#but also the thought of seeing my gross little scars makes me feel nauseous.

[sciderman]

How long until you heal enough for tummy rubs to be safe?

i think actually i need tummy rubs right now more than ever

[justdyingslowly]

1. Name justdyingslowly obviously come on

2. Nationality Australian

3. Age 22

4. Birthday nnnah dont feel like it

5. Zodiac sign (or your primal zodiac sign) Libra/Scorpio cusp

6. Gender wamon

7. Sexuality very very hetero

8. Your looks (add a picture or describe yourself) androgenous

9. What do you/did you study? Psychology (focus on sexology) and art.

10. What’s your current job like?/What job would you like to have? I am disabled you think I can work ha sexologist would be awesome. When I was a kid I wanted to be a fireman but Australias always burning

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11. Your birth order head first

12. How many siblings do you have? 1

13. Do you have good relations with your family? yeah dads finally out of his abusive relationship, nearing age 70 and his emotions and his sexuality are finally opening up for the first time and that makes me SO happy.

14. How many friends do you have? what kind of fucked up question is this.

15. Your relationship status relationshipped. Fiance? got the marriage papers in a drawer somewhere with the car rego but can’t be fucked filling them?

16. What do you look for in a SO? empathetic, mature, calm. Always open to discussion. Prefers to be blunt rather than secretive. Emotional age over 14 (incredibly fucking rare apparently). Puts an importance on context and understanding other views above all else.

17. Do you have a crush? Hellll yeah Crush on my partner and got a crush on a mutual friend of ours who don’t even know hes cute af hehe one day partners gonna accidentally spill the beans and embarrass me coz hes shit with secrets RIP me.

18. When did you have your first kiss? You think I can remember this bullshit? Its not that big a deal

19. Do you prefer serious and meaningful relationships or casual dating/one night stands? One night stand sex almost exclusively sucks. Just. SUCKS. Because neither of you know what the other likes and it ends up being an awkward mix of trying to please yourself while trying to also be considerate.

20. What are your deal breakers? Plugging your ears to anything that feels gross, uncomfortable or disagrees with you. How can you grow as a person without introspection? How can you mold what you think and believe without taking in other arguments and comparing them to your beliefs to see how they stack up? Its pathetic.

-

21. How was your day? cute mutual friend had a fall this morning and were both worried about him. His back is bad and he’s getting a little older, he can’t be getting dizzy and having falls like that. other than that im anxious about seeing my gastro. He’s lovely but... specialists are specialists. Good at knowing what they know but not always great at listening.

22. Favourite food & drink you think im allowed to eat or drink? water and... foods a touchy subject.

23. What position do you sleep in? Usually on my side with a body pillow to grip so I don’t end up choking my partner in his sleep.

24. What was your last dream about? uuhhh...going to italy and being unable to get into this tiny basket boat properly.

25. Your fears does PTSD to medical shit count haha

26. Your dreams ... going to italy and being unable to get into a tiny basket boat thingy?

27. Your goals - get some sort of diagnosis eventually. Its been 3 years of trying and im tired. - get back to studying art part time for my bachelors. - pass JLPT N3. - go back to university for psychology. - do the dishes when I get home.

28. Any pets? two budgies. we also take care of any orphaned or injured birds.

29. What are your hobbies? feeling nauseous drawing writing a little bit im making a little gameboy game in C atm too

30. Any cool places in your area? i live next to a national park with waterfalls and koalas and emus and stuff

31. What was your last awkward situation? mutual friend made a comment on his chest i playfully smacked it (related to the comment) it was surprisingly hard “O-oh wow, thats... I didnt expect that” my partner laughed at me. it was awful.

32. What is your last regret? getting embarrassed at friends pecs stop making me think about it 33. Language/s you can speak english. N4 Japanese.

34. Do you believe in astrological stuff? (Zodiac, tarot, etc.) of course not what the fuck

35. Have any quirks? Quirkless. I do wiggle when im happy though apparently.

36. Your pet peeves open doors.

37. Ideal vacation spend a months chilling in an old japanese house in autumn hokkaido oooooof that sounds nice

38. Any scars? internal? yes

39. What does your last text message say? peepee poopoo ustinky

40. Last 5 things from your search history how do i find this

41. What’s your [device] background? Sam Porter Bridges walkin around Sam Porter Bridges cuddling BB-28 Louise while he sleeps my chicken

42. What do you daydream about? all might

43. Describe your dream home an old japanese house in autumn hokkaido oooooof that sounds nice

44. What’s your religion/Your thought about religion its a comforting thought having a parent-figure who cares about you and looks after all the big things you can’t manage yourself, but institutionalizing it runs a severe risk of becoming harmful cults. And it often does.

45. Your personality type me

46. The most dangerous thing you’ve done i saw the lost bunny that was on all the posters in the neighbourhood looked thin and patchy so i grabbed him to take him home. im allergic. sent me to hospital and I almost died.

47. Are you happy with your current life? feeling sick sucks and partners having a depressive episode but things are pretty good

48. Some things you’ve tried in your life living

-

49. What does your wardrobe consist of? blacks, reds, whites and pinks

50. Favourite colour to wear? at the moment pink. Red is always comforting though.

51. How would you describe your style? mix between lazy alternative punk, teenager with band shirts and harajuku peach kawaii uwu

52. Are you happy with your current looks? kinda wish i was a bit shorter but what can you do

53. If you could change/add something to your appearance - impossible or not - what would it be? bit shorter

54. Any tattoos or piercings? lol no PTSD

55. Do you get complimented often? by who? partner constantly, family haha are you kidding im australian so a friend’s version of showing affection is calling you a cunt and slapping your ass in public

56. Favourite aesthetic? all might

57. A popular trend that you dislike blocking because you disagree or find them distasteful. Ignoring all context to opposing thoughts and arguments. taking a personal feeling of disgust to mean something is evil. Blocking your ears to anything that isn’t a circlejerk of what you already think - and trying to isolate anyone who even just listens to something other then the noise of your sloppy dicks to have a thought of their own.

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58. Songs you’re currently obsessed with? The Machine by Low Roar

59. Song you normally wouldn’t admit you like. why wouldnt i admit i like a song

60. Favourite genre? probably enka haha

61. Favourite artist/band/genre? probably enka haha oh and tatsuro yamashita

62. Hated popular songs/artists? why the hell would I hate something like a song? I hate aspects of the music industry as a whole I guess?

63. Put your music on shuffle and list first 5 which playlist they aren’t all together in one place

64. Can you sing or play any instruments? piano, saxophone... uh... partners good at making music and playing shakuhachi

65. Do you like karaoke? no.

66. Own any albums? yes? many?

67. Do you listen to radio? What stations? no. but triple J, ABC Jazz and Classical. sometimes they even play final fantasy and JRPG music on classical which is pretty neat. -

68. Favourite movie/series? can i make this about games because then the answer is Metal Gear Solid

69. Favourite genre of movies/books/etc ...shounen?

70. Your fictional crush/es if they’re over 40yrs old, male and happy and bubbily or grumpy and sad then there’s a big ol fat chance I wanna bone. Solid Snake from MGS4, All Might and pretty much anyone drawn by Tarou Madoromi.

71. Which fictional character is you? uh

72. Are you a shipper? List your otps, if so what does this even mean what language is this

73. Favourite greek god? idk hades seems chill

74. A legend from where you live that you like the story of Tjilbruke is funny and good. all Kaurna stories are good.

75. Do you like art? What’s your favourite work or artist? im in a big egon schiele mood atm.

76. Can you share your other social media? no i am incapable

77. Favourite youtubers? many

78. Favourite platform? not too high up. actually i like being a little lower than ground level in corners.

79. How much time do you spend on the internet? too much

80. What video games have you played? Which one’s your favourite? look i just want to say that MGS4 is the best one in the series and Death Stranding is phenomenally engaging.

81. Your favourite books (manga also counts) these are all so goddamn definitive how can I pick? Oh wait the answer is One Piece

82. Do you play board/card games? I play DnD atm and know 15 yr old rules to Yugioh

83. Have you ever been to a night marathon in cinema? that shit dosn’t happen here

84. Favourite holiday golden week coz its a week also easter because thats when all the glucose based sweets come back

85. Are you into dramas? what kind

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86. Would you use death note, if you had one? no. thats called being a murderer.

87. What changes would you make in the world, no matter how impossible, if you had the power to? chill people out a bit. when people feel unsafe they get really depenfive and territorial and block their ears to everything, making in-and-out groups for themsevles that end up putting them in more harm.

88. Could you survive a zombie apocalypse? im disabled with a disabled partner. we arent funny sure we can survive normal everyday life when society is angled so sharply against us.

89. If you had to be turned into a paranormal being, what would it be? id like to be a mimi spirit

90. What would you want to happen to you after your death? spooky time

91. If you had to change your name, what would be your pick? toshinori yagi

92. Who would you switch your life with for a week? anyone healthy

93. Pick an emoji to be your tattoo that cursed one with the intense eyes and the hand

94. Write 3 things about yourself - only one of them must be true im me im not me im pee

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95. Cold or hot? cold.

96. Be a hero or be a villain? both are distasteful ideas in reality

97. Sing everything you want to say or rhyme? i can’t do either partner speak sin bad puns and its hell, these both sound about equal

98. Shapeshifting or controlling time? shapeshifting. controlling time is eithe rmanipulative or lonely. shapeshifing is every other superpower at once.

99. Be immortal or be immune to everything aside from natural death? both are deeply upsetting ideas

100. ….. or …..? jiji or ossan? generally Jiji, but ossans can be lovely too.

[alilaro]

. reasons im not apart of the twilight “fandom” anymore :

   long post. the rest is under the cut →

this is dumb, but im just kind of realizing i dont have to prove myself to any fandom. im not in some little clique where I have to know everyone and vice versa. I don't have to draw characters I hate to "stay relevant".

Gods, I've spent so long thinking my self-worth was linked to how much I could produce to this hivemind of people. The notes, the likes, the reblogs. But... I dont know any of those people.

I know who my friends are and what matters to me is them and my followers. Not some collection of 3k people that I'm supposed to feel 'unified' with because of one vague common interest -- but they're strangers! I dont know or care about them -- and I dont have to!

I dont mean that negatively I just mean its true! A fandom isnt like a community or a family, its just strangers until you decide to make some of them more than that.

Its just that... my god... I've spent so long worrying about what people think of me, what they say about me behind their backs. All these people I tried to impress, put on a show for and act a certain way to maintain a social status -- but none of it was real! It was always fake. Pretending to smile and collaborating with people I disliked despite the anxiety and self-loathing it made me feel, that I was happy and enjoying myself, and that the fandom was this niche part of the internet where everyone knows eachother and we all are a family--- but it was always some stupid game. I put of a facade to hide the lies and the shame and the gut-wrenching depression, because "no one likes a downer, arin."

What I'm trying to say is that... fandom life is not for me. I have anxiety, being in this fandom makes me paranoid and nauseous---and while some people thrive, I don't. Its toxic for me and my mental health.

I don't want to be apart of the fandom anymore. I don't want to be associated with the series anymore---I hate it. I literally loathe Twilight as a series so much, same as its horrible author. I have multiple histories involving forced catholic religious worship growing up, and later involvement with a cult. It’s too personal and I know the kind of bullshit “holier-than-thou” hypocrisy that Meyer slips into her narrative because I lived it and I fucking hate it. I dont want to reblog content just because I feel pressured to.

I shouldnt have to silence myself and hide my opinions because they're unpopular and I might be hated. Seeing me or my friends being vagued because of something so petty as not liking certain characters. The raw never-ending paranoia of 'what if they dont like me' 'are they going to make others hate me' 'when am I going to get a callout post.' And I realize I spent all this time trying to get people to like me that I realize some of these people would never return the thought, to worry if they were ever good enough for me.

This is not to shit on the fandom. This is a very personal problem. I've been here since 2011 now and I can't keep playing this game.

My art is my art. I love what I've made the Volturi into like they were my own creations -- and so obviously I am not going to stop uploading them. But I think its also important to differentiate that I am not in the fandom, nor am I a fan. I may have been once, but for my own health I'm cutting my ties.

On a more personal level: my dad almost went to hospital last night and it caused me to have a meltdown, and so ive just been awake all last night thinking about things. And I realized something. 

I tried to like the cullens for a long time but it just reminds me of being in the closet and all the fear and guilt and shame I felt at the time. Liking the Volturi for me is escapism. It always has been that way.

I was only 13 and it was like my link to things that were out of the norm and a community of people were different. No one said it out loud but there was always this silent solidarity with fans I knew that we were “different” (ie non cishet) and it was scary. But things like gender and sexuality made sense there. You weren’t yelled at for doing things to spite canon—because there was never enough given to these side characters that it would matter. You could add whatever and project whatever you wanted onto these characters and for the most part it was accepted.

And then having to come back to friends at school and pretend everything was okay was harmful and damning. Twilight was literally my entire puberty, the transition from child to adult, and the similarities linking my interest with the Volturi is locked tight in my soul. I remember even petty things like seeing my straight friends obsessing over Cullen boys and me having to pretend to agree every time wasn't nice.

I know it’s not really that deep, but the Cullens and seeing it on my dash and people forcing it on me, it feels like some kind of metaphor for be being in the closet again. To conform, to change. To me, the Volturi is a personal metaphor for my growth and straying from normality that was being straight and cisgendered.

And its been many years since then but the ideology is so deeply ingrained within me that even at 22 I can’t just unroot that.

And this is all on me. I get that. I know this isn’t the universal experience for everyone that liked Twilight, but it is my experience, and that matters for something.

I just... want to do my own thing. Without people yelling at me about canon or my headcanons being gross or wrong or ugly. Its tiring. I’m tired. I just need a break.

I hope this makes some notion of sense? Im going through a lot of things at the moment and finding out who I am and what I want in the process. And while the fandom has brought me the privilege of meeting and befriending some of the most absolutely wonderful people I've ever met, its also brought me spite and jealousy and rage, and it just feels like im drowning in it.

Its not personal. And you will barely any notice a change in my posts after this, if any.  I will still upload and reblog like usual but now hopefully with more confidence and a scar thats begun healing. 

I just wanted to clear the air and let yall know where I am right now.

Hope yall have a wonderful day. 🌸🌸

[rue-by-another-name]

“Love Me Do” - h.s. a.u. Part 4

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

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-----

The first time you cried over your hand injury wasn’t because you were in pain, it was because you couldn’t peel an orange. Harry watched almost disbelievingly as you started to break down in front of him across the kitchen island as the orange rolled away from you and into the sink.

Bea hunkered down for another fit, and Millie stayed a safe distance away in the living room from behind a glass of wine. They’d left it up to Harry to take care of you, considering it was around four in the morning and you were literally the worst patient. You were irritable and cranky and such a child that Harry could not believe that you were actually like you.

You were a menace, honestly, and he kind of wanted to throw you out a window at this point. But he was the reason you were like this when he truly thought about it, and Bea and Millie had promised to stay up to keep you company so at least they were helpful in that way.

“I can’t …” you sniffled and Harry literally almost lost his shit.

“Are you kidding me?” he grumbled, “You’ve been complaining for hours and now you finally start to cry over an orange?”

“I’m hungry!” you cried, sniffling again and turning away from him while cradling your hand to your chest. Behind you, Harry picked up the orange and started peeling it slowly, grumbling to himself under his breath as he checked the timer on his phone. The first washing of your stitches would be in fifteen minutes and he was honestly dreading it.

“Here,” he sighed and sat down next to you on the kitchen island stools. “You eat this and keep yourself occupied while I wash your stitches, okay? Here, just -” You felt his large hands on your ribs as he hauled you up and sat you on the kitchen counter. You stopped sniffling long enough to appreciate how close you and Harry were as he started unwrapping the bandage. Chewing aimlessly on your orange slices, Harry looked up at you, “You should probably look away if you don’t want to see it,” he suggested.

You thought for a moment, felt the weight of your hand in his as he was delicately unwrapping the wound before you sucked in a breath. “No I should probably get used to it,” you nodded. Harry sighed, mumbled something about it being your funeral under his breath, before he let the bandage fall from your hand.

The cut was jagged and across your palm, twenty black stitches keeping your skin together where it bubbled in the middle in an angry red line. Instantly you were nauseous.

“Are you going to throw up?” Harry asked, ducking under to get a look at your face as you shut your eyes tightly and shook your head.

“No no I’m fine. I’m fine,” you nodded, even though you felt the vomit rising in your throat. “I’m totally fine.”

“You look awful.”

“Fuck you,” you responded.

“Are you cleaning it?” Bea asked, snooping around and trying to get a look at your hand. Millie came over too as the two of them look around Harry’s broad shoulders as Harry wet the cloth to start cleaning the wound.

“Girl it looks so gross,” Millie wrinkled her nose.

“The scar is going to be wicked,” Bea mumbled.

“You two really aren’t helping,” Harry turned and glared at them both, “Like seriously not helping.”

“This is your fault,” Bea whispered before walking way and taking the rest of the wine bottle she and Millie had been drinking out of.

“Not my fault,” Harry grumbled, even though you both knew it kind of was.

“In my defense though,” you said, wincing as Harry started cleaning the cut, “This was the first time you broke a glass and not me.”

You smiled triumphantly as you got a pretty good smile out of Harry. He shook his head and let out a long breath, “I guess you’re right,” he nodded, “Who would have thought.”

“Definitely not me,” you sighed, “I’m going to have this ugly scar for the rest of my life and – oh no!” you cried suddenly. Harry jumped and pressed the cloth tightly to your hand, holding it to his chest in fright.

“What? Did that hurt?” he asked, holding your hand a bit tighter.

“Oh my gosh that was adorable,” you whispered in awe as Harry realized you weren’t in pain and gave you an annoyed look. “No it’s okay,” you nodded, “Just that I realized I’m going to have this scar forever which means that I’m going to have to remember you forever because it was all your fault,” you whined.

Harry was silent for a moment before he pressed down a bit harsh on your cut with the cloth. Immediately you hissed, biting down on your lip.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Harry said sarcastically, “It’s so early in the morning and I’m exhausted. Did that hurt?”

“You suck,” you grumbled.

“You wish,” Harry mumbled back.

“Did you just make a sexual joke?” you asked, “Uncalled for.”

“Y/N I am exhausted,” Harry sighed, “Like, genuinely unsure how I am awake right now. I may start making sexual jokes and that’s not something I am in control of.”

You looked at the digital clock above the stove and sighed. “I can finish this if you’d like to leave?”

“My flat is like 40 minutes away. I’m staying here tonight,” Harry declared, tossing the slightly bloody rag in the trash before taking out the new bandage to wrap your hand in.

“Okay,” you sighed, “Well –”

“Why don’t you go take a shower,” Harry interrupted you and patted your shoulder. “Just – here, let’s wrap the hand in a plastic bag.”

“How do you know all this?” Millie asked, looking up from her phone. Bea had already lost consciousness, succumbing to sleep considering how early in the morning it was.

“I have three younger sisters and a younger brother,” Harry sighed as he duct taped the grocer’s bag to your hand. “And they are all train wrecks. The twins constantly are breaking bones and God knows Suze has gotten stitches probably three times now.”

“Twins?” you asked.

Harry nodded. “Lilly’s the oldest. And by oldest I mean that she’s twelve. And then there’s Tommy and Susan – the twins – who are only eight. And then Elodie is only two but she’s a daredevil. She toppled our Christmas tree last year.”

“Oh my gosh,” you laughed as Harry started pushing you towards the bathroom. “I didn’t know you had such a big family.”

“Yeah well, it’s a new development in my life,” Harry sighed, “Mum remarried and I was pretty young when she had me so it’s kind of like she’s starting over, ya know?”

“I don’t, honestly,” you sighed, “My parents are kind of old and I have no siblings.”

Harry frowned, “Sounds kind of lonely.”

“It is,” you sighed, “I love kids.”

“Well then you can babysit my rugrats,” Harry sighed, “Okay now I’m going to leave you in here to shower. You’ll be okay, right?”

“I’m 23,” you put your good hand on your hip, “I think I can shower.”

“You’re also on pain meds and cried over not being able to peel an orange.”

You pouted, “You have a point.”

“Okay well,” Harry tossed a towel at you, “Good luck.”

Your shower was refreshing, and you spent your time thinking about Harry rounding up a bunch of little ones and spending his time at home acting as a third adult. You couldn’t imagine what that must be like – firstly to have a mum that you’re close enough to that you can relate to things, and then also to have a lively household where toddlers knock over Christmas trees. It was small moments like these that made you realize you didn’t really know much about Harry outside of the bar. It kind of put your childish crush into perspective.

Getting dressed was a struggle, but once you finally got your oversized shirt over your head, pulling up your thong was much easier. Brushing your hair took a bit longer than it usually did, but by the time you were done you felt refreshed. Opting against pants considering your shirt was so extra large, you meandered into the flat to the sound of soft laughter.

Millie and Harry were sitting on the couch, and they were looking at something on Harry’s phone laughing quietly over something. They were sitting ridiculously close together, and considering Bea was taking up most of the couch with her sleeping figure, you figured they were close together originally because of the lack of area to sit.

“Wait wait look at this one,” Harry chuckled, swiping something on the screen that made Millie hide her giggles in her sweater.

Harry shook his head before sighing and putting away his phone. “So Y/N told me you’re going to be in her film with us.”

Millie sighed and stretched up as she nodded tiredly. “I’m excited,” she said, “Y/N’s really great and all her projects are usually top-notch. I’m lucky she finally decided to let me in. I don’t know if she wanted to do casting or something, but she was hesitant at first.”

“Well she’s been working pretty hard,” Harry yawned, “She sits at the bar and does her work and rewrites basically the entire script.”

“Tad’s a loser,” Millie nodded, “He’s kind of the worst but a lot of writers make you pay to use their scripts and so Y/N probably wanted the cheaper route.”

“She should have just wrote something herself,” Harry grumbled, “That’s basically what she’s doing.”

“She needs Tad’s name in order to receive the credit of working with a writer,” Millie nodded, “And you’re fulfilling the role of outside actor.”

Harry nodded as he furrowed his eyebrows, “I didn’t know that was something she needed.”

“She technically doesn’t,” Millie shrugged, “But she’s an overachiever.”

“Well I’m excited to be working with you,” Harry nodded, “And I’m sorry for walking out the last time we were together. I kept meaning to reach out, but we’ve both been so busy and last time we tried dinner it didn’t really work out, did it?”

Millie chuckled, “Yeah not quite the best.”

You sighed and stepped out into the living room, making your presence known. Harry sat up a bit straighter as you walked sleepily into the room and Millie opened her arms for you to fall into.

“How’re you feeling now babe?” Harry asked, pushing some wet hair from your face as you snuggled up to Millie’s chest.

Your stomach tingled at the word ‘babe’ rolling off his tongue. You shivered, and Millie cooed as she pulled you closer. “Sober,” you grumbled, “And a dull throbbing.”

“Pain meds wearing off?” she asked.

“Probably,” you grumbled, “But that’s okay I’ll just go to bed.”

“Want me to sleep with you?” Millie asked, softly braiding your hair. You sighed, and knew that she was asking to be nice, but probably wasn’t too keen on actually sharing your bed with you. It wasn’t odd for you girls to share a bed – many nights ended with you sleeping next to one of your ladies as they sobered up. But you also knew that Harry and Millie had some sort of chemistry that you needed to not get in between. If they had made plans at one point to do dinner, then you knew that they talked more than you’d originally thought.

So not only were you sober from your meds, but you were sober from the idea of ever being with Harry.

“That’s okay,” you sighed, “I’ll probably be up for a bit longer and I know you’re tired.”

“Going to class tomorrow?” Millie asked.

“No definitely not,” you yawned and pulled out your phone, “I’ll email professors now.”

“I can stay with you tomorrow morning if you’d like,” Harry suggested.

“You can do whatever works for you,” you said, “You’ve done enough, honestly. Sorry about the orange incident.”

“We’ll talk about it for many years to come and never let you forget,” Harry chuckled, “Now let’s go and you can get some sleep.”

“Bea,” you nudged her leg but your girl was out hard. Millie groaned as you both thought of the times you’d had to literally drag her to bed.

“I’ll take her,” Harry sighed, yawning before bending down and scooping Bea up. “Where’s her room?”

“Third down on the right,” Millie said, “I’ll show you”

“Good night guys,” you waved as you all passed your room and turned away quickly before you could hear about the rest of the sleeping situation. Whether Harry spent the night in Millie’s room or not, you didn’t want to know. And you didn’t have to worry about it for long, because you fell asleep much faster than you’d anticipated, dreaming of a large backyard filled with little kids and Harry chasing after all of them.

When you woke in the morning it was quiet. You almost forgot of the events the previous night and early morning had happened before you went to rub your eyes and was met with your wrapped hand. Groaning, you sat up and leaned against the headboard. Moving your hand made the blood seem to turn heavy and your hand started to throb.

Rolling out of bed, you sleepily lumbered into the bathroom. The door was closed, but you didn’t think anything of it as you stumbled in, yawning and stretching. It was warm in the bathroom and you reached for your toothbrush sleepily before looking up in the mirror and nearly screaming.

Harry was staring at you with wide eyes, towel wrapped around his head like a dork and body lean, glistening and naked.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” you screamed, letting out a strangled gasp as you caught a glimpse of Harry in his full glory before you slammed your good hand over your eyes.

“I thought you’d sleep longer!” Harry yelled, reaching for another towel and wrapping it around his waist. “You can look now.”

You opened your eyes hesitantly and groaned. “That’s my towel all up in your junk.”

Harry looked down at the towel he was clutching in his hand and shrugged, “You decide which you’d rather have – junk or towel?”

Mumbling under your breath, you shoved your toothbrush in your mouth and turned away from him. Harry seemed to awkwardly just be standing there, until you realized he was probably waiting to get his clothes that were on the counter right next to where you were.

“You have a lot of tattoos there,” you commented, coughing slightly when you almost choked on your toothbrush.

Harry nodded, “A fun thing to do when I’m bored, I guess.”

“I have a tattoo,” you said before you could stop yourself. Harry’s eyes raised higher than you’d anticipated, and you laughed at his reaction.

“You have one?” he asked, “No way.”

“Yeah I totally do,” you turned and said, “Lift my shirt.”

Without thinking about it, Harry lifted your shirt and the first thing he noticed was your ass. You of course, hadn’t even considered the fact that you were only wearing a thong and t-shirt, more concerned with Harry seeing the minimalist moon tattoos down your spine.

Clearing his throat, Harry looked to your tattoo and actually admired it for a moment – the crisp art of it and the detail of the moon phases. “It’s for my grandpa. He died when I was seventeen and always showed me the moon through his telescope.”

“It’s really nice,” Harry nodded, quickly putting down your shirt and looking away as he grabbed his clothes. “Okay well see you out there.”

You finished brushing your teeth, trying to get the vision of Harry fully naked out of your head. The image however seemed to be imprinted in your mind, and you shook your head multiple times to physically attempt and remove it.

You were not successful.

Going to your room to get changed, you were looking for your leggings when the thought occurred to you in horror – Harry had seen your ass.

Shoving your leggings on, you slid into the hall to find Harry making breakfast – of course – and yelled, “Did you see my ass?”

Harry bit his lip and cleared his throat, “Well, in my defense, you told me to look at your tattoo and –”

“Just say yes or no, Harold,” you grumbled.

“Yes. And my name isn’t Harold.”

“It’s not?”

“No. Just Harry.”

“Oh …”

It grew silent as you hopped up onto the stool across from where Harry was making omelets. He pushed your pills towards you with a glass of water, “You should probably eat something before you take those.”

You nodded, not wanting to defy anything Harry was telling you considering he was still here taking care of you. He could have easily left, but here he was making omelets. God you hated him.

“You sure you’re feeling okay?” Harry asked. You looked up to see him leaning on the kitchen counter, yet another bar between the two of you just like when down at the real bar.

“I guess I’m just overwhelmed,” you sighed, “None of this feels real. Just last night we were at the bar just like normal. The night before that I was drunk and at your flat. Today I’m missing school, which is something I hardly ever do. And you’re here making omelets and I have a busted hand.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah it’s a lot to take in.”

“And you’re just here,” you gestured to him, “Other than in the past couple of days, I’ve never seen you outside the bar. And on Sunday we’re going to be at the same event? I don’t know; it’s just weird.”

“You don’t want to see me outside of the bar?” he smirked.

“No I definitely do,” you said quickly, “You’re awesome and obviously perfect. You’re good with kids, know how to cook, can easily get me drunk – please tell me you can’t do something,” you begged.

Harry laughed at this, leaning forward and just watched you as you ate for a moment. You were different outside of the bar as well. You were more relaxed, less frazzled, and you just seemed more human to him. In the bar, you were this little creature sneaking around, being a clumsy adorable dork, but here you were real and knew where everything was without having to even look. You had pictures of you and your family, and you had been able to get from your bedroom to the bathroom without even opening your eyes.

“You have to tell me something I’ve been dying to ask,” Harry finally said as he stood back up and took the pan to the sink.

“Oh no,” you sighed, “That can’t be good.”

“Why is a being in a relationship and finding someone so important to you?” Harry asked softly.

He watched as you grabbed your plate and groaned, dramatically throwing your head back as you made your way to the couch. Following you, he grabbed your water and watched as you flopped down on the couch and he sat down to face you.

“It’s not that it’s super important to me,” you started off, “It’s just something I think about constantly because I’ve never had the experience. It’s this mysterious thing that seems to work out for everyone else, but here I am, a perfectly good and normal human being with yeah, maybe a couple flaws, but for whatever reason the mere thought of someone loving me the most in their life just never seems to work out.”

Harry nodded and listened as you took a sip of your water. “I guess most of my motives are pretty selfish,” you shrugged, “I mean, the reason I want to be in a relationship is because I want to walk into a room and I want someone to look right at me and know that I’m the person they want to spend the night with, even though there’s an event going on with multiple other people, you know? Like, okay,” you turned to Harry and tucked your legs under you as you spoke, “Imagine being at like a party or something and I’m getting there kind of late but I don’t have to worry about whether or not I’ll be alone because I know that there’s going to at least be one person who will not leave my side, my boyfriend, and he’s going to support me and be excited more than ever when I show up.”

“I guess I just want someone to share my love with, you know? I don’t have a best friend that I can be completely honest with. Sure, Bea and Millie are fantastic and we’ve known each other for years now, but I’ve never felt I could be totally candid with them. My parents are older and so a lot of what I want to talk with them about there’s a sort of generational gap. I guess I’m really looking for a best friend who wants to be with me for the rest of our lives and sees more in me than I do. I want to be able to see a human in front of me and say, ‘That person knows me so well and actually loves me and has chosen me. That person chose me.’”

You were quiet after this, looking down at your food as you pushed the remainder of your food around the plate with your fork. “It’s stupid I guess,” you sighed, “And I know it’s selfish and super cliché. But that’s what I want. And unfortunately I’ve had enough time in my life wondering what a relationship is like, that I’ve had too much time to now concoct this idea in my head of what it’s going to be like and I know that I’ve set the standards too high.”

“Either that,” Harry said, “Or you just really know what you want and that’s perfectly okay.”

“Yeah,” you leaned back on the couch and seemed to be looking off into the distance without looking at anything, “Or I’ve set an impossible standard I’ll never be able to find.”

“You just want someone who’s excited to see you and spend their time with you,” Harry said, “And that’s totally possible.”

You nodded, “I just want that moment where I walk into a room, you know?”

“Yeah I know.”

“And now you see me as this totally clingy weird girl with an obsession with being in a relationship,” you offered your hand to him, “So hi I’m Y/N.”

Harry laughed and took your hand, shaking it lazily before running his hand through his still slightly damp hair. “It makes sense and I’m glad you told me. It helps me put together who you,” Harry gestured to your as you laughed, “truly are.”

“Wow thank you so much I really appreciate that,” you chuckled.

“We should probably clean that hand of yours again,” Harry suggested before taking your plate, “Do you think you can do it on your own this time?”

“I need to be able to,” you said honestly, “I can’t have you just hanging around all the time. You have a life and stuff.”

“Honestly,” Harry called from the kitchen as you watched him from the couch, “I’m enjoying this. It’s been a while since I’ve hung out at someone’s house other than Niall’s. Everyone’s busy with their lives and a lot of my friends from school have moved away. So I really don’t mind.”

“Well you can hang out here anytime you want,” you said, standing and walking to the kitchen island. “Especially if you can cook.”

Harry gave you a soft smile before placing the cleaned dishes on the counter and sighing, “Alright,” Harry looked around, “Well let’s get your hand washed and you can get a handle on it.”

For the next half hour, you and Harry sat on the bathroom floor as he helped you clean your hand and showed you the different medication you were to be using. You had been so out of it in the hospital that if Harry hadn’t listened, you wouldn’t know anything that you were supposed to do, so you were grateful for him and everything he was helping you with.

“That’s about it then,” Harry said as you finished wrapping up your hand again. He offered his hand and you stood up before just going in for a hug. Harry was shocked at first, not really expecting it as you wrapped your arms around his torso and nestled your head into his chest. Your body was warm against his, and he sighed as he held you close for a moment.

“You doin’ okay now?” he asked softly, rocking you slightly as you just stood there quietly.

“Mhm,” you mumbled, appreciating the feel of Harry’s soft body against yours. “Thank you for everything.”

“‘Course,” Harry said as you pulled away and pushed your hair from your face. “Do you want to take tonight off work?”

“No that’s okay,” you shrugged, “I’ll come in. Not sure exactly how much I’ll be able to do though.”

“Doesn’t matter. You can still do tabs and things.”

You walked Harry to the door and realized that you’d learned more about him in the time he’d been here in your flat than you had in all the time you’d been in the bar. “Um –” You had meant to say something until Harry turned around and was looking at you now. He saw your eyes panicking for a moment as you realized you’d opened your mouth without fully thinking.

“We still need to go over the script,” you rushed out, “I know it’s a Friday, so tomorrow morning if you have any time would you be able to meet with at least Millie to go over it?”

Harry pulled out his phone and hummed under his breath as he looked at his calendar. “I usually sleep in on Saturdays, I’m not going to lie, because we’re up late Friday nights and then we’re up late again Saturdays. But is noon okay?”

“Noon is fine,” you said instantly, “I mean, okay I’ll actually check will Millie first and get back to you. Actually, why don’t you just text Millie and ask?”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at your flustered thought process. “Yeah that sounds good. We’ll let you know.”

“Okay great because I want you guys to get through the script together, at least the two of you, before we do a full cast reading. And I’ll have to talk to Tad about the rental for the flower shop and we’re hoping to start shooting at least a bit next week if that’s okay so –”

“Y/N,” Harry cleared his throat, “It’s all good.”

“Right,” you nodded, “Okay great thanks I really appreciate it! And your help with this,” you held up your hand.

“Yeah well it was kind of my fault,” he chuckled.

“Our first fight,” you gasped, placing your hand over your chest as Harry couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Let’s not make a habit of it, yeah?”

You nodded as Harry patted your shoulder before closing the door behind him. Suddenly you were on your own and it was quiet – and you hated it.

Harry was surprised by the cold as he jogged to his car, especially after spending so much time in your cozy flat. It had been a long time since he’d spent the night somewhere other than his own flat, but he had to admit spending the night on your lumpy couch wasn’t exactly what he had hoped for.

It didn’t feel like long before the night had started and Harry watched you fumble through holding beers in one hand and explaining to some of your regulars that you had fallen and been in need of some stitches. Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that you were covering for him and your injury, but he appreciated that you never complained. He only caught you studying once, lingering in the back corner on your stool as you tried to flip through a couple pages of a textbook before stepping back out to help for the night.

As two in the morning rolled around, Harry called you from the back, “I’ll clean up tonight if you want to head on home. You’ve done your best tonight.”

“Which means I didn’t do very well,” you chuckled, blowing some hair from your face as you shrugged on your jacket.

“I’ll see you around this weekend then,” you said, making your way to the door. Harry looked up surprised for a moment.

“You’re going over the script tomorrow at some point and then on Sunday we’re going to the film screening with Mansie.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry nodded, “Yeah I guess we’ll be hanging out quite a lot then.”

In your last minute of confidence you gave Harry a smile, “Isn’t that what friends do?”

--

Saturday was filled with you casting people to play extras in your film, and meeting with Tad to go over the script and how everything would go down once you started filming in the upcoming week. It exhausted you, and Tad was kind of annoying about the whole thing, but you were patient and were able to get enough work done that when Sunday rolled around, you felt you were ready to take a night off.

The bar was closed on Sundays, but you and Harry and promised to meet Mansie at the bar, so you weren’t surprised to see Harry through the glass as he was cleaning some glasses and just tidying the place up. 

“Harry,” you swindled up to the bar and, with your good hand, shot Harry some finger guns. Instantly you regretted it.

“What are you doing?” Harry’s voice was monotone.

“I regret everything,” you mumbled.

“Proud of you,” Harry nodded before hopping over the bar and throwing on his jacket - a jean jacket that you’d never seen on him before - and you definitely took a moment to get used to it. 

“Is that a new jacket?” you asked, pulling your beanie down a bit more over your forehead.

“No ...?”

“Just never seen it,” you shrugged.

“That’s because this is my real person clothes, not by bartender clothes.”

You were shocked for a moment as Harry stared at you questionably. “What?”

“You have other clothes set aside specifically for when you’re not bartending?” You couldn’t wrap your mind around the thought, that Harry’s closet might be separated between his regular clothes and work clothes.

“You don’t?” Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

“No! I wear my regular every day clothes! Am I supposed to wear other things?”

“Why are you freaking out?”

“I’m not freaking out! I’m on pain meds!” you cried, weirdly feeling on the verge of tears. Harry went to say something when there was a knock on the glass and you both turned to see Mansie smiling and waving. 

“We will talk about this later,” you whispered but Harry just rolled his eyes and opened the door.

“Hi Mansie,” he smiled, “Good to see you again. How was the wedding?”

“Oh it was so lovely and my single heart honestly couldn’t handle it,” Mansie said dramatically, “All my friends are getting married and I’m just going bankrupt.”

“The dresses are expensive,” you nodded.

“Oh no!” Mansie looked down and grasped your hand in hers. “What happened?”

“I took a bit of a tumble,” you sighed, “No biggie.”

“Twenty stitches no biggie,” Harry grumbled before squeezing you close for a moment. “Okay, let’s do this. Get in the car ladies.”

You gave Mansie the front seat because you were a nice human being, but instantly regretted it when Mansie mumbled, “Is this blood?”

“It’s just mine; don’t worry!” you called, to which Harry grumbled, “Oh my God.”

“You two are super close, huh?” Mansie asked, “That’s so nice.”

“We do our best,” Harry sighed, his eyes meeting yours in his mirror before he started making his way towards the campus. The campus student theater was pretty packed by the time you all got there, and Mansie was extremely excited in the cutest way possible. 

“I’ve never been to anything like this!” she smiled as the three of you stood in line for popcorn. “This is so exciting; I’ve been thinking of transferring here.”

“You would thrive here,” you nodded, “People here are really helpful and supportive. Plus, we all share the same interests so we all kinda get it, you know?”

“Popcorn please,” Harry said once you finally got the the counter.

“Harry?” The three of you all looked up at the girl behind the counter expectantly, you and Mansie with looks of interest and Harry with a look of fear.

“Amanda,” he smiled cooly, “It’s nice to see you.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you graduated?” Amanda asked as she continued to pump butter into the popcorn bucket.

“I think that’s enough butter, right?” you whispered to Mansie. She nodded.

“I uh ... I’m working at the moment. Still live around here,” Harry nodded, “That’s a lot of butter.”

“Oh you still live around here?” Amanda asked, furiously still pumping the popcorn butter disposal. “That’s so nice.”

“The butter?” Mansie asked politely. 

“Yeah um, I’m working at a bar and stuff,” Harry cleared his throat, “Amanda, love, I think the butter -”

“The butter, girl, come on!” you yelled finally, stopping Amanda as she finally turned to you. She then looked at the popcorn bucket before clearing her throat and realizing what she’d done. 

“Sorry,” she said stiffly, slamming the popcorn down on the counter and holding out her hand for payment. 

Harry sighed and handed her the money before Mansie gingerly took the already leaking bag of popcorn and the three of you made your way towards the theater.

“What did you do to her?” you asked urgently.

“What did she do to our popcorn?” Mansie whined.

“We dated my senior year. Well, okay we didn’t date or anything but we like hooked up a bunch I guess. And I went to her brother’s wedding with her. She lived in my apartment for a while? That’s kind of it though. I mean -”

“So you guys were pretty serious then,” you confirmed.

“And this popcorn is seriously trashed,” Mansie grumbled before throwing the whole bag out before you even entered the dark theater. 

“I wouldn’t say we were serious. Like, we never talked about labels and stuff.” Harry looked uncomfortable as the three of you sat down, Harry in the middle of the two of you, as you and Mansie turned to him in need of more answers.

“So you broke up with her?” Mansie asked, checking her watch, “Also do you think she saw I was with you or can I go and get more popcorn with a regular amount of butter?”

“I just told her I was graduating and wouldn’t be around,” Harry shrugged, “And she was kind of mad, I guess, but I never stuck around to like, think about it.”

“Oh my God you just left her,” you gasped. Harry, your sweet and angelic Harry who you’d worshiped, strong, muscular Harry who was nothing but charming and caring, had dumped a girl and was, from what you could tell, afraid of commitment. 

“I didn’t!” Harry cried, “We just didn’t see eye to eye about some stuff and I decided to end it. But I guess she never got closure.”

“You’re afraid of commitment,” you whispered in awe.

Harry just gave you a pointed look before the lights dimmed. You barely had time to think about the film as you watched the lights flashing across the screen. You could only think about the fact that Harry was afraid of commitment. Harry was afraid of being in relationships and he had broken up with a girl after months of “dating” without ever labeling things. And he’d just left her. 

Harry wasn’t perfect, and the more time you spent with him and learned more about him, the more you realized that Harry was 2% short of perfect. And there were other things he probably wasn't perfect at either. Maybe he was awful at laundry.

Slowly, and hopefully inconspicuously, you leaned over a bit and sniffed Harry’s jacket. Nope, you cursed, it smelled amazing. 

Harry stopped whispering to Mansie for a moment as he leaned over, “We’re in a public place so I’m not going to make a big deal out of it, but did you just sniff me?”

“I thought I smelled a really amazing cologne and it wasn’t you,” you said quickly and quietly, feeling your skin heat up as you didn’t even look at Harry. He regarded your profile for a moment, hoping you’d crack under the pressure, but you remained stagnant before he sighed and sat back up, leaning more towards Mansie as they resumed their conversation. 

This was the second reason you were having a hard time concentrating on the movie in front of you. Harry and Mansie had talked through the whole film. Granted, they were talking about the film, but still. You tried not to feel jealous and focus on the fact that Harry was shit at commitment, but then you started wondering if maybe Harry had changed since then. Maybe now Harry was ready for commitment, and this made you slump down in your seat with self-loathing for your consciousness. 

The movie ended and you had no idea what happened, but everyone seemed generally pleased so you clapped along with everyone else. “Where are you staying Mans?” Harry asked as the three of you made your way towards the door. “We can drop you at your hotel.”

“That would be great! Thank you,” Mansie smiled as the three of you made your way to the car. She gave the address and you sat quietly in the backseat as the two in front of you continued their conversation.

“All I’m saying is that whoever was the producer was definitely cutting some corners towards the end,” Mansie shrugged, “There were some flaws in the fluency of the film and it was kind of choppy.”

“It was made by sophomores though,” Harry pointed out, “They’ve got lots of learning to do.”

“They just didn’t shoot it with the right camera,” you said, cutting off the two bickering. “It was an amateur film, and they stated at the beginning that it was merely a side project so I’ll give them that, but they weren’t shooting with a video camera. It was clearly a DSLR and a stabilizer and you could tell because the focusing shots didn’t really have any structure. They were sloppy with the timing of the day they shot at too because you could see the shadows weren’t correct or fluid through certain scenes. They tried to go for close up shots but didn’t have the correct cameras to make it look good so instead the audience felt cramped. And they didn’t have any sort of carriage to mount their camera, and so the stabilizer could only do so much, and you could tell they didn’t have an even point from which they were shooting - you felt like you were either above them or looking up at the actors and you never felt level with them which is why many people probably didn’t feel connected to what they were watching. And they totally didn’t frame any of their shots beforehand. They obviously just did the scenes and set up a camera in two different positions and kept swapping back and forth. That creates whiplash without the audience even realizing they were feeling it.”

The car was silent for a moment and you noticed Harry and Mansie share a look. “What?” you asked, slightly aggressively.

“Just ... nothing; that was really informative,” Harry said, “That’s why you’re the director.”

“That’s common stuff though, I thought,” you said, “Most people should know that by their sophomore year.”

“You’re not most people though babe,” Harry sighed, almost in a tired voice as his eyes made contact with you in the mirror again. The feeling in your stomach was as if Cupid had shot you with an arrow, but now he was trying to pull it out because he had realized his mistake. You gave Harry a soft smile before looking away.

You both said your polite goodbyes to Mansie before she left and you got out to get into the front seat. “I’ll pay for you to wash your seat,” you said, noticing the small blood stain that Mansie had noticed earlier.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry brushed it off. “I’ll take you to your flat, but I’ve got to come up too because Millie wants to run lines again.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “I thought you guys did that yesterday.”

“We didn’t get through the whole script.” Harry wasn’t really looking at you as he drove, which you understood because safety, but you felt he was a being kind of distant as the car melted into silence. 

“So -”

“Can you fucking believe Amanda?” Harry burst, “Jesus, I can’t believe she acted like that.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, she got all huffy and made it seem like this was all on me or whatever. She wasn’t the perfect person to have around either. She was kind of clingy and, I mean, she was super sweet and everything but she was kind of younger and definitely I made it clear we weren’t going to be something.”

“Okay well -”

“If she wanted closure she could have texted,” Harry said defiantly. “It’s not on me that she feels that way.”

“Remember when I told you that you needed to be an asshole so I wouldn’t like, fall for you and shit?” you asked, your chest burning. “Well you’re doing a fucking good job because you’re being a downright asshole right now.”

“What?”

“Well obviously Amanda’s going to feel hurt!” you cried, “She was, what? A sophomore when you started dating? She was young, Harry, and she probably wasn’t as experienced with these more serious relationships away from home and you fucking went to her brother’s wedding! Of course she thought this would probably go somewhere! And then she finds out that you actually aren’t somewhere far off but in reality you’re tending at a bar like, around the corner? Your whole basis for not wanting to be together anymore was that you were graduating and leaving! You screwed her over!”

Harry was quiet but he was gripping the steering wheel pretty tightly. At this point though, you didn’t give a shit. You seriously didn’t care. Harry was being just like any other guy who didn’t realize why you were upset when you were told they ‘just wanted to have a little bit of fun.’

“You need to see this from her perspective,” you said quietly, realizing you’d been pretty loud previously, “Everyone falls differently, Harry, and honestly, for those of us who don’t have the opportunity to fall often, we leap when we have the chance. We know we’re going to get hurt, but we do it anyway because sometimes we hope we’ll stick the landing.”

You were at your flat now, and you sighed as you both sat there in silence. Harry had still yet to say anything, but you were on a roll now. “And about Millie.” You turned to look at Harry and he finally looked at you. He looked conflicted, and you were glad that he was at least thinking about what you were saying and not instantly blocking you out.

“I know you guys have like, a thing going on or whatever,” you said, “And I cast her because I knew that coming in. You guys have chemistry and we could use all the extra help on this film we could possibly get. But I’m just asking, begging you really, to not try to be together until after the film is done. I don’t want to risk anything for this project. This is all I have. And whatever pent up frustration the two of you have for not being together is going to sell it big in the film, okay? So just please, if you can do at least one thing for me, and I know you’ve already done a lot, but please please don’t act on your feelings until after, okay?”

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment before letting out a long breath. “We don’t have anything going on,” he finally said. This made you groan as you threw yourself back in the seat. “What?!” Harry asked, “We don’t!”

“Okay well if feelings do develop then don’t fuck on my set,” you said before getting out of the car and slamming the door behind you.

“What is so far up your ass right now?” Harry called after you, following you into the lobby as you pressed the elevator button and waited.

“I’m just tired,” you sighed, “I’m tired because I have a lot going on and just had to cast ten freshmen as extras because freshmen are like, the only ones who don’t ask for payment because they know they suck. And you and Millie are being all weird, and you and Mansie flirted through the entire film and I could barely pay attention -”

“We weren’t flirting,” Harry cut in.

“Oh my God do you ever own up to anything?” You couldn’t help but laugh at this as the two of you stepped into the elevator. “‘Millie and I aren’t a thing. Mansie and I didn’t flirt.’ Dude I’ve been there for both of these events and can straight up tell you that you’ve been flirting!”

Harry laughed at this, “You think me talking to any girl is flirting in that hopeless mind of yours,” Harry bopped your nose and you glared at him. This again.

“Whatever,” you sighed, “And I totally don’t think that. We talk all the time and do I have to show you my tits to remind you I’m a girl?”

The elevator doors opened and Bea stood there looking bored. “You’re showing Harry your tits?” 

“No,” you and Harry said at the same time. Bea just rolled her eyes and shoved past you both.

“Whatever. I don’t have time for this. Gav got a puppy and thought he could take care of it alone but he’s totally incompetent and I’m basically going to be adopting this damn dog. I’ll see you guys later.”

The doors started to close before Bea slammed her hand out to stop them, “And Y/N, if you’re going to show your tits to anyone, I want to know about it.”

You rolled your eyes as the doors started to close, Bea winking at you quickly before you followed Harry down the hall. “Insufferable,” you grumbled.

“In her defense though, you did offer to show me your tits,” Harry said as he opened the door. Millie was sat on the couch, eating some cereal as her eyes widened.

“You did what?!” she cried, mouth still full of Cheerios. 

“I didn’t!” you yelled, walking past her and on your way to your room, “Just read your scripts and memorize the shit out of them so I don’t have to reprimand the two of you next week!”

“If you wanted to see my tits you could have just asked!” Harry called after you before you slammed the door. You hated it, but you couldn’t help but smile as you were finally alone in your room. It might not be romantic, but there was a hot guy in your life for once, and just being able to say you were friends with him was enough for you.

At least, your little relationship-hungry troll in your chest cackled, for now it was enough. 

-----

-----

Guess the heck what ya gurlie is sick af and so y’all get updates almost every day! Or early morning! Because my sleep schedule is fucked! Haha hahahahah. Anyway - hope you like this next part! Thanks for all the messages you lovely humans I appreciate everything you have given me and seriously want to adopt each and every one of you! 

Part 5 HERE. 

[stomachflu]

prompt for T /// A /// Z: carey is an emetophile and gets a stomach bug, so she's miserable but sooo turned on. could be solo or carey/killian? OR with any other characters, really.

Could you write a fic where character A is puking while character B is holding her belly and masturbating her ? Thanks

tip jar!

🚫don’t rb/share to non-emeto/sickfic/kink blogs, thanks!🚫

first anon, are we the same person?? because i was literally thinking about this exact concept when you messaged me. hope that you don’t mind that i, uh, took your prompt and ran with it!! (sidenote: i know none of the physiology hcs i put in here are anywhere near canon!)

anyways this fic is very long (nearly 5k) and very nsfw, and has an excessive amount of buildup even for me.

Carey feels it when she first wakes up: this slow, sickly ache in her stomach, her insides churning sluggishly. It’s not bad enough to tell whether she’s truly sick or just suffering from a bit of indigestion, so she rolls over to the empty space on the bed where –

Her girlfriend isn’t there. Right. Killian’s on an important-save-the-world mission, or maybe also the kind where she just has to kill some dudes. It’s unclear, but she’s been gone for the past few days, and Carey misses her like hell, but she’s supposed to be back tonight.

So she just lays there on her back, pulling up her shirt to expose her soft underbelly, where her scales just sort of… trail off, and then stop, leaving an expanse of warm, velvety flesh. Killian loves this, has spent many times kissing her belly or slipping her hands under Carey’s shirt to feel it or sometimes just admiring it, and godsdoes it feel good to be admired by someone like Killian.

She can’t tell, but it feels like her stomach is slightly bloated. Then again, it’s early, artificial grey pre-dawn light trickling in through her window, so she just lazily rubs her belly, trailing two claws gently over the exposed flesh, enjoying the thought of what Killian would do if she was here.

It’s enough to make her wet by the time her alarm goes off, but Carey isn’t sick enough (or turned on enough) to skip training, so she reluctantly scrambles out of bed, pulling her uniform on one piece at a time. Her limbs ache, and getting dressed is actually a slow process for once, like her arms are encased in molasses. Could be that she’s sick, but then again, could be that she just trained too hard yesterday. Which she did, so.

She thinks about when Killian comes home tonight – telling her, my stomach hurt this morning, I almost thought that I was sick, and Killian’s strong arms coming around to encircle her middle and maybe saying, I wish I was there, and, maybe: them making something of it.

Then again, it’s not like her stomach hurts, more like she just feels… weird, and off. And then again,it’s fifteen minutes past her alarm and she’s sitting there thinking about the passionate kinky scenes she could be playing out with her girlfriend, and she is definitely gonna be late for training if she keeps this up.

The cafeteria is oddly empty for this time of morning, but then again, it seems to be built for far more members than are currently employed here, so it’s always a little empty. Carey is actually never in here this morning, but she figures that some food might be a good idea right now (her stomach gurgles obnoxiously, as if to agree), so she grabs something that’ll be easy to digest – a plate of fruit, as it turns out, and takes a seat next to… Taako, actually.

Dude’s sitting alone, which is both weird and par for the course for him. Par for the course, because she knows a loner when she sees one. Weird, because she’s never seen him without his group to back him up, no matter how hard he tries to lose them.

“Hey,” she says, thumping her tray down. “Where’s Magnus? And Merle? Aren’t your buddies coming to breakfast?”

Taako shrugs, cutting off a section of pancakes. “Dunno. Actually I do know, but, like.” He stabs a forkful and shoves it in his mouth before responding. “Magnus is really fucking sick, he’s been puking all night ‘n shit. And I’ve been dealing with that for long enough –” he stabs his fork in the air for emphasis “–so Merle’s looking after him while I get the fuck outta dodge.”

“Oh. Jeez, poor guy. I hope he’s okay.” Carey stabs a piece of fruit with her fork and swallows it down. She’s not as hungry today as she is usually.

“Yeah.” Taako looks tired, but sits up in his seat a little. “Apparently, there’s a flu going around the Bureau? So, like, be careful, I guess.”

“I will. I mean, I will, but Dragonborns can’t get sick, so…” Carey squirms in her seat a little bit. The idea of a flu going around is… enticing, to say the least.

“What, like in an elves-don’t-get-sick-but-actually-we-do kinda deal? Or some other fucked-up bit if physiology that you’ve got going on?”

“The latter. Physically? We don’t, our stomachs are like… We’re meant to keep food down? So Dragonborn can’t actually puke. Like, almost never. All that happens is we just feel kinda gross for a bit.”

Carey has, as a matter of fact, thrown up once in her life, when she took a blow from an enemy’s axe that was so bad she’d collapsed to her knees, retching up bile and blood. She still has that scar, and Killian loves it. Between the two of them, her girlfriend’s only been able to make her gag once, after half an hour of trying with her fingers and any object available. It would be a good skill to have, if she had certain… inclinations.

Other than that, she just gets super fucking nauseous, and she and Killian have plenty of fun with that.

“Jeez. That’s… really weird, actually. Fucked up.” Taako’s actually really quiet after that, playing with his food rather than eating it, and throws away his tray before breakfast ends.

For her part, once she’s alone, Carey realizes that the fruit hasn’t helped her stomach much, which feels like it’s bubbling under her fingers. What if I did get sick, she thinks to herself, and the resulting arousal is almost enough that she sneaks to the bathroom to take care of matters, but she’s saving her libido for when Killian comes home tonight. Sick or not, they can have fun then, so she just goes up for seconds.

Training starts off easy, with some stretches (Carey can’t help but notice how many absent spaces there are in today’s lineup) and then some light boxing, which she’s grateful for, because ever since breakfast, her stomach’s felt weirdly tight, her gym shorts creating an uncomfortable band of pressure around her middle.

Then everybody splits off to do their own style of training – Carey sees Taako pairing off an instructor for spellwork and guesses that Angus must be an unfortunate victim of today’s flu. She’s not sure who she feels more sorry for, Angus or the instructor.

Carey practices some half-hearted flips, but her mind isn’t really on it. She feels dizzy and distracted, and halfway through a particularly tricky maneuver, there’s a sudden sharp pain in her belly. She curls in on herself instinctually, missing her foothold and crashing to the ground.

She lands wrong, knows she’s landed wrong before she has the chance to catch her breath, one arm folded awkwardly under her, the other wrapped around her middle. Carey opens her eyes to a crowd gathered around her and swears quietly, quickly removing the hand that’s on her stomach. She tries to sit up, but the pain racing down her arm from her shoulder tells her that putting weight on it isn’t a good idea.

“Okay, everybody clear out, go back to your routines,” says the instructor, a middle-aged halfling woman. “Carey, are you alright?”

There’s another pain in her middle, more dull this time, and Carey nods. “I’m fine, just… kinda sore from yesterday, I guess? Think I hurt my shoulder, though.”

Stupid, stupid move. She’s usually the best at this, and she can’t afford to be outta commission the way a long-term injury would make her. The instructor just shakes her head and sends her to the infirmary to get ice and come back tomorrow.

She ducks into the bathrooms on the way, stopping at the sinks to splash water on her face and change. The dull cramps in her stomach are coming on and off again, with no discernible rhythm, just a sickly ache. She’d worn a sports bra to training, and her underbelly is showing signs of bloating. To anybody else, it wouldn’t be visible, but Carey knows what to look for.

She stands there for a moment, rubbing her hand up and down the bulge of her stomach before changing and leaning in close to the mirror. Nobody can tell she’s ill, thank goodness – Dragonborn run much, much cooler than humans, and although Carey realizes once she’s back in uniform that she’s been shivering slightly not from being underdressed but from fever, she’s probably still cold to the touch, enough that nobody will notice. A little-known fact is that Dragonborn can blush, and a faint flush is spreading across the scales on her face right now, nearly invisible except to those who specifically look for it.

Carey touches a slightly-shaking hand to her forehead as her stomach does a slow, oily flip. This is probably the sickest she’s ever been, exempting the time she and Killian’d both got food poisoning from a shitty inn in Phandolin (may its residents rest in peace) and had made a night out of it – Killian vomiting while Carey fucked her brains out, nearly ill enough to gag herself.

The infirmary is packed. There’s healers moving every which way, bustling between beds, and the sound of retching seems to come from all directions. A nurse leads her to an empty cot, placing a basin on the bedside table, and Carey shakes her head. “Oh, no, I’m not gonna throw up! I just hurt my shoulder.”

I think. Her stomach isn’t doing too hot, actually, and she’s starting to feel the beginnings of nausea in the pit of her belly. The experience is as hot as it is sickening, and she shifts uncomfortably in the cot, aware of the warmth between her legs. Later, she tells herself.

The nurse heads off to grab some ice, and the figure in the bed next to her draws aside the curtain. It’s Johann, of all people, looking even more pale and sickly than usual.

“Oh…” he says miserably. “I was just wondering… if you’re not sick…. if I could have your basin?”

“Sure thing!” Carey passes it over, briefly entertaining the thought of being sick in a basin with Killian watching. “You’re sick too?”

“Yeah… I’ve been throwing up all morning… and the healers took my basin to clean it… and I’m feeling – urk!” He claps a hand over his mouth, but it’s too late: liquid sprays through the cracks between his fingers, and Carey watches, fascinated, as he retches water and bile into the bowl.

“You okay, dude?” she asks, and he gives her a shaky thumbs-up as a harried-looking healer hands her an icepack and a sling and informs her that the slight sprain should heal in a few days’ time, thanks to her body’s healing properties.

“No clerics?” she asks, and the healer shakes her head.

“They’re all out making rounds. With this bug and all, we’re spread so thin…”

Carey nods in understanding. Her shoulder isn’t anything a hot water bottle and a good massage can’t fix, so she thanks the healer and steps out of the infirmary. Briefly, she considers retiring to her quarters for the day, but it’s nearly lunchtime, and does she –

She does.

Carey is definitely sick and definitely queasy and she is definitely going to pack away an entire plate of spaghetti and meatballs. She thinks about how nauseous she’s gonna feel, how her body isn’t digesting any food right now, how her lunch is just gonna sit in her stomach, churning away, and a pulse of excitement shoots through her.

She has to force herself to eat, though it’s with more gusto this time. Taako doesn’t comment on the sling, just picks at his own meal, so it’s just Carey, forcing herself to swallow down small bites of spaghetti even as her throats keeps trying to close up, until he abruptly pushes back his chair and stands up.

“What are you –” she manages to ask before he vomits all over himself, the table, and his lunch. There’s no warning except for a quiet hiccup the first time, but he retches and brings up a second, equally large wave. Carey can only stare, but Avi grabs him by the shoulders and escorts him away once he finished gagging.

Several employees stop by to clean up the mess on the floor, and Carey’s not prepared for the sudden wave of nausea that washes through her, nor for the arousal that follows. She has to excuse herself quickly, taking off to the bathroom at full speed. Once there, she slams the stall door shut, taking hitching breaths as she rubs her churning belly with one hand.

As a general rule, she’s not into guys, so it’s not Taako or Johann puking exactly that gets her, it’s just – thinking about it being Killian vomiting that much, or maybe what it must have felt like –

Unconsciously, she slips her other hand into her pants, playing with herself as she presses on her lower stomach, enjoying the low gurgles and dull bursts of pain from each push. Despite herself, she manages to get off twice, and as she climaxes a second time, her stomach honest-to-god lurches, and she tastes bile in the back of her throat, and this alone is able to tip her over the edge for round three.

She’d promised to save her libido for Killian, and she has; even after shakily emerging from the bathroom, she’s still well aware of the throbbing between her legs – her nausea is doing a good job of that, especially once she returns to the cafeteria, orders a second plate of meatballs, and tries not to think what the sauce would look like if she vomited it up.

Afternoons are reserved for paperwork, which is good, because Carey is quickly becoming too nauseous to handle more than anything else. It’s a bit exciting – she’s queasy, nauseated, and nobody else knows that she wants to throw up so fucking bad. Her stomach is churning, gurgling so loudly that at one point Avi asks her if she’s feeling okay.

It seems like everybody is ill – even though she’s trying to concentrate, both on her work and on her sick stomach, Carey keeps catching bits and pieces of conversation about who else is down with the flu. Supposedly even the Director is sick, unable to leave her quarters.

At some point after lunch, she starts hiccuping, a process that upsets both her stomach and her shoulder. Hiccups aren’t impossible for someone like her, just rare, but she’s never experienced them as a product of nausea.

The dull cramps are near-constant now and increasing in strength; Carey can’t wait to go home and massage her aching stomach. As is, she slips a hand under her shirt to press on a particularly painful spot and surprised herself when the pressure forces up a small, squeaky burp.

“Wow,” Avi says from two desks down. “I didn’t know that Dragonborn could burp.”

“Me neither!” Carey says. Then: “Actually, I’m not feeling so hot. Mind if I scoot early?” This is part selfish desire on her part, part honest truth: she’s quickly feeling too ill to even stand upright, chills and fever taking her over by turns.

Avi agrees to do the last of her paperwork, and Carey starts the slow trek back to her quarters, both arms wrapped around her sloshing stomach.

The first thing Carey does when she gets home is strip. She’s kind of a no-shirt gal in the first place – she doesn’t even have breasts, there’s nothing to hide – but rules are rules, and “no shirt, no shoes, no service” applies on the moon.

Underneath her uniform, her stomach is massively bloated, distended over her waistband. Carey can’t get pregnant, but if she could, this is what she imagines it would look like. She runs a gentle but firm claw over the curve and is rewarded with another burp, this one longer and louder. A firm press yields a wetter belch and the beginning of a heave, and Carey abruptly stops, clapping a hand over her mouth in surprise.

She waits like that for a moment, expecting more nausea, but her stomach just cramps harder. Face growing hot, she changes into a pair of lace panties that Killian’s partial to, fetches a hot water bottle, and waits.

Thirty minutes later, she’s drenched in sweat, swallowing down increasing waves of nausea, and pressing the hot water bottle to her stomach when the door opens. Arousal courses through her, a pulsating warmth, and she’s swallowing down burps that taste of her last meal, choosing to nurse a bottle of water in the vain hopes that it’ll relieve some of the churning pressure in her belly.

Despite all this, she finds the strength in her to limp to the door, leaving the hot water bottle behind. Her girlfriend is covered in blood and sweat, but her eyes light up when she sees Carey, and she scoops her up and tosses her in the air the way they always do when one of them arrives home.

It’s a bad idea with the state of things, though, and Carey cries out as her stomach heaves and pain shoots through her bad arm. Killian quickly sets her on the floor, holding her at arms’ length.

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

Carey keeps her mouth closed until she’s sure that her throat will stop spasming with half-suppressed heaves, one hand pressed to the front of her snout. “I’m… not feeling so hot,” she confesses. “There’s a flu going around.” She shifts so that the bulge of her belly is visible to Killian, placing one hand on it suggestively. “Actually, I’m feeling really sick.”

“Holy shit,” Killian breathes, reaching out a blood-covered hand and quickly yanking it back, like Carey is too precious to touch like this. “Do you wanna…”

“Yes,” Carey breathes, taking Killian’s offered hand and standing up. “I’ve been waiting all fucking day, are you kidding me?”

“Okay! Okay, uh, lemme…” Killian rubs the back of her neck with one hand, thinking. “Lemme shower first, if you can wait that long? I’ll, um. Leave the bathroom door open if you need it.”

That must be a testament to how bad she looks, and a bolt of desire runs through Carey. “Okay, sounds good!”

Carey sits on the edge of the couch, twitching with nervous energy, but five minutes after the shower turns on, nausea swells in her belly again, and the way her throat tightens in an almost-gag makes her feel like the bathroom is genuinely the better option. She stumbles into a spot by the toilet, kneeling like she’s seen Killian do, staring into the water below. Saliva is pooling beneath her tongue, and she spits.

The shower turns off, and Killian steps out. “What are y– oh,” she says, expression softening. “Oh, jeez.”

“’M'okay,” Carey slurs, spitting again. “Kinda felt like I was gonna hurl for a second there.”

“Okay, can you – Are you good?”

Carey nods, not trusting herself to open her mouth.

“So do you wanna do this here or go to bed?” Killian asks

“Bed,” Carey says, but when Killian makes a motion to scoop her up again, she pushes her away. “No, no, I – think I’m gonna hmk! puke, don’t… I can walk.” She can, sorta, leaning against Killian, both arms wrapped around her heaving belly.

Usually, when they do this sorta thing on the rare occasions that Carey is sick, they wind up fooling around a bit, Killian soothing away the aches and pains, then collapsing into a heap to sleep. She assumes the position that she usually does, cross-legged on the bed, propped up against the headboard.

“So,” Killian says slowly. “You’re still feeling sick.” It’s a statement of fact, not a question, but Carey nods anyways. “What do you want to do?”

In response, Carey shifts over so that Killian can comfortably sit next to her. “Whatever – whatever you want,” she says, hiccuping slightly at the end of the sentence.

Killian leans in and swiftly kisses her. It’s always an awkward affair, considering the snout and the tusks, but they make it work, and by the end of it, Carey is giggling, which isn’t doing her stomach any favors.

“You should tell me about how you’re feeling,” she says, voice low.

“I’m – I’m really nauseous,” Carey says, voice wobbling a bit. “Like, I woke up, and my stomach felt off? Like kind of bubbly and gross, and I was already a little bit bloated?”

Killian slides a hand over Carey’s soft belly, fingers splayed out. The width of her hand is large enough that it covers her entire stomach, and Carey sighs as she feels the bubbles and churning under Killian’s hand. “Like that.”

Killian’s touch is enough to bring up one of the burps Carey’s been trying to hold down, and she lets out a muffled “Urp!”

A blush spreads across Killian’s face. “Jeez, babe.”

“Yeah, and then there’s – BRUUURP! that,” Carey says. “Been holding them in for you.”

“Let ‘em out,” Killian says, pressing in a little on Carey’s stomach and visibly enjoying the resulting gurgles.

“Yeah, so, get this – I hurt my arm in training 'cause my stomach was cramping super bad, and you’ll never believe what the infirmary was like…” Carey started telling her about her day, the story intermingled with belches and moans as the pressure in her stomach grows more, not less, painful. At one point, she has to stop completely and muffle a series of burps into the crook of Killian’s neck, each one bringing her closer and closer to gagging.

Killian kisses her again, and then she does gag against her girlfriend’s lips, her tongue arching against the roof of her mouth as the nausea washes over her.

When Killian pulls back with a self-satisfied smile, there are thick strands of saliva connecting their mouths. “Hot.”

“I – I know, right?” Carey’s throat keeps hitching with tiny half-gags, and when Killian shifts, helps her so that she’s lying on her back, facing the ceiling, she thinks, maybe now she’ll help me bring something up, but, much to her surprise, Killian starts with her injured shoulder, pressing featherlight kisses to the throbbing joint. Her strong hands press against the bruise, soothing away the ache that Carey hasn’t even noticed over the pain in her stomach.

Still, she squirms uncomfortably, mindful of the way her stomach sloshes. “Babe,” she moans. “I’m… feelin’ really sick. Please –”

Carey breaks off with a gasp as Killian kisses a path from her throat down to her underbelly, drawing a few light burps from her lips. She slips a hand between Carey’s legs, pausing to marvel at how wet she is already, and uses her other hand to rub her belly.

“I’m – hrmf!” Carey’s stomach lurches, and she dry-heaves. “I’m real close.”

To vomiting or coming, she doesn’t know, but Killian nods, shifting Carey so that she’s sitting in her lap, resting her chin between the horns on either side of her head. She keeps one hand on her belly still, and Carey’s slick enough that she easily can slip two fingers inside her with little testing.

Killian quickly establishes a rhythm – not fast and not slow – and Carey shivers as she ghosts the pad of her thumb over her clit, pressing light kisses to the back of Carey’s sweaty neck. “Is this okay?” she asks, massaging her stomach with her free hand.

“Y-yeah, I just –mmMURP! – Can you press harder, mayb–” Carey is cut off by another sickening retch, and she lets her mouth hang open, drooling over the soft swell of her distended belly.

Killian doesn’t need to be told twice, increasing the pressure on Carey’s stomach, causing her to gag several times, tasting bile in the back of her throat. She’s shaking with fever and quivering under Killian’s affections, her legs trembling as Killian picks up speed.

Killian pushes on her stomach, and Carey barely has any warning before she climaxes, head snapping back and keening as a wave of nausea washes over her. She doesn’t even have time to take a breath before Killian pushes again, harder this time, and she retches hard, a torrent of vomit splattering onto the bedspread.

“Holy shit,” Killian breathes, and Carey chokes on another retch. The second wave brings up even more than the first, but she’s too weak to even lift her head, so she just vomits onto herself, sending a wave of chunky puke down her front, forming a warm pile in her lap.

Killian’s pressing soft kisses to the back of her neck and she stays like that for a moment, head bowed, gurgling retches issuing from her throat, spitting threads of thick saliva into her lap. She’s shaking still, Killian teasing her through the fabric of her underwear, drawing tiny aftershocks out of her.

“Think you have any more in you?” Killian asks after a moment, removing her hand from Carey’s belly.

“I – yeah. Yeah,” she breathes, replacing Killian’s hand with her own. Her stomach is still churning and gurgling, whatever food she has left sitting too heavily to be comfortable. She grits her teeth as another cramp runs through her.

“Wanna – y'know. Puke on me?” Killian asks breathlessly. In response, Carey shifts so that she’s facing her, pressing a quick kiss to her lips but drawing back almost immediately as vomit rises in her throat.

It’s more difficult this time without any pressure on her bloated, aching belly, and she barely manages to bring up a small mouthful of vomit before a series of dry retches scrape her throat.

Killian reaches towards her, presumably to help out, but Carey shakes her head miserably. She wants to get it all up and she wants to do it herself, so she pushes Killian into a lying position, leveraging herself above her on shaky arms.

Her stomach really doesn’t like that, and Carey urps up a few more mouthfuls of vomit. She closes her eyes, lets nausea wash over her in sickening waves, and then gags once, twice, and barely has time to part her lips before her belly lurches and a massive gush of puke splatters onto Killian’s chest.

She retches a few more times, bringing up thinner, more watery streams as Killian gasps, and then collapses next to her girlfriend, panting.

“Done?” Killian asks, pressing her hand to Carey’s belly suggestively.

Carey burps, not even bothering to raise her head. “I… I don’t know. I think so?”

“Wanna shower and find out?”

To no one’s surprise, Carey finds that she’s very partial to that idea.

Under the warm water, Killian teases another orgasm out of Carey, and is well on her way to another when the nausea returns. Carey’s leaning against her girlfriend, face pressed into the crook of her neck – her legs are too shaky to hold her up, and when she’d tried to slip a hand between Killian’s legs to return the favor, Killian just shook her head, saying that tonight was about her.

She barely has time to warn, “Gonna puke,” when her throat contracts and she retches up a wave of watery vomit all down Killian’s back. Her stomach heaves against Killian’s, slippery and wet, and she finds herself emptily gagging and burping again and again until she tilts her head up and drinks deeply from the showerhead.

The water barely has time to slosh uncomfortably inside her stomach before Carey burps wetly and it comes gushing out in two massive waves.

“There,” she says once her stomach finally feels empty, pressing herself up against Killian. “Now I’m done.”

[smallbottlesofjuice-blog]

My depression is slowly killing me. I can feel it eating away at me inside. It’s getting harder to breath and pump blood through my veins, like I’m trying to breath in a burning house simultaneously as my arteries clog. I feel nauseous and fatigued. My head is nearly constantly throbbing or experiencing a dull hard numbing pain. My shoulders are tense and my appetite fluctuates from intense hunger to the sheer thought of food making me gag. Emotionally I’m drained and I’m often irritable and very little makes me smile. I feel hollow inside, but at the same time I want to throw up all gross sludge inside which is weighing me down. Sometimes it hurts so much I feel like ripping my hair and teeth out, like smashing my head against a hard surface, like screaming as loud as I can, like giving up. Instead I scratch, up and down my wrist. The stinging burning pain distracts me. As one pain camouflages another.

I feel sick. But many people can’t see it. I assume what they see is a fat brown girl resembling a tired cow who should be fitter and tougher as she is only young. The scars on my wrist seem to be the only physical manifestation of my illness. And I hide them. Like dark secrets that coyly comfort me, reminding me I’m not crazy and the pain is real. It all stems from the thoughts in my head. The uninterrupted monologue of self doubt, high expectations and disbelief in the state of the world. Half of my time is spent procrastinating due to an innate fear of not achieving perfection and the other half is spent berating myself for not using the opportunities I am so lucky to have. “You are so lucky. You have so much. Look around you. Think of all the people suffering in the world. You’re letting everybody down. You’re ridiculous and you look disgusting. There are people in the world starving and look at you. Someone else deserves my life, they would use it so much better. If only I could give it to them. One of the many people you hear about, the refugees fleeing war, the children suffering from hunger, the people who are capable of so much more.”

I search for more information. To keep up to date in the world of politics and pop culture. Thinking for hours on end about white supremacy, the lack of diversity in the media, global warming, the alt-right, natural disasters, terrorism, Trump, body image, rape, the victims and victors of the world. Thinking about how these bog problems that impact peoples every day lives. Where detention centres and inequality exist because of the lack of empathy people have. And how small I feel, how little I can help. How I feel somehow responsible and incomplete for not doing enough. I express these thoughts to some. I give advice to others I don’t take myself. “How you can only help others if you don’t help yourself first.” To take one day at a time. That you don’t have to be perfect. I’m also extremely jealous of the intellect of the people I interact with and then so critical of those i disagree with. Constantly in a state of confusion of how people act. But also angry at myself  for judging others when I am....well me.

I don’t sleep. Even at night when everyone is at rest, I don’t get to switch off. “Constantly blaming others for your own problems. There are people much worse off. You have this and this and this to do. You could be doing them now. When you wake up you should have a productive day and actually get something done. You should have done something today to help others. Why didn’t you do anything today? Why didn’t you do your uni work or clean your room. Look at this place. You are so lucky. You don’t deserve this. Why aren’t you better? Why does it take you so long to do something? Why are you so dumb?....Why does my heart hurt?”. When I do sleep its in short spurts with incredibly vivid dreams. Set in a variety of locations built so authentically they seem to trick me into thinking I’ve been there before and that those dreams are realities. Places you can trust but are laden with subliminal messages about the past day and the mistakes I made, my worst fears, bottled up feelings and played out confrontations of the past. However when I wake I consider the realities that i recently awoke from and am left with the overwhelming feeling these places do not exist and not matter much like real life.

Moreover, I am a burden on the people I know, making mistakes and taking up time and resources which could be used more efficiently. I have a sever lack of motivation and a relentless desire to be productive and help others. People who are in my life, who do nothing but support me, financially and emotionally. I know I’m letting them down. And this depression is making it harder for me to be good and helpful. I can’t kill myself as it would hurt too many others. The people i say are so important and I want to please so badly. So I live in a constant state of pain, dying and pretending to be alive just waiting for time to pass.