#mitski inspired

[summerwasjuly]

WONT YOU LET ME TEACH YOU HOW TO LOVE?

Telemachus had never learned how to stop loving gently.

It was in his nature — not a choice, not something he could switch off like a flame. His heart had always been wide, a soft and open landscape, and perhaps that was his curse: that he felt too much and said too little. That he carried tenderness like a wound he never tried to stitch up. He loved like the sea loved the shore — persistent, forgiving, never asking to be held in return.

And when he met Neoptolemus, he didn’t expect to love him.

No — he expected to endure him. To study him from a distance like a strange, wounded animal with teeth too sharp for its own good. Neoptolemus had always looked like someone who had been shattered young and learned to walk around with the shards still sticking out of him. The kind of man who’d rather bleed out than ask for help pulling them free.

At first, there was only intrigue — the kind born not from attraction, but from quiet sorrow. Neoptolemus looked like someone carved from ice and leftover war, a walking scar dressed in quiet defiance. His silences were louder than most men’s words. He moved like a soldier who had forgotten how to rest, who only knew how to brace for the next wound. Telemachus had seen people like him before — brittle in the bones, all sharp corners and haunted glances. But there was something else in Neoptolemus. Not weakness. Not softness. Something buried. Like a single ember flickering inside a dying hearth. Something that said: I was not always like this.

But there had been something about him — something buried beneath all that cold steel and storm — that pulled at Telemachus. A flicker, a tremor. Like hearing music behind a closed door. And Telemachus had always been the kind of person who tried to listen. Who lingered. Who waited.

He wasn’t sure when he fell in love.

It wasn’t sudden — more like dusk folding over a sunlit sky, quiet and slow, until he could no longer tell where the light ended and the dark began. It happened in moments. The way Neoptolemus’ voice would soften unintentionally when he spoke of his mother. The way his brows furrowed when he was confused, the way he never asked for help but always remembered when Telemachus gave it. The rare, almost imperceptible times he allowed himself to laugh — a sound so raw and unexpected it made Telemachus’ chest ache, like he was hearing a ghost sing.

But most of all, it was the silence between them — the kind that felt less like absence and more like understanding. Like maybe, just maybe, Neoptolemus saw him, too.

Telemachus thought… he hoped… that love would be enough.

That if he stayed steady, if he kept offering warmth without demand, then Neoptolemus would eventually realize that he didn’t need to be afraid anymore. That not everyone who reached out was going to hurt him. That not every open hand was a weapon.

But slowly, something changed.

It was subtle at first — a colder tone here, a glance that didn’t linger. Neoptolemus began withdrawing into himself like a wounded animal retreating into a cave. And Telemachus, gods, he tried not to panic. He told himself it was a phase. That maybe Neoptolemus just needed space. But the more space he gave, the more distance grew between them — until it felt like he was yelling across an ocean and getting only silence in return.

Then came the day Neoptolemus showed up — eyes dull with something unreadable, jaw tight like he was trying to choke back the world.

And Telemachus knew. The way you know a storm’s about to break. The way you feel it in your bones before the lightning ever splits the sky.

Still, he tried. He always tried.

“I—I know that you are…” he said, and hated the way his voice shook, how it felt like he was unraveling in front of him. “Listen, Neo — come on, you can’t just show up and tell me I can’t talk to you anymore.”

He wanted to reach for him. Wanted to understand. Wanted something — anything — to explain the sudden coldness.

But Neoptolemus' eyes didn’t soften. Neoptolemus looked at him like a man about to start a fire.

“We’re not even friends,” he said, and Telemachus felt the world tilt slightly. “Telemachus, I hope you know that I hated you from the very first.”

The sentence was a blade, and it sliced through something sacred. Telemachus stood there, the breath knocked from his lungs, as if someone had reached inside him and torn out the part of him that hoped. And still… he didn’t believe it.

“You’re lying,” he said, not as a challenge, but as a prayer. “I know you are.”

Because love had a way of knowing the truth, even when the truth was hidden under a thousand layers of pain. Because Telemachus had seen him. The real him. Not just the bitterness, not just the hatred. He’d seen the flickers of light — the tenderness Neoptolemus tried so hard to kill. He’d watched him tremble under kindness and pretend it didn’t matter. But it had. It had.

Neoptolemus looked at him then — really looked at him — and his eyes were wild with something almost like panic. That look… gods, that look hurt more than any blow ever could. It was the expression of someone who had convinced himself he didn’t deserve love and was now trying to destroy it before it could destroy him.

“Stop acting like you know me, because you don’t!” he shouted, and Telemachus flinched — not from fear, but from heartbreak. “You are— you are so annoying, you know that? I wished I never met you. Gods, I fucking hate you so much.”

And just like that, something inside him cracked.

Telemachus didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just stood there, his vision starting to blur at the edges, like the world had become too bright, too loud. He felt like he was standing on a cliff with the wind screaming around him, and all he could do was not fall.

But he couldn’t look away.

Because beneath all that fury, all that spitting hatred, Telemachus saw it. The truth. Neoptolemus’ pain was palpable, clinging to his skin like sweat. And he realized — with a kind of hollow sadness — that Neoptolemus didn’t hate him.

It wasn’t the words that hurt most. It was the fear behind them. The desperation in his voice. The way Neoptolemus’ hands were clenched like he was trying to hold himself together. And Telemachus saw it — all of it — and still, all he could feel was sorrow.

Because Neoptolemus didn’t hate him.

He hated being seen by him.

He hated the way Telemachus made him feel — like he was real. Like he was worth something. Like he didn’t have to stay broken forever. And that was terrifying. To someone who had only ever known love as loss, as pain, as manipulation — real love was unbearable.

And gods, Telemachus understood. But it didn’t make it hurt less.

He didn’t cry. Not right away. He just stood there, his hands at his sides, his throat burning with unsaid things. Because what could he even say to that? What was the point of trying to reason with someone determined to self-destruct?

But part of him still wanted to scream: I would’ve walked through fire for you. I would’ve stayed. Even when you pushed me away. I would’ve carried your pain in my own two hands if you’d let me.

Instead, he said nothing.

Because love — real love — sometimes means walking away.

And gods, how that burned. Even after all that… Telemachus didn’t hate him. Not even close.

Because love, when it’s real, doesn’t vanish under the weight of rejection. It bends. It bruises. But it lingers, even when unwelcome. Even when it hurts.

He stood there in silence, hands clenched, heart splintered, and wondered if this was what love really was — not warmth, not safety, but choosing someone even when they tried to destroy you with their own self-loathing.

In that moment, Telemachus realized something painful: He could not save Neoptolemus. He could only love him.

And maybe that was the most devastating thing of all.

— tele's pov :333 i have not been posting a while, also the neomachus fic i planned, i made it into a oneshot bc i cannot write a fanfic for shi..

— hehe enjpy! and please dont plagiarize..

[http-paprika]

Together, Inhospitable | Simon Riley 1 Bug Like an Angel

masterlist / next

summery the rest of the 141 had gone out to celebrate, except for simon who shed his mask for the night. unbeknownst to him, christina was still there.

pairing simon “ghost” riley x christina "red" perez / wc 1087 / warnings mentions of death, alcoholism, and swearing

note today is my actual birthday, and nothing is more of a gift than sad, mitski induced angst. enjoy.

"amateur mistake, you can take it from me" mitski

The sun had dipped below the horizon and daggered mountains, leaving the sky navy with too much light for the stars to shine, but too dark to be daytime. Simon sat back in his plastic chair, a single brown glass bottle of beer looking back at him from the outdoor table, he watched a bug fly around the rim, catching flight before he could move and catch it in his calloused hands. His gaze rose with the bug, following it to the outdoor light where the small insect rested with other winged bugs. Still watching, he grasped the bottle and raised it to his mouth, resting on sun-dried lips and allowing the sour liquid to scorch his throat as Simon swallowed.

He was alone tonight, the rest of his team had gone out drinking and celebrating but with a migraine and bitter mood, Simon chose to stay back. Allowing himself a drink and shedding the mask, for the few hours he had to himself, he let the warm summer air touch his skin. A sudden gust of wind sliced through the porch, causing the blond hair to stand on his neck. Simon rested a hand on his chin, feeling the growing stubble of facial hair that he’d have to shave soon, he hated the way it made him look, cursing as it reminded him of his father.

Suddenly the glass bottle in his hand stung, like a phantom cut against his rough palms. It dropped out of his grasp, shattering on the tiled floor as the door behind him clicked open. Out of instinct, he snatched the neck of the broken bottle as he turned to the sudden intruder, Simon’s shoulders falling when he realized it was his teammate.

“Jesus, Red. I thought you left with the others to go celebrate.” He gruffly says, bending down to try and clean up the dark glass, the remaining liquid seeping into his shoe.

“I don’t drink.” She was surprised to see him on the porch, thinking she’d been alone in the house. Christina was also surprised to see him without his skull mask, only having seen him without it once after she accidentally entered his office uninvited. “I’ll grab a bag and towel.”

Simon wanted to disappear, he didn’t like the way Christina looked at him before she stepped back inside to grab supplies to clean the mess he’d made. He wasn’t as comfortable as Simon around his team, safety was in the caricature that was Ghost. Where he was just a man behind a mask.

“Here.” She hands him an old dishcloth and begins to carefully pick up the glass shards, not questioning the mess at all. It was his luck that Red had been the one to stay at the base as opposed to Soap or any of the others, she was quiet and didn’t question why Simon hadn’t joined the team. Only speaking when she saw a good reason too.

“Thanks, Red.” They quickly clean up the mess, before Simon returns to his chair and she stays standing, picking at her lips.

“Do you want me to leave?” Christina finally asks, breaking their silence.

“No, you can stay.” She takes the seat across from him, pulling her knees to her chest. Simon studied her, remembering that she was a decade younger than him. Yet they’d always had some unspoken understanding, a knowing look behind their eyes. Some part of their hidden pasts that tethered them together. “I thought you used to drink.”

“No, I’ve been sober since basic training.” She tells him, allowing him to briefly pick at her brain. In return, she asks why he stayed home from the celebration their teammates were participating in. “You’ve never stayed back before.”

“Massive fuckin’ headache.” Simon grumbles, had she always looked so tired? Were her shoulders always so bony under her shirt? On the field, she’d always been intimidating enough, coming across as a good soldier who never seemed to be afraid. But here, she seemed so timid and faltering under Simon’s gaze. “Can I ask why you don’t drink?”

“You can ask, I might not answer,” Christina responds, looking up at the light as if she were one of the insects searching for the sun. Aching to fly away, fly into the bright sun, and disappear in its warmth.

“So why don’t you?” He asks, unsure if Simon actually wanted to know the truth. If finding the reason behind the haunting look in her eyes was worth it, but he couldn’t imagine it was any worse than anything else he’d experienced. But Simon knew it could still come as a shock, whatever the reason.

“My father drank himself to death. His liver gave out, he died at his favorite bar.” She closed her eyes, the lids stained a purple color begging for rest she’ll never receive. Heavy bags underneath resulting from a line of work a woman like her shouldn’t have been in, Simon decided. “And I wouldn’t be like him.”

“Ah.” Simon thought of his own father, who as a child he wished would drink himself away. Now, he tried not to even think of the man, trying to ignore his father was like trying to ignore a sore in Simon’s mouth. It always came back and ruined his mind and mood. “Well, I’m not sure how much it’s worth. But from what I’ve seen, you’re a better woman than most people I’ve known.”

Her eyes roll open, looking at him with an almost distant crystalized gaze. Where their eyes met, that invisible string was tugged, pulling at Simon’s throat as he stared at Christina, almost longingly, wanting to say her name. Simon’s hands almost ached to reach out and hold hers. To speak and comfort her as Red’s eyes grew watery. But he withheld the urge and thankfully so as they could hear the rest of their team returning, with Soap drunkenly singing some song he’d heard at the bar. The moment died as Simon pulled his balaclava back on, falling back into the comfort of being Ghost. Christina uncurled herself, stretching out her shoulders and back to give her added height and hardening her face.

There was a cold distance set up between them as drunken Soap stumbled into the light propped up by Gaz and Price who were evidently tipsy as they loudly exchanged greetings with their two sober teammates. Soap in particular was loud, looking between Res and Ghost before announcing his opinion. “Oh, so that’s why you stayed home, Ghost. Had a fucking date planned.”

ending note this has been edited from the original to fit the Together, Inhospitable series. only minor changes though, nothing major.

[apleiphone2]

the song i want you by mitski feels like the end of everything, slowly approaching your lover with a knife in hand in your state of quiet insanity, after everything is over, in a house of ruin where no one else stirs. where it is silent, except for the sound of your slow steps and the useless staggering of the person in front of you -- who you love so dearly, want so badly -- too badly. you realised not long ago, after you ruined this house you once called home, after you discarded of everyone else, after you got rid of everything - except for them, anything but them. you realised after the fire started to quiet, and your wounds were given a moment to bleed. you realised that you didnt want this, anything -- you just wanted them -- and you were going to want eachother. forever. until the end of time. in the quietness, in the still, it would be you two amongst the rubble of world.

and so, you stumbled across to their house, through the broken door, past the shattered glass, amongst the sounds of ruin, tiptoeing around the various strewn objects you had thrown there in your rage. to start over, leave this mess behind and start over with the person who you know loves you so. still, you loosely held that bloody blade in your hand threatening to fall out with each sway of your arm. but, it stay attached in your grasp -- maybe it got used to staying there, used to its breaking point. it brushes occasionally against the pale nightgown you adorn, now torn and tattered from the night in partner with your unkempt hair that fell across your face in an untidy mess, sticking to the corners of your mouth and the lasting sweat remaining on your, once, pretty, almost calm-looking complexion. but it didn't matter. nothing did. what did matter was slowly stumbling up the stained carpet steps towards the sounds of your lover. you'd left them there, in fact they were the reason for all of this. still, you continued, almost crawling in desperation with eyes wide and sleep deprived, across the doors you had slammed, across the paintings you had slashed, across the carpets you screamed upon. it was all over now. it was just you and them. just you and them. just you and them. just you and them.

your fingernails dug into the torn wallpaper, turning your head towards stifled sounds of shuffling. the old wooden appearance of the door dragged you in, the scuffs and scratches on its oak becoming more clear with each staggered step towards it.

slow, was the journey towards it. the distance seemed to drain you of your last drop of energy, though, you kept moving until your calloused hands fell upon the door with a loud thump. and as it did, the high pitched sound of a whimper emerged from the other side. your head snapped up, as your face almost automatically started contorting into that of a weak smile. watching yourself, you turned the doorknob slowly, letting the door turn open on its own with a slight kick of your foot.

and there, as the wood moved from your view was them -- sitting amongst the mess of the room on the floor, eyes wide open in terror, and hands gripping the soft carpet, as if begging it for help. after staying frozen for a moment, they began to stumble. backwards, towards the wall desperately pushing themselves with any limbs that could, away from you. their soft hair, too, strewn across their complexion, their pretty lips slightly parted, gasping for air as their chest heaved up and down and never seemed to stop.

and you remembered, how beautiful they really were. how lucky you are to have them. all yours. forever. and ever. living in love, forever, and ever.

falling from your lips, as your eyes softened, you muttered in a shrill voice, unstable and cracking, 'i found you'.

and slowly, you began to step. and step. and another, towards them.

and with each one, they struggled more, their legs trying to push themselves backwards in attempt to go through the wall, anything to get away. their head spun to either side, searching for anyone, anything to help -- but they found nothing. each of your approaching steps were pounding sound in their bones, crawling in their skin, and thumping in their chest, around their ears, accompassing their whole being. it was all they could feel through the ground -- the imminent, and swiftly approaching possibility of death, no, maybe worse than that. petrified, in fear of what you would do to them, grasping for anything as their eyes darted from the bloody knife in your hand, to your face that approached closer and closer by the second -- to the knife, to your face, to the knife, to your face, to the knife, to your fucking face -- jesus christ, why do you look so calm? they just stared. into your eyes. into you, you who they no longer recognised.

you slowly glided to meet them, quietly whispering 'i love you, darling', the affectionate name stinging against their ears. sound started to leave you, and your surroundings faded out of view. all you could feel now was the heavy thump of each step you took and the quiet mantra of words leaving your mouth. you weren't focused on anything, all that was in your eyes was them. just them. only them.

and with each nearing step, you continued to repeat, 'i want you.'

[valevntine]

i'm sorry i'm the one you love,

no one will ever love me like you again.

[vampireofsorrow]

old hellos and new goodbyes

[mxdzin]

are you?

[tramweye]

"I try to remember the wrath of the devil // Was also given him by God"

[sonderingdreams]

Tsukishima Kei is quiet.

He always has been and always will be. It’s the way he walks down the street late at night, Sony headphones always on and tuning something out. It’s the way he hums and listens to the talks of his teammates, an occasional snicker here or a roll of his eyes there. Sure, his tongue is always filled and never fails to be stuffed to the brim with remarks and insults, but maybe—sometimes the idiocy around drains him.

He’s utterly repulsed. Sick to his stomach in every way. Every twist, every knot, every sunken pull, and especially every flutter. It’s you. He scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he can’t lie��he really doesn’t mean it. Not with you. You’re loud, weird, obnoxious, and everything that should mark the list for shooing you out of his private and most importantly, quiet life.

Everything about you is loud. The way you gaze up at him, through dark lashes and pretty smiles. It’s the way your pearly whites gleam and glow in the light. It’s the way your body moves and twitches with every breath you take. It’s the melody of your voice and all the stupidity that comes out of it with no ounce of shame.

But Kei learns that maybe through you the noise isn’t too bad. As long as it’s you, and you only. You don’t have to utter a word—or do. But as long as you're around, Kei doesn’t mind. The world can keep spinning, but the one thing he’ll always find home to is the noise that swindles all around you.

So please, be loud. 

[muchlovefleursblog]

[http-paprika]

The Land is Inhospitable and So Are We Songs as the 141 team (+ Los Vaqueros and Graves)

Ghost — obviously he’s Bug Like an Angel but not just because of the fanfic. The song comes from this place of experience, of sadly gained knowledge that Ghost has. He knows all about broken promises, the bottom of the bottle, and wrath. We see him telling and encouraging Soap to be a better man and different. Ghost has seen the world and wants to give his knowledge to prevent others from knowing it like he does. (Ghost is also I Don’t Like My Mind, but I’d cry writing that.)

Soap — is Heaven, especially the line ‘the coffee you left, a kiss left of you’ stating the obvious, in the alone mission he talks to Ghost about getting coffee in the cafe. But this song just feels like Soap and the fully endearing love he’d had for his partner. Finding heaven, safety from the war in the arms of his partner.

Price — being a leader in the military, Price leaves all about the gambling and deals he has to make. The Deal sings about the guilty that comes after one, and Price probably holds guilt about the lives of soldiers who’ve died under his command. Wishing he could go into the night and not have the responsibly of anyone but his own’s life.

Gaz — this one was harder for me to figure out, but like to think that Star is Gaz. When’s he’s gone away on missions, away from home and those he loves, he likes to look up to the sky (if they’re in the same hemisphere) and remember he’s under the same stars as the people he loves. He takes moments in the dark to look at the heavenly lights and remember who he is outside of the military, and who he’s coming home too.

Alejandro — When I think of The Frost, I think of Alejandro and his relationship with Valeria. There was something between them, whether romantic or platonic; they’d been close and now he’s lost this person he used to trust and care for. The memories of the time they’d spent is frozen in his mind. (And I know Rudy is his best friend but this fits Alejandro too well)

Rudy — I don’t know as much about Rudy, there’s not too much given about him. But I thought My Love Mine All Mine felt like it fit Rudy. I get the feeling that he’s content with a simple life, doesn’t mind having much because he’s got this love that’s his, belongs to him and him alone. The song eludes to loyalty, and Rudy is shown to be loyal to what he cares about.

Graves — The moment I heard I’m Your Man, I thought of Graves. The song speaks of betrayal and power dynamics, and Shepherd refers to Graves as a dog with a bone. Graves has a mission in mind, a place for himself at the winners table, and he doesn’t care what bridges he burns, what backs he stabs to get what he wants. Including those he loves.

Thank you for listening to my dissertation. If you haven’t listen to the album, please do, Mitski is amazing and serves as inspiration for lots of my fanfics. As always, I’d love feedback and want to know what you think!

[gnawingonleonsbicep]

Do you think Leon ever sees a figure in a crowd that looks just a little too familiar? A tall frame, a head of dark, wavy hair..

And he just feels this tinge of hope. The smallest sense of excitement growing in his chest. Brief ‘what if?’s racing through his thoughts, a heavy ache growing in his heart. Not cause he felt any sorrow, no. That wasn’t it. Not yet, at least.

His heart ached with the denial-laced optimism that ran through him. An uncharacteristic feeling for the agent; he’d been dragged through hell and back, seen things the average civilian could only imagine. Whatever optimistic outlook he had on life was buried in Raccoon City, alongside himself.

Though that optimism only lasted for a fleeting moment, swept away in the afternoon breeze. Because he knew what happened back in Spain, he saw what happened — saw him take his last breath.

It couldn’t be him. After all, the dead don’t typically walk so casually amongst the living.

Do you think Leon ever spends the following evening ruminating? Do you think he thinks about those ‘what if’s? Do you think he regrets not saying his final words to Luis sooner? That he was already gone by the time he did?

Do you think he had to take a moment during his debriefing? That his eyes stung and his throat starting closing up as he spoke? A dull pang growing behind his eyes?

Do you think he spent the free time he had after he returned from Spain to process everything? That he could finally experience whatever grief he felt after suppressing it for the sake of the mission? Do you think he mourns what could’ve been if they had more time? How their bond and relationship could’ve grown?

Do you think he ever wishes it was him that died that day instead? That he carries some sense of guilt because he couldn’t save him? Because he couldn’t save someone again?

[cjowoart]

Something bigger than the sky ✨️

[jaytalking]

My Body’s Made of Crushed Little Stars Wishes, or something. I saw that image and started thinking idk.

[barbarianprncess]

a missing scene from the quest featuring grover parenting, percy drooling, and annabeth contemplating.

[circusofshrimps]

in my perfect world jason wears a cowboy hat in his red hood getup.

[blueish-bird]

In the narrow hours of the night I will wake to a downpour; through the window see your trashcans shining. I will swaddle myself in your warmest jacket, put on my big rain boots. I will brave this storm for you.

And when I am cold and wet and beyond porch light's reach, trashcans in tow, I will watch the world past your driveway. I will love the way dark turns form to silhouette, how the sound of my steps drown beneath the rain's big hush. I will want to leave you and your trashcans. To wander the earth as all lost things do.