#survival fright

[furiousgoldfish]

I've talked about the 'burnout' and the 'collapse' traumatized people can experience as an adult, as a consequence of an abusive childhood. I realize I've made it seem like a very scary, painful and debilitating thing to happen, and I want to make clarifications about why it happens, and what can you do to mitigate the effects if you're worried it might happen to you.

One part of it, is that living a life while being traumatized, is much more exhausting than living a life as an emotionally healthy person. A big part of our life energy was spent surviving the childhood, and now, a big part of our energy is being spent pushing the trauma down; this is essential for our survival. A part of our mind is always struggling just to keep bad memories suppressed, to keep all of the fear, anger and grief where it can't actively reach us every second of our life, because we couldn't survive if we kept feeling all of our emotions at all times. It enables us to go thru our day-to-day life, and to keep our life ‘looking’ normal, but it does take a lot of energy, it's like suppressing a volcano from erupting, and our energy is exhausted by it.

This, however, means that actively processing trauma, bringing it up and feeling it, however awful and painful it might feel, will eventually free some of your energy up. I remember getting some of my energy back, bit by bit, as I managed to process my experiences and save them as a long-term memories, instead of the repressed ones.

Another part of it is the amount of tension and stress we go thru in our usual day. Being traumatized, a lot of things will act like triggers, and not all of them have to be the huge, dramatic triggers. Sometimes it's just, seeing a stranger on the street looking dangerous, and tensing up. Someone stands too close or asks you an uncomfortable question, and you're anxious, scared, and you spend the night upset and stressed. Being extra worried you won't be able to do something perfectly, and freezing up. Putting large amounts of energy and time into a project because your worth is now depending on it being perfect, you're always bending backwards to get your redemption. Not allowing yourself to take breaks, feeling stressed and guilty when you rest, not being able to find emotional support during hardships, taking on more than you can handle. Stress-worrying about every event where you have to be in contact with the abusers, or anyone else extorting power over you.

These are things that commonly happen to us, and they all result in stress and tension. This causes all of our muscles to tense up, our fight-flight-freeze-fawn response is always on high alert, we spend hours in the anxious state, not knowing how to calm down state, and during all these times, our body is using every bit of available energy for survival, because we're in a survival fright. That is, extremely draining, like fighting for our lives every second of our day. It's no wonder that afterwards all we want is to curl up in the bed, and forget about everything, just trying to find a place where we could get our body to relax a bit, to let us breathe. Constant tension in our muscles will result in chronic pain, which is another draining thing to go thru.

And trying to live a normal life will expose us to more of these, we are unlikely to be able to avoid the triggers while reaching for success in every area of life. We get exposed to people, to situations, to deadlines, stress, expectations, pressure, public image, authoritative figures, criticism, competition, imposter syndrome, fright that we're not as good as everyone else thinks we are. The stress of all this can be too much, even for a normal person. But for us, it's not only the regular amount of stress; the triggers turn stress into pure state of panic and survival fright. We don't only fear we will lose everything we've ever worked for, we fear that we'll be tortured and psychologically destroyed if we don't deliver expectations. We fear we'll be abandoned and left for dead, and that we deserved it.

This is why we need the collapse. Constantly putting ourselves thru all of this, is debilitating for us. Burning out, and isolating ourselves in our room in order to grieve, fear, panic, and cry, it's one of the best things we can do for ourselves. Crying is a powerful way to release stress, and it will release the pressure on our bodies and minds. Experiencing all of the emotions we're pushing down constantly, will hurt a lot, but it will give these feelings a way to exit our body, so we have less to carry around constantly. Isolating will grant us a protection from triggers. No longer exposing ourselves to triggers opens up the possibility of feeling safe, comfortable and self-protected, and that is a foundation we need in order to start building our lives. We cannot build our lives on anxiety-driven situations that make us filled with dread and panic, it has to be a place of comfort and safety.

The collapse isn't something that is absolutely inevitable, it happens because of the way our life is constructed via abuse. Growing up abused, you're programmed very intensely to live your life for others and to respond to the expectations of you. You're expected to reach success on your own time, without any help or support, while being extremely convenient to everyone else, and while being everyone's outlet for their anger, stress, and pain. You're taught to consider this normal, and to tough it out. You're conditioned to consider every single person in your life, but yourself. You know what everyone around you wants from you, how to adjust to their needs, but you are shut down immediately if you have a want or a need of your own. This inevitably leads to a life built on other person's needs. You're building your life based on what you know, and other people's expectations of you, is all you know about yourself.

So your life ends up in overworking yourself insanely in order to reach everyone's expectations, while never being able to examine what would make your life easy to live, comfortable to exist in, or even pleasurable for you yourself. You end up racing for goals that are not yours, that don't even progress your life in any direction that would be good or useful to you. You end up tangled in the obstacles of capitalism, stressing alone about why this isn't easy for you anymore, trying to reach success that would redeem you in the eyes in your abusers, or in your own eyes. You believe you need this redemption, that things would get better, or even just bearable, if you managed to succeed. You being traumatized doesn't even make it to the equation, you do not hold space for your emotions, you do not see yourself as a human being, worth of support and comfort. Anyone would get broken by this. Everyone, no matter how strong, needs comfort and reassurance in the times of stress. Even when things are going well, everyone needs support. Everyone needs acknowledgment and warmth and confirmation that they're doing well.

Living a life that isn’t set up for your well being, and does not provide you with satisfaction and pleasure, is exhausting. You have to keep it up in order not to offend or disappoint anyone (which is your biggest fear), but you're living your life in desperation, trying your best to complete tasks that are not here by your own will. You end up procrastinating and feeling dreadful, because now it feels like you're wasting your life, missing opportunities and ruining the ones you have. You feel empty because there's no support, nobody cares if you do well, but you'll be tortured if you fail. In those circumstances, not one thing you do is by your own will, it's coerced. This entire life is coerced. Every movement you make to appease, to convenience, is a move against your own will. And doing things against your own will, is traumatizing, and exhausting. Your instincts will eventually act up against it. Your willpower to do things will drain. You'll become paralyzed by the executive dysfunction because your body won't want to go thru with it anymore. Even though you're screaming at yourself that you have to, you have to, you have no choice. Your body will fight you. It will seek a collapse.

Collapse means that you're finally, finally taking your own traumatization into consideration. You're forced to acknowledge you own needs and your own limits; you can no longer tear yourself apart for a life that wasn't your choice. What you needed the entire time, was a life that was built on your own terms. A life that took your desires, needs and mental health status into consideration. Because you can build a life, regardless of how traumatized, torn down or terrified you are.

The collapse will slowly teach you that not being able to do things is not the end of the world. It will slowly show you that rest is something you can no longer reject, and it's not making you lazy, or a bad person. It will create a space for you where you do not answer to anyone's expectations. The shame of disappointment and resting will hurt at first, but it will fade as you learn to develop compassion for yourself, because now you have to. You have to see yourself as someone who's been fighting alone all this time, who is now broken but still alive, and so desperately wants to rest and be comforted, and be free of everything that has broken them.  

And the life you build from it, it will not tolerate stress or pain. You will build it based on your own satisfaction. You will make it as safe and protected as possible, because you do not want to risk another collapse. You will abandon all of the activities that broke you in the past; some of these you will no longer be able to do anyway. Even if it's something you liked, but got linked with stress and abuse, it will become a taboo. You'll find things that bring you peace, and do those. You'll discover what eases your anxiety, and do that. You'll find people who find you worthy of support, and choose them. Your life will become yours, built on your own choices, using the knowledge you have about yourself. It will no longer be a never-ending cycle of stress and tension. And you'll be allowed to be tired, and take breaks, and have days where you're just resting in bed. Your body won't have it otherwise.

Now, I promised to tell you how to mitigate the collapse, and by now it must be obvious. It will be easy for me to write it down, but extremely difficult to do it in real life. Start abandoning the activities that bring you an immense amount of stress. Take anything that stresses you as a real-life danger to your mental health, and steer away from it. Decide that your health precedes anyone's expectations, and treat those expectations as destructive. Abandon all societal goalposts that don't bring you joy, dismiss everything they told you that you should be, or have achieved, by a certain age, these are toxic. Abandon the societal definition of success.

Find a place where you're safe to learn about yourself, what you enjoy, what calms you, what brings you peace. Seek out support even if you don't feel you're worthy, even if it doesn't feel like you have it bad enough yet. The only way to mitigate the collapse is to build a life that doesn't lead up to it. Abusive childhood very strongly sets us up for it, and makes sure we don't build self-compassion that is necessary in order to stop living a life that others have decided for us.

Also, don't feel bad if you don't have a choice but to live like that until you collapse. I couldn't stop it. A lot of us aren't at freedom to decide to stop, and we're not even convinced that things are going bad until our bodies decide it for us. I wasn't able to build my life for myself until I ran away from home, that's where I experienced the most severe collapse, when it was finally safe to do so. I don't regret it. The collapse was natural. It made me self-protective where my parents never did. It forced me to acknowledge my limitations where nobody would ever accept that they're real. It's also not an ideal thing to happen, because you can learn to be self-protective in a kind way, you can acknowledge your limitations with the help of support and self-compassion. This is more of an extreme you-don't-have-a-choice kind of way, which isn't pleasant, and happens only when there is no other way.

Don't be afraid of the collapse. If it happens, it's not your fault. You have not built a life that would lead you to a collapse, and you're not 'actively working towards it'. All of us are just trying our best to survive, to go thru as little pain as possible, and you're doing it too. If you happen to collapse, be gentle to yourself, and reject anyone who isn't gentle towards you. You deserve the rest, and you deserve the safety.

[nelkcats]

Trapped Fear

At first Fright Knight was not loyal to Pariah, maybe it was because he was the combination of many warriors and he knew that tyranny would lead to nothing. However, because of this the former king engaged him in battle and captured his core, making him loyal.

Like all Ancients, Fright Knight could survive without his core but had to obey the person holding it. He and Clockwork shared that unfortunate fate, though Fright Knight considered being at the mercy of the Observants far worse.

When Danny defeated Pariah Dark his control over Fright Knight stopped, the knight foolishly thought he would take back what was his, but the old king was selfish and thrown the stone of fear into the human world, where he knew Fright Knight would not enter.

Disappointed but used to it, Fright Knight resigned to not finding that part of himself, he served Danny from that moment on, becoming his protector and above all, his friend. Until someone found his core and instead of being free, he was summoned and resigned to fulfill the words of his new owner.

Of course, Danny was worried when his knight disappeared from Phantom Palace, and after a long search he found his whereabouts in a city: Gotham. A man called "Scarecrow" was spreading fear in the city, and it seemed very familiar to him.

After a fight with the bats he got the information he needed: his knight was following the man. When he went to face his old friend, the king noticed that Fright Knight was not speaking on his will, he was crying and sending messages of help that only he could understand. The King was furious, and maybe it was time to show why no one messed with what was his.

[that--unusual-person]

10 years later and my shower thoughts myth busted that Michael Afton wasn’t the security guard in fnaf 3 for two reasons

1. why would he be hallucinating the animatronics from 1987 when he never had the experience as the nightguard, that was Jeremy

2. Michael doesn’t have a goddamn clue where William is. at the end of sister location, he says “I’m going to come find you.” bro lost track of his dad. Will went to go run errands and never came back

[tomboy014]

Head canon that Fright Knight's mount, Nightmare, is a Mare of Diomedes.

Also, she's a destrier. She's a WAR HORSE. She. Is. Huge. with a broad chest, large hooves and feathering for days. She's not a horse; she's a HONSE.

She will trample your skull, burn you alive, and eat your charred corpse off the battlefield. She deserves to be drawn as such.

[bonnies-bowling-alley]

Millie being a baby bat [young goth] is so silly to me. Like gurl probably listened to the cure, sisters of mercy and stuff like that alon side with something not part of the goth genre but tbh who 14 year old goth kid hasn't listened to my chemical romance at this point?

This kid blasting music like this in her ears to drown out the world fr...

[thehigh-waytohell]

"if you're having girl problems i feel bad for you, son

i got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one"

[charactergobbler]

Noooo i definitely didn’t go to thorpe park for fright night and definitely didn’t go in one of the mazes called survival games on sunday the 22nd Noo definitely not =]

[frightnightindustries]

Stereotypical animatronic horror game, but near the end, the protagonist finds a gun.

Shoots a monster

It bleeds

[godstrain]

♡

meta symbol meme

♡ - romantic headcanon! ok so i should talk about this more, but wesker does have a list of people he's been in love with. that list of course is rather short and it DOES have chris redfield in BIG BOLD LETTERS but it also has jake's mother on it. while wesker was always bad at expressing emotions, his love language is undoubtedly acts of service, because man couldn't verbalize an emotion if his life depended on it (thanks horrible trauma and warped perception of the world!)

he parted ways with jake's mother not because he didn't love her, but because he was really BAD at knowing how to handle the feeling. if jake's mother spoke so highly about wesker, then he certainly didn't act cruelly to her. he often thought that in another life, he would've been able to settle down and marry her. after that relationship, he closed off- because he realized that love HURT when it wasn't there, but he's also far too prideful to go chasing after someone and asking for them to take him back, so here we are.

[drunk-on-starlight]

Pic above is the StaffBot Silo that leads up from the sewers. Game files call it CharlieDoor. Charlie presumably refers to Charlie Emily, aka The Puppet.

No idea what this means, but the notes in the silo could work with Charlie as the writer.

[frightsguard]

@lcvelament​ whispered ;;

🐤 !

— springtrap or william in general :]

[ send tweet(tm). // accepting. ]

[chaoticrobotics]

Did someone say FNAF history, lol, for any)

I almost became apart of one of these "incidents" ... It was when I found the Bonnie plushies... There was an animatronic... Luckily it was not hostile... But there was... Well... Something very unpleasant in the corner that I had to call the proper authorities to assist... Hopefully it was unrelated...

[Sorry, but considering how my timeline works, there was most likely no animatronic at any rundown area, and if there were it would be too decrepit to actually work (unless it had a human soul, which it wouldn't based on my interpretation of the lore).

This is especially true since (if I recall correctly), you said you got it from one of the first places. Which I took to be the FNAF 1 location, which for me, was properly closed down after William Afton dismantled the main four animatronics. But if you meant the FNAF 2 location, that also got properly shut down after the bite of '87. Sister Location is a similar deal where all the animatronics were removed from the location, and then Fazbear Frights is too recent for you to have gotten a good condition Bonnie plush.

My lore is probably way different from the actual lore of the franchise, but that is because I am ignoring most outside content like books and stuff, and only dealing with the games. I'm still working on some of the older lore in my head, especially since reading a wiki shows what I have right now is FAR off from canon.

But yeah. Sorry, there are no rundown locations that have any working animatronics right now. Just locations that are being maintained by actual Fazbear employees or abandoned relics of the past with no threat other than possible collapse.]

[stitchwraith-stingers]

someone needs to make an essay weather or not detective larson would catch kira

[webdragon444]

Merry Christmas/happy holidays, I hope you’re all enjoying whatever holidays you celebrate(if any)

My power’s been out thanks to a huge snowstorm, and might go out again, so I have to be prepared to be offline for a while, lol

We got a fire and books and hot chocolate, so its very lovely even with the cold xD

Hope all of you are warm and safe, and that you all have power!

[merakiui]

タコの花嫁。

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, arranged marriage, oviposition, breeding, royalty au note - in an effort to bring peace to two warring sides, you are engaged to the sea queen’s son.

If anyone is to blame for the abysmal diplomacy between the Land and the Sea, it would be your ancestors. Pompous and foolhardy, they thought they could rule the grand seas stretching out from the harbor, beyond weather-worn docks with their rotted, seaweed-strewn planks and briny fetor. The ocean was vast, unexplored territory—a dangerous, deceptive beauty harboring life far beneath unruly waves.

And your ancestors intended to claim it.

Sailors would recount tales of fishfolk—uncanny creatures who looked more marine than the two-legged mammals of the land. They’d raise mugs, each overflowing with ale, in drunken merriment, terrifying themselves with the mysteries of the deep, dark sea.

“It ought to give ya a proper scare straight to Davy Jones himself!” they’d say, voices lowered conspiratorially. “Soon as yer candle goes out and all ya’ve got’s the moon to guide ya… You’ll hear ’em slip through the water if yer listenin’ well enough.”

“You ever go and spy one up close?”

“I’d sooner see the Devil himself and let him keelhaul me before facin’ those cursed beasts!”

“The cut of their jib ain’t so pretty. Enough to give men like us a fright and we’ve seen all sorts of somethin’.”

“Monsters, I say! Monsters!”

Festivals were held to keep these beasts at bay—to prevent them from gathering the courage to creep up onto the land. Every year, during the summer solstice, pits were hollowed on the shore and bordered with stones. Flames licked towards the sky, red-orange fingers clawing for purchase amidst the stars above. Townsfolk would sing and dance late into the eve, bellowing songs passed through the generations. Children would skip up and down the beach, torches in hand, and cry out an old chant: “Fish for you and me are meant to stay in the sea! Should you see one on land, may the Heavens strike it down with a gentle, loving hand!”

Their excitement did well to ward off the fishfolk. Sometimes the lone child would spot one in the distance, peeking out from between the rocks before diving back under in a splash.

On land, humans were safe. On land, the fishfolk couldn’t catch them.

It was different in the sea.

Ships were destroyed in terrible tempests. The waves tossed them around as if they were nothing. Many sailors would find their demise at the bottom of the ocean, torn to shreds with shattered skeletons. Viscerally brutalized, they died with secrets on their tongues—secrets of the strange fishfolk who’d drag them down, down, down to a watery grave.

On one cold February afternoon, the octopus prince was brought into the world. In shadowed fathoms, a grand celebration was held. After so much time—misfortune after misfortune—one fry survived out of the entire clutch. He was round and soft and small, colored blue from exertion and fighting through the tug of the current to reach home. The Sea Queen met him halfway and embraced him, ecstatic tears in her eyes, for a mother’s love is stronger than any political power.

“My little Azul,” she said, stroking a hand along his cheek, “how precious you are.”

No ships were sunk; no lives were lost. It was a peaceful day for both the Land and the Sea. And it would continue to be so in the future. Every year on that same February, it was made a day of peace to honor the little prince.

A day of life, not death.

It was on that same February eleven years later when you were tossed into the frigid depths like a hatchling cast out of its nest. Similarly, your birth had been a wondrous occasion. Your parents brought five boys into the world, each just as adored as the last, but they had been hoping for a daughter. It was a miracle when their fervent wishes were finally granted. You were spoiled as all daughters often are, pampered and doted on by your family and the palace staff.

Your brothers, though protective and caring, were a troublesome and rowdy bunch. Kyffin was the eldest. Two years younger was Emyr, and another two years behind him was Owin. A year younger than him were twins Morcan and Martyn. They picked on you as all immature boys often do when caught up in sibling rivalries, aiming to be the only one their parents see. To prove themselves as the best, the strongest, the wisest.

So it was with a half-cruel heart that Emyr tossed you into the waves from where he stood in the rowboat.

“Only way to learn is with exposure!” he called down to you, watching as you struggled against the push and pull of the sea. 

“C-Can’t!” you shouted back, choking on salt and flailing about. “E-Emyr, I can’t—can’t swim!”

“Don’t be silly,” Owin added with a sweet smile. “It’s how we learned. That old sod threw us right in. You’re lucky it’s us and not him. He was awfully mean with it, wasn’t he?”

“Terribly so.” Emyr watched your struggling a moment longer and clicked his tongue. He held the oar out just before you could slip under, and you clung to it with shaky hands. “Come on—let’s get you up here. You’re not gonna get it today.”

“Fin got it on his first try.”

“Fin gets everything on his first bloody try.”

Relieved, your heart pounding like a drum, you peered up at your brothers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get it…”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’ll get it one day.”

“We’ll keep trying until then. And once you do, we’ll throw you a big party.”

“Really? Will you really do that?” Your expression brightened, but your brothers’ faces darkened. They saw the shadow before you did. Saw the webbed hands reaching out, the serrated teeth glinting in a sinister smile.

And then—

Owin leaned over, his arm outstretched. So fluid was his motion that it took you by surprise. “(Name), grab on! Hurry! Before—”

The rest of his warning was muffled by the water. You hardly had any time to brace yourself when you were yanked under, your nails raking across the wood of the oar as you went with the force of the pull. Salt stung your eyes when you cracked them open, peering frantically at blurry surroundings. Teal-green specks slid silently through the shadows, mismatched eyes flicking over your form. And then there was a high, raucous sort of chittering. Like a dolphin’s cry, loud and piercing. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your palms against your ears.

It only lasted a few mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity trapped in the coils of a creature you couldn’t comprehend. One moment you were holding your breath and the next arms were hooked around your torso, and you were pulled up and into the belly of the rowboat. Your hands flew to your throat, and you coughed up seawater while Owin patted you.

“It’s fine. It’s…okay,” Emyr muttered, his voice shot through with fear. It was the most shaken he’d ever sounded.

Blood fogged in the water, staining the tip of his harpoon. He gazed down at his hand. A deep, jagged gash ran angrily from palm to wrist. He hissed and closed his fingers in a tight fist.

“We gotta get back,” Owin was saying, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’ll row. You rest.”

“Not good,” Emyr said instead, shaking his head in dismay as he watched your attackers retreat.

“We’re still in our waters, right? We didn’t go past the boundary, did we?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“We didn’t, right?”

“Let’s hope—” Emyr paused, collecting his words. “Let’s hope those monsters were in the wrong.”

“Father’s gonna kill us.”

“If not us, the monsters.”

Both brothers looked towards you. Your tunic was torn, stained through with saltwater and blood. You shivered all the way to shore.

Following that mishap, an official meeting was called between the Land and the Sea. The King—your father—met the Sea Queen at the border. He stood proud on his ship, peering down at her with fire in his old eyes.

“Your Majesty.”

The Sea Queen was just as formidable as those who came before her. Her tentacles unfurled as one, and if you looked at them long enough they almost seemed to take on the shape of an obsidian-colored crinoline.

“I believe my mother and your father made the terms quite clear all those years ago,” she said, a wave lifting her to meet the King at the deck of his ship. “So then, with that in mind, there should be no reason for us to meet under these circumstances.”

Emyr and Owin stood just behind their father. You peered through their legs at the Sea Queen, silently amazed. You’d never seen anyone quite like her before. At least, not a real person. You’d seen her in storybooks, depicted as a fearsome beast with devilish features, and though there was something intimidating about her gaze and build she appeared understanding enough. Her grey skin was sleek in the morning sun, her long, silvery strands tied up and pinned with an ornate hair ornament. She looked beautiful in a magical, enigmatic way.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came the clipped response of your father. “Alas, misfortune has brought us here.” He stepped aside to allow her to behold Emyr’s bandaged hand. “Harm has befallen my son and daughter. I suppose you might have an inkling as to why they find themselves in their current state?”

She frowned, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of sympathy or some other emotion. “Perhaps one of them can give reason to the wound now marring one of my subject’s sons.”

Your father glanced overboard at the snake-like merman cradled in the arms of another merman. They looked near-identical, their features unmistakable. He glanced back at Emyr, his gaze hard. “Go on then. Explain yourself.”

Emyr stepped forward. “With wholehearted respect, Your Majesty, it was out of self-defense. Your kind—they attacked us first.”

“You were in our waters!” one of the mers exclaimed, pointing a clawed finger towards Emyr. “It’s all your fault Jade got hurt!”

Owin hurried ahead, his hands gripping the taffrail. “He’s playing it up! It was a graze!”

“He could’ve died! You almost killed him!”

“That is enough,” the Sea Queen said, jutting an arm out to silence both sides. “I understand everyone is hurt here. Our feud lies in misunderstanding.” She gazed at you next. “Little one, we have yet to hear your story. Do share.”

You glanced at the guards, at Owin and Emyr, and then at father. He nodded encouragingly. “U-Um!” Shyly, you approached the Sea Queen. “My brothers were teaching me how to swim. I don’t know anything about whose water is whose. I just wanted to learn how to swim.” You met the fierce scowl of the mer holding his twin brother and quickly looked elsewhere. “He grabbed me before my brothers could pull me up.”

“Because you were trespassing. Anyone who tresspasses ought to—”

“Floyd.”

At the not-so-subtle warning in his father’s voice, he shut his mouth and snarled. His brother—Jade—was handed off to their father, who assessed his state with a frown.

“He will live, but it will take time for him to recover. My son is right. Your son could have killed him.”

“Just as your sons could have killed my sister!” Owin shouted, glaring.

Floyd stuck his tongue out, remorseless.

“It is impossible to know which side is in the wrong,” your father began, turning towards the Sea Queen. “Seeing as both have been injured, I am willing to apologize on behalf of my sons.”

“What?!” Owin’s head turned towards his father. “You’re bloody mad! Have you not seen—”

“Father,” Emyr interjected evenly. “We have nothing to apologize for. We were within our waters. We had no ill will towards the others. It was completely innocent.”

The Sea Queen hummed her contemplation. “The boundary was drawn for a reason, decided upon by those who came before us, and yet it does more harm than good. It is not for safety’s sake. It is to keep us divided—to ensure that neither side will ever know peace.”

“And you’re implying that we get rid of it?”

She nodded, quite serious. Everyone looked on in equal parts shock and disbelief. “Why do we continue to fight? It does nothing but open old wounds, rendering them incurable. Innocent lives are lost in petty squabbling. And for what?”

To that, no one could offer a smart reply.

“Therefore I propose peace. A union to welcome a new era—one in which we embrace one another as allies without animosity.”

“A union?” Your father raised a brow, suspicious but willing to listen. “I suppose it would be beneficial. My people would be free to travel the seas at their leisure.” “And mine would no longer have to live in fear of being thoughtlessly slaughtered and taken as trophies.”

“Unbelievable,” Orwin muttered.

Emyr elbowed him. “Knock it off.”

“We’ll collaborate on a contract. One that dissolves the invisible boundary that has been the cause for so much suffering. In order to attain true peace, I shall offer you my only son.” She glanced at you and then back at your father. “Your daughter shall marry him when they are of age.”

“What?! No way! Ew! Gross!” Your voice came out shrill and you shook your head in protest. “I don’t wanna marry an octopus! No, I won’t do it!”

Your father stood in front of you. “She’s my only daughter. If something were to happen—”

“Which is precisely why I bring up this engagement. Should they be betrothed, we as their parents will promise to uphold peace to give them bright futures and they will act as the first example of a human-mer alliance. Unions between humans and merfolk are unheard of, but is this not the best way to foster harmony between the Land and Sea?”

“I won’t do it! No! Don’t make me marry a gross—” Emyr gathered you in his arms, holding his uninjured hand over your mouth.

“Let the grown-ups talk.”

Owin frowned. “I still don’t agree with this…”

Your father mulled it over, his eyes glazed in thought. “Very well. We will create a contract—an official peace treaty.”

Both leaders shook hands and planned to convene at the end of the week to discuss further.

You watched the mers depart, each one slipping under the sea. Floyd was the last to go, staring at you with a mean sort of vitriol. And then he, too, dove under.

“He didn’t mean it, right?” you whispered to Emyr after your father gave the order to turn the ship around and head for land. “I won’t have to marry an octopus, right?”

Emyr could only offer a commiserate frown.

“She’s a brat,” Floyd spits. “Stupid, evil Two Legs.”

Jade chuckles and runs his fingers over the scar. “I consider it an honor.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s messed up. She’s the reason you can’t ever swim naturally again. While she’s up there in her pretty, little tower, safe and sound, you’re still hurting.”

“It’s not as much of a hindrance as you may think. I’m not weak, mind you.”

Floyd grumbles. “Still. She’s mean.”

Azul gazes up at the palace, sighing dreamily. “She’ll be my wife someday. That’s what humans call it, yes? Husband and wife… What wonderful words.”

It’s been one year since the peace treaty. Since then, humans and merfolk have made an effort to get along. This is the second time Azul will be meeting with you. He’s nervous. The first time you went out to sea to greet him, and he’d gotten so anxious that he inked right then and there. His mother entertained you from where you sat in the boat with your personal guard. It was a mortifying experience—one that had taken him months to recover from.

Now he’s going to try to meet you in the shallows. Try is the key word here. He’s scared, all three hearts beating as one. Is it too late to reschedule?

“I can’t believe you’re actually okay with this. You that lonely?”

Azul turns to scowl at both twins, but it’s mostly directed at Floyd. “I never asked you to tag along. Leave me alone.”

Jade smiles. “And let the Queen’s little prince swim to his death?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. But what about when Two Legs gets ya? What then?”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “You saw what her brothers did to Jade.”

“Because you tried to kill her.”

“Because she was in our territory!”

Azul huffs and pushes him away with a tentacle. “Regardless, we’re supposed to be on good terms now. You’ll break the contract if you try anything dangerous.”

“He’s right, Floyd.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Floyd turns away, stubborn. “This is lame. I’m not stickin’ around.”

Jade lingers long enough to observe the way Azul lights up when he spots you on the stone steps. And then he disappears beneath the water.

Barefoot, holding your dress up and out of the way, you pad across the beach.

“Why are you here? I’m busy. My brothers are taking me into town.”

The smile that had been fighting to break out on his face frosts over. “Oh. I… Um…” Azul fumbles with the conch shell he’d collected on the way here. A gift for you. He made sure to study human speech patterns in the months leading up to this meeting. He’s fully prepared! And yet you look so displeased. “F-For you! I found it…”

You stare at the shell clutched in a dark tentacle. Tentatively, you reach for it. “Why?”

“Ah. W-Well, my mother says gifts are an important part of any bond. In the sea, we give gifts to the ones we care about. To friends and family and o-other halves…”

You turn the shell over in your hands. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet,” he tries, but you shake your head.

“You ran away from me the last time we met. That’s not very friendly.”

His face flushes blue and he opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. It wasn’t on purpose.

You’re already turning on your heel. “I don’t have time for this.” You toss the shell over your shoulder. Azul watches it land in the sand, just out of his grasp.

“W-Wait! I… I want to talk to you. Please don’t go. You’re going to be my other half one day, so I’d like to—”

But you’re already dashing across the beach to get to the stairs.

Azul deflates against the rock. Tears overflow in floods. Is it because of him? Is he to blame? Why don’t you want to be his friend? Is it because of the peace treaty? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

Azul doesn’t want to think negatively of you. Humans are sensitive creatures. He reads up on them in the palace library, poring over literature and textbooks in an effort to better understand you. But as the months pass and you seem to simply tolerate him for the sake of the alliance, he begins to suspect something.

It’s made apparent the next time he sees you, where you walk right past the beach to catch up with your brothers. He hides behind the rocks, two blue eyes following your figure until you’re out of sight.

Floyd was right. You are a brat.

And yet he can’t hate you.

On the eve of your eighteenth birthday, Azul meets you in the shallows.

Nowadays you send letters, preferring strained long distance over the personal intimacy of face-to-face relations. These exchanges are purely diplomatic. But now that he’s asked to meet with you, a rare occurrence, you’ve deigned to greet him in person. It’s the least you can do after he’s gone through the trouble to travel here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him that he’s almost unrecognizable. You remember the round, baby-faced octo-mer from your childhood. The one who lounges against the rocks is leaner now—his features defined, jawline as sharp as his eyes. They cut through the gloom to find you.

“You wished to see me?” You’re in your nightwear, a silky gown with an even softer robe. A cool breeze blows across the beach, and you wrap your arms around yourself for extra warmth. “Azul?”

He hesitates, his gaze trailing up your legs. You’ve also changed a lot in the time you’ve been apart. You’ve grown taller, filling out in places he didn’t know humans could fill. What he’d give to hold you… His mother says he needs to be patient. Fickle thing that you are, you’re the reason he’s spent six years trying to appease you through letters—to win you over and be anything more than that “annoying octopus” you’re doomed to marry. Perhaps it would have been easier to act just as you do if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been elated at the premise of having someone to love. When his mother broached the idea in the days following her meeting with the Land King, he’d stared at her with wide, excited eyes.

“There’s a human girl who wants to be my friend?” he asked, to which his mother smiled and nodded.

More than a friend, actually, but then all he was focused on was finally getting to experience the one thing he’d never known or had: friendship.

Sighing, he foregoes formality and holds out a necklace. It dangles from the tip of his tentacle. Strung on a dainty, silver strand, pearls wink back at you under the moonlight. Azul averts his eyes, his cheeks a pleasant periwinkle.

“Happy birthday…”

“Oh.” You move in closer, taking the necklace from him. His tentacle pursues you, twining delicately around your wrist. “Um… What is it? Do you need—whoa!”

Azul tugs you closer. The sea laps at your ankles. Beneath a tapestry of stars, you meet his azure stare. His features are set with a determination you’ve never seen before.

“I want to start over.”

“Start over?”

“I’d like to be on friendly terms with you. We’re so cold. Distant…” Azul frowns, seeming unsure of what to say or do next. The tentacle laced around your wrist like a bracelet tightens its hold. “We’re to be wed one day. I want to make this work.”

You blink at him. He thinks he may have gotten through to you, having finally broken through layers of stone and ice, but then your nose scrunches and odium shimmers in your gaze.

“That’s impossible. I’m a human. How am I supposed to live with an octopus?” You shake him off with a huff. “I’m not sure what our parents think this will accomplish. I don’t want to be a pawn to be moved around for the sake of peace. I’m my own person.”

Azul’s expression sours. His lip curls up into a sneer. “Well, I don’t find it very enjoyable either. You’re not the only victim in this scenario.”

You exhale an exhausted breath. “Azul, I appreciate the gift, but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re only giving it to me to curry favor.”

I wasn’t, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. Admitting it would be a weakness. Admitting it would mean coming to terms with an unrequited opinion.

“At least one of us is making a conscious effort.”

“At least one of us isn’t trying so hard. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re not obligated to accept my goodwill.” He smiles, smug. “Yet you do every time. I’d wager you enjoy my materialistic affections.”

“As if.” Despite this, you hold the necklace out of his reach when a tentacle flexes towards it. “It’s mine now.”

“So you are fond of my ‘pathetic’ ways!”

“I’m not!”

You jerk away with a vicious scowl, but your foot catches in the sand and you quickly find yourself tipping backwards. If not for the tentacles that coil around your waist to steady you, you would have fallen on your rear. Your chest heaves with adrenaline. Stunned, you stare at Azul.

“You…caught me,” you breathe, lips parted in awe.

“Did you think I’d let you fall?” He cocks his head at you, grinning playfully. “Why, I’d never! Unless it’s me you’re falling for, in which case I gladly welcome the—”

“You’re such a pest.” Untangling yourself from his grasp, which he allows without scrimmage, you step away from the water’s edge. He watches you secure the pearls around your neck, and his hearts stumble in his chest when you point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t delude yourself with foolish nonsense. I have no interest in you.”

With an indignant harrumph, you start towards the palace.

“May we meet here tomorrow?” Azul calls out after you, testing his luck with what little chance he has.

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Good. Keep waiting, dummy!” You break into a sprint, hurrying off into the shadows.

Azul smiles at the empty beach. Whether or not you like him, it doesn’t matter. You’re to be his one day. You’ve always been, ever since he was eleven.

He’ll wait, even if you won’t show.

Ostensibly, twenty-one years wise, you’re getting married today.

Your gown is just as exquisite as your hair and makeup. Pearls cling to your throat and arms—classic wedding attire for merfolk. A thin veil shields the scheme in your stare.

This was an inevitability, but you’re determined to fight it until the end. No matter how quickly time seems to pass, you’ll do everything you can to stall and slow it.

Gripping a sharpened dagger in a resolute fist, you drag it through the long, sprawling train of your gown.

“As if I’d marry an octopus,” you grumble, cutting fine fabric until you’re permitted smoother movement. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you scowl. “I’m no one’s bride.”

By the time the maids arrive to check on you, you’ve already stolen out the window.

The rowboat sways on choppy water. You’ve watched your brothers do this enough times to have the technique engraved in your memory. Your arms strain with the oars, every muscle screaming in protest, but you fight through the pain. The palace looks smaller and smaller with every passing minute. Eventually, you’re so far out that the land is but a mere speck.

It’s going well. You’re escaping towards a better future—a future without the octopus prince.

You glance towards the horizon. Your boat undulates with the waves.

You’ll miss your brothers, your maids, your personal guard…

Water slops over the edge. You yelp, startled. Have the seas always been so rough?

Despite everything, you’ll miss your father.

Just as you think this, your boat rocks to the side. You grab onto the edge to steady yourself, but it’s already too late. It tips over and you go with it, careening into the sea with a noisy splash. Twin shadows cut seamlessly through the murky water. You catch sight of a yellow eye before you propel yourself towards the sky, coughing and heaving once you break the surface. You grab onto the overturned rowboat, your dagger clutched in one hand.

You search the surface for them, eyes flicking to and fro in a frantic panic.

Somewhere… Anywhere… Where are you?

And then you find them, peering at you from the other side of the boat.

“Go on then,” you spit, glaring. “Kill me.”

Floyd bares his teeth at you. “This time I ain’t gonna leave a scar.”

“You know we mustn’t. That’s not why we’re here.” Jade smiles at you, but there’s something in his eyes that unnerves you. “Your Highness, you should know it’s poor manners to leave the groom on his special day.”

Floyd circles you restlessly. “S’not fair we gotta be nice when you’re so mean.”

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in that matter.”

“What’d Azul ever do to you?”

You attempt to answer that before realizing the truth. Nothing. He’s done absolutely nothing but be kind and understanding and patient. And I took that, chewed it up, and spat in his face.

“If you used that brain of yours, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself to the sharks. We can’t get to you on land.” “But it’s fair game in the sea,” Floyd finishes, every syllable dripping with pride. “Stupid Two Legs.”

“I’m inclined to agree. You’re not the brightest human. A pity.”

“My brother should’ve gutted you when he had the chance. Maybe then—”

You see the whites of Floyd’s eyes when he strikes, launching himself at you with a clawed hand, sharp, pointed teeth aiming for your jugular.

This is it. You’re dead.

…or not.

The searing pain never comes, nor does the impending laceration. You cling to the boat and watch dark tentacles rise from the depths to close around Floyd, ensnaring him in a firm hold. He thrashes, snapping his jaws like a deranged beast.

“Let go of me, Azul! Lemme at her! She’s a bitch! I’ll kill her!”

“There will be none of that.” Azul tuts. “I don’t intend to marry a corpse.”

Jade swims over to you. “My feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest, Your Highness. If it weren’t for your status and connection to Azul, I’d have disemboweled you ages ago. Quite a relief for you, yes?”

You swallow your horror, allowing him to detach you from the boat so that Azul can turn it over. A tentacle curls around your waist, lifts you from the water, and places you back in the boat. You stare at your hands. They’re trembling. You can hardly hold the dagger properly.

It takes some convincing and a lukewarm apology from you, but Floyd promises to be good. He doesn’t do anything as you’re pulled back to shore, but he does stare at you for the duration of the trip, his eyes tracking your every movement. You press yourself into the belly of the boat, defeated and riddled with anxiety.

Your father isn’t pleased. When you see his enraged expression, the debate dies on your tongue. “You are to marry the prince,” he seethes, pulling you aside, “or else you jeopardize the peace of our kingdom.”

You’re washed and fitted in a new dress. Guards are stationed at all possible routes to prevent another escape.

When you walk down the beach to meet Azul in the shallows, your veil shields the sadness in your stare.

The ceremony carries on without incident. Floyd watches from the water, lurking like Death. You speak rehearsed vows in robotic monotone, mindlessly floating through the rigmarole like it’s second nature. Azul smiles at you through it all, sweetly smitten.

It’s a nightmare lived in real time.

Humans and mers alike congratulate you, cheering for this momentous occasion. Your tongue is numb by the end of it all. You’ve expressed faux gratitude so many times that it hurts to even force the words. And now, as night descends and the party kicks into full swing, you’re left reflecting on the day.

Freedom feels so far away. You’ll never know it again, will you?

Azul guides you away from the crowd. Firelight grows dim with the distance. Eventually, you find yourself taking refuge in a tiny inlet cut into the beach. A rocky outcrop hides you from the moon’s spotlight.

“I’m not upset,” Azul murmurs, curling a tentacle up your leg. “But Floyd is.”

“His brother’s the one who hurt me all those years ago.”

“That was before the union.”

“I’m not letting it go.”

“Perhaps not now, but you will. One day.”

You don’t believe him.

“Our people are at peace. Aren’t you pleased, my love?”

You shove him away, gathering heaps of your dress to walk in calf-deep water. “I’m not your love.”

“Legally, you are.”

“That means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.”

Azul sighs. “Even now, after everything, you’re still trying to flee.”

“For good reason. I don’t want to be tied down.”

Azul inches closer. Another tentacle wraps slyly around your ankle.

“You’re so beautiful. I feel like the luckiest mer in the sea. To be able to call you my own… My beautiful bride.” He pulls you closer. You resist weakly. “Now that we’re alone I can finally tell you the very thing I’ve thought of ceaselessly for years.”

A tentacle slides up your leg, straying closer to your inner thigh. You flinch away.

“Azul, wait. I don’t want—”

“I love you.”

You squirm in his hold, attempting to thwart the tentacles that grab at your every limb. You trip over yourself in the process. This time Azul doesn’t catch you. Water laps at your dress, soaking through at once. He’s radiant beneath the moon. Dreading his touch, you scoot as far from him as you can get in the water, hoping to reach land. Azul seizes your wrist and pulls you into his arms. You fight him with more force.

“No… No, let go of me! Release me!”

“Why should I? You’re mine now. Is it not customary for a married couple to consummate their new bond? We do something similar in the sea.” A tentacle brushes your veil back so that he can look upon your pretty face. “I’d take you to a quiet space in the seagrass, lay you down in the sand, and then—”

“I don’t want that! No!” You lash out, swinging blindly. A tentacle shoots out to stop your arm before it can smack him. “Azul, please—”

“I was patient. I waited and waited in hopes that you might warm up to me. I cherished you in silence. I learned your language. Your customs. Your habits. I wrote to you. Traveled to meet you. And yet you look at me as if I’m a monster…”

It’s not the devastated look in his eyes or the edge in his voice that scares you. It’s the startling gentleness with which he handles you. Tentacles loop around your body, exploring beneath your gown. You wriggle in discomfort, yelping when suckers brush against the frilly garter secured around your thigh. Azul hums and holds you up in his tentacles, using two to spread your legs so that he may slide it from your leg.

“I wasn’t forceful. I courted you kindly. You accepted all of my gifts. You wore them proudly and I thought—I knew you would love me, too. You were mine from the moment our parents signed that agreement. And if you leave me, you’ll break a political promise and then our kingdoms will go to war and I’ll be sure to collect the heads of your family first. Each one of them, and you will watch as I bring ruin to the kingdom you love so fondly.”

“N-No… Please stop. Please.”

“I’ve waited ten years for you.” A tentacle hooks around your panties. You thrash again, shaking your head at him. He remains unconvinced, watching with gleeful eyes as your nudity is revealed to him. “And aren’t you an angel? Oh, you’re so pretty…”

Like your hopes, your panties are cast aside.

The tip of a tentacle prods curiously at your pussy. Your breath hitches.

“W-Wait! You… You can’t.” His eyes find yours, and you swallow the rising sob. “T-That can’t go inside… It won’t fit. It won’t—”

Azul smiles. “Of course it will. The human body is capable of marvelous feats.”

Even though it’s pointless, you struggle. “I can’t! Please… Azul, I’m scared. Please don’t do this…”

A lone tentacle slides into your hand. Thoughtless, you hold tight.

“My love, there’s no need to cry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He brings you closer, kissing your tears away. “I’m here for you. I’ve always been here, even when you didn’t seem to need me.”

You hiccup, your chest heaving. It’s not lonely for long, for he pulls your dress down your shoulders. Your breasts spill free and are quickly cradled in cold hands. Azul watches your expression with an intense focus while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. You grit your teeth, refusing to respond. But then the tentacle between your legs finds your clit and a sucker affixes to it, suctioning slowly. You gasp and throw your head back, bolts of pleasure racing up your spine. It happens in a white-hot flash. You slacken in his grasp.

Azul laughs, astonished. “Did you cum? Already?”

“Nooo,” you whine, closing your hand around the tentacle once more. Another one strokes your cheek. “You’ve had your fun. Now let go of me…”

“What a silly demand.”

He tugs on your nipples. You groan, lashes fluttering. “Ooh… Stop. No, stop it… Don’t touch there. Not—haa… Not there!”

“You’re so sensitive.” He drags the underside of a tentacle along your cunt and shivers. “And so wet… Is this your season? Do humans experience such a thing?”

You’ve no idea what he’s referring to, but before you can dwell on it he leans down to take your perky bud in his mouth. Your free hand grabs at his hair, pinning him to your chest. His tongue laves across it, warm and wet. You shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and yet you can’t stop yourself from crying out.

He hums against your skin, beaming like a devil. You can’t hate him. He’s your husband. He’s yours. You shouldn’t hate him.

You’re falling apart in his tentacles, grinding down to chase the bliss provided by the underside of the appendage clinging to your pussy. The sinful squelch of skin on skin fills the quiet inlet. The scent of sex and salt intermingles. It’s wrong and it’s right. It’s instinct, carnal and corrupt. Azul groans against your breast, your teat between his teeth.

“Az—ooh!” You tug on his hair, insatiable. Your brain is fogging over with lust. You don’t want to lose yourself in this madness. You can’t. “N-No more… No more.” 

But he’s not listening. He pinches your other nipple between his fingers, and that’s all it takes for you to unravel.

In the aftermath, the tapered tip of a thicker tentacle squirms between your thighs. Mindlessly, you spread your legs and lift your hips for him. It presses in shallowly, a jarring experience.

“Not inside—don’t! You can’t!”

Azul pulls away from you, his expression scrunched in woozy ecstasy. “Why not?” he mumbles, smiling stupidly. “You’re my bride. It’s only fair…”

Before you can bicker, he kisses you. His tongue pursues yours in a sloppy tango. You lick into his mouth, desperate and dazed. Lost in a sea of salacity, shipwrecked on an island of forgotten inhibitions.

The tentacle pushes through rings of tight, slick muscle. Tears spring to your eyes. It feels weird and foreign, so unlike your fingers. He holds you close, minding his strength and pace. It fills you slowly, reaching places you’ve never been able to feel. The lust numbs your senses and gives way to something animalistic—a base desire you’ve suppressed. Azul rocks the appendage deeper until it’s pushed up against the entrance to your womb, squeezed snugly in your warm walls.

“I-It’s in…” you mumble once he’s broken the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting your mouths. “It’s really…inside me…”

Azul kisses your cheek and pets you with a tentacle. “We were made for each other.”

Surely not, you think, but it feels so when he draws back and thrusts in. Maybe he’s right.

He fucks you gently, savoring every single sound you make. He tells you he loves you, whispers it over and over like it’s prayer. You nod dumbly, grabbing at his hand to hold it. The both of you are gasping in unison, chasing cloud nine. In just a few more deep strokes, his tip bullying its way to your womb, he finally finds his end. A thin substance fills you up in plentiful amounts. Distantly, you think it’s water until he drags your hips further down. Your mouth drops open in a strangled scream as something round and gelatinous passes through. It settles in your womb, and you know right away that it shouldn’t be there.

You panic. “W-Wait… Wha—Zul… Stop… No, I don’t want—”

“It’s all right,” he breathes, his mouth on your shoulder. He soothes you with soft shushes and even softer kisses. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

You dig your nails into the tentacle curled in your palm just as a second orb squeezes through. He groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Finally…” He pants, a wobbly smile stretching on his delirious countenance. “Finally, my love, my dear—oh, my beloved bride!”

He cradles you like a mother would a newborn. You lie there as he fills you, your voice hoarse from babbling and bewailing. These things—little orbs of jelly—are stuffed into your womb, and by the time you surpass twenty you lose count and blank out, trembling through yet another orgasm. You’re not sure how many more he has left or how many more you can possibly fit. It feels too good to think about that.

“Bigger. They’ll get bigger. You’ll look so pretty—round and full and soft.”

Dizzy, you glance at the bloated dome that is your belly. Your gown strains over it, an impressively deceptive size that you almost mistake for pregnancy. That’s when it clicks. Eggs. These are eggs.

“I’ll make sure they survive. All of them—as many as I possibly can. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll keep you content. I’ll fill you with love—so much love—an abundance of it, and you’ll never know emptiness again,” he rambles, resting a tentacle over your distended middle.

It’s not just a senseless sweet nothing. It’s a promise.

[schwarzkatje]

filthy secret

summary ➴

loser!ellie is not just your average outcast — too awkward to avert her gaze when she spots you in the school's corridors and just as much of a coward to muster some courage to ask you out. when fate serves her the chance to get closer to you she panicks. bad.

author's notes ➴

i'm landing on the spectacular world of tumblr fanfics – a deranged world, at that, just like i want it. anyhow, the only thing i will apologise for is any grammar errors (since english is not my native language). the obscenities i'm responsible for are all intentional.

content warnings ➴

18+ MDNI • loser!ellie, nsfw, swearing, masturbation (!ellie), afab reader, sex toys (strap-on & masturbator), strap referred to as "her cock", dirty talk, humping, fantasising (everything happens in ellie's mind and ellie's mind only), implied top!ellie and bottom!reader, no capital letters as a stylistic choice • not proofread

fuck. fuck. fuck.

the agitated mix of her gritted teeth and the moist puffs of breath leaving her mouth confused ellie even more on whether the string of cuss words had been simply thought or had taken shape into a concrete and uttered form.

the people crossing her same path and turning their heads in confusion as well as faint fright suggested the latter. too bad ellie couldn't give two shits if that only served as confirmation of the title of "town's weirdo" she had been given.

ellie had other things on her mind. more precisely, you.

the closer she was home, the more vividly and intensely she started recalling what had happened that same morning. if thoughts are naturally impossible to organise due to their simultaneity nature, it was a given ellie's poor brain was reduced to a mushy mess.

shards of the images, the scent, the sounds and the feelings she had experienced assembled like torturers anxious to play their part in tormenting her.

your eyes have drifted towards ellie, during lunch you have passed by her just enough to leave your fragrance lingering, you have decided to wear one of her personal favourite skirts – the pastel blue one with all the frills which left ellie wondering if you actually matched your panties – your laugh had been audible like the most venomous of enchantments. but apparently all of this had not been enough since she clearly was undergoing a twisted endurance test which she could swear has been submitted by god himself, because your biology teacher paired the two of you and tasked you to work on a project together.

how can i possibly survive this?

frustration single handedly swept away any semblance of rationality and drowned her into an amplified version of the real world. one where you were its centre and she barely remembered to breathe.

"so... is it ok with you if we study at your place, ellie?"

she must have died and reincarnated because after you had said her name she felt a rush of pure ecstasy spreading through her body, making her core warmer and uncomfortable.

she somehow managed to at least nod and agree with a meek "y-yeah" to your plan of what day and what hour to meet.

this same afternoon.

and there she was. finally aware of her surroundings again after having detoured so severely bad, in her room, door shut and her tattooed right hand around the glistening strap – because of both her own spit and the dollar store hand cream used in lieu of a proper lubricant – that was dying to penetrate the little hole of the masturbator placed on her desk.

how she managed to take her strap out of the drawer, wear it around her bony hips and fasten the buckles, is something that could explained with the fact that this definitely wasn't the first, nor the third or even the tenth time she resorted to this. ellie had grown accustomed to the harness holding the veiny cock she had bought alongside the silicone pussy,

"fuck, doll... you're soaking and so fucking... fucking warm f'me"

the base of her strap was getting wetter and stickier, resulting in ellie picturing with meticulous precision how your own pussy would be.

now it was your turn to be teased beyond the point of no return. now it was ellie who took matters into her own hands and called the shots. and what better retaliation if not punishing you by teasing your begging and eager hole with the tip of her cock?

that's how ellie found herself thrusting her hips following the pace of helpless hiccups, back and forth for the last twenty minutes.

"you love this cock, don't you? s'the reason why you dress like that for me, mmh? you beg me to take you and fuck you all day because you can't go a day without feeling your pussy stretched around me... then take it, feel what you do to me"

ellie grabbed what she dreamed was you with full force and just as strongly drove the toy against her wet cock. she had heard of the alleged phantom dick experiences but never before had she felt like she could outline the shape of your gushing pussy, almost as if the strap had become a part of her through and through.

breathy and worked pantings only consolidated the more ellie bumped her toys against her crotch. she was losing herself again, too busy chasing a pleasure that was filthy, animalistic, crude and absolutely intoxicating.

ellie had to press her lips shut against each other the very moment her bud of nerves welcomed a particularly well dealt thrust and transformed the stimulus into the first tingling shock that made ellie flex, if a little, her knees forward.

her orgasm was approaching fast and with that the figments of her imagination cooperated to offer her the display of you, completely drunk on the punishment or reward ellie was gifting you. the same eyes and mouth with which you had kindly arranged your study session were now unfocused and wet with tears and open around nothing, imploring ellie to never stop.

with the hem of her shirt stuffed inside her mouth and the change in position of the masturbator – now flipped over, creating the illusion for ellie that she was now fucking you from behind – ellie's throbbing clit finally liberated itself and unleashed violent waves of pleasure which turned into sweet whimpers.

ellie was a destroyed woman. collapsing onto the bed behind her she closed her green eyes, as pleasurable itching splotches emerged now and then in various regions of her body.

what wouldn't she give to have you like she imagined. but she knew she would never be able to think coherently for more than two seconds with you around, let alone make you scream for her cock.

ellie was resigned to this scenario and although it hurt, all she wanted to do at the moment was calm her breathing and let herself be lulled by the rhythm of the world outside her room.

except, her doorbell rings.