#to know why and have compassion for yourself

[shiroxichigo]

Ichigo gets a lot of shit (typically from outside of the Bleach fandom) for being a character whose wants/goals never change from beginning to end of his series. He always wants to protect people (and even though I could argue that he went from only wanting to protect those close to him to wanting to protect everyone he can, that's not the point I'm making with this post).

I think a lot of people who only give Bleach a passing glance fail to see Ichigo's true character growth. It's not about what his goals are or who he's trying to protect, but rather, it's about how he achieves it.

Ichigo is very self-sacrificing in the first third of Bleach. He believes that if the mission is successful, then it doesn't matter how broken or close to death he gets. The mission, saving Rukia (and hurting/killing as few people in the process), is all that matters.

Then, when a part of himself (his inner hollow) emerges, and says "hey yeah no, I'm not letting you get yourself killed and I'm also not letting you hold back against your enemy", Ichigo immediately rejects it.

It's not until he defeats his inner Hollow that we see Ichigo really dive into a fight with the intent to kill. The problem is, once his Hollow is defeated, he thinks that's it. He's freed himself of that part of him and he can go back to being self-sacrificing.

We see this throughout the Hueco Mundo arc. It's why saving Orihime parallels saving Rukia. Ichigo naively thinks he can suppress a part of himself. He bottles it up until it explodes, coming back to haunt him in his fight with Ulquiorra, etc. He learns that side of himself isn't so easily tucked away, and if he recklessly endangers himself, he could end up endangering his friends too. At his own hand, no less.

Then Ichigo discovers he can commit the ultimate sacrifice. Final Getsuga Tenshou. He can throw away these powers and the parts of himself that he doesn't like, and he can get rid of Aizen all in one go. He's lucky that it worked, but only because Kisuke was there.

Then, once Ichigo is powerless, he learns that's not what he really wants. Life doesn't "go back to normal". The can is open, and there's danger out there beyond just Aizen. And Ichigo can't do anything to stop it unless he gets his powers back.

So he does. Then he cuts down the threat to his friends and family. And he doesn't hesitate this time. Yes, he still has compassion for his enemies (he even goes to the Soul Society to ask for Ginjo's body so he can give him a proper burial), but he's learned not to hold back and he's learned that new threats will appear and he'd rather have the power to face them head on.

So then comes TYBW, and Ichigo is facing battles head-on without hesitation. He goes straight to the "bad guys" with the intention of cutting them down. He learns the truth about who his Inner Hollow is, and he accepts it. He's even willing to accept whatever consequences may come from training in the Royal Palace and becoming stronger. He accepts his power and potential fully, and learns that he has what it takes to protect his loved ones with his strength, and not with a sacrifice.

Ultimately, he heals the part of himself that thinks his life is worth less than other people's. He heals the part of himself that blames himself for not protecting his mother (when he was 9!! Like come on Isshin, put the kid in therapy!! Anyway...) He grows into someone who knows his self worth. And I think, for me at least, that makes him one of my favourite protagonists of all time. Because can't most of us relate to feeling worthless at times? And don't we also wanna overcome that?

Thanks for reading my ramble lmao, I'm sure this could have been more elegantly written but I'm very sleepy and just wanted to get my thoughts out there.

[maybeelse]

Long-forgotten Fireflies finds her doll huddled outside, its display case's well-polished glass shining in the little nook between two of the building's many trash cans.

She hums happily and kneels down beside it.

"Hey, Lace. What are you doing out here?"

It doesn't meet her gaze.

It's garbage day, but they're so far into the concrete forest that the truck won't reach them until the evening; that vast thing rumbling past is just a bus, no matter its grasping arms or Lace's hopeful gaze as it passes it by.

"This one is waiting, Miss."

Fireflies doesn't ask what it's waiting for. The other question matters more.

"... why, Lace?"

"It just is."

"That's not an answer, dear."

It glances up into her face, ready to flinch away from the disdain and anger it's sure that it will see.

What it flinches away from is far, far worse.

Lace sees nothing but compassion in her age-wrinkled mask; nothing but kindness in her eyes.

It can't bear that; can't bear the idea of being seen by something that it knows shouldn't look like that at it, can't bear her gaze—

She catches it by the scruff of its neck as it tries to throw itself into the road.

"Now why would you try to do that, Lace?"

Her voice is reproving but tempered with far more sadness than Lace would prefer, and so it struggles for a several seconds before finally going limp.

"This one, you, it," it stammers, words piling up until the meaning drowns beneath them; Fireflies lets it go on for a bit, hiding her amusement, before she finally interrupts Lace's rising distress.

"Slowly, dear. One thought at a time. Pause for breath. You know how."

It takes a long, deep breath, tears burbling up around its too-big eyes; a bubble of something not entirely like snot pops on its little button nose.

"This one isn't good enough for you, Miss. It's old and worn out and you should have a doll who doesn't stumble at simple tasks."

"Is this about the cup you dropped?"

It squirms; for a moment its hands rise towards the old scars all along its arms, but it hasn't been allowed to have proper claws in decades. "Not just that, Miss."

"What is it about, then? And that wasn't even one of the good cups."

Lace breathes in and out, hiding itself in compliance with Fireflies' instruction; but a pause can only last so long, and once it has its thoughts in order it must speak.

"It just ... it just doesn't feel like it's good enough for you. This one makes so many stupid mistakes ..."

"And? Lace, I make stupid mistakes too. All the time."

"You're a witch! You're supposed to bite off too much and fight with the world. But this one is a doll."

"You are, yes. But that doesn't mean you have to be perfect or anything, dear, just try your best."

"But ... but this one should be perfect. For you."

"Lace, no. You're supposed to be you, with all your flaws and quirks." She sighs. "If I wanted something perfect I'd ... I don't even know. Perfect isn't real. I want you, not some impossible fantasy."

It sniffles. "But it's getting old, Miss. It's struggling more, and it's not as pretty as it used to be. It's not good enough."

Fireflies sighs again; they're just going in circles, and she's sure that it's just going to keep on going.

"... fine, Lace. But you're not allowed to throw yourself away."

"But, Miss ..."

"If I ever decide to get rid of you, which I don't think I will, it will be by my choice. Not yours. Not you disappearing while I'm distracted."

Lace sniffles again, snot rolling down its face.

"B-but ..."

"No buts, no objections. You're mine."

Fireflies drags Lace into a hug, uncaring of the dollish liquids smearing across her dress; it cries more freely at the warmth, at the softness, at the touch it thought it was too worthless to ever feel again—

She doesn't let go of it as she stands up and grabs its display case, nor as she carries it back inside; the door slams shut a moment after the garbage truck's rumbling tread and gnashing jaws begin to shake the street outside.

It's not a conclusion, but a reprieve.

[elysiaheaven]

𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫..?-𝟐𝟗-(The Fox's Wedding)

TW: There's a medical report about the wounds/mental state for y/n, it's slightly..Don't read it if you're uncomfy about the last two chapters of her wounds.

Feixiao strides over to you, her face lighting up with rare joy. "The Warhead has been defeated and slain. The Wolftroopers are no longer a threat, completely overwhelmed by the Cloud Knights." Her excitement is contagious, and for a moment, you find yourself smiling despite the weight on your shoulders.

Moze called her, Apparently

Moze rush into the place, and they bear Jiaoqiu's limp form between them. Feixiao’s smile falters as she notices Jiaoqiu at death's door. Her voice cracks slightly, but she looks at you with a glimmer of hope. "They found Jiaoqiu. He’s… he’s alive, but barely."

You try to hold on to that sliver of hope, but suddenly, a sharp pain erupts in your neck. Your smile fades as you cry out, clutching at your throat. Panic grips you, and through the haze of agony, you manage to rasp, “I… I can’t live…”

Feixiao rushes to you, alarmed. “What’s happening? What do you mean?”

With shaking hands, you manage to get out, “Moze… Ask him… Ask him if Jiaoqiu can see anything.”

Feixiao’s eyes widen, but she quickly sends a message to Moze. Time seems to stretch on endlessly before a reply comes through.

She reads it aloud, her voice heavy. “Moze tried… but Jiaoqiu kept whispering… he can’t see.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach, and you grip your head in frustration, tears spilling down your face. “No… no, this can’t be happening…”

Suddenly, a wild idea bursts into your mind. Desperation pushes you to your knees in front of Feixiao. “Feixiao, you have to kill me!”

Feixiao takes a step back, shock and sorrow flashing in her eyes. “What are you saying?!”

You look up at her, your tear-streaked face filled with raw pain. “My soul… it can heal someone. That’s why Jiaoqiu kept dealing with me. He was trying to save me, but… now he needs to be saved. If I die, my soul could heal him. If not, he’ll stay blind.”

Feixiao’s hand shakes, and for a moment, you think she might consider it. But instead, she takes a deep breath and then slaps you, the sharp sting of her palm snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. "How can you say that?" Her voice trembles with both anger and compassion. "Jiaoqiu cares about you more than you realize. How could you think of dying without even asking him? You are not some cure, some sacrifice to be thrown away. You are worth more than your past and your pain!"

You clutch your stinging cheek, shocked into silence as Feixiao continues. “Stop dooming yourself. Your past was sad, I know, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep letting it control your future. Do you think Jiaoqiu would want this for you? Do you think he saved you just for you to throw your life away like this?”

Tears pour down your face as you cry out in confusion and pain, your voice breaking. "I don’t even know what I am anymore! What kind of creature am I supposed to be? I want to live, but I want to be useful!" The words spill out in a desperate torrent, torn between your need to be needed and the crushing weight of your self-doubt.

Feixiao’s face twists with a mix of sympathy and frustration, and without warning, she slaps you again, harder this time. "Stop this!" Her voice is sharp, commanding. "You want to die, but have you even spoken to Jiaoqiu? Do you know what he wants before you decide to leave him alone like this? How can you make a choice like that without asking him first?!"

Your body shakes from the slap, but before you can respond, Yunli and Yanqing rush into the room. Yunli, wide-eyed with panic, immediately bursts into tears, her small hands gripping your bloodstained kimono as she sobs. "Don’t die! Don’t leave us! Uncle Jiao will be so sad if you go!"

Yanqing kneels next to you, his young face full of worry, but he remains steady as he speaks. " you’re hurt. Please, you need to see a doctor."

You try to push them away, your voice cracking as you scream, "No! Don’t look at me! I’m broken!" Your tears blur your vision, and your voice is choked with grief. "I don’t deserve your kindness. I’m a mess!"

But despite your protests, Yunli throws her arms around you, refusing to let go. "We don’t care! ! Please, you can’t go like this. You need help. You need to heal."

Yanqing nods in agreement, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. "We’ll get you to a doctor. Your wounds… they’re too much to bear alone."

Their warmth, their unwavering love, breaks down the walls you've tried so hard to keep up. You sob even harder, collapsing into their embrace, your body trembling with the force of your anguish. In that moment, their arms around you are the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

Feixiao watches the scene unfold, her expression softening as she steps forward. "You're not alone, Y/N. Don’t make decisions you can’t take back without knowing how much you mean to the people who love you. You have helped...a lot..." She kneels down beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. "We’ll get through this. Together."

Kindness.

It does feel like that..

it felt...

It felt like you didn't worth it.....

Your consciousness slipped away, everything became a blur. Faint images flickered in your mind—a blur of faces, soft voices, and the sterile smell of a medical room. You saw glimpses of Jiaoqiu, lying in a bed beside yours, his body covered in bandages, his face peaceful but pale. The small dragon lady, Bailu, moved around, her tiny hands glowing with healing light. You felt her magic working on you, mending the delicate stitches on your neck, the place where your head had once been reattached. But the rest of your body was weak, fragile, barely holding on.

Jiaoqiu's report arrived fast, Yours was a bit late.

The report came in the form of a thick stack of papers, detailing every brutal reality of your physical and mental condition. Feixiao sat with it for hours, her eyes tracing over the words, her heart sinking with every line. The medical description of your body was enough to send shivers down her spine, but she read it through, refusing to look away from the horror of it.

"Patient: Y/N L/N" Status: Severely Weakened

The first section was the hardest to read. Your body, once resilient and powerful, was now described as "extremely weak in strength." There were "multiple cuts," deep gashes, and bruises, but it was the description of your beheading that struck Feixiao the hardest. "The neck wound, where the head was severed, is slowly healing itself… but the process is delayed, likely due to the patient’s extreme physical and mental exhaustion."

Wounds:

Severe lacerations across the torso and limbs, consistent with multiple slashes from sharp objects.

Beheading wound, poorly healed and still prone to reopening under stress.

Feet: multiple strain wounds, cuts, and punctures, possibly from stepping on something sharp. "Walking is strongly advised against for several months."

Deep lacerations across the arms, as though the patient had been held down violently, struggling against restraints.

Feixiao paused, her fingers gripping the paper tighter. "Restrained…?" she whispered under her breath, horrified at the idea of you being forced down, helpless.

The report continued, detailing the internal damage.

Internal Condition:

Organs: Extensive internal strain. Multiple signs of poison consumption over time. "The patient has ingested various poisons, which are slowly destroying internal tissues. Fortunately, due to their non-human nature, full destruction has not occurred, but their transition to becoming human is accelerating the damage."

Severe dehydration and malnutrition. The patient cannot consume savory foods or most sweets due to their body's extreme sensitivity, leading to involuntary twitching, convulsions, and pain.

The report detailed how your body reacted violently to food. Anything spicy, savory, or overly sweet triggered uncontrollable spasms and vomiting. Your stomach was fragile, torn apart from within by the poisons you had consumed. The mention of it made Feixiao’s chest tighten—how long had you been poisoning yourself? Why?

But worse than all of this was your mental state:

Mental Condition:

"The patient’s mind is in a critical state. We advise keeping the patient away from any reflective surfaces, especially mirrors. The patient should also be kept far from any sharp objects or weapons."

Extreme psychological trauma. Frequent dissociation from reality. Paranoid tendencies.

Self-hatred manifests in compulsive behaviors. Unpredictable outbursts of emotion, alternating between hysteria and deep melancholy.

Feixiao stared at this section for a long time, feeling a knot form in her throat. You were broken, physically and mentally shattered. You had been slipping away from yourself, from reality. She felt her heart break at the thought of you, wandering alone, not knowing if you even wanted to live.

A final note from Bailu, written in hurried handwriting, stood out:

"This person, condition is...hard to say. But there is a hope if her in-human things could cure her faster, I advice she should be in constant company."

Feixiao set the report down, her hands trembling. She couldn’t imagine the pain you were in, both in your body and your mind. You were losing yourself, trapped between life and death, between the human and the spirit world.

Feixiao sighed, resting her head in her hands....

.........

She shouldn't have slapped you, she thought......

[qiu-yan]

3 6 7 11 16 20 25

bro is trying to get me killed lmao /s

choose violence ask game

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr:

this shit

6. which ship fans are the most annoying?

gonna be honest here, the single most annoying part of the MDZS fandom is that one hyperspecific sort of wang and xian stan who insists on shitting on not only the other characters, but also other wang and xian fans who ship the characters in ways they don't approve of. this kind of stan can not only be relied on to have the worst possible takes on everyone ranging from jin guangyao to jiang cheng, they can also be relied on to harass other wang and xian fans simply for putting wang on the bottom. fun times.

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

surprisingly, no one yet. sometimes i feel the hater urge to dunk on the morally-pure version of wei wuxian that the diehard wei wuxian stannies have collectively hallucinated, but i still find the wei wuxian from canon to be quite compelling.

11. number of fandom-related words you've filtered

the "canon jiang cheng" and "canon jc" tags. everyone stfu

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

"morally pure wei wuxian who did nothing wrong ever." to me, wei wuxian's hubris, his unique capability for inventing new kinds of cruelty, his failure to think of the consequences of his actions, his tendencies to run away from negative feelings, and his ultimate failure to protect the people he was trying to protect, are what make him a compelling character to me. these flaws in parallel with his courage, kindness, stalwart moral compass, and genuine love make him interesting to me. so i don't quite understand fans who instead insist on erasing all the morally grey and highly interesting stuff he did in favor of insisting he did nothing wrong ever.

20. part of canon you found tedious or boring

not quite what the question is asking, but i found the actual wang and xian romance in the original novel to be a bit lacking. mainly because (as other people have said already) a lot of the romantic development happened when lan wangji was drunk. at the very least, i wanted to see lan wangji's reactions to his various drunken adventures once he sobered up the next day, and i'm rather disappointed we never got to see that.

furthermore, on wei wuxian's end, it did kind of feel like wei wuxian was using this exciting new romance to distract himself from his past problems, even though it also seemed like he didn't actually know all that much about lan wangji. the only version of the romance that makes sense to me is the one where wei wuxian was already into lan wangji (subconsciously or consciously) in his first life; otherwise, wei wuxian falling in love with lan wangji during his second life, when he's yet to process any of the shit that happened in his first life, feels too much like him running away from his problems with a guy he believes will validate all his decisions. meanwhile, on lan wangji's end, i feel like the novel just did not give us a lot to work with in regards to his character. so it feels like, if you want to be a fan of lan wangji, you have to do a lot of the legwork of building up his personality yourself.

what also disappointed me a bit about wang and xian, as well as lan wangji's character arc itself, is that lan wangji is never really challenged on a moral-dilemma level in the same way that many other characters are challenged by the story. how do i explain this...alright, i'll put it this way. i've been brainrotted about madohomu (madoka magica) since i was in middle school. and that's partially because i know for a fact that, if homura was put in the trolley problem and had to choose between [killing 5 strangers] and [allowing madoka to die], she would choose to kill those 5 strangers to save madoka. but after reading MDZS, i realized i legitimately did not know what lan wangji would do in such a moral dilemma. because MDZS equates [being morally righteous] with [supporting wei wuxian], lan wangji is never placed in a dilemma where he has to choose between sacrificing wei ying and doing something the audience would think of as unforgivable.

these are just my own hyperspecific tastes, though.

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

gonna put my hater hat on for a second, but i kind of roll my eyes at the jiang cheng haters complaining about how jiang cheng stans keep posting in the "canon jiang cheng" tag. dude, if it bothers you that much, just block the jiang cheng stans. then things will be peaceful in your favorite tag again.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Love in the Dark: Chapter Two

Love in the Dark: You discover an intense connection with an enigmatic dream lover, yearning for a love beyond physical appearances. As your encounters blur the lines between the waking world and the Dreaming, your grapple with the complexities of desire, friendship, and mortality. Can you truly love in the dark?

Warnings: Hot Make Out.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x NAMEDFem!Reader.

Word Count: ~2.5k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You don't always spend your dreams within his arms. You know he is busy with his tasks in the Dreaming and often spent your free time with the denizens of the realm. It was ridiculous to think your free time consists of you not having sex. But alas, you can't fuck away your real life relationship woes with a dream or nightmare you've never actually seen. Even if he was the Adonis of your dreams.

Dreams. Hah! You snicker at yourself because was your Dream Lover anything but the Adonis of your dreams? Perhaps an Adonis with a personality, one you have come to adore and cherish. Yes, your Dream Lover is your best friend, closest confidant, and, well, your dream lover. And to think you had only wanted a friend to talk to! That effort has failed rather spectacularly.

"Kora!" At the call of your name, you look up to see Fēlix, the dream of luck and happiness, and your best friend during the night. The dream resembles a baby faced boy with gentle blue eyes and luscious blond hair you were jealous of the softness. That's were the humanness stops. While he has pale skin, all throughout his body glimmers gold, like someone has pat him down with gold leaf and it has stuck, firmly. Then there's the massive cardinal compass smack dab in the center of his chest that glows with golden ethereal light. It doesn't help that Fēlix only wore trousers and his fancy robe which never fully covers his chest.

Your dream best friend draws attention everywhere he goes both for his inhumanely beautiful looks and literally glowing warmth. Have you mentioned that his hair also seems to float around like it doesn't understand the concept of gravity? It is entirely unfair that your Dream Lover and your dream best friend are both cruelly beautiful and you are just you.

"Hey Fē," you greet, looking up from the bin of peaches you had been absentmindedly thinking over. You have a partially eaten one in your hand and the juices have long since ran down your palm to your wrist. Nothing that couldn't be licked clean later.

Fēlix beams, his smile bright enough to chase away any lingering shadows that occasionally haunt you for attention. Some nightmares were like needy puppies. "I thought you'd be with him tonight," he says, the compass on his chest glowing a bit brighter.

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. "He's busy, I guess. Not every night is about us. Also, you don't need every detail of my night time sex life."

Fēlix's laughter rings out, melodic and infectious. "But that's why I'm friends with you! To get all the juicy moments of your mysterious tryst with whomever has captured your heart." You snort at him and he chuckles before continuing, "still the realist, I see."

"Someone has to be," you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips. You pluck a peach from the bin and toss it to him. He catches it effortlessly, his movements as fluid as a ballerina. He is perfect at everything and if you weren't acutely aware that he was made to be perfect, you would be raging with jealousy.

"Have you ever wondered what he looks like?" Fēlix asks, biting into the peach with relish. His head tilts and tuffs of blond hair float with the motion.

"Every night," you admit. "But it's part of our deal."

"Strange deal," he muses, wiping juice from his chin. "To love someone without ever seeing them."

You think about your dream lover's voice, how it wraps around you like velvet in the dark. Just like how his touch brings you such ecstasy. "Love doesn't need eyes," you say softly. "And this way vanity doesn't cloud our judgment.”

"Vanity doesn't cloud your judgement," Fēlix corrects you with smirk. "Your dream lover, however, is completely smitten."

"I know what I look like, Fē, he didn't make a vain choice." You say with a snort. Slowly moving away from the peaches and towards the fountain at the center of the market. You take a seat. "it's the only thing that brings me true happiness because in the waking world there is so much toxic vanity, you can never truly know who you are dating until they show their true colors."

Fēlix nods, thoughtful. "True enough. But curiosity is a powerful thing."

"I have my moments," you admit with a wry smile. "that's why you're friends with me, remember?"

"Oh no, I'm just here for the retelling of your spicy, passionate sex life." He chuckles in fake exaggeration before he sits beside you on the edge of the fountain. The water sparkles under the dream sky, casting shimmering reflections on both of you. "How's real life treating you?" he asks, voice falling gentle once more.

"Real life's... real," you say with a sigh. "Nothing magical about it."

"Then let's make this moment count," he suggests, holding up his half-eaten peach like a toast.

You touch your own peach against his and take a bite, savoring the sweetness that seems more intense here in the Dreaming.

As you savor the last bits of the peach's sweetness, Fēlix suddenly glances over his shoulder, his golden compass glowing a bit brighter. "Duty calls," he says, standing up with a reluctant sigh. "Dreamers need their luck."

"Of course," you say, watching him float away with a wave. His presence always feels like sunshine, even in the Dreaming's twilight. Looking down at your eaten peach, you watch in satisfaction as the pit dissolves in your fingers and golden sand floats up, only to disappear. Oh how you loved the magic of this realm!

You wander through the market, letting the surreal scenery of the Dreaming envelop you. Stalls burst with colors you can't name and scents that tug at long-forgotten memories. It never ceases to amaze you how vibrant and alive this place is. You pass by a quaint bed and breakfast nestled between two towering dreamscapes. The sign reads "The Slumbering Sanctuary." It's a cozy, ivy-covered building that radiates warmth. You hear commotion inside and decide to peek in.

"Help! Someone, please!"

You step inside to find a flurry of activity. Dreams shaped like fluttering sheets of parchment dart around, their faces etched with worry as they fret to and fro. You haven't seen such panicked dreams in ages.

"What's going on?" you ask one of them, who looks particularly harried.

"Oh, it's a disaster!" the dream exclaims, nearly colliding with you as it flits by, it's sheet billowing and wafting a pleasant scent of detergent. Freshly showered it seems. "We have a large number of guests arriving soon—more than we've ever had! And we're terribly understaffed because of the recent surge in mortal dreams."

You can see the chaos: beds unmade, tables unset, and dream dust settling on everything. The master of the realm had been gone for so long that the workload and bookings had slowed down to the point of no business. Now that the realm is thriving once more, the dreams look frazzled and overworked.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" you offer.

The flustered sheet pauses for a moment, considering your words. Then the edges of it's sheet begins to flap excitedly. "That would be wonderful! Could you help us prepare the rooms? We're so behind schedule."

"Of course," you say, rolling up your sleeves—well, metaphorically speaking since you're in the Dreaming and the clothes you wear have no sleeves. "Just point and I'll take care of it."

You dive into the whirlwind of activity, your hands busy smoothing bedspreads and fluffing pillows. The sheets whisper against your skin as you tuck them in, and the dream dust glows faintly in the soft light filtering through the windows.

"Thank you, thank you," one of the parchment-like dreams flutters around you, clearly relieved. "The guests will be here any moment."

"No problem," you reply, straightening up and surveying your work with satisfaction. "Just happy to help."

You move to the next room, your thoughts wandering to your dream lover. You wonder where he is tonight, what duties might be keeping him away from you. As you finish adjusting the final pillow, a soft breeze rustles through the room, carrying with it a familiar scent.

Before you can turn around, strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into the linen closet adjacent to the room. The door clicks shut behind you, plunging you into darkness.

"You greeted everyone but me, my love," his voice purrs in your ear, a low vibration that sends shivers down your spine.

"Busy night," you manage to say in a pathetic excuse, heart racing as his hands slide up your arms.

His touch sends electric currents through your skin, spreading need to every corner. "Not too busy for you," he murmurs, his voice a deep, resonant hum that vibrates against your ear. "Since you so thoughtfully volunteered yourself.”

You shiver as his hands glide from your arms to your wrists, capturing them gently but firmly. He raises one of your hands to his lips, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. His lips part slightly, and you gasp when his tongue flicks out, tracing the line of dried peach juice from your wrist.

The sensation is intoxicating. His tongue is soft but insistent, each stroke sending ripples of pleasure through you. He moves slowly, savoring every taste, as if the juice were a rare nectar. Your knees weaken as he works his way up from your wrist to the tips of your fingers.

When he reaches your fingertips, he takes each one into his mouth, sucking gently before releasing them with a soft pop. "You taste divine," he whispers against your skin, the words vibrating through you like a caress.

Your breath hitches as he moves to your other wrist, repeating the ritual with the same deliberate slowness. The darkness of the linen closet amplifies every touch, every sensation. His tongue dances along your skin, tracing patterns that make you dizzy with desire.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into the feeling. His hands continue to roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour with a familiarity that makes you feel both vulnerable and cherished.

When he finally releases your wrists, you're trembling. You can feel his breath against your neck now, warm and inviting. "I missed you," he says softly, and there's an edge to his voice that makes your pulse quicken even more. His words were so weak, vulnerable even, yet filled with longing.

You open your mouth to respond but find that words have abandoned you. Instead, you reach out in the darkness, finding his face by touch alone. Your fingers trace the sharp lines of his jaw, the softness of his lips.

He captures one of your hands again, bringing it to his mouth to kiss each fingertip tenderly. "Let's not waste any more time," he murmurs against your skin.

His hands slide under your shirt, the heat of his palms igniting a fire on your skin. Each touch is deliberate, a slow exploration that leaves you breathless. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours in the confined space of the linen closet. The scent of him surrounds you, a heady mix of earth and something darker, more primal.

His lips find your neck, and you tilt your head back to give him better access. He kisses a path from your collarbone to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You shudder, fingers gripping his shoulders for support as he continues his assault on your senses.

You feel his breath hot against your skin as he murmurs your name, the sound of it dripping like ecstasy. His hands move higher, fingers grazing the edge of your bra before slipping beneath it. You arch into his touch, craving more of the electric connection between you.

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth moving against yours with an urgency that leaves you dizzy. His tongue explores your mouth, tasting and teasing until you're gasping for breath. You respond with equal fervor, hands tangling in his hair as you pull him closer.

His hands continue their journey beneath your clothing, tracing patterns on your skin that make you ache with need. When he finally cups your breasts, you moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss. His thumbs circle your nipples through the fabric, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

You can feel his desire pressing against you, hard and insistent. It mirrors your own longing, a need that has been building with every touch, every kiss. You break away from his mouth just long enough to catch your breath before diving back in, kissing him with a hunger that surprises even you.

You melt into his kiss, every nerve in your body electrified by his touch. His hands continue to explore, mapping out the contours of your body with a reverence that makes your heart ache. You lose yourself in the sensation, in the heat and darkness and the overwhelming need that pulses between you.

Time loses meaning in the Dreaming, each moment stretching out like a ribbon of desire. His kisses become more urgent, more insistent, and you respond with equal fervor. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as you pull him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you.

But all too soon, the edges of your reality start to blur. You can feel the pull of the waking world, like a distant tug at the back of your mind. You break away from his mouth with a gasp, your forehead resting against his as you struggle to catch your breath.

"I don't want to wake up," you whisper, your voice tinged with desperation. "I want to stay here with you."

His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that have begun to fall. "You have to wake up, Kora," he says softly, his voice filled with a sorrow that mirrors your own. "You are mortal. You have a life to live in the waking world."

You shake your head, pressing closer to him as if that could somehow anchor you here in the Dreaming. "But I'm only truly happy here," you confess. "The waking world is so... empty without you."

He kisses your forehead, a tender gesture that sends a fresh wave of longing through you. "I know," he murmurs against your skin. "But you have responsibilities there. People who care about you."

You close your eyes, trying to hold onto this moment for just a little longer. The scent of him surrounds you, grounding you even as reality begins to intrude. "I wish I could stay," you say softly.

"So do I," he replies, his voice heavy with regret. "But we will always have our nights together."

The room around you starts to dissolve, the dreamscape fading into the harsh light of morning. You cling to him for one last moment, memorizing the feel of his arms around you.

"I'll be waiting for you," he whispers as the world around you shifts and changes.

And then you're awake, lying in your bed with the morning light streaming through the window. The familiar ache of longing settles in your chest as reality crashes down around you.

Another day in the waking world begins, but all you can think about is returning to him tonight.

Date Published: 9/20/24

Last Edit: 9/20/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[bunnihearted]

regardless of the "learn how to be alone" dravel, being lonely actually is really bad for your mental health and can be very painful :p

[californiaquail]

was hanging out with someone today and she was talking about how she would shoot the hawks and eagles if they went after her indoor/outdoor cat and i had to struggle to keep a straight face. there is an EASY fucking solution to this problem that doesn't involve killing federally protected wildlife OR your poor damn cat. who got in a fight last night and left fur all over the place.

[crescentfool]

beaming everyone on the dashh with good brain day vibes!!! i hope that you all can remember to extend self-compassion to yourself whenever you're feeling down about something 💙

[donnatroyyyy]

Batman has/had some kind of miscommunication going on with every single one of his kids. The bat family is just one big miscommunication trope after the other.

[seariii]

Reading articles upon articles and people explaining the concept to others, only to leave not understanding it at all... Maybe it's just one of those concepts my brain can't understand and I just have to accept as a fact...

[weareuniqueandimportant]

HAVE FUN... YOU ARE A BIGOT... THAT STRATEGY CAN'T WORK WE'RE POWERFULL... OH... YOU... YOU WERE ALWAYS EVIL... WE WERE ALWAYS HURT BY YOU... ERASE OUR PAIN THAT IS WHAT YOU'VE ALWAYS DONE... THAT DOESN'T END WHO WE ARE... NOBODY CAN ERASE THAT... NOBODY HAS BEEN ABLE TO... DESPITE TRYING... AND NOBODY EVER CAN... THERE IS ONLY 1 THING THAT CAN DEFEAT US... ARE YOU A R*PIST THAT BAD...? YOU ARE...? UP TO THE GAME...? I SEE... I ALWAYS KNEW THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED... OUR LIFE HOWEVER IS ALWAYS ABOUT US... YOU CAN'T DO A THING... THAT IS EVIL... UNACCEPTABLE... CRIMINAL... IN OUR SOCIETY ONLY WE HAVE RIGHTS THEREFORE WE AND ONLY WE ARE PROTECTED UNDER SUCH CASES... UNLESS WE LIKE YOU... THIS HAS ALWAYS BEEN WHAT IS LOGICAL... EMBRACE PSYCHOSIS HOWEVER... IF THAT PISSES YOU SO <3...

[kavehater]

I honestly wish people cared more about depression and other issues rather than saying they care but scrutinise a person so horribly when they show symptoms associated with said condition 🧎‍♀️

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[genderkoolaid]

as someone with ARFID i really couldn't care less about the distinction between "picky eaters" and "genuine eating issues." if you are an asshole to someone you see as "just picky" i will never, ever trust you. i've lived through the trauma of being shamed and humiliated for my eating needs.

frankly i think a LOT of "picky eaters" have some kind of sensory problems– autistic or allistic– and shame is never useful. i don't fucking care how annoying you think we are. if you've never lived through the humiliation of being the only one not eating at a dinner table, or having to choke down something disgusting you already know you hate because other people insist you don't know your own body, or getting a hunger migraine in a house full of food because none of its edible to you? you don't understand how awful it is to have food issues.

whenever i see people draw this distinction between being "just a picky eater" and "having a real problem" all i think is, who does this serve? most people don't even know ARFID exists. there are so many undiagnosed autistics, or just people with a variety of issues that aren't officially diagnosed. why do we need a medical label in order to be treated with respect and compassion? why did i need to be diagnosed as autistic for my family to realize the abuse they put me through for years because of my eating habits?

it's such an easy habit for neglected groups to fall into– the idea that a medical diagnosis can save us. that by appealing to the medical/psychiatric industry, we can be protected from abuse and given basic respect and resources. but the truth is that it should never have come to this in the first place. dignity doesn't come from an abled doctor telling you that there's a medical reason for your symptoms. it comes from being a person. once you accept that you need a Good Reason to have your needs respected, you doom yourself to neglecting and abusing those who have your same struggles because they aren't lucky enough to access medical recognition.

tl;dr solidarity with all "picky eaters" stop guilting people for having varying food needs, if we make you irrationally angry that's YOUR problem not ours, and abolish "children's menus" & replace them with simple-food menus for people of all ages

[daydreamer-in-reverie]

Started rereading the Hunger Games series and I feel like it’s so overlooked how in 74th and 75th Hunger Games, we don’t know every Tribute’s names, with Katniss only referring to them by their District numbers but in TBOSAS, we knew every single Tribute by name. We associated them with the clothes they wore on the Reaping Day and Suzanne even goes so far as to describe how they looked, however briefly. We see these Tributes and we’re familiarized with them by the little tidbits provided to the mentors and to Snow and Lucy Gray. But we never get this in the original trilogy.

In two generations, President Snow alienated the Districts from each other so much that Katniss didn’t even care to know all the names of the Tributes sent into the Arena with her, with the exception being those who posed great risk against her safety and those she felt great compassion for (e.g. Cato, Thresh, Rue, Mags, Betee, Wiress etc.). Katniss even went so far as to call the D6 Tributes in the 75th Hunger Games morphlings, for their affinity to imbibe in the drugs that help them forget their own traumas (an incredibly hurtful description, in my own opinion, to be known by the qualities you hate the most about yourself). We never know the real name of the 74th D5 girl, with Katniss only referring to her as Foxface and we don’t even know Marvel’s name until we get to the second book and he was Katniss’ first personal kill. Katniss even kills the D4 girl in the books with the same tracker jacker venom that killed Glimmer and yet still, we don’t know her name. We are so removed from the identity of the other Tributes that we don’t even know what some of them looked like beyond brief descriptions of mangled bodies and dead Tributes in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia.

And, the thing is, Suzanne established the importance of names in the series. Even in real life, we recognize the importance of being named. It is a fundamental aspect of being human. If you’re ever in a perilous situation where a person might be placing your life in danger, we’re told to remind the person that you’re human. “Keep saying your name, how old you are, where you came from. Remind them you are a human being just like them.” Before any propaganda can work against a group of people, refusing to recognize a person’s name is the first step to dehumanization. And just like the people of the Districts, we don’t care enough about the other Tributes to even want to know their names. Their propaganda worked on us, the readers.

In two generations, President Snow completely wiped out any sense of familiarity and camaraderie the Districts may have shared with the other. In two generations, Snow sowed the seeds of distrust and division into the Districts so deeply that even we, the readers, were affected by the effects of Capitol propaganda. In two generations, the Districts ceased to genuinely care about the others beyond the vague sense of injustice they feel for their shared plight. It’s why Career Districts don’t seem to care about killing the other Tributes. How can you care, to show your compassion and humanity, when you can barely see them as people? Yes, they may have been in the Arena with you. Yes, they may have been starved and beaten and forced into labor like you were. Yes, they might be children just like you. Yes, they might be subjected to the same deplorable system that turned you into virtual slaves. But they are not your friends. They are not your allies. They are strange, with different customs and traditions that you have. You do not share the same values. They do not care about you. At the first chance they get, they will kill you with your bare hands and they will do it with alacrity if it meant their survival. There can only be one Victor and it can’t be them. It has to be you.

[endtimers]

brains are so dumb why cant i forgive myself for being cringe and saying stupid shit at age 18. Get Over Yourself it's not a big deal and it's not a moral failing to be embarrassing