasty spur-of-the-moment decision, but also it felt like the narrative was trying to demonise him more by impling that it was more of a calculated decision. Like, idk thats the vibe that Lucien explaining to Feyre that everyone but her could pass through the shield gave me, but that might just be a personal thing. I mean, Tamlin is clearly being demonised here either way, him being so unreasonable is something that I find very OOC even with the recent trauma hes experienced. But, theres a lot of buts in this paragraph i know, I do also want to acknowledge that Feyre would likely not have wanted to go with Tamlin to this conflict-zone if he had listened to her wayyyyyy earlier and not doubled the guards again. I recognize this kind of behaviour because I also felt like I had no agency over my situation in the past and Im also a very stubborn person, and it lead to me also doing more and more reckless things in an attempt to make the people around me actually listen, and make them understand how serious I was about getting out of the situation that was upsetting me

(In case youre worried, Im completely fine now and Im leaving out a lot of detail for the sake of my privacy and so I can draw a cleaner parallel)

Speaking of Feyre's agency, chapter 12 ended with her having a panic attack because she was trapped and then Mor and Rhysand showed up and Alis just gave them to her??? First of all, insane behaviour, second of all, I hate that Rhysand is meant to be the choice guy or whatever but wont wait for her to come of her own volition. I think it wouldve been better if she had that panic attack and it ran its course and then she either called for Rhys or Mor or managed to winnow to the night court herself and thats how she got there. Also, and this is part of the same issue, I hate that Rhys is the one who originally forced her to read. I think at some point Feyre shouldve realised that all the people in the spring court are withholding information from her but!, she realises that they write shit down sometimes and exchange messages and whatnot so knowing how to read could really help her here and maybe she even thinks about Rhysand taunting her about teaching her UTM, so next time shes at the Night Court she demands that she be taught how to read herself

Because honestly, right now it seems like she has the same amount of agency no matter what court shes in, which is basically none

I was gonna end it on that snappy one-liner, but then I remembered all the stuff with Feyre losing weight and how Rhys remarks upon it and how Feyre notices herself getting thinner as well and I dont have that much to say about it, I just wanted to say that it just made me incredibly uncomfortable

But yeah, now Im done for realsies

[captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship]

im new to the acotar fandom but my goodness my heart just melts for gwynriel ❤️ ive been reading some posts on gwynriel/elriel and heres a couple of observations:

1. az for sure lusted over elain, but i dont think he has real feelings for her. or if he thinks he does, its not genuine. it felt like he sort of force himself or lied to himself to have those feelings bc of the fact that az mentioned the 3 brothers and 3 sisters pairing to rhys when he told az off for kissing elain.

2. if sjm straight up said that lucien and elain are mates, that means someone is az’s mate. she may or may not be introduced in the book yet (hoping its gwyn). we all know how much az longs for a mate. once his mating bond snaps to whoever it is, do we really think he would reject or abandon his mate? for elain? this is a guy whos practically desperate for a mate. i dont think he would just choose elain over her bc he lusted over elain for a little while.

Sorry I have left this in my ask box for a million years!!!

yay! I am glad that you love gwynriel too <3 they are such a unique couple and encompass a lot of traits from my favorite SJM couples to create their own dynamic and I cannot wait to see it play out in canon <3

Azriel is a tragic and extremely damaged character. He was denied the love of his mother as a child, and was treated like trash by his family. He never knew love and comfort in his formative years, and all these years later he has never had a healthy attachment to a female. He developed a savior complex at a young age. What people don't realize is that as a coping mechanism for this lack of healthy attachments as a child, he has only ever fallen for women who are emotionally unavailable and he subconsciously knows will never love him back. He fell for Mor because she was miserable in her life and was everything that he couldn't be: warm, bright, and capable of love. He saved her in a way that he couldn't save his mother and took those attachment issues and latched them on to Mor. I think Az knows that she is bi, but subconsciously tortured himself with the idea of this unrequited love because if he lets go of it, he has to finally come to terms with his childhood trauma.

Mor shows time and time again that she can take care of herself, and when she slept with Helion I think that it snapped something in Az that was just a drop of water in the waterfall of his emotional turmoil. Instead of dealing with his trauma and emotions, he finds his next target to transfer his attachment and self loathing issues to and that is Elain. Azriel holds the mating bond in high regards- to the point that he is so worked up about Elain's that he thinks the Cauldron might be wrong. Because he believes that the only way for another female to return his love is for them to be bound to him (which is incredibly unhealthy). However, the scent of the mating bond between Elain and Lucien bothers him so much because he KNOWS that Elain could never be his the way he wants a female to be- but it is easier to keep in the same 500+ year torture pattern than to break the mold. Being with Elain would only further his emotional attachment issues because Elain will always be attached to Lucien in some way- even if she breaks the bond. She will never be fully his like he so desperately craves.

We all know by now that SJM is a fated mates writer and is someone is mated to another, she takes the time to craft the couple's personalities to fit with each other without being the same. Lucien is one of her favorite characters- for him not to end up with his mate that she has spent years talking about them as a couple together and how they will heal is shortsighted on a lot of the anti-elucien stans.

This is the beauty of Gwynriel. Az saved gwyn, but did not form a romantic attachment to her. Then, unlike with any other female, he trains her in a group and privately. Az respects Gwyn as a person first, not as an unattainable love. He trusts her to get herself out of situations (look at the blood rite) and pushes her to do more. His shadows, which are a physical manifestation of his inner darkness and his soul, dance and play and are intrigued by Gwyn in a way they have never been with anyone else. Gwyn and Az will be the ACOTAR friends to lovers couple. They will build a foundation of friendship that blurs into being in love with each other. For Az to truly get over his trauma, he and gwyn need to choose each other for who they are without a bond, and then a bond can snap later. He needs to have someone love him without any strings attached.

(Feysand is enemies to lovers, Nessian is grumpy x sunshine, Gwynriel is friends to loves, Elucien is reluctant soulmates and second chance romance, and Emorie is chosen soulmates).

In the bonus chapter, SJM clearly puts the nail in the coffin for E/riel with her use of negative prose and Rhys (who in her mind can do no wrong) warning Azriel off of Elain. Then SJM shows us the interaction with gwyn and has positive prose and connotations noted in their interactions, that he feels at peace and something settles within him. She basically just threw in a million different phrases that she used previously for mated couples to tell us "LOOK HERE. LOOK AT THIS." And then she said in an interview that it would be obvious who the next book was about? I am sold its an Azriel book. I don't think elain has hit her rock bottom yet. In ACOMAF, Feyre hits her rock bottom, in ACOSF, Nesta is at hers, in HOF Celeana is at hers, and at the end of ACOSF Azriel is at his. If she set up the next book to truly be Elain's then she would have added elain into ACOSF and made her a more prominent character. Instead, the next two who have the most page time other than Nesta and Cassian are Azriel and Gwyn. Which mirrors what she did for Nessian in ACOWAR. Every pattern says that the next book is the gwynriel book.

Sorry that this kinda turned into a rant lol