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levanterhaze · 11 months ago

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✧ PAST LIVES WITH CARMY BERZATTO

→ carmy berzatto x reader

→ in a whirlwind of past lives, emotional turmoil, and unresolved history, follow the angsty love story between the chef Carmen Berzatto and a lost soul attempting to mend the fragments of their shattered past.

→ warning: anxiety, angst, just a little bit of fluff but not too much lol

→ 3kish

first chapter: the midas touch

Stepping into Carmen Berzatto's mind was like getting swept up in a lively dance of memories and traumas, a vibrant mix of anxiety, anger, and the poignant notes of grief.

In the whirlwind of working tirelessly and mulling over unspoken feelings, Carmen found his unique forte. Picture him slicing through onions, yet mentally transported to that fateful family dinner where everything unraveled. His hands shook, sweat lingered on his temples, and, ironically, an old faithful cigarette became his solace, a bittersweet affirmation that his lungs were indeed alive.

On the whole, revisiting the past was a vivid nightmare for Carmy, a realm he seldom painted with optimistic dreams. Yet, every so often, his mind would wander back to a face from days gone by, a time when life seemed more carefree and innocent, a canvas where he felt secure enough to unfurl his heart into something beautiful.

Did he yearn for that? It was a perpetual query whenever her image crossed his thoughts—the sweet, well-intentioned girl who appeared in his life like a gift from the cosmos, a surreal deity he deemed himself unworthy of.

Before the portrait of his life transformed into its current state, there was someone. Sweet, cozy smiles. Hands entwined like an unbroken melody. Glances as sugary as stolen kisses. Pledges of everlasting love whispered in the hush of the night. A dream. An obsession. Two hearts shattered like fractured stardust.

Now and then, Carmy pondered the whereabouts of the girl who once occupied a significant space in his heart—the muse of his first love. Nostalgia and melancholy clung to this initial foray into matters of the heart, an indelible mark like the lingering stain of aged wine—permanent, resilient, and unforgettable.

In those reflective moments, a palpable grudge gripped Carmy for breaking that girl's heart—a girl who poured everything into a relationship destined for the shadows. He sensed his own brokenness, juxtaposed with her radiant beauty. He avoided becoming something she could mend, thus choosing distance as his peculiar brand of self-preservation.

But what if...?

These three small words, weighty with possibility, haunted Carmy like an incessant rhythm.

He could have had it all. Or perhaps nothing. Or even the splendid paradox of both worlds colliding. Yet, in the grand tapestry of life, did it truly matter? Carmy had forged a path to his present, and the dreamy girl who lingered in his musings was surely distant enough to forget the whimsical boy who once broke her heart.

Anxiety unraveled the threads of Berzatto's faith, gradually fading like the waning embers of a once-robust fire.

Returning to Chicago, it felt like rediscovering the world anew.

What do you do when your dreams dissolve into echoes, vanishing in the blink of an eye? When every effort seems futile and never quite enough? The echoes linger in your mind, tears poised on the brink, waiting for the opportune moment to make their dramatic entrance.

Life in Los Angeles was meant to be simpler. You envisioned a dream, thinking everything would unfold seamlessly. Young and too naive to fathom the intricacies of the world. Pursuing an acting career in a world where vultures circled fresh talent felt like social suicide. You were never prepared, but for years, you tried relentlessly.

Exhaustion took hold—utter weariness. Voices echoed in your mind: too thin, too fat, perhaps she's passable, but not captivating enough, if only she had more curves, maybe she'd be more fuckable.

Nothing ever seemed enough, and you grew weary of the constant striving.

So, on a Thursday, the decision was made to return to Chicago. Leave the rented L.A apartment behind and embrace the small space that belonged to you. Driving back home, the air in Chicago felt oppressive. Breathing seemed challenging. The dense air, pregnant with memories and echoes of past lives, served as a stark reminder.

It's real. It's Chicago.

Coldness embraced the season, and the darkened apartment resembled a skeletal frame. Fragile white walls, devoid of adornments. It was just you and your ego, weathered by years of struggle.

Then, the need to shop emerged, a necessity to prevent impending insanity. The fridge echoed emptiness, much like your stomach. The nearby supermarket beckoned, and you welcomed the walk. A peculiar sensation enveloped you as you traversed the streets—a desire for recognition, yet a deeper hope for anonymity.

A passing gaze stirred anticipation, only to be met with moistened lips and your hastened steps. Later, as you gazed upon your reflection in the glass of the dairy section, self-loathing consumed you. Disdain for the red lipstick, its inadequacy on your lips. Disgust for the perfume that clung to you. A loathing gaze at your reflection, prompting the question: when would this cease?

Earphones encapsulated your ears, resonating with melancholic '80s tunes at a volume that drowned the outside world. Nearly ten at night, the door beside you opened, prompting a swift move to retrieve that damn cheese. In that fleeting second, blue eyes and a nose akin to Apollo's altered everything. Suddenly, you found yourself in a snug loft, surrounded by abundance, with a boy destined to shatter your heart.

A pause ensued. Earphones draped around your shoulders, seemingly programmed for such moments. Carmy's name hovered on your lips, yet you restrained it. There was an ordinariness, a professionalism in the way he scrutinized the products, evoking a suppressed urge to laugh.

Indeed, it was Berzatto.

"Carm?"

And as if, in some way, time had rewound a few years, Carmen feels something tug at his chest.

There you were. In the flesh.

The twin emeralds staring at you, as if you were something out of this world, suddenly felt like too much to bear. Looking at Carmy was like gazing at that boy you once fell for. Filled with dreams, ambitions, and fears.

You could be mistaken, but you swore you saw his lips move to the rhythm of the nickname: angel .

"I can't believe it's really you."

"You're here," he says as if your presence is an impossibility, just a meter away.

"And you're here," a small smile graces your face.

"I-yeah, I’m here. Los Angeles?"

A failure , a shattered dream, a colossal disappointment .

But you simply shrugged, lips twisting into an upturn smile. That's when Carmy gives a hint of a grin.

It's really you.

"I'm sorry," but did he truly feel it?

The silence lingered uncomfortably, both of you staring at each other as if in a standoff. You smiled first, a beautiful smile he already knew. Carmy took a step forward.

"I wrote you an email. When... You know. I'm really sorry, Carm," your eyes sought traces in his outwardly weary expression. He glanced down, just for a few seconds, and nodded, shaking his head.

He didn't know what to say. And what could he do? His inbox was flooded with messages he probably would never read. And knowing there was one message among many, a message from you, made him hate himself even more.

"Are you living around here?"

"Down the next block," you bit your lip.

"I have a place," he suddenly says. "Actually, Mikey had this place, and you probably knew that, but I, after, uh... I'm with the restaurant. The Bear."

"The Bear," you repeat the name with such poise and affection that makes Carmy's heart almost leap from his chest.

"You should drop by if you like," he looks directly into your eyes, like an invitation. "I’d like to," and then, the longing.

You shared another moment of silence, just two familiar strangers trying to connect after years in the shadows. Carmy felt his own body slowing down a feeling that had been cold for a long time. Don't do this, don't do this, don't do this.

"Okay," was all you said.

Carmy slipped you a phone number, never hinting that it belonged to him.

A couple of weeks passed since that unexpected supermarket encounter, and a persistent sense of disappointment clung to your routine. Part of you understood. Maybe Carmy wasn't into revisiting the past, a ghost of what his life once held. You accepted that. Yet, he seemed well, on the surface at least. You figured, at the very least, you could be friends if the history still held some weight.

On the flip side, time has been kind in aiding your healing process. Unpacking boxes in the apartment felt like therapy for a mind that had weathered its fair share of storms. Some items were old enough to consider tossing, like clothes and forgotten books. Amidst these relics, something intriguing caught your eye.

Two sketchbooks. It had been ages since you held one, forgetting that you were once an artist. They were dusty, and as you opened them, a rush of emotions accompanied the doodles of a past version of yourself.

There was Millennium Park, scenic landscapes, a woman on a train, and countless pages filled with familiar green-eyed gazes. A sigh caught in your throat, realizing the depth of your feelings for Carmy.

So many sketches of him, capturing every detail—nose, eyes, hands, lips, his entire essence. Undoubtedly, he was your muse. A mix of drama and nostalgia coursed through you, and amidst the clutter, you decided to keep these memories of a former you.

And thoughts about Carmy? They remained.

One evening, you found yourself outside The Bear. No one seemed to notice you, but the lively atmosphere tempted you to step inside, maybe greet Carmy, and shoot him a teasing look for giving a number that didn't quite belong to him.

But you hesitate.

Chasing someone who clearly wasn't interested felt a bit degrading, and despite your annoyance with life's twists, you weren't willing to go that far.

As the days whisked by, the Berzattos kept popping up, serving as constant reminders. A chance meeting with Natalie at a cozy café unraveled, and she could hardly believe it was really you standing there. She hugged you warmly, apologizing for everything that had transpired between you and Carmy.

In the end, Carmy hadn't spilled the tea about your return to Chicago. And even though you pretended not to care about the opinion of your super-talented ex-boyfriend and chef, there was a subtle sting to your pride. You shared the thing about the supermarket encounter, the email, and the phone number.

Sugar was livid.

In The Bear's kitchen, Carmen's sister stormed furiously towards the office where her brother would likely be sorting out bureaucratic matters with Syd. With a hand on the door and furrowed brows, Natalie burst in like a typhoon.

"What is wrong with you?"

Sydney paused mid-motion, holding a notebook and pen in hand, her eyes shifting from Carmy to Sugar.

"Good morning to you too, Sug" he continued writing something in one of the notebooks, but Natalie had no patience for her brother at the moment.

"I’m not joking, Carmy.”

Finally, he looked at her.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Angel ?"

Carmy froze in his tracks.

"What about Angel?"

"Sorry, is Angel a person or...?" Sydney seemed confused, trying to catch up with the conversation.

"You didn't even mention she was in town. And worse, you gave a fake number! What's your problem?"

"Sugar, can we discuss this later?" Carmy already had his hands over his face, sliding through his hair carelessly.

"No, we can't."

"Ooookay, I think that's my cue. Talk to you later, Chef."

And just like that, Sydney was far enough away for them to continue the unwanted argument.

"Care to explain yourself?" Natalie crossed her arms, leaning against one of the walls.

Carmy sighed, feeling defeated.

How could he convey his dark thoughts to his sister without leaving her extremely worried? How would he say that he felt dread at the prospect of something good and beautiful approaching his broken and confused life? How could he explain that sometimes feeling like a victim was safer than letting someone truly enter his life?

"I... Did you-did you see her?"

"Of course, and she seemed really disappointed, Carmy," Natalie poured out to her brother. "Why did you do that? Did something happen that I don't know about?"

"No. Nothing. Angel... She's just... Too much, you know?" Carmy felt powerless, like an open wound. "She was part of a version that doesn't exist anymore, and I know it wouldn't work out. Seeing her is like... It just wouldn't work out, Sugar."

Natalie felt sorry for her brother. She knew Carmy, and despite being irritated, she knew he would have a justification.

"Oh, Carmy..." Sugar approached, placing a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Even if you don't want any kind of involvement with her, apologize, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"I know you will."

The phone rang three times before you answered.

Pouring yourself a generous glass of red wine, you settled in to enjoy one of your favorite TV series. It was a healing day, for sure. Just wine, television, take-out food, and your own company.

" Hello ?"

"Hm, angel ?"

Involuntarily, your heart did a somersault. Even though you knew who it was, you tried to tease Carmy. "Is this really your number, or is it just another lie you want to tell?"

"I'm sorry."

The time it took for his response was enough for you to sit on the sofa and savor the wine on your lips. "It's okay, Carmy."

"No, no. It's not okay. I’m a fuckin’ asshole."

"I guess, but I understand that you don't want someone from your past in your life, and... well, it was kind of a jerk move, but you don't owe me anything."

Things weren't going according to the script Carmy had planned in his mind.

His house was dark, only the bathroom light on, and the cold wind kissed his face in the dimness of the night. He was afraid that if he pulled his hair any harder, strands would come out in his hand. Anxiety was eating him alive, and the worst part was that he had made his own bed.

"That's not true. How can I make it up to you?"

You smiled to yourself, considering the possibilities. "For lying?"

"For being a fucking idiot, angel. Tell me."

Your sigh made Carmy's heart race. He expected you to yell and curse him with all the names he deserved. But your calmness was worse than he could imagine.

"I don't know, Carmy. You were the one who gave me a fake number. Maybe you have to figure that out."

"Sure, sure. I, uh, will think about it. By the way, Natalie gave me your number, so..."

"I figured."

"Are you free tomorrow? In the afternoon?"

"Maybe..." you toyed with the remaining liquid in the glass.

"Let's grab a coffee or something, yeah? I'll text you then."

"Okay. Goodnight, Berzatto."

Carmy was in the midst of deciding whether he regretted scheduling this coffee.

Strolling through the chilly streets of Chicago, he had the unruly companion in his hands and the smoke flooding his lungs. With every step, it felt like he was ready to take three steps back. As if little devils were rolling dice in the game and angels were rolling their eyes.

He was about to flick the cigarette away when he saw you. And damn , you looked like a mirage.

The face sculpted by angels, the sweetness and wildness in the gaze that only he could recognize. And that red lipstick... He'd be damned to hell.

Approaching, he stamped out the cigarette and watched your face light up. I'm a fucking idiot.

"Berzatto. You showed up."

"We made plans."

"Yeah, that’s why I was worried." and again, the calmness was like a stab in his chest.

During the walk to the coffee shop, Carmy and you talked about life's nonsense and how things seem different now.

"How’s Chicago treating ya?"

" Ugh . It's hard to find something to do in this city. I mean, after I went to Los Angeles, I really thought chasing dreams was something special. You can't imagine my reaction when I found out I wasn't the only one," you smiled to yourself, holding the coffee cup. "I feel like a failure. An imposter."

"Why?" Carmy looked at you and clenched his own fist, tempted to touch you.

"Throughout all the years I spent in L.A, I realized that my dream was getting farther away every day. And every day..." you glanced at him briefly. "Every day, I wished to have my old life back, y’know? Simpler times."

"I understand."

Of course, Carmy understood. He had been through hell on earth to be where he is now, but there was a certain innocence and delicacy in the past that he couldn't leave behind. A moment in his life in which you were also a part.

"The greatest chef Carmen Berzatto sympathizes with the story of a fake rising star?"

And as if it were scripted, Carmy and you stopped in the middle of the avenue, connecting in an inexplicable way.

"You'd be surprised."

And amidst random conversations and reminiscing about people from the past and times that certainly wouldn't return, the night appeared as a pleasant surprise, and you found yourselves again in the block where you had met, in front of The Bear.

"Well, I guess that's it," you said, still trying to stifle the laughter because somehow, Carmy Berzatto could draw some laughs out of you. "Thanks for the coffee and the walk, Berzatto."

The strange silence filled the night air, condensing your breaths.

But at that point, Carmy felt good, so good that his mind had given him a respite.

Without hugs and touches, you awkwardly said goodbye and went your way. "Actually..." Carmy made you stop in your tracks. "I'm kinda starving, and uh, if you want to come in, I-I can whip up something quick. If you want."

Your smile made Carmy feel at home. "Sure."

You didn't understand much, but watching Carmen Berzatto move through the kitchen of his own restaurant was like witnessing art come to life.

Everything was so clean and empty. There was a large counter where you sat, just observing the magic unfold. Seeing him like that brought back memories you weren't sure if you should remember.

There were nights when Carmy experimented with new recipes, and you both spent the night in the kitchen—him as the chef, of course, and you merely assisting, grabbing an ingredient here and there. Even when he claimed it looked like shit , you would kiss him and say it was great, that he was talented. To you, Carmy was Midas.

Watching him from behind, you couldn't help but notice the tattoos and how his muscular and oh-so-masculine arm moved swiftly to stir the contents in the pan. You lowered your head, thinking you might be seeing too much. You knew nothing about Carmy's love life; it was a topic you avoided all afternoon, like a minefield—not safe yet.

"Here." Carmy crossed the small space to the counter, holding a spoon and a coppery liquid close to your face. "Try it."

You almost choked on your saliva but kept your composure as his large, sparkling emerald eyes met yours. You opened your lips slowly, waiting for him to place the spoon in your mouth. Carmy didn't know exactly how much time passed, lost in your lips—inviting, scarlet, as soft as velvet—and your sinless eyes. It was somehow sensual and intimate that he could die. As the taste hit your palate, it was like an explosion of flavors: honey, orange, citrusy, and sweet all at once.

He stood there, waiting for a reaction.

"So good." Your eyes were locked onto Carmy's, and all he knew was your lips, dangerously close, making his heart beat irregularly.

"Yeah?" He approached meticulously, you noticed.

"Yeah."

You weren't sure what you were doing. Carmy wasn't either.

Submerged in a world already known in aquamarine, you felt your heart beat faster. His hand touched the side of your thigh, and that little touch of skin-on-skin made your body burn. Not a common burn. Burning for Carmy. For something you once had.

And this was the worst way to burn.

"Bear," you breathed. He was so near, my God, you could sense the nicotine and cologne, the distinctive essence of that man before you. If you extended your fingers, you could brush against his face, yet you refrained.

The endearing pet name left Carmy suspended. What in the world did he believe he was doing?

Inviting you for coffee after being a colossal dipshit, thinking that cooking a meal could mend the bygone years? Believing that crafting a repast would reconstruct the past and heal the heart he once left broken?

"I’m sorry," Carmy retreated, his hands gracing his temples, eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, and traversing his entire countenance. "I-I don't know, uh, what I was doing."

"Carmy."

"No. I-I'll serve the dishes, and I hope it doesn't taste like shit." He moved with celerity, evading the recent occurrence. His finesse was so adept that you began questioning yourself.

He initiated the retrieval of plates, the sonorous clink of crockery harmonizing with the cascade of hex he cast into the ether. You descended from the counter, advancing towards him, heart racing, and mind more befuddled than ever. Was this the intended outcome, after all?

"Carmy!" you implored, as if your words were echoes unheard. He appeared agitated, fervently seeking something you couldn't fathom.

"Where the fuck’s that shit? I swear to fucking God, all these fucking assholes stresses the fuck out of me. They come here, cook, and leave everything a fucking mess, and I can't even find the FUCKING WINE CORK!"

Carmy's metamorphosis when angered was perturbing. His visage flushed crimson, veins on the brink of eruption, and words discharged without restraint.

"It's okay!"

"No, fuck that shit!" he forcefully disengaged as you tried to soothe him. Carmy leaned against the stove, trembling hands and bowed head. It was too much. It was enough. "You should leave."

"What?" You could hardly believe it. Humor was almost slipping off your tongue, but the way his muscles moved under the white T-shirt, and how he didn't even look at you, said it all.

"Just fucking go, alright?"

You yearned for a day when clouds were as ethereal as cotton and the sun gleamed unprecedentedly, perhaps a day when Carmy Berzatto's enigma unraveled. Until that day materialized, you’d simply leave. You seized your coat and left.

Berzatto’s downfall was knowing that this was the pattern.

No matter how many attempts he made, worthiness eluded him. Each time, he became the architect of your heartbreak, irrespective of the circumstance.

It was his eternal condemnation.

#carmy berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto smut #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #the bear imagines #carmy the bear #carmy x fem!reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear #carmen berzatto #the bear season 2 #carmy imagines #carmy x you #past lives fic

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perfectsunlight · 1 year ago

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𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗬 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗛𝗨𝗥𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦.

𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘈 𝘔𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘐 𝘟 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝗶𝗰 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀, 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘃𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 𝟯.𝟱𝗸

𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱: ✔

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗳𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝘀 𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀, 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗰𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗹𝗶𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝘁𝗵 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻.

mina never liked warm things.

she hated the burning sensations on her skin whenever the summer sun shone above her. she despised the feeling of heat radiating off of a hot mug or a hot stove. all of these experiences continued to fuel her hatred for anything that wasn’t cold as ice.

myoui mina loved the cold.

she reveled in the icy embrace of winter, relishing the sensation of frost on her fingertips and the brisk chill that nipped at her cheeks. while others sought refuge in warmth, she sought solace in the frigid beauty of snowflakes and the sharp bite of a chilly breeze.

her affinity for the cold extended beyond mere preference; it was ingrained in her very being. mina possessed an extraordinary ability, where her own flesh and bones held traces of ice. by channeling her inner frost, with just a touch of her hand she could transfer her coolness onto any surface.

it was similar to that of a “midas touch” but mina knew how to control herself.

she was no elsa, but her frosted abilities were simply a part of her. always had been, and always would be.

it made her an even better ballet dancer in the process. her cold face matched her dancing style, making her the true embodiment of cruel beauty.

the japanese woman hoped that the person she would fall for would love the cold just as much as she did. maybe that’s why she had a small mark behind her ear in the symbol of a flame? to signify her hatred for the scorching element. her soulmate must have a flame as well.

little did she know that it would be quite the opposite. and it all started with just a simple touch.

you were busy looking down at your phone, not noticing how you accidentally bumped into the japanese girl. however, you did notice the sudden icy sensation that almost mimicked frostbite on your burning skin. mina also noticed it, except for her it felt like she had burned herself on the stove or over a fire.

in that serendipitous moment, the collision of cold and heat sent a jolt through both mina and you. it was as if the universe had conspired to bring together two opposing forces, testing the boundaries of what connections could truly be.

mina recoiled, instinctively pulling back her hand as she realized the impact her frosty touch had on you. confusion and curiosity mingled in her eyes as she took in your reaction. she had not expected this, and clearly neither had you.

as you looked up from your phone, your gaze met mina's, and in that instant, you both knew you two were the exact same, but also somewhat different.

“i’m sorry,” you stammered out quickly, eyes frantically searching mina’s. instinctively you reached a hand out to make sure she was okay, but immediately pulled back before you could touch her once again. “i didn’t see where i was going. are you okay?”

mina's eyes softened as she observed your genuine concern and hesitation. she recognized the internal struggle within you, the conflict between your fiery nature and the unexpected chill that had emanated from her touch. in that moment, she saw past the surface and understood that your reaction stemmed from a place of self-preservation.

"it's alright," mina replied, her voice calm and soothing. "i’m okay, don’t worry. are you alright? my touch can be quite chilling." a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of your lips as relief washed over you. the tension that had initially filled the air began to dissipate, replaced by a shared curiosity and a desire to explore the enigma of your unique makeups.

“yeah, i’m okay.” you mirrored her small smile and stood up straight. “i’ll look where i’m going next time.”

the other ballerina chuckled softly. “that would be wise. i’m mina by the way.” she stuck her hand out for you to shake. except, the both of you just stared at it and let out small laughs. “oh right. sorry.” she lowered her hand but kept her eyes on you.

“i’m y/n.” your smile met your eyes, and mina could definitely tell even from your gaze that there were embers behind your eyes. or maybe she was just imagining such things.

you and mina were in the same studio, but practiced just an hour’s difference from each other. you were an hour after mina’s class, and she was an hour before you. from that initial meeting, the two of you would wave at each other in passing, doing your very best to avoid touching each other accidentally. sometimes the two of you would talk in between your classes, catching up and talking about nonsense.

mina still wasn’t fond of the heat, however she noticed something brewing inside her. why did she suddenly want to be around you more? how come she felt as if she was drawn to you, even in the crowd of other dancers?

it wasn’t until you wore your hair up in a bun one day that the ballerina got her answer. there, behind your ear, was a small marking in the shape of a snowflake.

she was both devastated and infatuated at the same time. there was no way you were her soulmate, right? it had to just be a coincidence that your marking was a match with hers, even as a polar opposite.

fire and ice. two contrasting elements that defined your essences.

the dancer couldn't shake off the feeling of intrigue and confusion that swirled within her. the sight of the snowflake marking behind your ear seemed too uncanny to be mere coincidence. it was as if the universe was playing a bittersweet trick on her, intertwining her life with someone who embodied everything she had hoped to avoid.

as days turned into weeks, mina found herself drawn to you even more. she couldn't deny the genuine connection they shared, the effortless conversations, and the warmth she felt in your presence. it was a contradiction to everything she had expected, yet it felt undeniably right.

everytime the two of you were together, it seemed like your mere warm presence was gradually getting hotter. at first, mina thought it was just her imagination, but she immediately knew you felt something too because just yesterday you were covered in sweat after practice and still said something about feeling cold suddenly.

mina knew she had to talk to you about this. she needed to know for sure if what she was thinking was true or not.

one evening, after your respective ballet classes, she mustered the courage to confront the enigma that had taken hold of her heart. she found you sitting alone in the studio, lost in thought, and approached you with a mix of trepidation and longing.

"yn," mina spoke softly, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "i noticed the marking behind your ear, the snowflake.”

you took your headphones out and smiled up at the icy girl with a smile. “oh yeah. i’ve always had that. it’s cool right?” you turned your head to show her it fully, and even up close, the other girl knew without the shadow of a doubt that it was definitely not a coincidence. it even further confirmed her suspicions when she felt a familiar sensation of heat running across her skin due to being in your presence.

the japanese girl forced a tight lipped smile, watching as yours never faded. “can i show you something?” she whispered. with a swift nod, you watched as mina turned her neck and lifted her hair to show you the flame mark behind her ear.

mina took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "i always believed that my soulmate would bear a flame symbol, representing the warmth and heat that i'm not accustomed to. but you have a snowflake, the epitome of cold and ice. it doesn't make sense."

a mixture of emotions flickered across your face. "i've always been drawn to warmth, to fire. it's a part of who i am. but meeting you, mina, has made me question everything i thought i knew.” you confessed.

mina's gaze softened as she listened to your words, her heart fluttering with hope. perhaps this unexpected connection wasn't a contradiction after all, but rather a harmonious blending of opposites.

could the flames within you and the frost within her find a way to coexist?

mina murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "maybe our markings are a mistake?” eyes flickering to the floor beneath her feet. she was nervous; the japanese girl hated not knowing things.

“i’m not sure, but,” you exhaled a shaky breath, looking up at mina from the floor as you slowly rose to your feet. “this may sound really crazy, and i’m not sure if you feel the same way, but ever since the day we met…” you paused and clenched your fists, slightly shaking from the nerves you felt. “i’ve been wanting to touch you again.”

mina's breath caught in her throat as your words hung in the air. the vulnerability and desire in your voice resonated deep within her, mirroring the feelings that had been brewing within her own heart. the thought of allowing your contrasting elements to intertwine sent shivers down her spine, both from anticipation and fear.

she took a step closer, her eyes locked onto yours. "i've been feeling the same way," mina admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "but i’m scared. i know i’ll hurt you, and that scares me."

you couldn’t help but nod in understanding. she was right, after all. the two of you would only hurt each other more the closer you got.

except, you didn’t care. mina was your soulmate, and you were hers. there had to be a way for this fated relationship to work.

tentatively, you reached out, your hand inching closer to hers. mina hesitated for a moment before intertwining her fingers with yours. the contrast between your warmth and her coolness sent a shiver down her spine, but it was a shiver filled with anticipation and newfound acceptance.

it burned for her and stung for you. you had to bite your lower lip to stifle a hiss, mina mirroring your look of discomfort. it hurt quite a bit, but it also somehow felt so right.

after a few seconds, the both of you pulled your hands away. her skin was on fire, it felt like someone had scorched the surface and burnt through her flesh.

as the pain subsided, mina looked at you, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of awe and determination. her hand felt tingly, a pins-and-needles type of sensation that stung more than it probably should have.

but oh god did she like it. no, mina loved it. she loved how your skin felt against hers.

on the other hand, you were clutching your hand into your chest, breath shaky as your eyes met the other girl’s. “that hurt,” you said softly, biting your lower lip as your gaze remained on mina’s. “i’m sorry for hurting you.”

with newfound resolve, the japanese girl spoke, her voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and determination. "i don't care if it hurts.” the look on your face was one of pure shock. she couldn’t really mean that, could she? it really hurt for you, and you knew without the shadow of a doubt that it hurt for her as well. besides, didn’t she just say that she didn’t want to hurt you?

“mina,” you whispered, feeling your heartbeat pick up as she leaned in closer to you. “i care if it hurts. because it hurts me to hurt you, too.” the logical part of your brain was very loud, speaking louder than your heart it seemed.

to be honest though, it was an internal screaming match between your head and your heart. heat flushed to your face, a kind you weren’t used to before as mina’s face was mere inches from yours.

her presence felt like frostbite, making the hair on your arms stand up from the goosebumps. mina’s breathing was just as staggered as yours. she was tired of pushing you away, tired of trying to run from your magnetic allure.

mina wanted you. no, she needed you.

she needed to feel your flames dancing across her skin, to see how you shivered under her touch from the ice that flowed from her. you had managed to completely melt her heart, the ice now fully thawed within her.

and in that moment, as bitterly ironic as it was, mina once again was reassured that you were her soulmate. you were a scorching ball of fire, with a heat wave coursing through your veins. you were everything she was supposed to despise.

except she didn’t despise you. you were the only warmth she would never hate.

she knew then that this journey wouldn't be easy, that there would be challenges and sacrifices to overcome. but she also knew that the bond between you was worth fighting for.

"we have a lot to figure out," mina said, her voice steady despite the irregular beating of her own heart. "but i believe in us, in the possibility of us coexisting.” she firmly stated, looking into your eyes as she seemed to be looking for any sign of you pushing her away. the japanese girl stared into your soul through the windows of your eyes, and within the flames that danced within them, she could only see the love you had for her.

you nodded, a flicker of hope and determination igniting within your eyes. this newfound understanding had opened the door to a world of possibilities, where the collision of your essences could maybe, just maybe, coexist.

the nod of your head was the only confirmation she needed from you. she leaned in and pressed her lips against yours.

the kiss was a melding of opposites, a clash of fire and ice, and yet, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. as your lips met, the heat of your passion intermingled with the coolness of mina's touch, creating a fusion of sensations that sent a surge of electricity through both of you.

in that single moment, the world around you faded away, and all that remained was the intensity of your connection. time seemed to stand still as you lost yourselves in the embrace, exploring the uncharted territory of your intertwined destinies. it was fate that brought you together, and now you two were choosing to stay as such, sealing the silent promise with a kiss.

as you finally pulled away, breathless and heart racing, a spark of realization flickered in both your eyes. this was just the beginning of a journey that would test the boundaries of your love and defy the odds stacked against you.

with your lips still tingling from the kiss, you locked gazes with mina, a mixture of determination and tenderness reflected in her eyes. the path ahead would be filled with challenges and uncertainties, but together, you were ready to face them head-on.

if only you two knew that this would be the beginning of the end. your fates may be intertwined, but they were for reasons you both did not understand until a few weeks later.

you and mina had a 12 second rule whenever you two would touch each other. this seemed to be the ideal time spot, because any less wasn’t enough for you and your lover, and any more was just a bit too much pain.

however, you found yourselves pushing that time limit more and more with each passing day. at first you thought you two would be fine, but the both of you were starting to realize something tragic.

you were killing each other. softly and slowly, your burns were becoming irreversible, and her frost was becoming permanent.

parts of your skin were bruising, soft shades of purple and blue were slowly becoming darker. initially, you thought that they were from ballet practice. maybe you had hit yourself on a few of the barres or something?

but then you noticed the way your lips were starting to turn blue, and that is when the realization hit you like a train.

mina was killing you.

mina first noticed the red marks on her hands and thought they were just sunburns. she simply put sunscreen over them, and went about the rest of her days. except the marks didn’t lighten up at all. if anything, they magnified and increased in size up to her wrists.

when mina looked in the mirror one day after a pretty long ballet session, she saw the way her lips were puffy and red. it almost looked like her skin was infected underneath, with shades of bright crimson and undertones of orange. the realization also hit her like a freight train.

you were killing her.

your bruises were turning purple and black, and the pain intensified with each prolonged touch. mina's once icy touch now left permanent marks on your skin, while your fiery warmth left her with scars that refused to heal.

the realization hit you like a wave of cold dread. the very thing that drew you together, the magnetic pull between your contrasting elements, was slowly tearing you apart. it was a cruel irony that the love you shared was turning into a source of agony.

both of you knew deep down that continuing this way would only lead to irreversible damage and unbearable pain. the choice was clear, even if it was heart-wrenching.

with heavy hearts and tears welling up in your eyes, you knew what needed to be done. it was time to let go, to separate and protect each other from the destructive forces that threatened to consume you.

your voice trembled as you spoke, your words weighted with sorrow. "we can't keep going like this, mina. as much as it hurts, we have to accept it is too dangerous for us to be together."

mina shook her head, but you continued speaking with your voice choked with emotion. "i don't want to hurt you anymore, mina. we have to let each other go, for our own well-being.” you pleaded, now seeing up close all the marks you had left on the girl you loved more than anything.

silence filled the space between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken grief. however, mina refused to let this happen. this was not how she wanted things to end.

“i don’t care, y/n.” she whispered, voice filled with the same determination she displayed the day she first kissed you. “we’re going to die eventually. i’d rather die from loving you than simply dying alone.”

the ballet dancer sat in your lap, and you both could feel the burning and stinging sensations already. tears fell from your eyes even harder. “mina,” you choked out, tears cascading down your cheeks as she cupped your face. her fingertips felt colder than the arctic itself, and your skin felt hotter than the desert. “this is torture.”

you had a fair point. this indeed was pure agony for the both of you.

but she loved it. it was the sweetest pain she had ever felt.

it was burning hot through her veins, making her more sure that this was indeed torture.

without any second thoughts, mina grabbed the back of your neck and pulled your lips against hers. burning and cooling, scorching and frigid, fiery and freezing. the sensations clashed both on the inside and the outside.

“i love you.” mina panted in between shallow kisses, not letting you pull away. your hands held her waist, moving her closer to your body. this woman of ice was going to extinguish your very soul, but she was also somehow setting it ablaze in a ring of fire that not even you had felt before.

your hands clung to her skin, feeling her fingers tugging at your roots. “i love you too.” you hissed out, feeling the overwhelming feeling of ice in your veins. this was agonizing.

but true love was indeed true pain. only love can hurt like this.

in that bittersweet moment, you realized that mina’s love for you was beyond comprehension. she was willing to endure the pain, the torment, just to be with you. it was a testament to the depth of her affection, but it also tore at your heart knowing that you both would have to pay a heavy cost.

unfortunately, that cost was going to be your lives.

by the next evening, your bodies were found in mina’s apartment. there on her bed, lay your corpses intertwined with each other. your heads were buried into each other’s necks, noses barely grazing each other’s soul marks.

…FEMALE A WHO HAS NOT BEEN IDENTIFIED YET, WAS COVERED IN PURPLE AND BLUE BRUISES. HER MOUTH AND HANDS SPECIFICALLY HAD TURNED BLACK, AND HER BODY WAS COLDER THAN ICE…

…FEMALE B WHO HAS ALSO NOT YET BEEN IDENTIFIED, WAS ALLEGEDLY COVERED IN SCORCH MARKS AND BURN SCARS. LIKE FEMALE A, HER HANDS AND LIPS APPEARED TO BE THE MOST AFFECTED AREAS…

“MUST HAVE BEEN A DEADLY KISS.” AUTHORITIES SAY AS THE BODIES ARE SENT OFF FOR AUTOPSY.

#mina myoui #mina x reader #twice x reader #twice angst #kpop oneshot #twice fic #twice mina #non idol au #perfectsunlight

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rebouks · 1 year ago

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Something inside Tristen snapped, Vicky’s grating voice quivering over his shoulder almost made him want to smash his head against the pavement just so he wouldn’t have to hear it anymore. “Trissy-…” He cut her off, whirling to face her with such a crazed look in his eyes that she actually balked. “I don’t fucking want this-.. you; I never have!” Her lips twisted into a pout as she regained her composure. She didn’t like it when he was sober, her little games didn’t work so well when he wasn’t shackled to her approval, her money, her connections.

“You’re acting crazy, can we just-…” He cut her off again, getting up in her face this time. He didn’t care if he scared her, didn’t care what he looked like-.. he wasn’t backing down now, lest she get under his skin again. “You created a life you don’t even want, and what for? Out of pure pettiness, because someone dared treat me with the tiniest amount of decency-.. and you couldn’t even keep your panties on long enough to make sure it was mine!” Still intent on keeping up the charade, Vicky tried to interrupt. “But it is y-…” “IT’S FUCKING NOT!” Tristen spat. Her shoulders drooped, a tiny shift in body language that told him he’d finally won. She’d given it her best shot, but the folded wad of paper hidden in Tristen’s pocket had broken her spell on him. It wasn’t his, she wasn’t his; he was free.

He’d tried to keep it together until he was alone, but the tears had fallen long before he’d managed to reach the solace of his makeshift bedroom. Courtney had followed him shortly thereafter, speaking words he didn’t hear, offering consolation where he didn’t want it.

The shame he’d tried so hard to bury bubbled up without permission, an ugly, strangled sob suddenly muffled by her closeness. She cradled him like one of her own. Like Robin after a bad dream, like Byrd when he hurt himself doing something he shouldn’t, or Wren when she couldn’t sleep; and to her surprise, he’d let her.

He could hardly remember what she’d said, or how long she’d held him like that, but before he knew it, he was alone again; drifting off into an emotionally spent slumber like a soothed child.

Tristen had grown fond the Bay, though like anywhere else he’d been, it’d soon become tainted with failure, regret and embarrassment. Oscar had tried all morning to convince him to stay, but it was no use, he’d made up his mind. He didn’t know where he was going, he didn’t care what happened to his flat or what useless possessions lay within; he’d snapped his phone in half, he had his bag, he had his hat, his shaky sobriety and his sanity. That was enough to get by, for now.

Tristen was going to do what he did best, run away; except this time, he’d accepted the situation for what it was. So, what if he was fleeing? Maybe he wasn’t meant to stay in situ, wasn’t meant to let his rotten roots take hold anywhere. The longer he stayed somewhere, the more time there was for things to go pear-shaped. King Midas’s illegitimate bastard, turning everything he touched to shit instead of gold.

Oscar sighed. “You can’t just.. leave.” “I can’t stay either…” Tristen pleaded. He didn’t want to argue, and his resolve wasn’t infinite. Shaking his head, Oscar released Tristen’s shoulder with one last squeeze that said; okay, but you better look after yourself. There wasn’t much more he could’ve said with words. The silence between the pair was broken as Tristen straightened himself, adjusting his hat with a forced, lopsided grin; almost like he was trying to feign excitement. “Thanks for everything…”

Oscar nodded, standing helplessly at the edge of the driveway as Tristen set out. He wondered how many times he’d done this; how many places he’d abandoned, how many people he’d cut off. “Maybe I’ll see you around…” he suggested. Tristen threw a rueful smile over his shoulder. “Maybe.”

Previous // Next

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #ts4 story #sims story #forever in between #fib #tristen burks #victoria crane #courtney finch #oscar finch #(。_。)#oscar don't let him gooooooooooooo #😩

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frozenrose20 · 8 months ago

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One-shot title : His Face

Characters: Will Solace and Artemis

Description: When spending her night with her hunters Artemis runs into a face she hasn't seen in years.

Word count :1,723

Note: this is the first oneshot I have ever written so it may not be the best. If you all like it though let me know I may write more in the future I have an idea for a sequel to this one-shot featuring both Apollo and Leto so let me know if you all would be interested in that as well. <3

In her thousand years of living she always found the nights of quiet to be the most impactful. After all it was a serene night like this one when she found her lieutenant Zoe. Her poor Zoe, she was such a broken girl back then once filled with so much love only for it to be shattered by a monstrous man. She couldn’t help but snarl at the thought of that brute.

She was suddenly snapped out of her thoughts when she heard the noise of whimpering. She looked over at the tents full of her hunters but they were all seemingly asleep. The noise couldn't be from one of them so she looked out into the trees to find the intruder. She summoned her bow ready to strike the creature. Happily ready to kill the man or monster who dared to approach her camp, who dared to disrespect the goddess of the moon and hunt. Drawing her bow she hid behind a tree to shock the creature and once she heard the snap of a twig she jumped out to shoot the creature down.

She stopped before she could shoot however because she saw a sight she would have never expected. She was met with a face she hadn't seen in centuries. Before moving to America, before the Trojan war, before she was even an Olympian. She couldn't help but hold her breath because staring straight at her was the face of her baby brother Apollo, with his. Short curly hair that glowed like a halo in the sun, his blue eyes that shone with the knowledge of the future,and his tan skin as if he had been touched by midas himself,but that was impossible. Her brother hadn't taken this form since he first left Delos. She couldn’t help the ache in her heart at the thought, back then it was just them and their mother hiding from the Hera and the rest of the gods. They were so young and joyful a content family, but then her brother left swearing vengeance on the snake that chased their mother across the earth. He left their life on Delos as a sweet and innocent child and came back a silent yet shaken man. It was the last she ever saw of this face. In the years since Apollo has changed his form thousands of times his curly hair was now straight to match with what he claimed to be America's beauty standards, his eyes while blue didn't shine like they did in their youth now constantly covered in whatever sunglasses were quote ‘in at the moment.’

How could his face be staring straight at her? She began looking over his form and noticing the slight differences. The freckles that painted his round checks like the stars in the night sky and the fear in his eyes. Apollo never looked at her with true fear, maybe a look of wariness when he realized she was angry but never true fear. It looked wrong on his face. It tarnished the face she had kept so close with her. She noticed, In her shock, that her bow was still drawn and with a painful twist in my heart she realized she was the one he was scared of. quickly, she dropped her bow and got on her knees to be eye to eye with the boy.

The boy who couldn't have been her brother yet had his face couldn't be any older than 5 years old. She began to search his essence to figure out who he was. She discovered her brother's essence mixed with another, a mortal. He was a demigod that wasn't too special. Her brother had many lovers over the years, plenty of which sired children but, if they ever took after him they looked like the form he had taken when he met their mortal parent never did the kids look like his first form. She used to be happy about this. It was something special between her brother, mother, and she. It was something that Olympus and the fates could never take, yet this child was wearing a face he didn't deserve. She felt rage at the fates to steal such a precious memory from her,but at the same time she wished for nothing more than to take him away and cherish him with her mother watching his face grow up into what Apollo could have been. The life Apollo had taken from him. To be the big sister she failed to be. This child had so much potential yet the other gods would look at him and see nothing special, only another pawn for their game. This face would change. She wasn't her brother so she couldn't see to what extent. Would he have scars running across his face ruining his freckles? Maybe, his eyes will lose their brightness like his father or, Perhaps, he would have a frown permanently etched into his skin traumatized by the Horrors of this world.

She was drawn out of her thoughts at the sounds of whimpering. How long had she been staring at him? She tried smiling at him but she could still tell he was scared of her. It occurred to her he must have been lost after all the forests were no place for a five year old boy so she asked him.

“Hello little one, what are you doing out here?” He looked at her with a calculating look, the same one her brother would have when trying to determine whether or not our. Half-brother ,Hermes, was being truthful to him or playing another trick. It's a look he will give often in the future when his life's on the line a voice whispers in the back of her head but she shakes it away. After a pregnant pause of silence filled only with the ambient noise of the forest he mumbles his response.

“I was at my mama's concert but then I saw a deer. I tried following it but I got lost.” His voice was sweet like a bird's morning call or a crickets nightly tune yet it only cemented how he wasn't her brother. The boy's voice was that of a soft melody while her brother even as a child was one full of power, a ballad that could move mountains,a lullaby that could bring long dead constellations to tears. She thought it ironic that her own animal brought him to her. Perhaps the deer knew and wanted to lead him to her. But at the mention of his mother she knew she must have been looking for him. Apollo always fell for the most kind hearted of mortals. It reminded her of her own mother ,Leto, how she would stay up at night worrying for her brother after he left or how she would worry when he was turned mortal. Despite her desire to give this boy the life the fates stole from her brother she could bear the idea of having a woman feel the anguish her mother felt.

She smiled at him and said, ”tell me about her.” she began walking to the edge of the forest hoping he knew to follow. He did and he began to animatedly tell her about his mother. He rambled on about her caring hand and calming voice how she always knew how to fix a problem like a good mother would. His voice held a tone of admiration as if she was his divine parent rather than her brother. A tone both her and her brother used often when speaking of their mother as if she were queen of the gods and not Hera. The others will return him to her in a shroud the voice snarled in her head. She pushed it down though as she realized they were nearing the edge of the forest. Their time while short had to come to an end as he was a Demigod boy and she was the goddess of the hunt, not a nephew and an Aunt. They will likely never see eachother again much like the sun and moon in different worlds only meeting once in an eclipse every few millennia. She turned to him and smiled.

“It looks like our time together is coming to an end. I do not know if we will cross paths again little to one but know if you are lost look to the sun and the moon to guide you and you will be safe.” he looked confused at first but then he nodded with a look of understanding you wouldn't expect from a child perhaps he held her brothers gifts of prophecy and knowledge unlike her or perhaps he was simply a trusting child who had yet to see the horrors their world will bring to him. They began walking again. After a while she heard the voice of a woman calling for a Will; it must have been the boy's name. No, not the boy, her nephew, Will. As soon as he heard the woman's voice he smiled and broke out into a run. She laughed. At his enthusiasm she followed him and watched as he leaped into his mothers arms. She had tears in her eyes and began telling him to never scare her like that again. The mother looked at the goddess and met her eyes. In the mother's eyes was a look of recognition. She knew who she was either she was a clear sighted mortal or her brother had told her who he was. it didn't matter to her. She looked down at her nephew. While she did not know what the fates had in store for him she could keep this moment with her and remember the look of joy or both her brother and her nephews face. She decided that whatever the fates had planned for him had earned him her brother's face. She met his mother's eyes once again, smiled and ran back into the forest to her hunters.

Years from now the boy will be lost again he will finally discover what the fates had in store for him when gifting him his face but there will be no sun or moon to guide him like the woman once promised for not even the gods would dare go into the pit.

#pjo #toa #hoo #pjo hoo toa #will solace #pjo apollo #pjo artemis #pjo fanfic #the sun and the star #trials of apollo #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus

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faery-the-diamond · 10 months ago

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Just a local gray fox poking his nose in to ask:

For Lambert: Did you have any siblings? How would he describe the culture of his old home compared to how he has built his cult's culture?

For Narinder: I know you and the Lamb have conflict in your relationship, but you may have also experienced similar things in your past.. At the very least, grief, loss, and regret. Maybe not now, but eventually, the two of you could talk things over and find some bit of solace in each other?

(To the author/artist: I love the complexity you've built into the AU and the ways you've chosen to develop these characters. I haven't yet fully finished the game completely, but I look forward to having some stories to share eventually.)

Lambert: Yeah, a younger sister. She was a lively one and perhaps naive to a fault sometimes, but... I still miss her.

Lambert: As for the latter, well, I'm kind of restricted in how much of my culture I can add to the cult, since everything about the Red Crown is tied to death. Which requires me to built everything around it. So what I can add are minor cultural peculiarities.

Lambert: So I'd say that my cult and my home share the same peaceful nature: no sacrifices, no throwing the followers to their doom on left and right just because it's more convenient—

Narinder: Ahem...

Lambert: ... Don't look at me like that. I already explained about Midas and the Fox.

Lambert: Anyway. There's also the fact that I'm trying to be more as a part of the community I'm building. Still keeping the needed respectful distance as a leader of course, but that's how my father ran our village anyway.

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Narinder: Maybe, maybe not. Pushing us to make up isn't going to make it easier though.

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Thank you for your kind words! : D

#cult of the lamb #mercy gone wrong

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anincompletelist · 11 months ago

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2024 wips! :D

hi all! taking a page out of @inexplicablymine 's playbook and compiling a list of my current and (hopefully) future wips for this year since I haven't revisited this list in a few months!

also, please feel free to consider this an open tag if it's something you'd like to do as well! I think it's a wonderful way to get organized and to share some excitement!

[and before we start, here are all of the fics posted in 2023!]

Something Borrowed, Something Blue (aka bridesmaids!) is posting now and currently has three out of thirteen parts posted. it will be fully published by the end of the month! you can read here:

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

When June gets engaged, Alex, her brother, and Henry, her best friend, are asked to be the official Guys Of Honor. There’s a month to plan the whole thing, which would be near impossible anyway, only made worse by the fact that being around each other the last several years has only ever led to petty fights and useless competition. Unfortunately, as the two most important men in her life - aside from her fiancé - they don’t really have much of a choice. Alex has a lot of feelings about this. As it turns out, Henry does too.

[the following works have at least half or more of their goal word count completed and will likely be posted sometime in february if all goes to plan]

dom!alex part two to this fic [5k]

soft dom!henry [10k]

five times henry doms alex on accident and one time he does it on purpose [4k]

angsty alex 5 + 1 / 'sticks & stones' [2k]

[redacted] 'verse prequel

[wips that have significant word counts or have been fully outlined but still have a ways to go before they're finished]

poetry au / 'speak easy' [23k]

canon divergent anonymous server fic [5k]

vamp!henry + vamp hunter!alex [2k]

hitman!alex au [15k]

diabetic!alex au [6k]

a/b/o au set in canon verse [20k]

truman show au [1k]

boxer!alex au [1k]

escort alex / private club au [2k]

cha cha real smooth inspired au

canon divergent thriller inspired by 1984 / knives out / nine perfect strangers / the menu / the hunt

Jeff (Bottoms) x Shane (Minx)

professional gift giver non-famous alex au

mary and george inspired one shot

[ideas and snippets I have written down but don't have a significant word count yet]

quantum of solace inspired one shot (bond)

google au

drunk dial canon divergence

happiest season au

rival wineries au

alex is medusa, henry is midas

museum guide henry + substitute teacher alex

one shot about henry's antidepressants side effects

severance au

a/b/o au #2

please feel free to come and yell at me (kindly) about any of these or to send requests! this list changes constantly but I tried to round up everything I could think of for right now :)

#wips #my fic #rwrb #red white and royal blue fic #firstprince

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jar0fjammie · 9 months ago

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GEARTOWN SKETCHES PT2!!

#gear town #geartown #midas solace #joey bolts #my art lol #origanal character #original story #character design

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aethon-recs · 1 year ago

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HP Rec Fest, Day 16 ❄️

@hprecfest daily prompts running through Dec 31. Goal is to find lesser-known or underrated works, even by well-known authors, to feature here.

Day 16: A Fic that Made You Laugh

Make a Wish by @crowcrowcrowthing (E, 3k, complete)

Summary: Tom Riddle is wasting away in his hospital bed, far too young to succumb to such a terrible and mysterious illness. The only thing that gives him solace is the hope that football star Harry Potter might visit him in his final days. Why I rec it for this prompt: Tom's utter audacity in this fic is so true-to-character, and so funny. Also, I love that this is told from Riddle Snr's POV, which adds an extra layer of comedy (or horror, depending on how you look at it.) And! There are 3 alternate endings for this fic, and they each get better and better.

Do You Want Fries With That? (part 1) / Tom's Time Has Fry-nally Come (part 2) by jellybeantarot (T, 16k, complete)

Summary: Harry really needed some money, Dumbledore needed someone to dress up as Wendy, and Tom was the only one with the desperation to be Ronald McDonald. Why I rec it for this prompt: Harry and Tom as high school-aged fast-food workers is too good of a brilliant, absurdist crack scenario. Everything from the banter to the plot arc to Tom's SoundCloud rapper name had me in stitches. I can't continue describe this fic without ruining it — just go read it if you're in search for a good laugh.

Running list of recs:

#hprecfest2023 #tomarrymort #harrymort #tomarry #aethon recs #tomarrymort recs

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brewed-pangolin · 2 years ago

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The Midas Touch

Gif credit to @collinnmckinley

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

This little fic is an extension of a Soap headcanon I did recently about Soap being sensitive to touch. Never judge a book by its cover. And if you ever want to get into Johnny's, it's easy. Touch him.

Warnings: Just a little bit of angst amongst an absolute heep of fluff. And ALL the feels!

Word Count 2.8k

If there were a more eloquent word to describe the afternoon before you, it was in a foreign tongue. Nestled into the cushions of your couch and surrounded by pillows and blankets, it was nothing short of blissful perfection.

The soft ticking of the clock in the foreground like a rhythmic heartbeat of the day, accompanied by the echoing calls of birds outside your window, it combined into a soothing scene of comfort and tranquility. Even the dull sounds of the television seemed to add an extra layer of soft buffering to the world around you.

It was all in the background as your focus was on the book in your hands; a twisted tale of romance and espionage that pulled at your heartstrings and made your body ache for more. Lost within the lines of dialogue your mind pushed out nearly all distractions as your mind flooded with imagery the endless words created. All except one.

That one distraction was him. Johnny. Soap. To be more specific it was his breathing. The longer you listened the more distinctive it became. Every inhale was labored. Every exhale drawn out to its last molecule, expelling whatever burrowing demon he had brought back from his last mission. He had barely said a word since coming home overnight, and even as he sat motionless next to you, his body language spoke volumes.

Without taking your eyes off the pages, your hand instinctually traveled to the back of his neck, the sudden connection causing a hitch in his breath. Cupping your hand into the crook of his neck, your fingers danced across his flesh as he pulled his head back, begging for more connection. Your eyes withdrew from the pages and turned towards him as the tips of your fingers felt the tension beneath them almost immediately.

“Jesus, Soap. You’re stiff as a board.” Your abundantly honest quip hit a silent nerve within him.

“Aye. Sorry, hen. Jus’ tired. Las’ one did me in, yeah.”

Soap’s voice was quiet, somber, and riddled with silent regret wrapped within his usual jovial disposition. He slowly turned his head to face you. His distinctive bright blue eyes were dim, faded with a grayish hue encroaching from the softened edges. And you could see within the visible lines of his face he was broken.

This had become your routine. Soap would leave you on a mission whole and come back in fragmented mental pieces of a Johnny you almost didn’t recognize. Some more so than others. This time was no different. He could never tell you the details of his deployments, and you preferred it that way. The less you knew the better, you had told him over and over again. You were his lover, and you knew your obligation to him through and through. Solace.

Softly you caressed the hairline on the back of his skull with your thumb, while simultaneously adding more pressure to the fingers along the length of his neck. A light squeeze to his flesh was all it took for a soft moan to escape his lips.

His eyelids fluttered closed as he melded into the cusp of your hand, and with every breath you began to feel his muscles loosen beneath your delicate touch. There was progress here, but more needed to be done.

Through years of deployments and countless trial and error endeavors, you had found the sequential breakthrough to get to Johnny within the reinforced walls that was ‘Soap in the field’. It took time, patience, and the delicate workings of your skilled hands to untether him from within the tight bindings of his tormented mind.

Like the intricate workings of a corset, you began with the silken thread tied at the base of his skull; light pressure of your fingertips descending into the crook of his neck, a soft ripple of release flowed within their wake as your hands traversed their way up along the same path. The perpetual ebb and flow permeated beneath his taut skin and within a matter of moments the barriers of Soap began to crumble, and within their darkened crevices the bright light of Johnny slowly began to bleed through.

“Fuckin hell, bonnie.” His weathered voice was barely above a whisper.

“C’mon Soap. You know the drill.”

At the trailing of your words you released him from your soothing embrace, moving to face him within the corner of the couch and relaxing into an Indian sitting position. A whispered moan escaped his lips at the sudden detachment of your fingers, the soft sound reverberated within your chest and lit the fiery need to give him the relief he so desperately craved. Placing one of the many pillows that surrounded you into the gap between your legs you gave it a light tap before beckoning him to lay and relax beneath you.

“C’mon now. Get comfy.”

“Yes ma’am.”

There it was; your first tendril of Johnny had made its way through the concrete fortress. Those two words were the safety net to bring him back into the light and send Soap into the realm of protected hibernation. As he twisted his tophalf to face away and shuffle back, your hand shot up to quickly halt him in his progression.

“Wait, Soap. Shirt. Take it off.”

“What?” He asked in a baffled tone.

“Just take your damn shirt off, Soap.” You were breaking from the usual narrative, and Soap was all but lost in your divergent undertaking.

As he turned his head you were met with a perplexed look with a questioning furrowed brow. You reciprocated with a tilt of your head and deliberate ‘go on’ gesture of your hand. Being the good soldier he was he followed your order without question, lifting his shirt over the crest of his head in one fluid motion.

“What’ya got in mind, hen?”

“The usual, Soap. Just changing it up a bit. Now c’mon.”

“Okay, okay. Donnae got t’be so bossy, hen.”

“Shut it. And toss me that blanket by your feet.”

You were blunt, yet held an undertone of tenderness embedded within your words. It was an elegantly choreographed repartee that you used to counteract Soap’s use of humor as a smokescreen. There was a silent tremble in his skin as he passed the blanket and immediately you opened it up, laying it upon him as he shifted back towards you.

As his body descended into the softness of the couch, your hands moved to cradle the curvature of his neck and gracefully guided his head down into the plushness of the pillow. He tilted his chin slightly upward to meet your gaze, his crested head divoting deeper into the fabric of the pillow. And those cerulean orbs flashed a momentary brightness as more of Soap dissipated into the foreground of his mind.

“Hiya, bonnie.”

“Hey there, Johnny.”

The bindings had come undone. The tight grip of Soap released. He laid before you open and exposed, a vulnerability you had earned and would never take for granted.

“Close your eyes, Johnny. Just relax for me.”

As much as you hated to part with his baby blues, you knew he had to close off certain senses to remain open to you. Touch was paramount to Johnny; as important as it was for him to his partner, it was just as influential to his own well-being.

At the closing of his eyes he shifted himself further into the comfort of the couch, leveling his shoulders onto the length of your calves. Once you felt him begin to relax and deepen into your grasp your fingers gracefully began to outstretch over the circumference of his neck.

“You good, Johnny?”

“Aye.”

“Good. Now, focus on your breathing.”

You watched as his chest rose, he held the breath deep within his lungs before slowly expelling it through his slightly parted lips. It was a cleansing breath, you could feel it within the tips of your fingers as his skin loosened and muscles began to unwind beneath the veil of his flesh. Focusing on where you had left off, you applied light pressure to the back of his skull and in a languid motion moved up and down the curvature of his neck.

Each pass up mirrored his inhalation. As he held the air within his chest you pressed firmly into his skin, gradually making slow concentric circular movements that melted away the tension beneath your fingertips. At the first sign of his exhalation you released the pressure and gracefully flowed down and followed your previous upward path.

Like the constant rhythmic motion of the tide you worked out the vice-like grip of his muscles along his upper spine. Each steady pass removing layers upon layers of war-torn cemented sediment, and as the tenseness within him eroded your grip along his skin slowly began to relax.

“That’s it, Johnny. Loosen up for me.” You whispered, the quiet approval eliciting a soft moan from within his chest.

Johnny’s neck was always the most difficult portion for you to work out. It was the reinforced base to the levee of his psyche. Yet within your skilled workings once there was even the slightest crack within it, he would begin to crumble within the palms of your hands. And just as expected as you chiseled your way through to his inner turbulent sea, the waves of regret and remorse seeped through before ultimately breaking into a deluge of comforting relief.

You read the waves of his release like braille underneath the pads of your fingertips, following within its wake as it traversed down into the curve of his neck before bellowing over the flesh of his broad shoulders. A cascade of goosebumps erupted over his bare skin, the change in tactile texture sending a satisfying surge of triumph coursing through your veins.

“C’mon, Johnny. Come back to me.” You tried to quell the quiet desperation in your voice as you beckoned him, but it was of no use.

It was nearly impossible not to react to Johnny’s progressive mitigation. The energy of the room began to shift, the very air itself lifted like a welcoming breeze following a summer rainstorm.

Fresh. Clean. Rejuvenated.

Yet still held the sparks of electrical charge within its flowing currents of air.

You understood the transition, comprehended its meaning through years of study with him. This was his breakthrough. Figuratively and literally you forced your way into him, bending over as you delved your hands beneath the weight of his shoulders towards the muscular curve of his mid spine. Clenching your fingers your knuckles pressed into his flesh and with measured tenderness followed its path back up towards his shoulders.

“Fuuckin hell, bonnie” He hissed through clenched teeth, turning his head towards you. His forehead becoming flush with the flesh of your right cheek, the tips of his mohawk caressing the soft skin of the back of your neck.

You remained in your crouched position, cradling his head within the nook of your shoulder. Words were meaningless to you now. You spoke to him through the intimate connection of your combined skins. Coaxing. Pleading. Liberating.

As the tight coil within him began to unwind, your fists slowly relaxed. Opening and spreading over the curves of his supple flesh. The heat within them radiating, melting, smoothing out the muscular rigidity that densely wrapped around him. You studied him, watched for those tell tale signs to Soap’s restful disintegration.

Your eyes paid close attention to the movements of his chest. The soft tremble within its descent, the silent quiver wrapped around his audible exhale. And as your focus shifted upward, you recognized the softening lines beginning to flow across his face. Clenched eyelids relaxing, jaw loosening from its tightly hinged junction, and a soft red hue forming within the apple of his cheeks.

This was your cue. The last hurdle towards Johnny’s final threshold.

“Come on, Johnny. Up ya get.”

You moved quickly to resting on your knees as he reared himself into a sitting position. An audible moan of relief rumbled within him, followed by disdain at the loss of your delicate touch. Moving forward you cradled his shoulders within the realm of your chest, letting his head once more softly connect with yours as your hands traced down his spine to rest within the small of his back.

As your fingers lightly caressed at the sensitive flesh, he turned his head and began to nudge his forehead into the flat of your temple. His soft lips grazed over the curve of your cheek, warm air quivering down your neck as he gently coaxed you to face him.

He was searching. Desperately. He craved that final connection; to willingly fall apart within your arms and come undone to the soothing consolation of your welcoming lips.

“Bonnie.”

“I got ya, Johnny. Come back to me.” The tremor in his voice made your heart ache, and you reciprocated it with a loving verbal embrace.

While his neck and shoulders were his levees that you so exquisitely chiseled away at, your nimble fingers on his lower back were the swinging wrecking ball that would ultimately set him free. And as they worked their final magic within the depths of his flesh, your lips at last touched his for the first time in months.

“Open your eyes, Johnny.”

Solace. Deliverance within the blaze of a cerulean flame.

Your hands immediately flew to cup the curves of his jaw, supporting him as his arms wrapped tightly around your midsection. The connection of your lips was nothing short of explosive. A supernova of passionate energy flowed between you as your bodies molded together.

You broke the kiss only to scrutinize his face, validating that your subsequent labor had been accomplished.

The exultant smile that danced across your face was thankfully returned within the brightness of his eyes. Their color unmatched and without explanation in a world of need and understanding.

“Hiya, Johnny.”

He didn’t answer immediately, choosing to take in the details of your face as though he hadn’t seen it within a milenia.

“How ya do it, bonnie? How ya get me outta my own head like that?” The tremble in his voice had all but disappeared. He was calm. Confident. Steadfast.

“You were lost, Johnny. Sometimes you gotta be lost if you wanna be found.” Your quiet response brought a tranquil smile to his face, his eyes continuing to soften as they gazed upon you.

“Aye. And tha’ Midas touch a yers. Donnae think I’ll ever get tired a that.”

You couldn’t restrain the chuckle that left your chest. Never had anyone ever referred to your touch in such a manner.

“Midas touch, eh? How long til I turn you to gold, huh?” You were confident enough in him to begin your usual banter. Soap had all but disappeared into the nether regions of his mind, and your Johnny had returned with full force.

“Bonnie, in yer hands I’ll turn hard as a diamond.” His playful quip went straight to the core of your lower belly. You knew he needed time, he could be playful in mind but his body required more to regain its usual strength.

“We’ll test that out later, Johnny. C’mere.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him down as you laid back into your cushioned palace. He buried his face into the valley of your chest, and never one to miss an impromptu moment he had to give his approval to the comfort they always granted.

“Steamin Jesus, bonnie. Even th’finest Glasgowian pillows can’t compare ta this”

“Shut up, Johnny.”

His arms wrapped around you once more, his body relaxing against the radiating heat of your own. Your hands moved to the crested hawk atop his scalp and gracefully began to comb through its thickened mane. A quiet rumble of relaxation bellowed within his chest, signaling the last remnant being expelled from your freeing conquest.

Effortlessly he closed his eyes and you slowly began to focus on the dull sounds that echoed around you; the rhythmic ticking of the clock, the quiet song of the birds outside, even the soft hum of the television was a welcoming reprieve. They all began to move into the background as your mind tried to recall the book you held in your hands earlier. But you were distracted once more by him. Johnny. Your Johnny. More specifically it was his breathing. Soft. Measured. Peaceful. You decided the book could stay lost for now, you had found your new twisted romance. And it was unlike anything you could find at any bookstore. It was your own.

@deadbranch

@sofasoap

@punishmepunisher

@d3athtr4psworld

#the midas touch #super soap sunday #soap squad #soap squad 🧼#john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john mactavish #cod mwii #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #cod mwii fanfic #soft soap

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accordingtolauren · 5 months ago

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Is there beauty in the pain, or pain in the beauty?

It frightens me to think of how all of the pain I feel is my own

Isolated and harbored by a body at war with my conscience

Obsessed for control with a bloodthirsty grip

A Roman legacy on the brink of its collapse

Unaware of how its fear of otherworldly matters, shadowed and godly, has turned its Midas touch into a clouded curse emitted from marble fingertips

I desire to be at home within my own beauty

I plead to not stray from this womanhood, this malediction of fractured femininity that I was forced to swear an oath to upon bruised knees

Involuntarily, and with sobs scratching at my throat, unable to escape from my sewn lips

Oh, to find solace in the skin I have worn since leaving my deliverer bloodied and torn

We as children have caused such pain from before our first breath, an incomprehensible agony possessed only by our mothers

Especially for a daughter's mirrored image that brought forth suffering to their creator, worsening the hell induced from swollen hips

As if to damn their maker for their future, a future of drowning within a belligerent girlhood for eternity

Is this why my own mother shared such unkind words, such envy for my youth?

Given I stole hers and morphed it into my own, a borrowed charm?

I am a constant stain upon her timeline, a ceaseless reminder of that horrific beauty only innocence can offer

I desire the wrinkles that kiss the corner's of her eyes and the death of my blooming

As maturity washes away the great expectations of reddened cheeks, that adolescent glow

I wish for that simplicity depicted in pastel oil paintings:

Of curved nymphs, frolicking lonesome through greenery, rid of materialistic belongings and unashamed by their own enchantment, their own allure

Did they too have this collective affliction, so similar yet remaining unspoken?

A roaring conflict shared between a mother and daughter, the figures of a fleeting past and the damning future?

I am ashamed of my longing for pain only nursed by beauty, to be an object of lust, of an aching hunger

And yet to also be seen, truly actualized as more than a body; a tool for mankind and their preconceived notions of rough, tortuous love

If I am doomed to bring another daughter into this life

I pray that through the pain she brings she also bestows a certain peace within my own being

A piece of solace, for that with her arrival, my own salvation shall be born

A freedom from that vicious cycle: loathing your own womanly framework and appreciating the wonder and existence it can prosper

A new life devoid of presumptions, of needless worries for what other's may think

An actual life: A devotion to breathing in spring's fresh evening air, to a guiltless independence fostered from confident hands, to being more than someone's wife, mother, daughter

To being just another person sitting upon a front porch and watching that little girl frolic through the grass, the greenery

Flowers in her hair and mud upon her knees

Carefree and hungry for learning more than what may be expected, what has been etched in the margins of an outdated manuscript

We will happily share that stolen beauty, and I will wear my gracing age as an honor

For I shall revere her for carrying on the parts of me that are far more important than illustrious ornaments

As she may break that curse, those afflictions, and see that there might be a blessing in the pain

For it has brought forth a life of endless possibilities

-lauren a.p

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pain-is-too-tired · 4 months ago

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One thing I don't think is talked enough about when it comes to a lot of the antagonist in the series, it's how a lot of them tend to dehumanize/see the demigods as much lesser than.

Not to say the gods don't, but not in the same way the antagonist do I feel like.

Khione(and her brothers) I think is one the most obvious examples to this, freezing and keeping the demigods as living statues is literally discussed hdgdg

Even with Midas, he literally keeps living golden statutes including his own daughter.

At least one of the Giants brings up keeping one of the demigods after they win iirc.

Being seen more like a possession or piece on a board is very common throughout the series. It's definitely obvious with Jason, who's seen as Juno's and Rome's. In a way both Jason and Leo are treated like attack dogs to both Hera and Gaea, it's just Jason's the one Hera could get to heel.

Yet Hera still let's them make connections and walk freely. And she cares enough to grieve when Jason dies. I mean the bar is in Tarturus at this point but hsgdg

Idk. Something is just a lot more unsettling with how the antagonist(like the giants and Khione) talk about the demigods. I think it because they pretty much are claiming demigods like war prises. Which goes back around to something I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before, but the comparison between old versus new. Because, yeah, the gods still stuck in many places, but there's certain aspects most of them had changed in.

For all the demigods that exist, most of them came from genuine connection between the god and mortal parent. There's multiple examples of gods even returning to have another kid with said mortal parent. Many gods seem to think fondly of the mortals they've been with(Aphrodite is outright concerned for Piper's father mental health if he found out about her. )

Not to say that didn't happen in the classics, but there seems to be more of that. Though could be because Rick didn't want to have anything too close to the other subjects in the books. But then he also has antagonist talk about keeping demigods in collections and literally human trafficking so gdgdg

But yeah, there seems to be less kids sired from less then healthy situations. And that also could be because Rick just didn't want to make modern versions of stuff like Achilles' orgins where Zeus had a guy wrestle Thetis down and marry her so her son wouldn't be too powerful. Or any of Zeus' children's origins really.

But the gods tend to have closer connections to mortals and demigods, both hades and Poseidon offer solace in their home to mortal lovers, and don't force it when they decline. Their interactions with mortals/ demigods are down to earth, they only appear to them in full form on Olympus with the other gods or in their realms.

The exception is probably Zeus, who hardly ever comes down from Olympus to talk to anyone.

But he's Zeus, so.

The antagonist however very much address the demigods in a way less down to earth. Making it much more known how powerful they are. Anytime they meet Khione outside her father's place? She's showing off her powers.

The Titans are always large, towering over the demigods. Kronos cares so little about demigods he doesn't even bat an eye when he knocks over his own off the bridge in tlo.

And as I mentioned, many times is idea of keeping demigods as war prises brought up. And that's not new in relation to Greek classics.

The Trojan War was a whole mess of taking women as war prises. Not just Helen being kidnapped but Chryseis,Briseis,Andromache-(honestly, any woman Agamemnon interacted with oh my gods-)

Even men were taken as slaves. It was a normality in war(at least Trojan War wise). If you weren't killed you were taken. Change is important point in each book, how much modern times views being a hero and finding yourself differ from before. How they can mend broken ties and be better then those before them. How they fight for others rather then themselves and pride.

Why the worst antagonist often fight for power, they manipulate and take. They want to be at the top of the world, to be noticed/worshipped. And they do anything to get there.

They see the war as gloryful and a way to reach the top. The demigods see it as trying to live another day. To protect those around them, even desperately trying to save others on the other side.

Idk why, just the whole thing interest me. I think it's also fun idea to explore in a sense.i mean I'm sure there's plenty of Kronos/Giants wins aus, but something about delving into the way that'll effect the survivors intriguing to me.

I think it kinda can be used as a metaphor? At least being looked down on. Feeling like you're being told to dance and entertain sometimes comes with being Neurodivergent. I mean heck, Jason is a walking example of learning to mask so hard you forget who you were underneath. Being dehumanized by those around you.

So something about the heroes fighting help others belong why the villains fight to possess and control everything to their liking feels about right for a series focused on those with disabilities

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