elsewhere

el. she/they. bi. married. 30. sub. masochist. message me if you want to tell me what to do. . my profile pic is not me, that is taylor swift.

[metamorphesque]

 — Not Even, Ocean Vuong

[text ID: Body, doorway that you are, be more than what I’ll pass through.]

[elfagito]

every friend group has a corpse in it. if you think yours doesn't, YOU'RE the corpse.

[methed-up-marxist-deactivated20]

[giveherswords]

even the Domme gets bit by the dog @girlknots

[elsewhere-baby]

beautiful man in the baby blue f-150 with the driver side window busted out, we could’ve had it all

[wovi]

*

plath

[grindrbooks]

[necrophilologist]

So There's This Open Wound At The Heart Of The Text

[baddest-brat-deactivated2026010]

cumming together is a binding spell and I won’t elaborate further

[elsewhere-baby]

anyone wanna press their fingers into my spine and feel the fractures 🥺

[feelsgoood]

[mommydgaf]

subs soft launching getting roofied by saying “i can’t sleep”

[pixipoxi-deactivated20241225]

[fawnmilktea]

maybe if i was getting my ass beat i’d feel better

[elsewhere-baby]

this one is about starving. his fingers in your throat, you puking up clear water before he refills your empty stomach with bourbon and his cum. the phrase “there’s nothing in you but me” and your entire abdomen crunching in on itself when he says it.

yellow turns into a sensation starting in your heart and radiating out through your shoulders and forearms and wrists and fingertips, the metta prayer. the dim light bulbs above you absorb the words as you mouth them, may you be safe, may you be happy, may you be well.

it’s not about starving, it’s about how he leaves the blinds closed so the light that slips in doesn’t penetrate the blue tint. you watch the ceiling and trace shapes in the cracks.

I’m hungry, you say, and he laughs. you ask for water, he gives you more amber liquid. it tastes bitter in the back of your throat instead of the usual whiskey heat.

the girl-in-the-ceiling’s head lists to one side and he is tying her arms above her head. you watch her dissolve into the cracks between the molding and the flat white surface she’s lying on, watch her drip red down the walls, spread black mold through the carpet.

his tongue is inside your cunt and you can barely feel it, like he’s licking you through cotton underwear, through a menstrual pad, through surgical gauze. the girl in the bed is moaning pornographic moans, she is writhing, her hips are rocking into him, his patchy beard burns her thighs speckled pink.

what is it about if it’s not about starving, if it’s not about how my body is trying to extract energy from the protein in his semen and the alcohol is disrupting the process. what is it about if it’s not about fragmented amino acids circulating through my bloodstream, if his bed is not the preta realm, if I am not begging for piss down my throat because I am so empty.

[darksideofthesunny]

🖤

[elsewhere-baby]

that’s how the light gets in