#unrequited devotion

[vvellichorr]

"Devote"

My heart echoes the word, aching

"Too late"

My mind replies, unheard, breaking

Devotion runs through me like blazing fire

Burning every inch of my aching flesh

Cascading over me waves of desire

How long can I handle the rush?

Push it back, shove it down

A current too strong to deny

Living like I can't possibly drown

Will I ever again be truly alive?

Your soul and mine have touched

Too many entirely loving times

Every aching breath is not enough

When my heart is no longer mine

[hereiswhatremains]

"I think that loving you has been the truest thing about me."

— Taylor Jenkins Reid, from The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

[kimiko24]

I've proven myself, haven't I?

[stars-obsession-pit]

Danyal and Damian grew up in the League together, but they’re not related; some other member just happened to also have a kid at a similar time to Talia.

Damian outranks the other boy by a significant margin, but they still manage to interact sometimes. It’s not like there’s many other kids to socialize with.

And, well, Damian starts to fall. He may still be young, but he can feel how deep his emotions run. As the heir to the Demon’s Head, he has access to treasures beyond reckoning, but the only treasure that he truly desires is Danyal at his side.

Then one day, Danyal never returns from a mission.

Damian slaughters every last person connected to the target. It doesn’t change a thing. Danyal is still gone. He’ll never forgive them for that. Nor the League, for that matter. Regardless of if it was their fault, they sent his love on the mission that took him away from him.

But for now, he’ll continue to make use of their resources. No stone will be left unturned until he finds the truth of what happened to his love. Even if he has to make use of the Pits, they will be reunited.

Meanwhile, many miles away, Danyal lets out a sigh of relief. It seems his plan worked; there’s no sign of anyone having come after him.

He spares only a brief thought to the boy he left behind. A part of him regrets leaving the other boy, but only a small part. The Demon’s Heir seemed happy with his life in the League. He doubts the other boy will care about the loss of a nobody like him, even if they had interacted occasionally.

Besides, he has far more immediate concerns at the moment, like staying off the League’s radar and finding where to go next. He should probably leave the country at minimum, but then what? He doesn’t want to have to keep running forever just to avoid going back. He wants to be free.

[bastardlybonkers]

[scruncheduppaper]

GABRIEL: JUDGE OF HELL

(A practice sketch that accidentally turned into a whole thing)

[stimmingandstruggling]

idk maybe it’s just because i’m aro but i truly could not give a shit if ivantill was requited or not. like i will ALWAYS hold firm in my belief that they were CLOSE, till always saw ivan as a friend, but like. i don’t know if it was romantic for him and i don’t really care.

because the tragedy of ivantill is what could have been. if they had more time. maybe till would be able to see past his idolization of mizi. maybe he’d return the kiss, or maybe he wouldn’t. maybe they’d never speak again. maybe nothing would change maybe everything would change maybe they’d stay exactly the same but now they hold hands sometimes.

but they never had the chance to find out. they’ll never know. i think post round 6 all till could think about in those few hours he had was what if. what if what if what if everything was different. and not having an answer. never having an answer.

i don’t know if till loved ivan the way ivan loved him, but he deserved the chance to find out.

[thoughts-left-unspoke]

[fishuijuu]

My hero, please remain as you are.

For if this blade were to pierce your brave heart, I'd have no choice but to revere how much you've grown while I stood still.

You should be happy, happier than anyone.

[thoughtsafterdark]

Shoeboxes and Eggshells

When I was younger, carefree and naive.

Watching the raindrops that whipped and bent on the windows on the highway.

And the rolling storm grey clouds gather above

Listening to the radio and nodding off to sleep, eyelids heavy with sand and head foggy with warmth

I thought it was ridiculous how much of music is made up of love songs

Used to think it was impossible for them all to be genuine, how can one person love so much and so many times, falling into all the same traps.

But then I grew into a hopeless romantic.

I fall in love with fragments and shards of people, keep them in an old shoebox amongst pretty rocks from the beach and candy wrappers from fairs long gone. I nip and peck at them all, like a crow catching the glint of something shiny out of the corner of too-intelligent eyes. I collect half smiles and smirks, the curve of a thigh or hip, the swish of a bohemian white skirt on a beach in early June. Pearly laughter, bright and pink, nimble fingers and chocolate eyes. They pass through me like wisps, shadows in the night that leave only whispers in their wake. Imprints that weave and meld together like threads, like brands on my soul.

In August evenings, when the sun is low and the heat of the day evaporates into a balmy night, I like to play Badminton with my sister the way I used to play with him. And as I lunge for points, I listen to the angry, dark music I used to listen to with her, so I could prove that I was just as broken. Now I don't have to pretend anymore. I carry the pain of them all with me everywhere I go. With each one I could swear I lose a piece of myself. Theseus' ship, continuously replenished. But every time I am amazed at the tears I still have left to cry.

Now, sitting here with you in this newfound cocoon of solace I think I finally understand

The trouble with falling out of love and becoming someone else is there's no guarantee the new version of me won't fall for the new version of you.

We're no longer the bright eyed and bushy tailed fools we were two years ago. I'm angrier, rougher around the edges. I care now with a vicious edge that wasn't there before. The sort of kindness born not of softness but pressurised rage.

Your walk is slower, hunched over with responsibility and disappointment.

Yesterday you laid your head against the wall, throat bobbing and you told me you felt like a failed imposter, like you'll never be good enough. I feel for you but will you hate me if I say. That the ghost of the girl I was is glad that carefree boy who killed her is dead now too.

We left their graves in the dirt behind us as we outgrew those bodies.

We're growing up now, and that all feels so silly. A distant dream of who I used to be.

It's different now, but it still scares me. Because I can feel myself falling for you all over again. But it's warmer. Softer. Steadier. Based on an easiness that wasn't there.

I won't do anything this time I know. I can't bear to lose you again. But I'm scared of you leaving me so maybe I'll up and run

I'll just keep these embers stoked and warm, close to my heart to give my strength. Before another day rolls around where we're strangers again

Its easy now. We slot well together. Like well-worn cogs in the machine on this newfound eggshell thin camaraderie. Dependable, reliable. I know it won't last I miss you. I fucking hate you

How does it feel

To exist on so many levels at once

How is it that

You've mastered the superposition state

You're there and you aren't

Always and never

A text away but

Filled with hollow monosyllables and periods

Yes I am a romantic but you are my greatest mistake

 Never before have I fallen into the mouth of the same shark, and convinced myself the bite was that of someone who cared

I would chew off my own right arm to know what you were thinking when you look at me. Do you feel the same pit of squirming worms deep inside, the mix of pain and agony and bittersweet longing of what could have been. It's funny what tricks oxytocin plays on us. Do you know how it feels to cry over something that was never real. Do you wonder why we aren't friends anymore. Or am I so insignificant a fly the thought has never crossed your mind. Just someone you used to talk to, but don’t anymore

I'm sorry the mortifying ordeal of my love was so embarrassing for you, I'm sorry I lied. I wasn't who you thought I was. But in my defence, neither were you. The boy I loved lived only in my dreams. I built him myself, out of desperation and hunger. He was what I needed at the time. I'm sorry he had your face. You were just there, and I was lonely and afraid.

[wisteriagroves]

It is a lonely feeling when someone you care about becomes a stranger.

Lemony Snicket, When Did You See Her Last?

[free-grandmaa]

"His palm was my soil.. I was his butterfly, on my admirer's hand."

[hereiswhatremains]

"Yes, the love is still there even when you aren't."

— IG (@zanefrederickwrites)

[kimiko24]

Waiting is love

[wakeupthemembersofbylernation]

The idea of Mike “gently rejecting” Will in S5 is such a silly concept to me. It truly would make zero sense from a narrative perspective or from a character arc perspective. That’s why many Mlvn diehards don’t even really believe it will happen. They believe the show will move on without ever really addressing the Mike-shaped elephant in the room. They believe Will’s happy ending will simply consist of his friends and family accepting him and giving him a hug, and that’s it. And maybe he’ll get an unnamed bf in the finale. (That is, unless the show makes Will a secret villain and kills him off. Then at least he’d be interesting).

Some even take Will’s words at facevalue, believing that El truly commissioned the painting or at least that the intense romantic feelings Will described really belong to her. Now that Mike has confessed his love, they believe that S5 will finally consist of happy Mlvn couple moments, so there won’t be any time for Mike and Will to be together even as friends to talk about any lingering feelings. And why would there be time, since it’s the apocalypse after all, and Will is just a plot device and isn’t really relevant to anything? The Duffers must be exaggerating his importance to S5. The Core 4 is Mike, El, Lucas, and Dustin. Will’s romantic desires are meaningless.

They have to believe all this, cause if they don’t, and they still want to believe in Mlvn endgame, they have to conclude that Will’s emotional desires will be central to the plot of S5, Will’s feelings are the glue that put Mlvn back together, the painting will come up again because El didn’t actually commission it, Mike and Will will be close enough in S5 to have meaningful heart-to-hearts, AND Mike is 100% straight and will…. gently reject Will and promise to always be good pals; he just sadly doesn’t swing that way?

Silliness, objectively.

Anyway, Byler endgame.

[the-most-humble-blog]

“Ahhh! There’s a Ball in the Back of Your Cat Alley, Sweetie..."

But Like, Can I See More?

This ain’t science class. This is a confessional booth with an echo. A guided anatomical panic attack with a dirty smile.

Let’s get this out of the way now:

Yes, sweetie. There is a ball in the back of your cat alley. And no, we are not okay.

🩸The First Time It Happens

You’re minding your business. Stroking like a gentleman. Being respectful. Not trying to make her cry. Not trying to reach Enlightenment through her inner vestibule.

Then… Thump.

You hit something. Not soft. Not wet. Not warm. Spherical. Present. Defiant.

And your soul goes:

“Ahhh! There’s a ball in the back of your cat alley, sweetie…”

A real one. Not metaphorical. Not imagined. It feels like a miniature knuckle of God just fist-bumped your tip.

“But Like… Can I See More?”

This is where logic leaves the chat. Your brain is still catching up. Your hands are shaking. You’re trying to act normal while she’s blinking at the ceiling like she saw Heaven open and say “You up?”

But now you're in danger.

You don’t want to stop. You don’t want to pull out. You want to go further—even though further doesn’t exist.

You want to see it.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Physically.

You’re thinking things like:

“Is it watching me back?”

“Is this… where the soul lives?”

“Can I name it?”

“Am I supposed to be here?”

“Do I owe it money?”

🧠 The Female Mind… At That Exact Moment

On the outside: Breathing heavy. Hair matted. Saying “Oh my God” like she’s praying with a vibrator.

But on the inside?

A shame spiral wrapped in flashbacks.

“Wait… what is that??” “Has anyone else felt that?” “Should I cry? I think I might cry.” “I think I love him. I think I hate him. I think I’ll ghost him and post a thirst trap.” “Wait, do I call my therapist or my best friend first?” “That’s where my trauma lives.” “That’s where my poetry comes from.” “That’s where my shadow self eats pickles.”

What Is It Actually?

It’s the cervix. The doorknob of the womb. The crown jewel of the inner sanctum. The puckered bouncer standing between “I’m just having fun” and “He imprinted on my eggs.”

And You Hit It.

But here’s the thing: You didn’t just hit it— You reverberated through her entire backstory.

You didn’t just press a body part— You activated a deep file her ego thought was sealed.

It’s not just sensation. It’s symbolism.

And now she’s pacing in her room afterward whispering things like:

“No one’s ever done that before…”

“I think something inside me woke up.”

“I don’t even like him, but I need him to ruin me again.”

“He’s dangerous. I should stay away… or send a reel about shadow work and see if he gets it.”

⚠️ And YOU Are Not Safe Now Either

Congratulations. You have touched The Orb. You’ve become a spiritual threat.

You may now receive the following:

Unsolicited crying voice memos

“I miss you” texts that sound like poems

Screenshots of her tarot spread

Her “feminine rage” playlist

Her mom following you on Instagram

Her trying to manifest you with moon water

A DM saying “I dreamed about your hands… is that weird?”

Why It Works (Biologically Speaking)

Because no man’s supposed to reach it. It’s a fortress. A gate. A trapdoor. Evolution didn’t expect you to make it to the final chamber.

And when you do? Her body panics. Her psyche leaks. Her soul goes “I guess I trust you now… OR I’ll destroy you later. Flip a coin.”

TL;DR

You went exploring. You found The Orb. You whispered:

“Ahhh! There’s a ball in the back of your cat alley, sweetie…” But like… “Can I see more?”

You weren’t supposed to. You weren’t authorized. You weren’t ready.

And now you’ll never forget. And neither will she.

💥 SO...CALL TO ACTION

🔁 Reblog this if you’ve ever touched The Orb and felt her spirit leave her body 🩸 Share if your cervix remembers a name it’s pretending to forget 📩 DM if this post made your thighs twitch 🧠 Comment if you’ve ever felt “seen” in a way that made you question your zodiac sign

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is satire, biological commentary, erotic philosophy, trauma comedy, and psychological manipulation wrapped in pixel ink. Protected under U.S. law and cosmic law. If you are offended, it’s because it was true. This does not promote violence. This promotes cervix awareness. Side effects may include arousal, nostalgia, shame, longing, regret, and bookmarks.