#unspoken feelings

[elitadream]

Based on a short scene written by @bacidipesca as a personal take and follow-up to one of my earlier concepts. It’s so good, I think I honestly like it more than the version I was planning to post. 💝

Here’s the link. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go read it again. ;_;

[unspokenfeelings6]

"just because you love the ocean,

It doesn't mean you drown in it"

Btw it was not about the ocean !!!

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

DAY SIXTEEN: Christmas Socks w/ Daryl Dixon

a/n: Okay, I am behind on this challenge again but I think it's a good thing that I'm able to post them separately and leisurely. Thank you all for your support, it means so very much to me and I had a lot of fun writing for this one!

masterlist | ficmas masterlist | AO3

TAGLIST: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood

When it comes to the apocalypse, you couldn't be picky with relatively anything; that went for clothes, food, shelter, companions, etc. So when you stumbled across some Christmas socks, you didn't even hesitate to snatch a pack or two off the shelf, stuffing them in your bag as you caught up with the rest of your family.

It was winter once again, and it's been hard trying to keep people's spirits alive, especially after the farm had burned down. You knew how stressed everyone was, especially Rick as Lori grew larger and larger everyday. The food was scarce by the time you guys had finally found somewhere to settle, the chill of the air was merciless as it nipped at the exposed skin that the clothes they were wearing couldn't cover.

"Hey guys, are any of your feet cold?" You piped up."I know mine are," You heard Lori say, "How about you, baby?" She was obviously addressing Carl as he agreed. "I managed to snag a few packs of socks. The Christmas ones were the only ones that I could find, but they're pretty cute." You saw the smile on Beth's face as you went around the group, handing the piece of clothing out. When you were done, you only had one pair left. Yes, your feet were cold. Yes, your shoes were pieces of shit, but there was one person that hadn't taken you up on your offer, and it was the brooding archer keeping watch from outside.

You walked outside, standing next to him as you stretched out your arm, lightly tapping the pair on his chest. You didn't look at him as he took it in his hands.

"The hell's this?" You snorted. "What do you think it is? They're socks." You finally turned to look at him. "I ain't wearin' no socks with a.. the hell's that?" You couldn't help the grin that broke out on your face. "It's Santa! You know, the big fat jolly red man that comes down the chimney and leaves you presents?" He blew out an exaggerated raspberry, turning the socks in his hands. He didn't say anything or complain anymore, instead, he sat down, untying his laces and kicking his boots off. Next came his own pair of socks, the material littered with all kinds of holes. You bit back a laugh as he slid Santa on his feet.

"They look good." Your voice was laced with humor. "'Definitely feel warmer."

[random-xpressions]

Someone to write letters to (you can never send)...

Random Xpressions

[burningrebelsworld]

A letter to my unrequited love - I

{Confessions of a scorpio moon}

I thought I loved you. It was dangerous. I was intimidated how severely you controlled my mind. I was willing to do anything to please you. To give up my freedom, my studies, my family, my friends, my foundation just to spend time with you. I'd stare at my phone with anxiety crawling up my skin, wondering if you were ignoring me on purpose. You always did it intently. It would drive me mad. I'd be so hurt and pissed knowing you'd read my messages but would never care to reply. I would never understand why I would reply to you in milliseconds when you'd make me wait for hours. Why I'd hurt after hurting you as a form of reactive abuse. I always wanted to soothe your pain, to ease your suffering, to make you feel loved because I saw past your facade. I knew how you'd be the cool guy, the life of the party, the social butterfly who could charm anyone. But I wanted to be the special one who'd lock eyes with you and make you mine. I never felt like I deserved you. I put you on a pedestal and worshipped you like God. I always felt like you were everything that was considered "cool" by the society. People would admire you. They would give in. I did too. You could draw in anyone you liked. You had the game. You could lay eyes on anyone and have them by sweet talking them into your trap. I knew you were playing me. My intuition tried to warn me several times. The red flags seemed dangerous every now and then but being the reckless lover that I am, I thought you'd be the right person to break my heart. Maybe, I expected too much from you. I wanted you to fill the voids I had. I wanted to be consumed by your love. I needed your attention constantly. I wanted to talk to you 24*7 although I never really had much to talk about. I was boring as hell but you, there would always be messages lined up for you. I felt privileged and honoured to receive a reply from you. It validated me. I felt seen. And heard. And appreciated. It was the best feeling ever. I had only been abandoned, discarded and used all my life. Being validated felt magical for a change. It made me want to surrender my life to you. I started living as per your terms. I'd do little things you'd mention in conversations to become your ideal lover in hopes of being noticed by you. But time and again, you'd fail to notice me. As if I was never there. But I was. I was always there for you. Through thick and thin. Right before your eyes.

-R

[sendrickbecs]

UNSPOKEN FEELINGS (6/9)

[kaidynsarell]

🍁🪻Sanguinis et Omnium Fractorum🪻🍁

Chapter 1- Of Stubborn and Impatience

🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻🍁🪻

Pairings- Sebastian Sallow x Female OC

Rating- This story is rated overall 🔞 (Ch 1 is SFW)

Tags- Fluff, Angst, Irritation, Unread letters, and MC (Clara) just being all around Sullen.

The full chapter can be found below the cut (2.7k words)

Ongoing Fic.

Chapters 1-5 are available on AO3 and Wattpad

Thursday, 1st September, 1892

The tea had long since cooled in the time it had sat, untouched on the little table near her four-poster bed. Clara Elmore had not moved since the clink of porcelain against the wood had snapped her unfocused gaze up to the round-faced blonde who’d set it there. Grace’s soft eyebrows had been pulled together in an expression she’d worn far too often around Clara over the past year. Worry. It made Clara’s bones itch. Worry lived too close to pity, and she hated pity.

She’d seen pity too often since the events in the Repository, and each time tasted more bitter against her tongue.

So, she’d hardly acknowledged her roommate's presence as the blonde had carefully set the tea down, and muttered something Clara hadn’t been paying attention to. Probably something about being around to talk if needed. Grace was kind and Clara was being rude. She couldn’t find it in herself to do more than chew on the inside of her lip and Grace had gone without another word.

Still, she sat there, staring across the emerald bed hangings of the two other four poster beds and stubbornly refusing to move from the spot on her mattress; until one particularly uproarious cheer from the common room below reminded her the others would eventually be coming back to the dorm, and she desperately wanted to be in bed before then.

Her being ‘asleep’ meant no one asked how she was doing, and that was preferable to giving some vague well-rehearsed lie, or worse, attempting to coalesce the cacophony of rambling anxieties into something that resembled sentence structure.

The latches of her secondhand trunk clicked noisily, though, not as loudly as the creak of the hinges which were well in need of oil. Morning would bring the official start of Seventh-year classes, and sleep meant finally unpacking and tidying the trunk she’d been neglecting. Uniforms came first. Second hand, like her trunk. But repaired, washed, and pressed by the warm wrinkled hands of her grandmother; who had insisted on caring for Clara’s uniforms when she couldn’t afford the cost of new robes. If love could be stitched, Clara would swear she could find it woven into each of the places her grandmother had repaired the holes and worn edges.

The soft feel of cashmere met her fingers next, and almost without thinking, she brought the deep burgundy scarf up to her face and brushed it over her cheek. It had been an unexpected Christmas present from Ominis in 5th year and was one of the only items she possessed that hadn't been loaned or purchased secondhand.

Being blind, the blond had not known what ‘burgundy’ meant when the shop-keep had told him the color. Instead, as he told her, he’d selected it because he thought it felt nice and believed she might enjoy it.

“Besides-” He’d clipped, in that biting tone only Ominis could achieve. “-I can hardly think these days with the excessive chattering of your teeth. Perhaps this will make them stop.”

His sarcastic irritation painted only a thin layer over the kindness of the gesture. A shield against the brief vulnerability the gift had shown her.

So, despite it being almost Gryffindorian by nature, she’d worn the scarf nearly every day that winter; much to Imelda’s chagrin and Sebastian's amusement.

Below the carefully folded uniforms and scarf, the remaining disorganization of the trunk could have convinced her she’d spent far more than two years surrounded by the walls of the castle. Her grandmother would have been disappointed. Clara dug on. Pulling out heavy books, jars of dittany and mallowsweet, spare wiggenwelds, broken quills, scraps parchment, and a pouch of seeds Poppy had insisted were a favorite of jobberknolls before her fingernails scraped the threadbare material at the bottom and settled on a worn leather journal.

Clara opened it, almost without thinking. Allowing the pages to fall open to a sprig of baby’s breath, pressed between pages speckled with ink; as though the journal itself had known the ghost of the boy who’d given it to her.

The ghost of a boy who’d loved so sweetly he’d stop to pick flowers for a girl, even amid the storm that had raged around them.

The boy who’d loved fiercely and unrelentingly, until the force of it tore him apart and bloodied green over their walls. Three Sallow’s had become two, and they all waited and feared the day two would become one.

In some ways, it already had.

Sebastian had disappeared without a trace; save for a single letter and a sprig of bluebells he’d left on the same table where the cold tea now took up residence. Clara had long since given up trying to figure out how he’d managed to access the girls' dormitories. ‘Impossible’ had only ever been a word to ignite his stubborn determination and Sebastian had a curious knack for finding his way into places he shouldn’t be.

Almost of their own accord, her fingers fumbled the rough edges of the pages. Leafed through them, past the little jotted notes and inked sketches. Past the pages pressed with heather and hyacinth to where that single bluebell pressed its pigment against the parchment and the violet painted over cream.

Gratitude and everlasting love.

Her fingers brushed the places the pigments bled against the parchment, and not for the first time, Clara wondered if Sebastian had known the language of flowers.

Had it been a coincidence the first had been baby’s breath?

Hope, new beginnings, and innocent love.

An image of messy brown curls and sun-kissed freckles tipped the edges of her memory. Tiny white flowers offered with a roguish smirk that had done little to distract from the way his gaze had darted too quickly between her eyes and the flowers held with trembling fingers.

Had it been a mere chance he’d offered heather before each of the brutal trials the Keepers had demanded of her?

Luck, protection, and admiration.

Could it have been happenstance he’d offered a hyacinth when she’d stubbornly refused to speak to him after his anger had exploded over her involvement with Lodgok?

Sorrow, regret, and forgiveness.

Somehow she didn’t think so. Sebastian may have been a lot of things. Playful, charming, and confident? Yes. Wildly chaotic and infuriatingly stubborn? Definitely. Insatiably curious and much too intelligent for his own good? Absolutely. But naïve? Naïve, was never a trait she’d been able to attribute to the Slytherin.

Perhaps that was the reason she’d never read his letter.

It had been discarded in a fit of anger, to be lost to the bottom of her trunk, and conveniently covered by a scattering of miscellaneous items. Out of sight, and pushed to the edges of her mind where she’d refused to acknowledge the places where the corners of it dug into her thoughts.

Neither of them had ever fully acknowledged whatever had been between them. Sewn with intricate strands of sugar-spun glass, and left unspoken. As though to touch it would have been enough to shatter the delicate balance in which they’d found themselves. Instead, it had been said in the furtive glances during long hours in the library. In the leaning closer until their shoulders touched, and in the uneven crashing of her heart when neither of them moved away. It had been found tucked beneath their palms in the moments they’d spent seated amongst fields of heather; his fingers curled around hers and brushing absentmindedly along the back of her hand as she’d used the other to connect the freckles across his cheeks.

In a single stolen kiss, under starlight by the lake. The softest brush of his lips over hers, and the stars had found their home, scattered across her skin.

Perhaps things would have been different had the brunt of stopping Ranrock's rebellion not fallen on her shoulders. Or if Anne had not been dying.

But it had. And she was. So they weren’t.

Clara’s fingers traced the outline of the delicate violet-blue flowers once again. Why she’d not tossed the flower away with the letter was a mystery, even to her.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

Gratitude and everlasting love.

She’d always walked a line between stubborn and impatient. In many instances, the two virtues fell on opposite sides of her problems and she often found herself in a battle of which would be the stronger. The letter had been no different, and her stubborn had won.

She’d refused to open it. To acknowledge whatever ‘goodbye’ he’d scrawled across the parchment. Refused the idea he’d said he loved her with violet petals and disappeared. That he might have written the same across the page and abandoned her. Stubborn had thrown the envelope into the corner of her trunk and denied its existence. Meanwhile, her heart had wrapped threads to the edges of her fingers and carefully pressed the bluebell between crisp pages where the violet may as well have been imprinted onto her skin.

She’d never said it to him. Flower or otherwise. Then again, she’d not left him either.

Stubborn could hide the letter and let her lose it amongst her belongings. Stubborn could hold her hand while she refused to acknowledge the possibility that he may never come back.

The crisp rectangle rested against the bottom. Beige framed by faded indigo. Still, she refused to touch it and her fingers scraped the bottom for any remaining items. A few gold coins, a crumpled potions essay she’d only half finished, the odd sock, and half a dozen hairpins until nothing else remained; save for the single four-sided polygon.

Stubborn may have masked her over the past year while the letter was hidden and out of sight, but impatience’ eager fingers flitted against the place her stubborn lived and curled under its edges. Worked it away like peeling wallpaper, until shaking fingers finally grasped the beige and left the indigo unadorned.

Another series of shouts from the Slytherin common room startled against her ears and Clara flicked her wand to her bed hangings. They closed around her in an instant. Cocooned her away between walls of emerald.

The seal of the envelope broke far easier than she’d anticipated and trembling fingers pulled out two pieces of parchment. One, which was blank and impatiently discarded somewhere behind her. And another, spiderwebbed with the splattered ink of his usual messy scrawl.

Sebastian's handwriting could have been classified as its own method of code. Atrocious. Which she had always found amusing, given Anne’s impeccable talent with calligraphy. It had been a point of pride when she’d finally learned to read it. Now, there could have been an N.E.W.T taught on the subject of deciphering Sebastian Sallow’s handwriting and she’d have achieved an Outstanding without question.

Something was comforting in the familiarity of it, and trying to ignore the wavering of the page below her trembling fingers; Clara finally lowered her eyes to the letter she’d allowed to be lost to the bottom of her trunk and refused to read for over a year.

Ara,

I know you’re angry. It’s okay. I would be angry at me too, and while I hope in time you can forgive me, I’ll understand if you can’t. I know leaving like this was selfish, but I couldn’t stay here, and I knew if I saw you I wouldn’t have the strength to go. Perhaps that makes me a coward too—another reason I’m not a Gryffindor.

The truth is, I need time. Time away from everything. Away from Scotland and Hogwarts. Time to gather my thoughts or maybe make sense of everything or……I don’t know……

Just time, I guess.

Besides, a whole world exists, and Anne still needs a cure. I can’t say if she’ll ever forgive me. I don’t even know if I deserve her forgiveness, or yours, but Anne deserves to live and I can’t afford to limit my search to Britain or Hogwarts. There are at least seven other wizarding schools I’ve not even touched. Can you imagine what could be found in the mountains of Uagadou or at Mahoutokoro? Even the ancient Egyptian wizards had vast libraries and I’ve not ruled out muggle means of healing either.

There has to be something, somewhere.

She could almost hear his voice through the page. The exuberance with which it bubbled up in those moments his thoughts ran faster than his lips could form the words and the syllables tripped over one another in a furious bid for freedom.

I know you’d have wanted to come, and I’d be lying if I said I won't miss you terribly. But this is my burden to carry. The world has already asked too much of you Ara, and I’ve asked more than most.

It’s time you get a chance to truly enjoy Hogwarts without threats looming over your head.

As you are likely already aware, I’ve established enchantments to render myself untraceable-

She was. She’d not sent the owls, but Ominis had. They had all returned days later, having been unable to locate the recipient, and Sebastian's whereabouts had remained unknown. Clara had never told the blond about the letter stubbornly tossed to the bottom of her trunk. And just as impatience had lost to stubborn, so had guilt, and the letter had remained locked away.

-but I’ve cast an alteration of the Protean charm on the blank page included with this letter.

( If I know you, you’ve immediately tossed that page away somewhere, and quite frankly, I’m very much counting on you not immediately setting fire to this whole letter as soon as you see it.)

If you write on that parchment, I’ll see the message on the matching copy I’ve got with me, and I’ll be able to write back to you.

As I’ve said, I need some time, but If you do choose to write, I promise I will write back to you, Ara.

I leave the rest in your hands, Love.

Yours, Always

- S

The letter dropped into Clara’s lap with a little flutter, caught on the air, and wavered a moment before settling against the plush emerald of her bedspread. In another instant, she snatched the blank parchment from the spot it had settled in the corner and studied it furiously. As though she might find the workings of the magic woven within the fibers.

Though her stubborn desperately wanted to toss the letter away and refuse to respond, impatience’s claws dug deep. Before she could stop to think of the ridiculousness of it, she’d found a quill and a bottle of ink and scooted the cold tea cup from the small table to make space for the blank page.

The tip of her quill hovered a long time over the parchment. Long enough drips of onyx slid down to contrast the beige. A steady drip, drip, drip as her mind vacillated between the myriad of things she’d wanted to say to him. Thoughts that had crowded her mind when she’d been too restless to sleep and she’d replayed all the things she’d have told him if he’d stayed.

If they’d had more time.

She settled for one word.

--Bastian?--

The ink hovered on the page. Glistened in the low candlelight and absorbed the muted tones of green that melted in through the window from the lake above.

The space below his name remained frustratingly blank.

Clara sighed and pressed her fingers into her eyes. He’d not said how long it would take him to respond and she resisted the urge to write. ‘This is stupid. I’m writing to a blank parchment and expecting it to write back.’

She settled for muttering it under her breath, as though the paper might have ears.

Though, she thought. He should be grateful she had written his name and not some version of ‘What the fuck were you thinking, Sallow?’

She decided she’d write that later.

Still, she stared at the blank space and drummed her fingers against the edge of the table. Caught in a stalemate, as stubborn and impatient battled furiously between scribbling another message, and locking the parchment back into her trunk for another year.

She almost didn’t notice when the page shimmered. It wasn’t much. Just a slight ripple of distorted light and in the place her ink had formed his name, new letters began to appear.

One by one.

In the familiar messy scrawl that embodied all of the chaos of its writer.

 …

…

…

.::Hello Sweetheart::.

[neptunecookies]

Poem/song

I love you, my dearest friend / In a way that's pure and true / But the feelings aren't returned / And I'm left feeling blue

I know it's not your fault / You can't help how you feel / But it still breaks my heart / To know our love isn't real

And you don't even know / The depth of my affection / So I keep it to myself / In silent resignation

I cherish our friendship / And I'm grateful for what we have / But a part of me will always wonder / What could have been, if I had

Your smile lights up my word / your laughter puts colour in it / but inside I am colourless / I don’t get the privilege of knowing you

Don’t you see? / that I just want to be me / as long as I’m with you / I’ll be okay

But deep down inside / I’m so blue / because you don’t have a clue / how much I love you

Am I in love? / or is it just platonic? / I feel so lonely / this pain in chronic

[reddestofscarves]

febuary 17, 2024 — just for tonight

my curtains are closed

writing down poems i could compose

the music is slow, we're going with the flow

and i can't help but ask "what are you thinking?"

"nothing," you say, but i know things aren't easy that way

but i'll let it be, i can wait, it's okay

we don't have to talk about it

as long as you stay, we can forget about it

sometimes i still get sick

anxiety's a blood sucking tick

i say something stupid and you say life's a dick

and for a month, we'll do anything but stick

so tired of trying to be

trying to get make it in life just to be free

feeling and fearing things we can't see

why can't we be just you and me?

but until then, i'll let the silence envelop

the noise outside makes your ears swell up

so we'll make a place to dry your tears

and even just for tonight, you can let go of your fears

— reddestofscarves, 8:10 pm

[youre-a-miracle-of-the-universe]

to be loved is to be known

i know your usual order by heart (i love you) here's a thing about the tv show you mentioned you liked recently (i love you) i got you hair clips 'cause last time we met you said you needed some (i love you) i know you're staying up late playing that game, please go to bed soon (i love you) i baked you your favorite cookies for your birthday (i love you) i saw this thing and thought you would like this so i bought this for you (i love you) i appreciate you opening up and telling me about your worries, i know it's hard for you (i love you) oh isn't this your favorite childhood cartoon? (i love you) i got you a keychain with your favorite character from that anime (i love you) i know you prefer walking on the right side so i change sides for you (i love you) i know you struggle with talking to people so i do the talking when it's possible, even tho i struggle too (i love you) im running a little late for our meeting but i know you will be too so it's fine (i love you) i know you wake up earlier than i do so i woke up especially early today to spend more time with you (i love you) i know this thing means a lot to you so i will fight for it (i love you) you seem a little upset so i got you to talking about your beloved pet cause i know it will cheer you up (i love you) i know you love my dad's bread so since he baked some bread rolls i brought one for you (i love you) i know you lack physical contact but are too proud and shy to ask for it so i make excuses so you can get some of it (i love you) when you show me your drawing i put a lot of attention to the details bc i know you like to make even the smallest things meaningful i know you'll be happy i noticed some things (i love you) i was craving some sweet drinks so i got the one you like too so we can share (i love you) i know you like tangerines but hate peeling them so i peeled one for you without asking (i love you) i bring up and old inside joke that always makes you laugh when you get sad (i love you) i could name your recent hyperfixations in order (i love you) i know you love to talk but are insecure if anyone wants to hear you out so i reassure you every once in a while (i love you)

[godsentience]

A pill I find difficult to swallow

Alhaitham x Kaveh pairing, one shot. Please be mindful of the tags below. Crossposted on AO3. A practice on metaphors in writing. Also in Alhaitham's POV.

I crave so subtle an affection beneath the limelight of the moon, where my solemn adoration are unheard, concealed behind the cowardice of textbooks. Days are brimmed with endless retorts against one another; arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, neither willing to give up their claims of the world before them. It is always at the end, that we learn to compromise or get over the trivialities of our personalities never destined to meet due to their variance. Accustomed to the vexing attributes of our souls, this shared home becomes a house when you are absent to question my ways.

When night dawns, we thrive in a deafening feat of silence, a space more quiet than the confines of the accompaniment of books in the House of Daena. The ambiance felt tender and warm and has my skin scorching off of a passion unspoken. My lips would wordlessly proclaim the code of my relentlessly beating heart by a hushed whisper, eyes trained on the engraved letters of the book perched upon my hand, acting as if quantum mechanics enthralled my curiosity when all along, it was but our contrasting chemistry that has my inner feline in shambles.

Occupied by our respective, personal endeavors, my mind finds itself wandering back to the light that is you, fiddling with the quill, stroking delicate lines over the sheet of paper caught in the apple of your attention. In the midst of the silence, I would spare a glimpse from time to time, wondering about the projects you were tasked to make, wishing you would tell of how begrudging a request you were asked to do, how people would give you unrealistic proportions for a dwelling they wish to call their home, and how painstaking it was to negotiate with the persistence of stubborn clients.

When I first gazed upon ground to look at the picturesque silhouettes of our casted shadows, I had found that it is with you that this house started to look less insipid and monochromatic compared to when I was its sole inhabitant. I am merely a fragile flower vase in a still-life art, surrounded by teacups and the galores of plates embellished with exquisite prints of patterns on them, while you resemble the enthusiasm of a swirling illusion embedded in one's sight to fool the audience with its kinetic motion.

Is it not silly of me to think you'd ever share your efforts and troubles on plates you've worked yourself on, Kaveh? You've said it yourself; my compliments of your hard-earned title sounded halfhearted coming from me, regardless of my intent. Understanding the complexity of emotions seemed more farfetched than sensing the behavioral collisions and divergence of particles that surrounds us; a flutter of dust visible under the streaks of reflection mirrored by the moon's asperity.

How could I talk of the meaning of life when it follows you wherever you go? It is a phenomena not even distinguished scholars can comprehend, neither are they capable of seeing this vision, even if I forcefully compress the philosophy in one of the capsules that hold knowledge as captive. It is subjective, I knew this to be the absolute truth. But I'd never tell you about this peculiar finding; I am purposely shunning you away from the truth. What if we found this answer as our common ground? How could we argue about our theoretical beliefs like we did before, should we arrive at a truth? It may be selfish of me to gatekeep my conviction, and if to be iniquitous like this would keep you by my side then, I am your most devoted sinner.

In one of these nights, I'd sometimes feel the burn of a stare unto my skin, but I paid them no heed. I wouldn't know how to confront such a trail of an ardent stare; engraving depth on wherever patch of flesh it lands, softening the walls of a soul desperate to hide, melting my being until it had grown satisfied. 'What do you think of me when you stare so intently?' A voice would resonate from within. It felt like I wasn't being myself, that there lies another occupying my person; always filled with greed, always filled with longing. It is quick to liquefy over a mere, accidental brush of fingers much slender than mine, a stimuli that comes from a contact that barely even met, yet with a spark that would course through the veins in an instant.

These days, the area around the chest would swell, bearing the weight of emotions I kept to myself. I am made only to be logical, and reject the absurdity of sensing and feeling emotion, to stave it off once it appears before me, to kill it immediately once it shows signs of developing, as if it were a highly contagious disease that may become the means of an impending end. With the rivers of time, this agony I had imposed upon oneself to escape the chase of our touch-deprived liaison, is plausible of a reason enough to rid of it on the earliest detection. When the heart and the mind refuses to meet, I lie in consternation trying to settle on a choice. Which of you should I follow? Both seemed to inflict further damage, one way or another.

When we sit like this, facing one another, such thoughts would leave. It would create spaces and pave the way for my silent adoration, enumerate the little things about you that I'd find endearing, gaze with the glimmer of veneration sparkling as you would languishly sketch on your canvas with a quill. However, I am merely a destitute scholar, one who could never act on the trivialities of affection, even laconic in expression. Who knew that my heart would bear this profound penchant for suffering? Even I am alienated from my own capabilities. Would you even think I would feel any of this at all with my theatrical show of contempt and conceit?

Even for me, the thought is a pill I find difficult to swallow. I am, all of a sudden, foreign to myself. Strange, odd, peculiar; I've long told that I thrive as unique in this collective societyーthat I enjoy the variegated personality, away from the slavery in which the common crowd conforms to the imposed rules that favor the reigning governance. If such then mimics the value of my beliefs then, I am a criminal to my own being. To take a path I've not once taken, to indulge in reveries other than the details of reality, it is highly unthinkable for anyone to consider this an occurrence for me, even for you whom I've grown most fond of compared to anyone else. I am continuously drowning in this pit of dissonance, one where the heart tells the path and the answer I have is only you, who cannot guarantee reciprocity.

Just one chance, a mere slip, allow me to succumb and heed to the calls of my selfish desires. Even if it were just a second, endow me an ounce of freedom to feel things deeply, without the barricades obstructing the swelling of the heart; I ask of you, let me. All I demand is affection in the most subtle of ways, for you to look at me like an equal. Let me extend a foot to purposely brush past your side, give my eyes an excuse to graze upon yours, brazenly meet the gaze halfway as you idle a second of confusion, let me dissolve in little mirth, curl the toes inwardly, clear the throat, hum, return from my selfish endeavor.

"Ah, sorry. My leg got numb."

[elitadream]

As promised: here’s the small interaction between Mario and Rosalina I had mentioned in a previous post. 😌💫

The dialogue was graciously provided by @drones-of-innocence, who is currently working on a spectacular story named “I’ll Never Let You Go”. It isn’t published yet, so I really can’t tell you much about the story, but I strongly suggest that you keep a close eye on the author’s page to follow its eventual development. Trust me, you will want to read it. 🤗📖

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drones_of_Innocence/pseuds/Drones_of_Innocence

[unspokenfeelings6]

If a poem hasn't ripped apart your soul, you haven't experienced poetry.

[m1ndlessz0mbie]

the first time I saw you

it was the end of band camp (yes I know I’m THAT type of person) and I was sitting alone on the outskirts of the group circle before the parent performance. I was alone because I was new and had trouble talking to people I don’t know and my only friend was sick. That was till I looked up and saw you. I never believed at love at first sight till that moment but you just took my breath away. Your smile and eyes shining with joy. Your cute sweater and fluffy curly hair. I wished I had the confidence then to go up to you and introduce myself but I didn’t. I stayed and watched you form across the group. Hoping one day I would see you again.

[findasongblog]

Find A Song about unspoken feelings

Marek Kubala - Satellite

Satellite is about the confusing emotions you feel when you develop feelings for someone who you know well, and you think they might feel the same, but perhaps they are unavailable for one reason or the other... so nothing is spoken. These feelings grow until you sense the need to take action in some way, before they slip away...

 'Satellite' begins as a quiet eerie track with muffled guitars and a dull kick drum accompanying Marek's isolated vocal. As the song progresses it grows in intensity, as new layers of instrumentation emerge, until it builds to a dramatic crescendo - a swirling, distorted soundscape to reflect Marek's repeated vocals "Spinning out of sight, she's a satellite / And she don't speak her mind". 

Added to FAS Spotify playlist dream/psych/shoegaze/ambient.

[uraharastephfiction]

Oh yeah, I can post this here now! 

It's been a while since I've written anything (bad things in life interrupted my murder mystery which IS plotted out and one day will be finished). However, I entered a gift exchange to try and inject some life into my A03. 

So, enjoy the gift I wrote. 

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Gold & Silver & Crystal | Pokemon Gold Silver Crystal Versions Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ookido Green | Blue Oak/Red, Ookido Green | Blue Oak & Red Characters: Ookido Green | Blue Oak, Red (Pokemon), Ookido Green no Pigeot | Blue Oak's Pidgeot, Red no Kabigon | Red's Snorlax Additional Tags: unspoken feelings, red is bad at feelings, Mount Silver, Christmas, Christmas Party Summary:

Red is contractually obliged to show up at the League-hosted Christmas Ball. Thankfully, there is one person there who makes it worth while.

This was made for the Holiday Pokéxchange, for the dear Skylark.