Internalmonologue Stories

When SM pairs Karina and Winter for a duo showcase during aespa's hiatus, two women who were once each other's closest person are forced to rebuild a working relationship across the wreckage of one they never properly ended. A story about the love we take for granted until it is lost, and the struggle to fight for it back. *More on AO3

The love gets louder

~ He knew he wasn't gay. But Joe? Joe had always been special to him. More than just a best friend. [...] He wasn't gay. They were friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Then, when Joe started dating a girl, why was he feeling that way? Why did he still feel that way? ~ My monthly contribution of writing triden fics until Trump mandate end (starting before he starts lol)

"I have spent my life perfecting the art of being 'fine'-a linguistic shield that ensures no one ever looks at the bruising beneath the skin." In the heart of a city that never stops breathing, I move like a ghost. To the world, I am a portrait of professional success. To myself, I am a cartographer of a soul that has lost its way, navigating a "Calculus of Loss" where the remainder is always a heavy, haunting silence. Written in vivid, lyrical prose, this is not just a story-it is a sensory descent into the internal architecture of regret. It is the anatomy of an echo, the weight of unsent letters, and the friction of a heart rubbing against a life that no longer fits. From the sterile glass cages of the skyline to the rain-slicked neon of midnight diners, Whispers in the Abyss of Solitude explores the "no-go zones" of the human psyche. It is a journey for the thinkers, the watchers, and those who know that the most terrifying abyss isn't found in nature, but in the quiet moments between breaths. A deep, introspective navigation of the self. For fans of atmospheric prose, philosophical reflections, and the beauty found within the blur.

​"I am already behind before the day starts." ​To the outside world, it looks like a life in motion. The shift at the call center begins, the "work mask" goes on, and the script is followed. But inside, the smallest tasks-a shower, a text back to Mom, a stack of laundry-have grown into impossible mountains. ​In this raw and repetitive portrait of modern survival, there are no grand arcs or easy fixes. There is only the deepening understanding of a mind trying to function while slowly burning out. From the gravity of a bed that offers no rest to the dissociation of neon-lit nights and the painful echo of a past self that felt "alive," this is a story for anyone who feels they are functioning, but no longer truly there. ​Nothing ends. It just repeats with awareness.

Love sometimes begins with a sentence. But their story began long before a single word was ever spoken... Eren Kara-28 years old, intelligent, profound, and passionate, a literature professor whose life had always been in harmony with words. But there were some feelings no book could ever describe. And Lara Ravenshade-19, just starting university, introverted, yet speaking volumes with her eyes. When she walked into the classroom with her waist-length red hair, she had no idea where her heart was about to lead her. Time didn't stop at first glance. The world didn't change. But something cracked in the walls inside Eren. Everything in the classroom was ordinary... Except Lara was there. And her silence began to echo in the quiet corners of Eren's heart-the parts that hadn't spoken in years. This is not just the story of a love. It is the story of how a forbidden feeling slowly took root, without permission. The story of two lonely souls, who-without a single touch-learned to hold onto one another in a world that watched too closely. Passion doesn't always scream. Desire doesn't always rush. Some loves grow only in the deepest quiet... And sometimes, a single look... Can rewrite the fate of an entire life...

Everyone has their own unique balance-some shine with loud words, while others find their strength in quiet knowledge.

You're welcome for the fuckery that is my mind on constant society as if it's the weed of the FUCKING joint being passed to my fucking brain It doesn't make sense Nothing in this makes sense ((Begone wench of filth- You whore of desperation and fortitude)) I'm sorry what? ((Filth)) ((Filthy mugwump))

His hands tighten on the wheel, eyes glancing from the speed on his car to the heating settings to his back mirror to his radio to his side mirror and again to his back mirror to the moon no no no go back to the mirror not the moon stop thinking about the moon stop thinking stop thinking- Just. Stop.

Segments from the notes app of a teenage girl with a lot of feelings, thoughts, and unfinished poems. Many of the poems in this book, however, have since been completed and are available for purchase online via the book "Sap Semantics" with Bottlecap Press.

"Sometimes, the things we don't talk about become the loudest memories." Ken was once a bright, social kid - until betrayal shattered his world in Class IX. Now in high school, carrying scars no one sees, he meets the one person who might change everything. But how do you rebuild when the past is louder than the present? A slow, emotional journey of healing, memory, and one-sided love - wrapped in the falling colors of autumn. The Autumn Leaf is a bittersweet light novel about growing up, fading friendships, and the weight of unspoken pain.

Jo's life is simple. Same routine. Same places. Same days. Nothing's wrong with it. Nothing's really happening either. Then-quietly-something shifts. Not in a big way. Just enough.

An extended version of the scene between Dinah Madani and Krista Dumont in Krista's hospital room, with more insight into what Krista is thinking, plus a surprise button.

She overthinks. He doesn't. ​Aura is an expert at silent overthinking dreaming of studying abroad, and overanalyzing the vibe of every room she walks into. She likes control, aesthetics, and keeping her head down. ​Vin is a mystery wrapped in a messy school uniform. He doesn't care about the rumors, he doesn't care about the lectures, and he definitely doesn't overthink. ​A slow-burn high school romance about a girl who calculates every step, a boy who just drifts by, and the accidental collision that changes both of their paths.

Every day he walks past the same doorway. And every day she tells herself the same thing: stay where you are, don't make it obvious, don't look. It should be simple. Just another person passing by in a hallway. But the closer he gets, the harder it becomes to pretend she doesn't notice. Because sometimes the hardest thing isn't liking someone. It's acting like you don't.

"If Hikaru dies, it will be on a rainy day, because if he's not allowed to mourn him, then maybe the sky will." Conflicting feelings that could, maybe, just maybe, lead to a potential relationship. This story is on my Archive Of Our Own account as well, under the same username.

Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too. The (Netflix) series, and Adrian's childhood, told from the perspective of the castle. INCREDIBLE cover art (and art for Ch3) by Junki Sakuraba on instagram and deviantart!! (https://www.instagram.com/junkisakuraba/ , https://www.deviantart.com/junkisakuraba)

Quinn is a 16-year-old. "She" is a great kid, mentor, and leader. However, Quinn doesn't feel right in her body. It's not even 'hers'; it's theirs. Quinn has always known they're non-binary yet doesn't want to ever accept that fact.

Jack's stream of consciousness describes how society is like a masquerade, while his dreams show his own hypocrisy. Pandora Hearts fic for Phmonth18 Tragedy Trio Prompt 2: mask.

"The spring hasn't arrived yet. The park's ponds haven't thawed. The flowers haven't bloomed. The sun, still in slumber. The only song that I can hear is that of a lonely heart. With each beat, my hands grow colder. I can no longer feel the warmth of my mother's hand in mine. What a terrible gift to remember all that you experience as an infant. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much if I didn't recall her. Waking up to my mother's beautiful amber eyes that outshone the sun. Her sweet touches, her silky hair. Her every word was music to my ears." A short story inspired by a prompt on reedsy.com: "Write a story about someone walking through a park on a spring evening, told only through internal monologue."