#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]

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

— IG (@zanefrederickwrites)

[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)

[fannedandflawless]

Severus Snape: Widower of the Living

Let us be clear, sweetie: Severus Snape is not some angry little man on a forum crying because no witch would date him. No, no. Severus Snape is a man who once held love in his hand, fumbled it—dropped it—and then decided he should never touch anything that delicate, again.

He didn’t become celibate out of bitterness. He became celibate out of penance. The man took his heartbreak and turned it into a lifelong funeral march with no coffin, no flowers, just black robes and regret.

You think he couldn’t find someone else? Please. He’s tall, mysterious, clearly got cheekbones sculpted by rage and repression. He could absolutely ruin the right person—in the best way. But does he flirt? Does he date? No, darling. He broods. With purpose.

Because Severus Snape isn’t single. He’s emotionally widowed. Lily Evans didn’t just die—she became the ghost he takes to bed every night. And he? He became her silent mourner, carried grief like someone who never got the chance to be anything to her. Never kissed her. Never claimed her. But oh, he remembers her like a vow.

This man wears grief like couture.

No one else gets close. Not because they’re unworthy—but because he refuses to let himself be chosen again. It’s giving martyrdom. It’s giving “I could destroy you with how much I feel but I won’t.” It’s giving “touch me and I might unravel in front of the tapestry.”

He doesn’t need pity. He needs a mirror that tells him, “She never loved you. But you loved her. And you helped seal her fate. It wasn’t rejection that broke you—it was living with the belief that you had no right to be loved after what it cost.”

But until that day? Snape remains the widow of the living. Alone. Unkissed. Unhealed. And absolutely unforgettable.

—

Related Post: The Virgin Theory: Severus Snape, and the Sanctity of Unlived Intimacy

[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]

[wisteriagroves]

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

Lemony Snicket, When Did You See Her Last?

[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.

[hereiswhatremains]

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

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

[kimiko24]

Waiting is love

[stars-obsession-pit]

Let Me Be Your Sword

Danny’s… not sure how to feel about his new knight.

Like, don’t him wrong, Red Hood—or Jason, as he’d asked Danny to call him—is great at his job. He’s good at fighting, knows how to manage an organization far better than Danny did at first, and is unfailingly loyal. He’s also just generally a pretty nice guy who’s had some similar life/unlife experiences. Their partnership could be really great.

But Jason is in love with him. And Danny… isn’t. So the whole situation feels a bit manipulative.

He’s been quite careful to try to make sure he’s not leading Jason on—in fact, he openly explained his lack of reciprocating feelings to try to make sure there could be no possible misconceptions there—but he’s still worried about the dynamic.

Jason doesn’t care that his feelings aren’t returned.

Okay, well, no, he cares immensely. He wishes with all his heart (though not his voice) that Danny reciprocated his feelings. If anything, he thinks he might be a “little bit” obsessive about his King.

But as things are, he can ‘live’ with it.

It may not be reciprocal, but he can still dedicate himself to his King. Be useful for him. Be valued.

[free-grandmaa]

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