#manifesting this with every fiber of my being

[starpros-sunshine]

Michelangelo Buonarroti fucking /wishes/ his sculptures were as realistic and life-like as the silhouette of some clothes on a chair in your sleep ridden peripheral vision at 01:35 in the bloody morning

[shshshshshowrunner]

I contain multitudes,,,,

[sunkendreams]

Dwayne or David facesitting. Period. Like, vampires don't need to breathe! Hell, let em stay down there for hours. Also, am I too gross or crazy to think about having fun during that time of the month? 🩸

blood moon.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. | dwayne (the lost boys) x fem!reader

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓. | drabble — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. | 3.7K.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. | SMUT (mdni), dubious consent (mild coercion) cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), reader is on their period, bloodplay (lots of it, he’s a vampire), facesitting, biting, hair-pulling, pet names (mama, girl, sweet girl), dwayne is hungry and he’s nasty, kissing, vampire antics, possessive dwayne, Dwayne is a little selfish in this

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. | wow ,,, a fic three days in a row ??? you can tell I’m hyperfixated because I’ll produce a ton of content very rapidly. Also, I love dwayne so much, he’s my daddy. ALSO — please keep sending me horny requests for the lost boys, I’m being fed !!! also, hello to all of my new followers & tlb fellows :)) love y’all and hope you enjoy!

A blood moon — it was a humorous term that your mother used to use for your menstrual cycle, something that you’d grown to despise with every fiber of your being. It was another unfortunate shackle of humanity, a reminder that you were still flesh and blood. Whenever your time of the month came about, you were always tempted to beg David for a sip of that forbidden wine.

The oppressive heat of the cavernous labyrinth that the boys dwelled within had felt somewhat comforting to you as you curled up on Dwayne’s makeshift bed, form contorted into the fetal position. A slow, agonizing pain spread throughout your lower abdomen, making your muscles feel weak and useless.

Sunset was just upon the horizon as you struggled to endure the suffering that you were forced into with each passing month. The mattress felt cool and smooth underneath your cheek, having abandoned the scattered pillows in favor of awaiting your demise. You wanted to sob, biting at the inside of your cheek, teeth scraping against flesh as your fists balled into the blanket.

Everything hurt — what began as a dull ache soon manifested into a pain that gripped your entire body. Your back was sore, head throbbing, and your insides felt as if they were being stirred around by the hand of another. You clenched your teeth, not wanting to move from your spot, anchored to your slice of space.

Once dusk fell, the vampires you’d been living with came to life, no longer hanging from the rafters of some dark, damp alcove. You could heat Marko and Paul’s guffaws and laughter, accompanied by David’s stern, tempered remarks. It all served as idle background noise, prompting you to close your eyes.

The noise dissipated — it was too quick for your liking. Silence settled in, save for the faint rustling of ambience within the cave, combined with something rattling around out in the remnants of the old lobby.

As much as you didn’t want to move, you sluggishly rolled out of bed, discomforted by the sensation of sloshing liquid rushing between your legs. It was the worst part of your cycle — the unpleasant sensations, the feeling of being wholly unclean. You draped a blanket around you, hobbling from Dwayne’s roost.

Strong, veined hands were buried within the grease-laden guts of a motorcycle, dismantling a variety of components. The vehicle was partially dismantled, stripped down to the metal underbelly. Dwayne’s dark tresses were disheveled from slumber, parts of scrap scattered around him. An elongated, metal screw was lodged between his teeth as he concentrated on his work.

He could smell you long before you’d crept into the lobby, but he hadn’t expected to see you in such a downtrodden state. Dwayne was often respectful of your space, especially during your cycle. It wasn’t something he would ever endure, but watching you writhe and suffer wasn’t entirely enjoyable, either.

“Dwayne?” You croaked, awkwardly shuffling across outcroppings of debris and dirt, draped in your shoddy sheet as you spotted your boyfriend. There was something beautiful about him, particularly when he practiced his hobby of playing mechanic. Specks of black oil lined his forearms and fingertips.

Without missing a beat, Dwayne turned to look at you, hazel hues drinking you in with reverence and concern. Dark brows furrowed together as he abandoned his current project, grabbing at the tattered, red cloth that rode around within his back pocket. “Hey,” That familiar baritone held a subtle warmth to it. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

You knew that he knew, but he still asked you nonetheless. As he swiped away at the oil and pungent grease, Dwayne stepped closer toward you, stooping down to press a kiss against the top of your head. You smelled wonderful, natural sweetness intermingled with that of your menses.

“Everything,” You exhaled, shuddering when his large palm splayed out across your back, rubbing soothing circles into your sore flesh. “Where are the others?” Admittedly, it was a bit unusual to see Dwayne alone without the company of the pack.

“Hunting,” Dwayne confirmed, and without hesitation, he hooked a strong, taut arm underneath your legs, hoisting you up as he carried you like a blushing bride. Cradling you against his chiseled chest, he made sure you were back in bed, where you belonged. “I was worried about you.” He confessed, laying you back against the mattress.

His throat was burning — a fire so intense that he wanted to scream, but Dwayne was rather talented at smothering his hunger for the good of another. His thirst would be extinguished soon enough, whenever he could leave the cave to find unsuspecting tourists. He sat down along the edge of the bed, hand massaging into your thigh.

Guilt rippled through you, knowing that Dwayne had abandoned the hunt to tend to you, this fragile human. His brows furrowed together — he must’ve been reading your thoughts. “I’m sorry. You should go feed.” You encouraged him, despite keening into the comforting chill of his hand.

Dwayne’s mind had gone elsewhere — there was a way that he could feed without having to abandon you. Of course, it was purely self-gratifying and your best interests were secondary to his starvation, which crawled across his stomach, burning a hole through him. He kept quiet, gingerly massaging your leg with his hand, which drifted towards the swell of your hips.

He didn’t like seeing you this way, agonized and letting yourself sit in the suffering. “If there was something that I could do to help, would you let me?” Dwayne asked, gazing down at you with an incendiary look. It was distinct, reminding you of the plethora of times he’d seduced you. Your stomach lurched, insides feeling as if they were withering away.

Your expression was somewhat quizzical, lips parting slightly as you reached for his arm. He was so much bigger than you — the strongest of the pack, urging you closer until his fingers could sweep away the hair framing your visage. That thick, coppery swarm of blood invaded his nostrils, singing his throat yet again.

“What do you have in-mind?” You asked, somewhat hesitant as he caged you in between his arms, bending down to press a hungry kiss to your lips. Sex was the furthest thing on your mind, but you relented, moaning into his mouth as you reached for his dark tresses.

Dwayne was a phenomenal kisser — passionate and slow, as if he were savoring every second of it. Though, he had a tendency to let it whirlwind into something ravenous and primal, fitting for the quiet, stoic vampire. He exhaled, kissing you with a thinly-veiled desire, hand moving to cup your jaw.

“Could take the pain away.” He uttered, withdrawing from your lips with an indiscernible expression. Dwayne was always difficult to read — endlessly complex, an enigma that you wanted to unravel. His mystique was always present, but you knew him better than most.

To you, it was an act of generosity — you were gullible, naive to Dwayne’s true intentions of feeding from you whilst making the ache fade away. Your heart fluttered within your chest, causing you to wet your lower lip. Dwayne’s thumb rubbed along your jawline.

“How?” With a soft gulp, you swallowed the growing lump within your throat, feeling his lips graze your jugular. His natural musk was enticing, often intermingled with the twang of stale copper and machinery oil. Dwayne shrugged his jacket off, bulky musculature engulfing you.

His shadow eclipsed any sliver of torchlight as he bathed you in darkness, gaze dusky as he gave you another deliberate kiss. Dwayne was silent, adjusting himself until he knelt at the foot of the bed, partially on top of you. His hand pushed against the inside of your knee, and that’s when you stopped him.

“N—No,” Your protest was weak, embarrassment rippling through your voice. There was something that felt inherently dirty to you, if Dwayne intended to follow through on whatever it was he planned on doing. “Dwayne, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” A shrewdness crept into your tone.

He read your mind — you thought he wanted sex. If you weren’t in so much pain, he would’ve been fucking you within an inch of your life by now. Dwayne’s chest rumbled with a brief chuckle, lips curling into a faint smile, pearlescent teeth glimmering against his caramel skin and stubble-coated visage. “Not like that,” He exhaled. “Something else. Help us both.” He murmured, stroking along your leg.

So that’s what he wanted.

Admittedly, you were a little nervous about the idea. He’d never insisted on feeding from you before, and certainly not in this manner. It sounded so crude and messy in your head. He’d bitten you, but never enough to cause any lasting harm. “I don’t know.” You mumbled, feeling another sharp, dagger-like jolt course through the pit of your stomach.

“It’ll make the pain go away,” Dwayne was gorgeous — like a chiseled god, crouched between your legs as he sought your consent. Of course, it was somewhat swayed through consistent persuasion, but there was something mutually beneficial to be found in this. “Let me.” His voice dropped to a husked octave, dripping with something amorous.

You were still hesitant, heart beating like a fluttering of a hummingbird, swift and constant, pounding just above your breast. Goosebumps coalesced along the length of your spine, crawling across your flesh like a tidal wave as he pressed a series of kisses against the inside of your thigh, face dangerously close to swarming forward.

“Okay, just — Just go slow.” Molten heat sloshed within your belly as Dwayne stalked forward, musculature parting your legs. He was so broad and strong, smooth underneath your fingertips as they brushed against his taut, veined forearms. He bracketed you in, arms like a cage as he kept you close.

Dwayne felt that blistering itch within his throat, the urge to feed, to savor the sanguine heat between your legs. He had no intention of being slow. Once the feeding commenced, it was difficult to stop. “‘Course, girl.” He nodded, dark eyes glued to your features as he flattened down against the mattress.

Sinewy hands curled into the waistband of your panties, slipping beneath the shirt you wore, one that didn’t happen to be covered in age-old blood. You were flustered, beginning to squirm as Dwayne peeled it all aside, menstrual pad included.

He rucked your shirt up, propped up on his elbows as his palms gripped at your hips so hard that it was sure to leave bruises. That smell of blood hit him immediately, scorching his throat and insides until it was all ash and dust. Dwayne was silent, broad tongue parting past until it drew along the length of your cunt.

Blood wept from your core, which felt uncomfortable for you, initially. You huffed, nearly sinking down into the mattress in a heap as Dwayne began to openly lap at your slit, drinking you in as if you were the most delicious thing he’d tasted. Your cunt clenched, nerves set ablaze as his nose bumped against your clit.

You tasted saccharine — coppery and vitriolic, but it was his sort of feast. Dwayne let out a grunt, lapping at the blood that oozed from your cunt, letting it linger upon his lips, invading his senses. Once he heard your sweet moans from above, he tugged you forward, a growl ripping through his chest.

Those aches and pains were sluggishly beginning to ebb away, soothed by the vampire who drank from between your thighs. It wasn’t as much as he wanted, but it was enough, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt as the pleasure unfurled within your stomach.

“Dwayne,” A blissful sigh escaped you, back beginning to arch off of the bed and toward his mouth. Your fingers clamored to hold on, finding their purchase amongst his tousled mane of jet-black hair. He’d eaten you out before, but not like this. There was the added element of blood involved. “D—Dwayne, don’t stop.” You whimpered.

Within the dim light of the alcove, those orange flickers of light from the small array of candles made his skin look like velvet. Those dark eyes never left you, pinning you in-place as he drank freely from your cunt. Your menses stained his mouth with red, tongue occasionally drifting from your entrance to your clit.

A burnished, golden sheen glistened within his eyes, hunger somewhat dissipating. He wasn’t satisfied nor satiated, intending to drink his fill — as for you, he suspected you’d have to endure his constant lapping and sucking until you were nothing more than a sobbing mess.

Your poor legs were quivering, wobbling on either side of his face as he steadied you, hands clamping down to keep you still. He idly massaged into the pliant flesh of your thighs, tongue assaulting your cunt with a viciousness to it. Crimson dribbled down his chin, but your flow was beginning to taper off from your prone state.

A myriad of throaty, wanton mewls escaped you, toes curling in delight as he gingerly suckled at your clit. The sensation was temporary, fleeting as his attention drifted elsewhere, tongue lapping at another slow-trickling rivulet of blood. Dwayne hummed, deep and gravelly, stubble tickling the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs.

It was only when he withdrew that you were babbling and stammering, wanting to know why he’d suddenly stopped. “W—Wait,” You whimpered, pitiful as ever, cunt aching something awful as he licked at his lips. Seeing Dwayne’s mouth and chin drenched in a darker shade of scarlet made you feel hot, heat creeping through your belly. “Please.”

His hearty chuckle made you irritated, but it was short-lived. You watched as Dwayne settled himself onto the mattress beside you, hues a vibrant gold, his countenance stained in your menstrual gore. “I’m not finished, pretty girl. Still hungry.” He reassured you, and plucked you up with two strong hands.

You were eternally grateful for Dwayne in that moment, who placed you on his chest. Without missing a beat, he bumped you forward, and you were gazing down at Santa Carla’s most stoic, vicious predator. An endless hunger danced within his eyes, soon to be quelled by the delicious blood that pooled between your legs.

Dwayne could tell that you weren’t expecting this, and it certainly made it all the more enticing for him. You were so smitten, his sweet little human. He’d fantasized about having you sit on his face until you were nearly unconscious, but this was all the more sweeter. Embarrassment flooded through you, but Dwayne seemed entirely unphased.

Initially, you were scared of hurting him, a notion that Dwayne found to be a little too innocuous. He could hear your heartbeat pounding away beneath your collarbone, thrumming like the beat of a drum as he lowered you back onto his mouth.

Your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his head, dark tresses splayed out like a halo. With this newfound angle, you were staring at Dwayne — or more like, he was gazing at you. His tongue quickly invaded your throbbing cunt, blood catching on his lips. It was messier this time, making you tremble beneath his hold.

A liquid heat coursed throughout your body, pooling heavy within your stomach. Cruor oozed from your throbbing cunt, and now that you weren’t lying on your back, Dwayne was getting another taste. He continued to dutifully lap at your slit, ensuring that he didn’t miss a single drop of blood.

It sat thick and heavy upon his tongue, beginning to bring some semblance of relief to that raging fire that scorched within his throat. His pain was relinquished, and so was yours — a mutual exchange. Even then, he wanted more, digits digging into your haunches as he flicked his tongue over your clit again and again.

There was something disgustingly entrancing about the way he greedily lapped at your core, face buried deep within your cunt, hungry for your menses. If he wasn’t a creature of the night, you might’ve been somewhat indifferent to all of this, but he was bringing you such a wave of relief.

You wiggled your hips, accidentally grinding yourself onto his face, and Dwayne indulged you. As he lapped at another stream of crimson ichor, you moaned, chest heaving with heavy pants and wanton mewls, hands perched along the rickety, half-torn headboard.

“S—Shit,” You exhaled, tears stinging your eyes as you began to make that steady climb toward your climax. Dwayne didn’t stop, never relenting or slowing any movement as he lapped at your cunt, broad tongue swiping over every inch of your slit. The pleasure began to outweigh any pain you felt, muscles spasming. “Dwayne!” A whine left you, head rolling forward.

A deep, guttural growl emanated from Dwayne as it rumbled throughout his wide chest. It was mesmerizing to watch him from above, your hands splaying themselves along his bronze shoulders. His mouth drifted toward your inner thigh, and he looked to you, seeking approval before he bit you.

With a messy, lazy nod, your cunt throbbed and pulsated with molten heat, causing your nails to dig into Dwayne’s skin, hard enough to leave behind crescent-shaped imprints. Golden, crimson-ringed irises flashed in your direction as his countenance contorted into something inhuman, monstrously beautiful in your eyes.

Pearlescent fangs and pretty teeth sought out the pliant, soft flesh of your inner thigh, and he bit down — hard. It left behind the angry-red marks of unusual teeth as ringlets of a sanguine color trickled down your leg. Dwayne licked his lips, appraising you with an incendiary stare as he hastily collected every scrap of your lifeblood.

“M’close,” You whimpered, shuddering when he pressed a kiss atop the freshly-formed bite. His face promptly nestled back to the cleft between your legs, drawing another stream of your menses into his mouth before seeking your clit. “Close.” You said again, breathless and drunk with desire.

Dwayne felt his cock twitch within his jeans, able to smell your arousal through the haze of blood. The siren’s song of cruor was far more powerful, but even then, he could savor both with a feeling of sheer delight. His hunger steadily dwindled, fed by your saccharine cycle — if only you were like this all the time.

His lips formed a tight seal as he began to suck, causing you to nearly double over. “Don’t stop, Dwayne,” Perspiration began to break out along your body, coalescing along the length of your spine, dewy beneath the shirt you wore. “Please, please.” You were desperate, wanting to feel that white-hot explosion of a release.

Exhaustion settled in, your energy having been expended by keeping yourself aloft atop his face. Your cunt tasted sweeter than anything he’d had before in his centuries of existence. Dwayne considered you to be his fountain — a very captivating fountain. His touch screamed with amorousness as he rocked you into his tongue.

At last, your body began to quiver, muscles twitching and spasmodic as you climbed toward your orgasm. Dwayne could feel your weight fall a little heavier atop him, and he happily supported you, so long as you were bleeding. He added that edge of teeth, letting them graze over your clit with a feather-light pressure.

It sent you careening over the edge, cumming onto his mouth with enough mewls and moans to last him for days. It echoed throughout the alcove, and you were on the verge of sobbing, having gained some sliver of relief in the end.

Dwayne lapped at your cunt through it all, consumed by the shadow of greed and possessiveness. He could hear the rest of the boys clamoring throughout the cavern, which soured his mood just a little. They had a poor habit of acting up whenever you were enduring your menstrual cycle — understandable, of course, but an annoyance for Dwayne.

With a grunt, he gently nudged you back onto the taut, musculed expanse of his chest. His mesomorphic stature felt so solid underneath your pliant body, and your hands brazenly felt along his sternum. There was no heartbeat, forever frozen by immortality. His countenance was one of sheer satisfaction, lips and chin smattered in your blood as he licked at his mouth.

“Feel better, don’t you?” Dwayne mused, unable to withhold that little twinge of amusement in his voice. His large hand rubbed and massaged along your thigh, drifting up towards your hips, and then back down again on a continuous loop.

You nodded, feeling all warm when his body shook with a brief tremor of laughter. Dwayne sat up just a little bit, palm grasping at the back of your neck as he brought you forward for a very intimate kiss. A startled gasp tore through your throat, but he held you there, letting you taste yourself — ichor and all.

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as your entire physique hummed and buzzed with satisfaction. Of course, the ache of your cycle never fully dissipated, but Dwayne had certainly done his part in quelling the pain, for now.

Dwayne gingerly patted the swell of your ass, copping a feel in the process before pressing another string of kisses against your neck. He grabbed at the hem of your shirt, rucking it up a-ways. He was quiet, and you were fine with that, eyes widening as he wiped his mouth off with the remnants of your nightshirt.

Jesus — you knew better than to tempt fate, arousal stinging at your core again. You huffed, taking a moment to compose yourself as you attempted to reach for your panties. He intercepted you, snatching your wrist before your fingertips could even reach the lace trim.

“Not tonight, girl,” Dwayne uttered, placing you right beside him, bulky arm curling around your frame. He made you feel so safe — a glaring juxtaposition to his ravenous hunger and vampiric state.

You felt a pair of fangs tauntingly scrape over your jugular, able to feel the chill of his bare chest nudging into your back. “Might get hungry later.” He rumbled, pressing a chaste kiss against the back of your shoulder.

[hardly-an-escape]

Fluffbruary Days 9, 10 & 11

gonna try to do a little daily drabble just to get the creative juices going while I work on longer WIPs. no guarantees that it'll be every day.

Dream/Hob • rated T • urgency | kneel | rural & flush | angel | owl & reflection | water | apology

Hob’s vigil is but halfway gone when he hears footsteps behind him.

The chapel is dark. The only light comes from the pair of candlesticks flanking his armor and sword where they are laid upon the altar. Hob is clad only in a thin cotton shift, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as the footsteps slowly make their way down the aisle to where he kneels on a thin cushion directly before the altar.

“Rise, sir knight,” says a deep and familiar voice.

“Not a knight yet,” Hob responds quietly. “Your Highness.”

“Do you doubt your ability to master this challenge?”

“No, my liege,” Hob says. He remains on his knees. “Lest you be a manifestation of temptation, sent to sway me from my path.”

“Not I.” Dream finally steps into his line of sight, and Hob’s breath catches in his throat. His prince is a vision, dressed in a diaphanous robe, long hair in a simple braid over his shoulder. “I merely wished to look upon the face of the man I love once more, ere it is wreathed in responsibilities.”

Hob flushes. He is not supposed to touch another soul between the ritual bath and when the priests come at dawn to fetch him for the ceremony, but he longs for Dream with every fiber of his being.

“I think you have come to tempt me, you sprite,” he accuses, and Dream smiles softly.

“Peace, my own,” he says. “Return to your prayers. Know that mine are with you also. I will see you in the morning.”

He glides from the chapel, but turns when Hob calls his name.

“Dream. My prince. I want you to know…” He has to pause and swallow hard against the lump in his throat. “When I swear my oath it will be to king and country, yes. But my first and best oath – the one I swear in my heart – will be to you. Always.”

He is shocked to see tears glinting in his lord’s crystal blue eyes. Dream nods, once, and slips out the side door.

In the morning, the priests come. Hob is clothed in a robe of pure white and thinks of Dream. He receives the sacrament, the first food to pass his lips in twenty four hours, and thinks of Dream.

The king presides over the ceremony. There is a pained look and a murmured apology from his advisor when he forgets Hob’s name.

Hob barely notices. He thinks of Dream.

Dream’s hands drape the red robe over his shoulders. Dream’s hands drop the embroidered black tabard over his head. Red, for his willingness to be wounded. Black, for his readiness to die for his lord.

The king rests his sword on the back of Hob’s neck, but it is Dream’s voice that rings out over the assembled crowd.

“Rise, Sir Gadling, knight of the realm.”

prompt list!

[treatmelikewhitetees444]

Getting what i want ⋆⭒˚｡⋆🫀⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Pookie, YOUR MIND AND BODY IS A TEMPLE. Not everyone and everything can have you. Like i said in my last post, USE YOUR GODDAMN BRAIN. YOU CAN HAVE ANYTHING U WANT-

Example: Me and my mom have a really strong bond, even though her husband is a shit bag and i hate him with every fiber in my body sometimes. i was resting my head on her shoulder while she cleaned out the sink and i had been asking her to do my hair for WEEEKS, now mind you i wasn't manifesting this, (proceeds to manifest it anyway lmao) all i did was say in my head over and over "Please talk about my hair" AND SECONDS LATER SHE SAYS "Come on, lets do your hair." LIKE AHHHHH

I feel like that was me using "The Law of thought Transfer" or wtv. (Listening to subliminal(s) as we speak>>>) It's like the whisper method. (DONT ACTUALLY GO WHISPERING IN PEOPLES EAR YALL LMAOO) But it's all mindset ya'll, a few months ago i would've never thought i would be here but look at me now, writing a whole blog about it, while drinking my fav drink, watching coryxkenshin, packing some boxes to move, and online shopping for school!!! plus i'm being spoiled as hell

I'm telling you, with the right mindset, it only takes a short amount of time to change your life pookie. ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆ (Strawberries are my lucky fruit, )

. ／＞-🌱-フ 　　　　　| 　_　 _ l 　 　　　／` ミ＿xノ 　　 　 /　　　 　 | 　　　 /　 ヽ　　 ﾉ 　／￣|　　 |　 |   | 　| (￣ヽ＿ヽ_) _) 　＼二つ

[seventeenlovesthree]

Digimon Writing Challenge - Mix and Match: Takeru + Gabumon + Light

[Yamato] [Takeru] [Hikari] [Sora] [Taichi] [Koushirou] [Mimi] [Jyou]

Summary: Takeru has committed himself to the task of getting his brother's lost Digimon partner back. But the course of events doesn't go as planned and the growing despair within him causes him to end up at an all too familiar place... [1st part to: Hikari]

Word count: 675

TW: Declining mental health, spoilers for "The Beginning", read at own risk!

„Not fair…“

The sound of waves breaking at the shore was quiet, weirdly distanced.

“It’s not fair…”

It was as if a tin wall was standing between him and the outside world, blocking him, muffling all noise.

“Not fair, not fair, not fair…!”

The outside world… Waves…

Takeru had never been here on his own account before. He dreaded it, despised it with every fiber of his being. Always had, always would.

And yet…

“Why did this have to happen…?!”

He tightly gripped the phone in his hand. He wasn’t even sure if it had been the reason that the gate had opened. Or if he had opened it himself. By sheer will. Or rather – sheer despair.

He had been looking for a clue, anything. Together with Koushirou, Miyako, Ken… There had to have been a reason, a cure, a sign.

They had promised each other to meet again. To always stay together.

He still saw their eyes. Taichi’s gloomy expression. Patamon’s teary glance.

Separated, always separated, never meant to be together…

‘It will be okay, Takeru! We will bring them back!’, Patamon had chimed through the tears.

Months had passed.

His brother still mourned quietly. By himself. All alone.

Like it had been before, years ago, all these years…

“Why does it have to repeat itself again and again…?!”, Takeru screamed towards the Dark Ocean as the foam of the wave licked at his feet.

He had been happy, hadn’t he? He still had his friends. His own partner. Whereas Yamato had nothing left.

Why couldn’t he make his brother smile? Why couldn’t they grow closer again? Why did he have to suffer, lose Gabumon, every possible link…?

“I couldn’t even call him before it happened…”

He still saw the golden particles whenever he closed his eyes. He saw it vanishing again and again and again.

They only glimpse of hope he had left, all in vain…

“Is this my punishment…?”, he pressed through gritted teeth, grinning bitterly, glaring at the darkness around him. “For trying so hard to find Gabumon for my brother…? For wanting my family to get back together…?!”

They had theorized about it. Maybe the Digimon had just ended up in a different world. Maybe if they had found a way to hop through the gates…

Now they didn’t have any digivice to reconnect anymore.

That was when the darkness, the frustration, the fear had swallowed him whole. Leaving Patamon, everyone behind. With no way of turning back. Sinking deeper and deeper, swallowed by the sand, the water, forcing his eyes to shut, drowning in his own thoughts…

If only he hadn’t let it overwhelm him, if only he had remained as positive as Daisuke; he had known how to encourage Rui to renew his partnership after all…

“Taichi-san… I’m so sorry…”

If only he had maintained his own childlike wonder, never fearing the threat of death and decay…

“Patamon… Please don’t leave me too…”

If only he knew how to turn the guilt and anger into something greater, something… Lighter.

“Nii-san… This cannot be the end… I won’t let it happen again…”

He couldn’t see anything as he sank even deeper, he just felt something swell inside of his chest – and something else poking into his side.

“Ts-… Tsunomon…?!”

His eyes snapped back open – was this a miracle? In the middle of hopelessness? How was this possible, was he dreaming, hallucinating? Had his wishes actually manifested as he had crossed a forbidden border, not ready to give in, unwilling to sacrifice everything they had worked for?

Without really feeling his limbs, Takeru tried to pull the small Digimon in closer, cradling its unconscious body against his own as much as he could.

He wouldn’t let go again, he wouldn’t lose, even if the tears were stinging in his eyes, even if the rest of his body – despite his heart hammering against his ribcage – felt completely numb…

“Hi-… Hikari-chan…”

There was a light and he would hold onto it, no matter at what cost. A warm, familiar light…

“… Takeru-kun!!!”

tbc...

[urstruly-ghst]

immortal human + younger! malleus

note : the story has an immortal human, but would soon turn back into their mortal ways

tags : gn reader

malleus draconia

What was it like to be torn into a million pieces? You and Malleus were still determining what went wrong. It was giving up something that lasted for centuries, giving up a taste of forever for a moment of temporary life. Instead of renewing the vows of eternity, the bond you so carefully bonded with hopeful whispers and promises, you turned away. You were not scorned, not even bridled with anger, just longing. 

Longing for the humanity you traded for 500 years of endless love.

As you stared at Malleus, who begged you with eyes you could never find in yourself to say “no” to, you let out a few tears. Five hundred years have gone by so fast with him; those years are something you would relive all over if you could.

“Is this really what you want?” Malleus asked, prodding you once more. He knew the answer, but this little part of his brain hoped. It clung on what little hope his heart could handle. You stare at him, smiling sadly; leaving him wasn’t easy. It would never be.

"Honestly, I'm not sure myself. Your majesty, if I'm being honest, I'm terrified." The fear that Malleus thought would never shine through with your bold decision manifests thickly into the air. Malleus bound the spell to be in full effect soon. Afterward, the two of you will be torn apart physically and mentally. The bond of two faes will diminish until a human heart emerges. 

Malleus, for the nth time, begged for you to change this. You’re still a fae; if you back far enough, you will remain that way. Maybe, if it weren’t the human heart within your ribs, you’d jump into the spell that is Malleus pleadings. His voice is an enchantment you have drowned in for over 500 years. It was all too simple if you gave in once again. 

However, that human heart beat in screaming colors– wildly contrasting the dark scape of the Briar you have lived in. Malleus still shined through it, but it was nothing compared to the thrum and chase humanity offered you. 

“Am I out of your grasp yet, your majesty?” You teased, shaking as the colors you have not seen within the last centuries began swimming in massive swarming waves. The breath you didn’t know you were holding coiled your stomach as you sat up, reaching into what you could never explain to anyone. It was as if you were reborn to a place you knew where you belonged. 

As you reach that space, your head turns to Malleus for the last time. Oddly enough, you feel as if you fell in love again. The warm entanglement called love somehow still reaches what people call a break-up; it baffles you.

That fuzzy feeling, the glorious and brightening feeling, still is present when you look at him. Malleus Draconia bewitched you even at the moments you’d leave him. Was it a folly of the human heart? Was it just your sentimental feelings resurfacing as you reached what is now an end?

Perhaps it was the aftereffects of the spell? Or could it simply be because you never stopped loving him? 

“Your majesty?” You piped up as you felt lightheaded already. Malleus gently caught you as you felt like the world spiraled around you. Malleus had a panicked look, terrified the spell backfired on you. He was cursing his magic and was rushing to get physicians to assist him; however, you stopped him. Malleus stilled. Any touch you give renders him weak.  

That was when he knew that this exact moment was when things ended. No amount of begging can undo your decision and the spell.

So, instead of pleading with all his strength. Malleus listened with a bleeding heart.

“I still love you. Please remember that as I exit Briar Valley. Once I release myself from the woods, once I am in the clear– know every fiber of my being is bewitched on you alone, your majesty.” Malleus knew of your devotion towards him. No matter what happened to the both of you, he knew that when you shall be human again– his love will be ingrained in you.

“What are you saying, my love? Of course, I shall know. Even the soil you tramp on carries whispers of our love; I am sure of it. Each particle that has ever witnessed our love shall carry it for the world to see.”

You grinned. The love you both shared would surely never fade, but your heart longed for something beyond what that love could give. Selfish as it may seem, you both knew that once the heart beats– you’re gone.

“Please let me hear you say it to me once more, Malleus… Please say you love me.”

Malleus, while shakingly holding his tears, followed each command. 

“I have loved you for 500 years. I love you to this exact second and will continue loving you. Until the day you are cruelly taken away from me again.” 

[sarahpaulsonsoftie]

Uncertainty

Platonic! Marilyn X reader x Larissa

A/N: Hey guys, ive been struggling a little bit with my mental health so wrote this fic as a vent. This is unedited.

-

Info- Reader begins to act out because they are struggling with their mental health.

-

You weren’t sure exactly when you started feeling like it. Not sure when the feeling manifested into acting out. Not sure exactly when everything felt like it was a constant fight, not sure when every criticism became a personal attack, not sure. Not sure. Not sure.

Fuck. It feels like every fiber of your being was uncertain and the only thing you know what want to do is crawl back into bed and sleep. However, this task was always difficult as you studied at a boarding school. After every trip to Principal Weems’ office, you could feel her patience growing thinner and her irritation growing more and more.

Sighing, you walked through the halls half an hour late to your lesson, Botany, Ms. Thornhill had warned the class a day previous telling you all that her lesson would be under review by Principal Weems.

You get to the door of the classroom, you check your watch, only 40 minutes left of the class, you could do that. Gently you push the door open, and all eyes are suddenly on you. You see Miss Thornhill frowning and your stomach drops, Principal Weems’ face displays irritation as she stares down at you.

“Sorry I’m late.” You mutter and step closer to one of the empty seats. The class is silent, and it’s obvious you interrupted mid-sentence.

“I don���t think so.” Larissa states and steps in front of the seat you had tried to sit down in. She stares at you, a clear irritation on her face. “Go back outside and wait until I deal with you. You have no right to interrupt other learners’ education.”

You bite the inside of your cheek but don’t move from your spot. Larissa’s glare hardens as you shake your head. “No. I can just sit down. I’m not interrupting anyone.” You mutter quietly.

Marilyn’s continues to frown but she doesn’t continue her lesson. Instead, she moves to the front of the class and tries to draw their attention.

“You’re not interrupting anyone?” Larissa scoffs and steps closer to you, trying to make you leave the class. “Then what have you been doing for the past month? You have been skipping classes, arguing with teachers, and in all honestly, causing me a constant migraine.”

You shake your head, anger now bubbling as you step back. “You know what? Fuck this. I’m going back to bed.” You mutter and step to the door, leaving the class. Larissa stays in her spot but continues speaking.

“Y/N. Come back here! We are not finished.” Larissas states and you ignore her and as the door starts closing you hear her shout “If you do not come back, I’ll have to consider suspension.”

-

Later in the day, you lay on your bed staring at the ceiling, wishing the bed would swallow you whole. You sigh loudly and hear a gentle knock on your door.

“Come in.” You say and don’t move from your position. Miss Thornhill enters the room and frowns as she looks at you.

“Y/N.” She sighs as sits down on the end of your bed. You don’t move to look at her, eyes trained on the ceiling. “Principal Weems wants to see you in her office.” She says, sounding disappointed.

“Can she wait for five minutes?” You ask, and don’t move. Marilyn nods and you see her from the corner of your eyes staring at you.

“She wants to suspend you.” She mutters softly, and you now move to look at her. “I personally don’t feel that the punishment fits the crime.”

“How long for?” You ask and move your gaze back up to the ceiling. You don’t particularly care about being suspended. In all honesty, it sounds like a nice break. Marilyn’s hand touches yours and you look back towards her.

“I’m not sure. You know, I can fight your corner. If you give me something to work with. And Principal Weems’ doesn’t want to suspend you. She just believes your behavior is getting out of hand. I mean, how many times in the past week have you been sent to her office? It’s not like you, Y/N.” Marilyn says sadly, as if she’s trying to see the reason.

But the harsh reality is that you know you’re not the same as you were a month ago. Hell, you’re not even the same you were a day ago. And God do you try so hard to rectify it. But you feel dull. Trapped in an endless cycle of your own torment. You’d felt this before, of course you have. But not on this scale. You don’t say anything in response, not completely sure what to say.

“I know that Principal Weems’ has been hard on you on the past month. She told me before today that she felt she was being too harsh. And then today... you argued with her. And I think she thinks that being harsh with you is the only way forward. Y/N, why did you argue? There was no reason to.” Marilyn says softly, hoping to get you to open up and you shrug.

“It doesn't matter.” You deadpan, and Marilyn frowns. This was not you. This wasn’t the Y/N she knew. The Y/N she knew would have fought tooth and nail to be polite, no matter what she was feeling. But now, as she gazes at you, she can tell something is wrong.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.” Marilyn says in one last attempt to get you to open up. You sit up on the bed and stand up, moving to the door.

“Then don’t.” You say blankly and head to Larissa’s office.

-

Marilyn follows you to Larissa’s office and doesn’t say anything as she feels your demeanor change into one of irritation. She steps in front of you to knock on the door and opens it when she hears the confirmation to come in. Marilyn guides you in.

Larissa sits at her desk, her laptop open and a cup of coffee sitting beside her. She gazes up and sees you both, closing the laptop, drawing her full attention to you.

“Y/N, Sit.” Larissa says coldly and you follow her instructions, she then moves her gaze to Marilyn who eyes you worriedly. “Miss. Thornhill, you may leave.”

Marilyn nods, not saying anything else as she exits, throwing one glance towards you.

The door closes. You and Larissa stare at each other, her expression contains irritation and yours contains apathy. You can’t even pretend to care; it consumes too much of your own energy. Her eyes linger before she leans back in her chair.

“I’m not happy with you, Y/N.” Larissa states. You cross your arms over your chest and shrug. “Your nonchalance on this matter indicates you do not care.” Larissa’s voice is harsh, harsher than you’ve ever heard it. You no longer have the energy to even pretend to have good manners. You just want to go back to bed. Suspension sounds like a nice break, is all you can repeat in your mind.

“I don’t.” You retort, Larissa raises her eyebrows and nods contendingly, and you try so hard to care. The old you would have been begging for forgiveness right now, the old you would have even gotten into this situation. But here you are, and the old you is not here with you.

“Well then, since you don’t care, you’re going to face two weeks of in school suspension.” Larissa retorts and you shrug yet again, this time managing to surprise Larissa as even she can now notice the difference in your behavior. Larissa locks eyes with you and she can now see that they have visually dulled. They no longer sparkle the way they used to. However, Larissa cannot go back on her words now so instead she dismisses you.

=

Your in-school suspension means you have to stay in your dormitory, monitored by a teacher to ensure that you are doing the school work that’s been assigned. Sometimes that person would be Marilyn, or Larissa, sometimes both, depending on if they had details, they needed to discuss. On the first week, you’d try to do your work, submitting bits and pieces here and there.

On the second week, you didn’t even try. Marilyn offered to help you, but you shrugged her off. When Thursday of the second week rolled around, both Larissa and Marilyn arrived at your dorm at 08:30am, the time the first class starts. You haven’t got out of bed yet, laying awake and staring at the ceiling.

The door opens and they both wander in. They both notice you are still in bed and Larissa places her laptop down on the desk as she stares at you.

“Come on, Y/N. Time for your first lesson.” She murmurs softly as she looks at you, she notices the lost look in your eyes, and you don’t say anything as you roll over and turn your back to them.

Marilyn steps forward and sits on the bed, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, come on. You’re not helping yourself here.” She murmurs softly.

You shrug her hand off and pull your covers over yourself so you’re now completely under there safety. “Leave me alone.” You say, your voice sounds weak and broken.

Larissa and Marilyn share a worried look and Larissa sits next to Marilyn on the bed and you move away from them both, not wanting to be near anyone. “Y/N, if you get out of bed right now, you won’t need to do your first class, how about that?” Larissa asks and you don’t say anything, closing your eyes as you wish they would both leave you alone.

Larissa frowns and Marilyn is eyeing the blanket you’re under in concern. They both lock eyes with each other, lost on what their next move should be until Larissa pulls out her phone, throwing a glance back to you to make sure you can’t see what she’s doing and shows Marilyn that she is beginning to send a message to Dr. Kinbott, The local therapist in Jericho.

“Y/N, you want to stay in bed, yeah?” Marilyn asks and you she can your head nod from under the blanket. “Okay, Sweetheart, you stay there. We’ll be right back.”

-

An hour passes and you remain under your covers, you hear the door opening again and whispered words that you can’t quite make out. You feel someone sit on your bed again and you ignore it and close your eyes, wanting to be left alone.

Larissa, Marilyn, and Dr. Kinbott all enter your dorm and Marilyn sits down on the bed and brings her hand to your back.

“Y/N, there’s someone here to see you.” She says softly and her eyes flicker up to Larissa and Dr. Kinbott.

“Go away.” You say, and the blanket is gently pulled away from you. You instead move to bury your head in your arms, not wanting anyone to see your tear-streaked face.

“Y/N, its Dr. Knot. I heard that didn’t feel like getting out of bed today.” Dr. Kinbott says and you don’t respond. “Okay... Marilyn, Larissa, can you leave us please?”

You feel Marilyn get up from the bed and hear two footsteps leaving the room as you’re now left alone with Dr. Kinbott.

“Y/N, may I sit down on the bed with you?” She asks and you don’t say anything and Dr. Kinbott takes this as a yes and sits down with you. “Can you move your hands from your face please?” She asks and you shake your head.

“Okay. I can deal with that.” Dr. Kinbott compromises, “How long have you felt like this, Y/N? Like you want to stay in bed all day and hide from the world?” She asks softly. You move your head out of your arms and look at her.

“About 6 weeks.” You mutter and Dr. Kinbott nods, looking at you with non-judgmental eyes.

“Have you told anyone?” Dr. Kinbott asks and you shake your head, moving to sit up in your bed. She nods, looking at you sympathetically. “Seems like a lot to carry. If I were you, I’d want to just shut the world out too.”

“It’s embarrassing.” You say and Dr. Kinbott shakes her head, smiling at you kindly.

“Not at all. I think its rather brave.” She says, and tilts her head to the side as she looks at you. “Is that why you’ve been acting out? Skipping classes because you don’t have the energy to go?”

You nod and move your eyes so you’re no longer looking at. “Teachers kept sending me to principal Weems’ office. Principal Weems’ and I argued a lot.” You mutter.

“Is that because you felt misunderstood?” Dr. Kinbott asks before adding, “I apologize for all the questions, I’m just trying to get to know you better.”

“No, not really.” You say truthfully. “I just don’t really care anymore.”

Dr. Kinbott nods and tilts her head to the side again. “Have you felt that with everything or just school?”

“Everything.” You mutter and bring your knees to your chest.

Dr. Kinbott nods again. “It sounds really difficult.” She states before speaking again. “How would you feel about having some sessions with me? Just so when it does get really tough, you have someone to talk about it with?”

You think about it for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

-

3 weeks pass and your sessions continue with Dr. Kinbott, and although you still do not feel 100%, you have begun to attend every class and have stopped arguing with teachers.

You sit in the cafeteria during lunch and smile when one of your friends cracks a joke.

Marilyn and Larissa watch from afar, seeing you smile. They turn to look at eachother before smiling softly.

Fin

Tags- @h-doodles @erablaise-blog @m1lfsh4ke

[hadeantaiga]

I've been struggling with feeding myself recently due to the stress of being a Masters student about to defend my thesis of the last 3 years. But I think I've finally solved it, for the temporary time being.

I bought some protein shakes, as well as one of those enriched vegetable/fruit juices with vitamins and fiber in it. I also had some sushi earlier, but for dinner I literally just had the shake and the juice. It was a bigger bottle of the juice, and I almost drank the whole thing in one day.

I wasn't hungry all night, the annoying heartburn I have almost every night didn't manifest, and this morning I'm not starving. I'm also probably way more hydrated than I've been in ages.

"YoU sHoULd eAt WhOLe FoOdS!"

Yeah I should, but my stress levels are not allowing that at the moment, and I really need to stop ordering takeout because it's never enough food and it's ALSO not got vegetables in it. This is literally the healthiest things I've eaten in weeks.

I mean. A single bag of groceries costs $50 these days anyway. But the protein shakes are $2 per shake which is cheaper than a Big Mac, so $16 for 8 meals is a good deal to me.

[windvexer]

im curious if you maybe have any sources / books that talk abt spells that are more water based / air/ earth instead of a candle spell / fire? I just genuinely hate working with fire but I feel like everything is a candle spell rn 💀

No books off the top of my head.

What initially comes to mind:

A container/jar spell (very easy to combine with earth and water vibes), especially try search term Witch Bottle for a classic protection.

Witch's ladders (use of feathers easy to connect with air)

All kitchen magic (unless the use of an oven/stove counts for you in working with fire).

Kitchen magic also including brewing of special beverages which you consume to enchant yourself (or others 👀).

Baking magical pizzas, etc. Kitchen magic is great.

All knot and fiber magic (here's a post I made on making simple crystal nets for magical purposes - a good use of earthen stones)

Divination using liquids in a jar (@maddiviner has many excellent divination posts, I'll link this one regarding water scrying and then her excellent divination masterpost).

Tarot magic wherein a card is petitioned and plied with offerings in order to affect change (this example does use a candle as an offering so it's not the best example, but perhaps it imparts the idea; here the candle is metaphysically relevant as it's a fiery spell for fast manifestation, but compare this to using a pentacles card and earthy offerings for building prosperity, etc.)

In general trying the substitution of energy work to raise and imbue energy instead of using a candle for this purpose; not to over-simplify candle magic but a major component IMO is that the candle literally powers the spell, but you can power spells in other ways.

Other sorts of petition magic where an herb or stone are petitioned to provide a certain outcome (sorry this example ALSO uses a candle, but like the fiery 8/Wands spell linked above, I hope I've adequately explained in each post exactly WHY the candle is used, so hopefully that makes substitution easier)

Freezer spells for binding or banishing.

The creation and employment of poppets of all kinds, and by extension sympathetic magic in general; embody the desired target into a Thing, and do something to that Thing. E.g., baptize a stone as your problem, and throw it away to throw away your problem, etc.

Sigil magic of every variety except varieties which dictate you burn the bit of paper

Direct spirit work, such as courting and petitioning a familiar spirit, engaging the help of spirits in magic, and so forth. In offering rituals, nix the candles and offer something else.

Creation of artificial spirits (often called servitors or thoughtforms, depending on who you ask; sometimes they're called elementals but I think that's a bit more oldschool)

Hypersigils, or basically using a journal or story that closely identifies with a situation or person, and you "rewrite" them.

Weather magic in general doesn't seem to call for fire; usually has to do with dumping water and yelling at the sky that it's not so hard to make rain, is it.

Working directly with plants to tie fate or fortune to the plant or assign the plant a job in the home; an example is to sprout a little basil plant in the pursuit of a career change, and that as the basil grows and matures, so do your plans and career, etc.

Moon magic of many varieties, especially to tie an issue to the phase of the moon so that as the moon waxes or wanes, such-and-such issue also waxes or wanes.

That's all that's coming to mind for the time being. Perhaps the Dash will have more ideas also.

[metalheads-trash-bin]

Mother Destiny strike me down if you ever cease to leave an ache in my soul.

The pitter patter of your feet fill my ears, my brain remembering the soft giggles we’d whisper amongst eachother like childhood itself manifested.

You were so happy, your smile intoxicating.

Even now, with crows feet lacing your eyes, you are forevermore beautiful.

Terror struck me that day. Seeing all the enchanting hues of yourself dissipate.

My heart wept for you, just as it does now. For I was too fearful to linger near you once more.

I regret that day with every fiber of my being, knowing that was the last time I showed you any love.

We both said hurtful things, and those scars will take a long while to fade.

But, Mother Destiny always provides a chance.

An inkling of hope, it brings me to your aura once again.

You are intoxicating, and I pray that one day she’ll provide me a chance to open my heart’s heart to you.

That one day we’ll look at one another with adoring eyes once more, our entire beings full of eachother.

You are the breeze in blissful mornings, the moon in peaceful nights.

I can feel myself breaking with every breath I take, the air empty of your scent.

What have I done?

What have I done, my beautiful moon?

- Little rambles from the guru inside me.

[hyperfixat]

food for Gabriel Fans! funny little thing that i can’t think what else to add atm…

Alt Gabriel saves you from silly alternate!

“Shit, wrong house.” The alternate now takes up pacing in a nervous fashion across your room, hands wringing at the shadow on top of its head. “Master will be so…” a whimper.

The room’s temperature drops, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall as in the center of your bedroom a figure is slowly flickering into existence.

He — it? — is completely monotone, from the disturbingly long fingers that curl into claws, to the clothes on his tall, tall frame.

The pitch humanoid backs into the corner with you, and you’re half certain it’s about to use you as a human shield for whatever is manifesting itself in your room. It’s presence is cold next to yours and you freeze as ghostly arms wrap around your fetal form.

A frenzied mixture of voices flee the alternate, making your ears ring.

Kids shouting in joy, a woman’s scream, a deep, rumbling voice underlying it all.

You cannot move, absolutely paralyzed from fear and the alternate tucks itself into you, the same one who told you to kill yourself less than five minutes ago.

The man, being, deity, whatever he is, takes full form. With an experimental roll of his shoulders, he grins.

His face is horrid, long and ghastly, eyes and mouth stretched too long to fit properly. His teeth, large sharp daggers, reminiscent of a shark’s gleam in the dim lighting. His eyes, black and a glowing white, seem to bore into you, taking in every little bit of you.

The alternate’s mangle of noise cuts off abruptly as the tall thing approaches the two of you. He crouches, a large hand coming to wrap around the head of the alternate. His grin never leaves as he tugs them away from you.

The alternate dangles in his hand uselessly, and the large one’s attention focuses on the alternate.

An ear ache inducing static hum fills the room and under the loud white noise you can tell words are being said. However they’re much too low and quick for you to pick up on.

You turn your face away and pray to whatever deity will answer for guidance out of this situation.

“So, terribly sorry about that, little dear.” The tall one is coming closer. You squeeze your eyes shut tight. He feels so close, you could touch him if you reached out an inch. “No need to be afraid, hmm? You’re safe now.”

“No, no, please leave.” It’s whispered and hardly spoken at all, but with the creepy man so close he can hear you.

“None of that, now. The good angel Gabriel has saved you. Can’t you please look at me?”

This is not an angel, you can feel it in every fiber of your being. This is a liar. You’d less afraid if a flaming ball of wings and eyes were in the room with you now, you’re certain.

They’re gray, white, and black, not a spec of any color on their skin or clothes. His eyes are large and the pupil stretches horridly to fill the spaces. His lips open in a smile that you think is trying to convey kindness.

You shiver.

“That’s right, little one. You’re safe with Gabriel…” His arms open, like he expects you to crawl into them from your spot in the corner.

A whine involuntarily escapes you as you realize that you’re caged in completely by something strong enough to banish an alternate.

Oh God, Oh Fuck. This thing killed the alternate. What the fuck. What.

Your breaths come in rapid bursts and Gabriel (apparently, if you are safe to assume he was talking in the third person…) frowns. His eyes (your stomach rolls) start to shrink. It’s gross, the process, but they turn into the size a human would have.

“Oh, I’m sorry for frightening you. I forget my form strikes fear in humans.” His slender hand reaches out to cup over your hair and rest at the base of your skull. “You need not be afraid, it’s alright, my dear. I’m not going to harm you. Quite the opposite in fact.

“One of my disciples made a terrible mistake tonight. I must make up for her wrongdoings, dear. I can’t have my image tainted by hurting someone not meant for harm. Come into my arms, I will care for you.”

You don’t have much choice, do you? Death is an option, always is, but he seems oddly apologetic, so maybe that plan can go on the back burner for now?

You close the small gap and press yourself awkwardly into his middle. A chuckle leaves him and his arms fall around you.

“Good job, little dear.”

Gabriel holds you tight for a long time.

“Would you like me to run you a bath, or maybe brew some tea? I’m sure this evening has been very stressful.”

And you let him, let his tender touches take you and ground you and shelter you. You let him talk and hold you until dawn, let his words of reassurance rest in your subconscious.

Gabriel is there when you stir from your slumber, seated on the recliner in your room. He’s flipping through one of the books you have lying around.

“Hm? Are you awake, dear?”

A part of you thinks this is a dream, another part of you hopes this is a dream, but you know you’re awake. Your knees and muscles ache from hiding through the night, and pain means reality.

You blink, a dumb, slow movement. Gabriel is real. Wowzers.

“Yes.” How should one act with the obviously insanely strong, not-angel, not-human, kind person(?) that talks to them with sweet, honey laced words and banished an alternate in front of them.

The previous hours spent with him are mush in your memory. You know it had been nice, caring in a way you crave.

It seems neither of you know what to say, so after a quiet minute, you proceed through your day as normal.

[jalpari-spouts]

wei wuxian is not an oblivious fool, there is a deeper reason he is ignorant of lan wangji's feelings; in this essay i will...

Disclaimer: all of this is just my personal interpretation.

TLDR; Wei Wuxian believes he is unworthy of love, that it is hard to love him, and he doesn’t want to burden anyone with himself.

There are three main traumas that are probably so deeply ingrained in the fiber of his being that Wei Wuxian might not even realize that he's carrying that emotional baggage with him. As always, these three issues stem from his formative experiences as a child since he was roughly six years old to well into his teenage years.

The sudden death of his parents when he was only around six years old.

Having to fend for himself as an orphan on the streets of Yiling for almost three years until Jiang Fengmian found him.

Being adopted by the Jiangs and then becoming the 'reason' for a lifelong conflict within the family.

One. Sudden loss of parents.

The death of Wei Wuxian's mother and father was sudden. As per canon, they died during a night hunt unexpectedly. Given that his father, Wei Changze, had left the Jiang clan to elope with his mother, Cangse Sanren, who was a rogue cultivator with no affiliation to any clan or sect (as she was an orphan herself and had left Baoshan Sanren's mountain and thus could not return there), this left Wei Wuxian quite literally, orphaned and homeless.

No matter how much one tries to understand and accept such a misfortune as just that – a misfortune – and not something that was their fault or something they deserved; the baggage stays, usually in the form of abandonment issues.

The abandonment issues could lead to not wanting to get too attached to people for fear of being abandoned again. It also develops the harmful mentality that all people will leave eventually because he has bad luck or because he doesn’t deserve that happiness or because he is just not meant to have such blessings.

Two. Living as a street orphan.

Wei Wuxian spent around three years, from the age of six to nine years old, as an orphan on the streets of Yiling — fending for himself, diving into dumpsters for scraps of food, surviving every season in his tattered clothes, fighting off dogs that probably thought he could be their next meal because surely such a feeble child wouldn't live longer than a few more hours in the frigid snow.

Such trauma, especially at that young age, is bound to leave deep scars in someone's psyche. Trauma manifests in different manners; loss of memory is one such way. People who have experienced trauma are known to either block out those memories entirely or disassociate from a large chunk of them.

Wei Wuxian jokes that he has always had bad memory. But it's true. He does. And one of the reasons is his childhood trauma. And now, because of that, he doesn't remember a lot of his childhood, only vaguely remembering a few bare details. The baggage of not remembering his parents and what a happy family is like, makes it harder for him to believe he can have that – because what you can’t even envision, you can’t begin to believe in. He just doesn’t remember what unconditional love and a harmonious family truly felt like for him and so can never truly reach out to take that for himself.

Three. Adoption into an unhappy home.

His adoption into the Jiang family was riddled with issues like conflict with the maternal figure, conflict between both parental figures, rumors and gossip mills, being better than the actual future clan leader and always being compared to him, being taunted by the “son of a servant” label anytime he was deemed wrong or caused an inconvenience.

No matter how much he says he didn’t care or no matter how much he smiles and shrugs, such an environment still has an impact. Especially for someone like Wei Wuxian who is already carrying the previously mentioned baggage.

Wei Wuxian always felt like a guest in the Jiang residence and a burden on the Jiang family and therefore felt like he owed them for everything. His actions make it very clear that he feels that he needs earn a place in the clan, in the house, in the family. He thinks he needs to be of value, to be useful, in order to receive their love and affection. Sometimes, he thinks his use is just to be a punching bag for Jiang-furen. And he was okay with that too.

This is not to say that Wei Wuxian didn't consider them his family. He did. It's just that his definition and understanding of his family by this point was already torn and twisted.

Important side note: Wei Wuxian did truly, from the bottom of his heart, love Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli. He always tried to forge a strong bond with them, partially because he genuinely loved them and saw them as siblings. But partially also because he didn’t want the conflict to pass onto the next generation and continue. As the Yunmeng trio grew up together, they truly did form that bond. Wei Wuxian truly did allow himself to accept Yanli's unconditional motherly love, to rely on her, to make demands of her. He let his inner child, that had been deprived of all these things, reach out to Yanli and hold onto her tight. Which is why the fate of the Yunmeng trio was the saddest part of this whole saga. And also why, when it all went downhill for Wei Wuxian, his shijie's death was the final trigger for his own.

thus, therefore, thence...

Wei Wuxian had a hard time accepting people’s love. 

Speaking from experience, childhood abuse and trauma does that to a person. You feel like a burden when you want something, when you express something, when you need something. You don’t want to push your luck and try and get more than what they’re giving. You don’t believe they will stay. You basically apologize for your entire existence if you feel they are getting inconvenienced by you and you go out of your way to eradicate the problem you think you are the cause of.

A lot of Wei Wuxian’s insecurities are embedded so deep within his soul and are so ingrained in his mentality that even he doesn’t know it sometimes. Wei Wuxian looks up to Lan Wangji, he respects him, he likes him, he wants his attention, he wants his friendship, maybe more. But he never truly acknowledges what else he might want from him or what else Lan Wangji might be willing to give.

He isn’t oblivious. He is ignorant.

Oblivious means that he is aware of it and actively ignores it. Whereas the latter means he is just genuinely unaware. Because Wei Wuxian absolutely cannot fathom the possibility of being the recipient of such love, that he could have the chance to have a real family again; because he isn’t worthy of any of it. He is just paying his debts and making sure he does the right thing, helping others and being of some use. Anything beyond that is something Wei Wuxian has forgotten how to believe in, how to reach out for, how to accept.

In conclusion, Wei Wuxian isn’t some dumb boy who is oblivious to something that is very obvious (allegedly, but that’s for another essay). He just simply has too much baggage and trauma to think something like that could even exist for him to just reach out and take.

Thankfully, by the end of the story...he does realize this. They both do.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk. Go stream every MDZS adaptation!

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