#a pearl mitski

[letz-smoke-zaza]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ my twitter account

I don’t know who tweeted this, but she must be a genius.

[sp1rit-realm]

༻¨*:· 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋 ·:*¨༺

♪ It's just that I fell in love with a war ♪ ♪ Nobody told me it ended ♪

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ You break a bowl, Remus tries to comfort you. An argument ensues.

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 reader's previous relationship was abusive 𖦹 a bloody hand (but nothing graphic) 𖦹 gn!reader (they/them pronouns) 𖦹 a sprinkle of angst 𖦹 hurt/comfort 𖦹 remus lupin calling you his darling and his love 🜷⌣🜷 𖦹 remus lupin being the best partner ever 𖦹 he's so boyfriend 𖦹 inspired by the song 'A Pearl' by Mitski  𖦹 fluffy ending bc i'm a huge crybaby 𖦹 i did not proofread this bc i'm lazy ⎝(ˊᗜˋ)⎠

༻¨*:· word count ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 2.1k 

"Sometimes, I wish I was a star," Your voice was quiet as you peered into the black sky, stars scattered across it. They looked like pearls. Precious.

He looked at you in admiration, "Why?"

"Because they're up there," You sighed, "And they take time to paint each star. To them, each one is just as important as the one before, and they ensure they are all beautiful."

"Who's up there?" There was genuine interest in his tone, and it warmed your heart.

"The person I used to be." You felt silly saying it, and you were scared he was going to judge you.

There was a beat of silence.

Instead of judgement, he reached for your hand and interlocked your pinkies, whispering: "You're precious. Like a pearl."

Your face grew warm.

Remus anxiously waited for you—he was gnawing at his fingernails. He scolded himself; you hated when he chewed on his fingernails.

1:39

"They're only nine minutes late, Remus. It's okay. They're okay. We're okay," He muttered.

Remus had an underlying fear that you would leave him. It wasn't because of the whole werewolf thing—okay, maybe it was the werewolf thing, but only a little bit; and he was working on that.

It was because of something you were going through. Remus didn't understand what you were going through; he couldn't understand. That was one of the many intricate parts of your relationship.

You didn't want him to understand because he could only understand if he went through the same thing. You certainly did not want him to go through that.

That is what brought you here, on the floor, curled into yourself, sobbing.

"He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve me," You wailed, looking at your hands

Remus stood up, it had been half an hour, and he knew you weren't showing up.

He felt tired.

Not of you, never of you, but of this feeling. This emotion that appeared to be swallowing you whole and seemingly had its eyes set on your relationship as its next victim.

You heard the key in the door, and a wave of panic hit you. Then, as it washed over you—submerging you and taking your breath—the panic turned into guilt.

You were supposed to meet Remus at the park, and you were ... crying?

He toed his shoes off and walked to the kitchen, where he heard you weeping.

Upon seeing you, his heart felt like the shattered pieces of porcelain at your side. You were sobbing because you broke a bowl. Then, you started apologizing. It was frantic and compulsive, just a simple "I'm sorry" repeatedly falling from your chapped lips.

He wondered how anyone could see you like this and get mad at you.

"Darling?" He knew his voice had to be quiet. You were fragile right now—he assumed your breaking of the bowl triggered you. At this point in the relationship, identifying the trigger was somewhat easy. Identifying the feelings the trigger brought up was the challenging part. It didn't help that sometimes you couldn't articulate your feelings.

One of those times seemed to be now. Remus loathed that all you could say was, "I'm sorry."

Then, he noticed the dry blood on your hand and wanted to joke about how 

'You've only broken a bowl. You didn't kill someone, even though you've got literal blood on your hands.'

He didn't. Maybe he'll tell you later.

He knelt beside you.

Remus didn't think anything of it. He just wanted to wipe your cheek and relieve it from the layer of tears.

To him, it was harmless. To you, it was frightening.

You shrunk into yourself as he brought his hand up, and you scrunched your face, bracing for a slap, or a hit, or something physically violent.

Remus brought his hand down, and his lips pressed together.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," He whispered, "I'll never hurt you. You're safe her, Darling. You're safe."

Your next inhale was sharp, and your face relaxed with the shaky exhale that followed. You opened your eyes to look at Remus, who spoke gently, "Why don't I clean up your hand, okay?"

At your nod, he spoke again. "Can I touch you?"

You shake your head, "It's not because of you. It's— It's—"

At your wavering voice, he stepped in, "I know, Darling. I know"

He didn't understand why you felt you had to explain why you said no, just that you were wired to do so. It hurt him—deeply.

You stood slowly, knowing you would get dizzy if you stood too fast. And if you got dizzy, there was a possibility that you would fall, and if you did, Remus would either try to catch you, or you would injure yourself. If Remus caught you, he would be touching you, making you even more miserable. If you got hurt he—being the angel he is—would take the blame and never forgive himself. Both would make him feel worse. You already missed lunch together because you dropped this stupid bowl and—

"My Lovely?" Remus repeated for the fourth time; this time, it snapped you out of your frantic thoughts.

You looked at him, "Hm?"

"To clean your hand, I'm going to have to touch it. Is that okay?" His talking was slow and calm, and it oddly made you mad.

"I said I didn't want you to touch me!" You felt your heart beat faster, and adrenaline rushed over you.

Remus was so incredibly tired, and he didn't feel like fighting. He hated fighting with you—it was gut-wrenching.

"I know, but I don't want your hand to get infected because it's not clean."

"Stop speaking to me like I'm a child, Remus."

You knew what you were doing, and it was wrong, but it felt so right to pick a fight. You hated yourself for it.

Remus sighed.

You swore you could feel the blood pumping through your veins and drew your brows together, "Don't sigh at me."

Remus knew better than to indulge in your argument, but he couldn't help himself.

"All I am trying to do is help you."

Your brain was foggy, "Well, you're not helping. If anything, you're making it WORSE!"

You have said a lot of things in past arguments. Never anything like this.

"Wait, no—" You quickly went to correct yourself.

"I'm making it worse?" He repeated your bitter words. "Really? Because if I'm making it worse, I can leave. I can leave you here and never try to help you again if I make everything so much worse."

"That's not what I said!" You argued back, "I never said you make everything worse. Stop twisting my words!"

"I'm not twisting your words, Y/n. This—" He waved his arms around the broken porcelain, then around you, "this is everything."

Too far.

"I am a person, Remus. I am not just my trauma." Your voice was quiet.

"Aren't you!?"

You looked at your bloody hand, "I'm sorry, Remus. I—" Your voice cracked, and you went silent.

Hit turn to feel guilty.

"Can I clean your cut?" He muttered.

You gave him your hand.

"Can I touch you?"

You somberly nodded your head.

His touch was soft, and you started to sweat. You hated this feeling. You hated fearing that his fingers would turn harsh after they softly cleaned your hand.

And you felt bad for being scared, because you knew Remus would never hurt you. Still, something in you was constantly on edge, a primal instinct to protect yourself before you got hurt.

He once said you reminded him of a pearl. He would give you pearl necklaces and earrings and bracelets. A precious pearl, that's what he would call you.

The jewelry stayed in your jewelry box, untouched since you left him. You weren't sure why you kept them—maybe to remind yourself that it was real. It could be because the pearls symbolized what you thought his love was.

It wasn't love, though, it was manipulation, and it was toxic.

And, as much as you didn't want to believe it, it was abuse.

Perhaps you kept the pearls because they were part of that toxicity.

Remus finished cleaning your hand somewhat ten minutes ago; you hadn't realized, too deep in thought.

Too busy thinking about the pearls again.

He stained part of you, a part of yourself that you now call The Pearl.

It started small, and you were able to control it at first.

Now, it seemed unmanageable.

The Pearl taunted you. It told you to be explosive because it knew Remus wouldn't be. Explosions cause chaos, and chaos is safe. That's what it told you.

But then, when the chaos was over and done with, it told you that you were toxic and abusive—it said you were a monster and that you were just like him.

You would indulge in The Pearl—you did everything it told you to do. You believed everything it told you to believe.

Maybe you were toxic.

"Y/n?" Remus repeated. His voice was quaint and delicate. You could tell he didn't want to startle you.

"Do you want to go sit on the couch? Maybe we can talk over there?"

You nodded, trudged your way to the couch, and plopped down. A heavy sigh escaped your lips.

You, too, were tired of this feeling.

Once he sat down, you quickly spoke, "I'm sorry, Remus."

"I'm not going to tell you it's okay 'cos it wasn't, but I'm also sorry. I said some very hurtful things, and I know better than to let it get out of hand—"

You wanted to scream, not at Remus, at yourself. You interrupted him, "Remus, t's not your fault. I let it get to me."

"My Darling, I'm still having trouble understand what 'it' is. I know you've tried before, but can you try and explain again? Because I can't keep doing this. My Lovely, I can't keep arguing with you. It hurts too much."

Perhaps it wasn't the best wording, but you knew what he meant.

"I'm sor—"

He cut you off, "Don't apologize."

You nodded.

"It's like there's this—" You took a deep breath. You had to tell him, no matter how scary it was.

"He used to call me his precious pearl," You started, looking down into your laps where your hands rested, "And I was his. He trapped me for years, and I became his."

Remus didn't like hearing that, but he put his anger aside.

"He changed me, Remus." You looked into his soft, lovely amber eyes. He wasn't judging you.

"Do you know how pearls form?"

He looked at you with confusion and shook his head.

"When an oyster comes in contact with a foreign substance, it traps and covers it with the same stuff that makes its shell. As time goes on, this material—the one that makes the shell—builds and creates a pearl."

Remus slowly nods, "Okay."

"Well, when this process occurs naturally, it doesn't hurt the oyster." You look back down into your lap, "But there are pearl farms where harvesters will cut the oyster and insert irritants." You looked back at him, "Pearls are formed to defend the oyster. When this process happens artificially, it usually hurts the oyster because the harvesters do it with little care."

Remus nodded again, "You know I'm very interested in the things you enjoy talking about, but I'm not sure if this is the right time to be talking about pearls."

"Just wait. It has to do with this, okay?"

When he nodded, you kept speaking. "So, I'm like an oyster, and he was like a pearl farmer. There's this part of me that I call 'The Pearl,' it helps protect me, but not in the right way. Before he could take the pearl, I left, and now I'm trying to remove it, but it's hard and it hurts. It hurts so much." You hoped you were making sense. "Now, I'm with you, and I love it. I love this relationship so much, Remus. I do. And I love you, you're so gentile and you don't even want to make a pearl from me, but I've got one, and it hurts, and I don't know how long it'll take to remove it—I don't know if I can remove it."

Remus was starting to understand. "So, The Pearl, it makes you—" He was very careful with his words, "It created chaos?"

"Mhm"

"As a ... defense mechanism?"

You nodded, "It's because I'm not used to being in such a calm relationship. It feels unnerving, so The Pearl is telling me to create the explosions 'cos that's how it's "s'posed" to be, and then you'll leave, and—" Your inhale was shaky, "And then I turn into a harvester and The Pearl is happy with that because I don't get hurt."

He was quick to respond, "You will never become a harvester, and I won't leave." He shook his head to himself, "I won't ever leave you."

You looked at him with adoration, "Even though I've got a pearl?"

"Even though you've a pearl," He confirmed. "We can work on extracting it together, okay? How's that sound?"

Your heart felt so warm and so full, "That sounds nice."

He curtly nodded and stood up, "You want a cwtch?"

"The bowl," You whispered.

He smiled softly, "I cleaned it up—while you were thinking earlier."

Remus told you his stupid joke as he held you. You felt safe as you laughed, saying: "I do have lots of skeletons in my closet, though. That okay?"

He smiled, "I love spooky shit."

It made you laugh harder.

Maybe you could finally wave your white flag of surrender.

No more war, no more pearls.

Thank you for reading, my lovelies

��(੭ ˊᵕˋ)੭*༺ ♡‧₊˚

@forourmoons @sw34terw34ther @cremexcoffee @nelabelievesindragons @evergreenlover

[sweetnnaivete]

song of all time

[mentallyilllittleguy]

TW - Ghost trauma (mental health issues, abuse, references to SA) and symbolic NSFW (not explicit)

'A Pearl' by Mitski, told through Ghost and his relationships. (Please note: some repeated lines are omitted for the sake of comprehension and brevity.)

You're growing tired of me

You love me so hard and I still can't sleep

Ghost looks down at Soap. The man is laying on his chest, fast asleep.

An unsettled feeling grows in his stomach. It's two a.m., meaning he should be asleep too, but... he just can't seem to find it in himself.

He's turning those words over in his head, again and again and again:

"I love you, Simon. Even if you're a dead man."

Dammit, that accent made him weak in the knees. It makes his head spin, like he's going to vomit. Sick, like a punch to the gut. He heard those first three words from his mother... once. His brother, a few times, back when he was tiny and ham-fisted. No one had said it since.

You're growing tired of me

And all the things I don't talk about

Roach's eyes, when not covered by a pair of sunglasses, are a soft, chocolate colour. They match his warm brown skin perfectly.

"Ya don't have to tell me, Si," he says, his fluttering lashes and crinkled nose the perfect portrayal of the sadness he reflects from Ghost. "I mean, fuck, I'm glad you even told me what ya did."

Ghost shakes his head, his eyes burning. It's not good enough, but he can't cry now.

"Simon." Roach has cupped Ghost's cheek in his hand. "It's alright, darl'." His Australian drawl is soothing, his touch warm enough to feel as though it's sinking into Ghost's bones.

"I'm sorry," Ghost rasps. His throat is closing up and he knows he's going non-verbal. He quickly signs, "Space."

Roach nods. "That's alright, sweet'eart. You've got nothing to be sorry for, but I understand why you feel like you need to apologise."

He blows a kiss to Ghost and leaves the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

Sorry, I don't want your touch

It's not that I don't want you

Sorry, I can't take your touch

"Ghost?" Soap says, slowly approaching.

The screams keep echoing around Ghost's head. There's pain all over his body, that hook sunk deep in his stomach. He remembers what it was like to have those people touch him, grab him and use his body in the most sadistic ways possible.

"Ghost," Soap says. He kneels down next to Ghost and touches his arm.

Ghost flinches away.

"What's wrong?" Soap asks.

Shaking his head, Ghost reaches out to push Soap away. His throat is full of words and sounds and feelings and they're all clogged up. The push falls short, and Soap creeps closer.

"Ghost, can you tell me five things you can see?"

Still too far away to push, Soap lingers. His fingers are splayed out, hand outstretched as though he wants to touch Ghost. Ghost starts thinking about the texture of skin and the heat of it and the goosebumps it will cause on his own skin and the idea of those sensory things makes him want to throw up, makes him want to rip his skin off, makes him want to scream until his throat begins to bleed.

Soap inches closer and Ghost starts to scream, banging his hands on the floor. It's all too much. Everything is too much. He can feel everything and hear it and see it and smell it and taste it and its crammed inside his skull and he is going to die.

He screams and screams and screams... and when he finally feels like the energy and itch of his body is dispelled, he sees that his fists are dripping with blood, the floor beside him spattered in it.

What he notices next is that Soap is nowhere to be seen. That feels like a stab to the heart. He wonders why he pushes Soap away every single time. And yes, he was having a sensory meltdown but fuck, why can't his brain just let him have one good thing to comfort him? Just one would do.

It's just that I fell in love with a war

Nobody told me it ended

And it left a pearl in my head

And I roll it around every night

Just to watch it glow

Every night baby that's where I go

"You're always there, aren't you?" Roach asks.

Ghost looks up at him, startled. The thoughts that clink around in his head become quieter.

"What do you mean?"

With a sad smile, Roach comes to sit in front of him. They're both cross-legged on the bed they share - small, cold figures of the night. The moonlight from outside reveals the rhythm of Roach's lips as he speaks.

"You're always stuck in all those places where something horrific happened. I can see it. There's this... emptiness." Gentle as ever, Roach's hand cups his cheek. "If you ever need me, take me with you. I love you."

"I love you too," Ghost says. He kisses Roach's palm.

There's a hole that you fill

You fill

You fill

With Soap behind him, inside him, and Roach's hands touching every centimetre of his skin... he feels so whole.

Soap is buried so deeply inside him that he simply feels full, the gnawing ache of the cold in his gut finally sated by the blaze of heat that is Soap's pure and utter adoration for him. Warmth curls around his neck with his huff of Soap's breath, revelling in how tightly those calloused hands hold his hips, rejoicing at the force with which Soap shows his love.

Roach's hands are all over him, palming at his chest and stomach, rolling the muscles and savouring them. His lips work against Ghost's like a lifeline, as if any kind of part between them could bring about their death. He's soft under Ghost's touch, malleable and kind, his breath softly fanning over Ghost's face, wisping through his hair.

Every touch, every breath... it's filling. It fills his heart in a way that can't be described. He allows himself to drift into the tide of warmth, lost to the rhythm of his own heart beating, floating on that high of euphoria.

It's just that I fell in love with a war

Nobody told me it ended

And it left a pearl in my head

And I roll it around every night

Just to watch it glow

Every night baby that's where I go

Just to watch it glow

The more Ghost thinks about it and the more he discusses his past with Soap and Roach, the more he begins to think that a pearl has formed inside his skull. It's something that has taken years to form, created through pressure and duress, hidden inside him until he can be prised open. That opening would reveal soft, vulnerable tissue, nestling a creamy white pearl in its dip. A pearl that is beautiful, yet eerily so. Maybe one day, Soap and Roach will be able to open him up and behold the pearl. Until then, Ghost lets it roll around his skull, smiling and watching it glow.

[keter-class-anomaly]

Can A Pearl by Mitski be the captain’s official song please. It’s perfect

[pearlescentmoon-enjoyers]

Ms. Pearlescentmoon and her eight dogchildren

[yomudkipo]

Candy-colored misery

The color of your mind

Orufrey Week Day 2: Song 💛

Lemon Glow is an Orufrey song you guys gotta trust me on this

[meownhi]

and it left a pearl in my head. ("a pearl" by mitski)

[vannilac0ke]

Oops ♡˖꒰ᵕ༚ᵕ⑅꒱

[d1or4ngelic]

[rottenswan]

where are my all lonely girlies at

[icardigan]

[strawberrycowtime]

started thinking abt the kind of music they would listen to. thought abt it for to long. bon appetite 👍

[the-she-butterfly]

[xoxotsarevna]

i'm so cooool

[coquetteswan]