birdie-in-arcadia

[birdie-in-arcadia]

i apologize to anyone i know irl who sees my posts on here, you knew what you were signing up for when you met me tho

[birdie-in-arcadia]

Hiii 🩷 just wanted to pop in and say that i miss you and your stories 🥺 hope you are doing better and will be back soon

Hello! I truly appreciate you checking in on me <3 I believe I'm finally on the mend, and I'm actively writing a request to get my mind off of being sick! That will hopefully be done before the end of the week <3<3

[birdie-in-arcadia]

I'll always reblog this. If you're struggling, there's no shame in asking anyone for help. We've all been there! Please remember that you're somebody's someone. Please don't listen to the liar in your head; you are loved, you are needed, and you belong here! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Keep the flame going for those we have lost to suicide. 

[birdie-in-arcadia]

So… you know I’ll be yours…

How in the hell did you make me near cry then burst out laughing 5 seconds later with iiis shenanigans 😂

Love your writing 💕💕💕

Hehe that was the goal! Who doesn't love a little emotional whiplash now and then, especially when it involves our favorite chaos ballerina? I'm so glad you enjoyed, anon! And to others who have written me or who are patiently waiting for more fics and updates, I'm currently very sick, but I got meds today, so hopefully I'll be back to providing for you in the next few days, my beautiful audience. Much love to you all <3<3

[birdie-in-arcadia]

My brain cannot comprehend that these aren't actual photographs. Absolutely marvelous work!! 🫶🏼

(っ◔◡◔)っ mothmen

[birdie-in-arcadia]

You Know I'll Be Yours

This was an anon request, and it made my heart so happy to write. I hope you enjoy anon, and all my II girlies ;) This is similar to my past fic titled The Love You Want, featuring II instead of Vessel. Enjoy lovelies! <3

CW: 18+, all fluff and cutesy stuff, suggestive content near the end

Word Count: ~5.3k

The morning light filters through linen curtains, pale gold and feather-soft as it spills across the bed. It lands first on your shoulder, warming the skin there, then slowly drifts over the curves of your face where you're still tucked against his chest, breathing slow and even. 

II is already awake. He’s been awake for hours. Not due to anxiety, exactly; he’s just nervous and brimming with anticipation and excitement. He’s worried that the raucous thumping of his heart will wake you. He doesn’t move, he just lays still and watches you, studying the pattern of your lashes where they kiss your cheeks, the beauty marks dotted over your peaceful, angelic face, the way your fingers curl slightly in your sleep, still hooked around the hem of his shirt like a tether. 

His thumb brushes softly along your arm as he takes in every detail of you. He wonders if you’ll feel it when it’s time; if you’ll sense it in the air, the quiet charge of something about to change. He’s not good at surprises, not the grand kind anyway, and he’s even worse at keeping secrets, especially form you. But this day? This is yours, the whole day, all for you. And he’s been planning it down to the heartbeat, with the help of his closest friends III, IV, and Vessel. He smiles fondly as he looks down at you, both in knowing his plans for today, and hoping that you’ll say yes. 

When you finally stir, you do so with a sigh that’s more content than tired. You nuzzle into his chest and mumble something incoherent against his skin. “Mornin’, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with sleep. 

You hum in response, dragging your hand up his chest until your palm finds the space above his heart. “Your heart is beating fast,” you whisper, eyes still closed. He smiles, thinking of an excuse quickly. “S’cause you’re touching me, darlin’.” You open one eye and smirk up at him. “Smooth.” He breathes a soft sigh of relief that you believed his half-lie. Sure, your touch does make his heart race, but that's not the only reason this morning. 

“I try,” he replies, smirking down at you. You lean up to kiss his chin, then his plush lips. “What’s on the agenda today, then? You’ve been suspiciously quiet about it for the last week at least,” you ask, and he takes control of his facial expressions so he doesn’t give anything away. He shrugs with faux nonchalance as he replies, “Just a couple things. Thought we could do a little… nostalgia tour.” 

That gets your attention. You sit up slightly, squinting at him in the bright sun beaming through the room. “Nostalgia tour?” 

He stretches beneath the duvet, stretching his muscular arms above his head, grinning. “Mhm. Thought it’d be nice to revisit the places we hit on our first date. For old time’s sake.” You blink at him for a moment, truly touched at his thoughtfulness. “Wait… you planned that for us?” 

He laughs softly, reaching up to brush your hair back from your face. “’Course I did. I like reliving the best day of my life.” Your cheeks flush, and you bury your face in his chest again to hide it. 

He kisses the top of your head. “First stop’s Waterstones. Get dressed, bookworm.” You groan as you throw your legs over the side of the bed dramatically. “Fine. But only if there’s coffee involved,” you reply, feigning a grumpy tone. “There’s always coffee involved babe,” he says, chuckling. “I’m not a monster.” You smile warmly at him as you open your side of the closet to select your outfit for the day. 

The bookstore smells like it always has; dust and parchment, ink and wood polish. Familiar in a way that settles in your bones and swirls your belly with warmth. You trail your fingers along the spines as you walk, eyes scanning titles, but your mind is elsewhere. 

He’s being so soft today. Not that he isn’t always, but… this is different, more deliberate. You’ve caught him looking at you three times already since you walked in, and each time he smiles like he did when you said ‘I love you’ for the first time. 

You’re thumbing through a battered copy of Wuthering Heights when he appears at your side, holding a small parcel wrapped neatly in brown paper and blue twine. “What’s that?” you ask, eyes twinkling with curiosity. He hands it to you gently, grinning. “Open it.” You blink at him, confused. “In the store?” you clarify, cocking an eyebrow. He simply nods in response. 

You untie the twine carefully, peel back the paper, and gasp, your eyes going wide. It’s the same first-edition paperback you’d held in your hands the first time you ever came here together nearly two years ago. The one you put back on the shelf because it was a little too pricey, even though you couldn’t stop talking about it. Little do you know, he’d bought it for you then, in secret. He’d planned on giving it to you on your birthday as a surprise, but through moving houses and so many tours causing him to pack and unpack repeatedly, he’s misplaced it. He kicked himself and searched for it for months, and he finally found it a few weeks ago. He’d already been planning this for a couple months, but when he found that book, he immediately knew what he had to do. 

Inside the front cover is a pastel pink sticky note, and written in his handwriting: 

Chapter One, again. – Me 

Your throat tightens as the memories wash over you, and your heart fills with gratitude for the man before you. You’ve never felt so seen in your life. No one has ever paid attention to every detail like he does or shown that they love you instead of just simply saying it, and it makes you fall for him more and more each passing day. “You remembered,” is all you can muster as a whisper. He shrugs, cheeks flushing pink. “’Course I did.” You throw your arms around him before you can stop yourself, the book pressed between your chests. 

He wraps you up tightly, swaying a little where you stand. “There’s more,” he says against your hair. “Whole day’s full of it.” You pull back, teary-eyed and smiling. “You’re ridiculous.” He grins. “Only for you, babe.” You roll your eyes playfully as your gaze finds the book in your hands. “How did you even find this again?” you ask, genuinely curious as to where he could’ve acquired the same book you’d had your eyes on so many months ago. He reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear as he replies, “I’ve got my ways, darling.” You smile up at him, entertained by his crypticity as your eyes meet his aquamarine gaze. You pull him in for another tight hug, and he tilts your chin up slightly, capturing your balmy lips in a sweet kiss. 

The bell above the café door jingles as you both step inside, ushered in by the warmth and the heady scent of espresso and fresh pastries. The barista glances up from the counter and offers a familiar smile; you’ve been here before, and apparently, they remember. 

II guides you to a two-person table near the window, one that looks out over the sleepy little street. The exact table you sat at the first time. The scenery makes you smile before you even realize why. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says as he pulls out your chair for you. “You sat here, facing the window, and spent fifteen minutes arguing with yourself over whether or not to order a slice of carrot cake.” You blink, grinning sheepishly. “You remember that?” 

He smirks as he sits across from you. “You were trying to be polite, but you were practically drooling. I ended up ordering it for you.” You giggle as you reminisce. “And I said-” 

“‘You’re an enabler,’” he finishes with a chuckle. “But you still ate the whole thing.” You laugh softly, shaking your head as you pull off your gloves and tuck your coat over the back of the chair. “It was a really good slice of cake, in my defense.” 

“I made sure they had it today,” he says, matter-of-fact, like it’s no big deal. But your heart swells at his attention to detail. “Of course you did,” you acknowledge with a small smile. 

He orders your drinks and the infamous carrot cake while you people-watch through the window, the barista making quick work of your orders. It’s strange, how time folds in on itself; how moments from months ago can feel like they happened yesterday, especially when you're with someone who remembers the details as well as, if not better than you do. 

He sets your cup and saucer down gently in front of you after retrieving it from the counter. You ordered a chai latte with oat milk and extra cinnamon, and he opted for a simple cafe mocha. He kisses the top of your head before he slides into his seat with a soft exhale. For a few moments, you drink in comfortable silence, savoring your drinks and sampling each other's. You watch a young couple cross the street hand-in-hand, bundled up against the wind, their laughter barely audible through the glass. 

“You nervous?” you ask suddenly, looking over your cup. He blinks, confused. “About what?” You study his face for a moment before replying, “I dunno,” you shrug. “This nostalgia tour. You’ve been a little... twitchy.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. He can feel his skin heat and he’s praying that you haven’t picked up on anything. “Twitchy?” he asks, smiling awkwardly. 

You raise a brow. “You keep fiddling with your rings.” He glances down at his hands, caught in the act. “Right. Busted.” Shit. You lean in, lowering your voice. “What’s going on in that head of yours, handsome?” He sighs, eyes softening as he looks at you, and it makes your heart stammer again, the weight of his gaze like sunlight pressed against your skin. “I was thinking about that first date,” he says slowly, attempting to cover his tracks. “And how you smiled when you saw the cake. How your shoulders relaxed when I made you laugh. You were nervous as hell that day. So was I, but... something about it just felt right. Easy.” 

You smile, remembering the exact moment he’s talking about. You were sitting right here, fiddling with your sleeve, trying to pretend you weren’t smitten from the moment he complimented your book choice in the shop a few doors down. 

He continues, his voice lower now. “And I remember thinking… if this is how it starts, I don’t ever want it to end.” He’s genuinely reminiscing now, caught up in the early memories of the both of you. 

The words knock the breath from your lungs a little. Your fingers twitch slightly around your cup, your voice caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. “Then don’t let it,” you whisper playfully. His smile is soft, laden with adoration. “Wasn’t planning on it, doll.” You have no idea.  

The cake arrives then; a neat, warm slice with cream cheese frosting, a cute carrot with a green top piped in the center. It’s somehow exactly how you remembered it. You split it down the middle, forks clinking and scraping lightly against the porcelain plate as you both dig in. It’s moist, sweet, and a little spicy, just like last time. Your eyes find the back of your skull as you savor the fresh delicacy. 

He watches you eat, eyes bright with something he isn’t saying yet. You dab at the corner of your mouth with a napkin and ask, “So what’s next on the tour?” He leans back in his chair and swirls the last of his coffee. “You remember the little bridge over the park stream?” You nod, one side of your lips curling. “Where you told me you liked my laugh.” 

“Yeah, that’s the one. That’s next.” Your smiles mirror each other’s, and he offers a cheeky wink. You blow him a kiss as you finish the last of your latte, and he pretends to catch it and plant it on his lips. 

The walk to the park is quiet, contemplative. Your fingers are wrapped snugly in his gloved hand, swinging slightly between your bodies. The sky above is its usual moody winter grey, but there’s no threat of rain thankfully, just a stillness, like the world is holding its breath. 

The bridge comes into view as you round the path; stone and iron, curved gracefully over the thin, winding stream. It’s mostly empty this time of day, just a few birds pecking at the frost-dusted grass and a jogger passing in the distance. 

When you reach the center of the bridge, he stops. “This is where I realized I loved you,” he says. You blink at him, heart skidding to a stop. “What?” you ask, a wave of shock spreading through your chest. “I didn’t say it then,” he says, eyes focused on the horizon. “It would’ve been much too early to tell you then. But I remember standing here, listening to you talk about... I don’t even remember what it was. Something random. And I just... I knew.” 

You stare at him, breath catching, eyes misting over. “That’s not fair.” He glances at you, smirking as he wraps a loving arm around you. “Why not?” 

“Because you’re making me cry on a bridge like we’re in a Nicholas Sparks novel,” you wail jokingly, wiping a stray tear as it falls from your lid. He laughs, pulling you fully into him. “It is a nice bridge.” You giggle tearfully as you bury your face into his tweed coat and sigh. “You’re gonna ruin me today, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t answer, but you feel his arms tighten around you, and something in your chest begins to flutter with the vague suspicion that this isn’t just a walk down memory lane. 

You don’t know where he’s taking you next. The park fades behind you, but your hand stays in his the entire way, his thumb brushing your knuckles like a quiet anchor. The sky above is dipping into evening now, streaks of gold melting into soft mauves, the streetlamps flickering on one by one as you walk. Everything feels still, like the whole world is standing off to the side, watching with bated breath. 

He doesn’t say much, just leads you through narrow alleys and tree-lined corners of the city that feel both familiar and impossibly cinematic in the moment. You climb a few flights of stairs before you finally realize where you are. 

The rooftop. Your rooftop. Well, technically it’s the roof above that indie bar you both wandered into on your first date, and when the place got too crowded, he’d suggested some air. You’d followed him up a side stairwell, not expecting much, and found this quiet little place above the noise. Barely more than a ledge, some fairy lights strung half-heartedly on the railing, and a busted AC unit; but it had felt like magic then, and it still does now. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you step up onto the rooftop. It’s different now, it’s been cleaned up. Those same lights are glowing above and in front of you, but there are more of them now, strung higher, and they appear to be a little brighter. A downy blanket with embroidered wildflowers is spread out, candles flickering in squat glass jars spaced carefully around like stars brought down to earth. 

You blink slowly, disoriented by the care and detail before you. You turn to him slightly, your eyes still on the scene as you gesture vaguely. “Did you...?” 

He nods once. “I’ve been up here every day this week,” he says gently, looking down into your starry eyes. “Setting it up. Making sure it looked how I remembered it. How you remembered it.” Your heart squeezes so tightly it hurts. 

He leads you toward the blanket, then stops just before it, turning to face you. His eyes are wide and glassy now, the nerves catching up to him, but he’s trying to hide them behind that lopsided little grin you love so much. You touch his chest, right over his heart, feeling how hard it’s pounding. 

“You okay?” you whisper. He swallows hard, nodding twice. “Yeah. Yeah, I just... need to get this part right.” You tilt your head, brows barely furrowing in curiosity. But then his hands find yours again, and you know something’s coming. You look up at him, a hint of concern melding with your expression of curiosity. 

He takes a slow breath. “I wasn’t sure I believed in all this, before I met you,” he begins, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Not just the romance, or love. I mean... the forever part. I think I’d convinced myself that love was a fleeting thing for me. A phase. Something that fades, something that leaves.” You feel your chest ache along with him, his pain laced into every syllable. 

“But then you came into my life, and you... you stayed. You didn’t flinch when I got quiet, or when I didn’t know how to ask for what I needed. You stayed through every late-night phone call and cancelled plan, and patch of silence. You stayed through my mess.” You feel your eyes stinging as your vision distorts slightly. His thumb brushes the back of your hand again, grounding you both. You notice his chin trembling, and it causes a surge of emotion to flood through you. 

“And I think it hit me the night of our first real date, on this rooftop, actually. You were laughing about something silly, something I said, probably, and I remember thinking... This is it. This is what people write songs about. What people wait their whole lives for. That thing I thought didn’t exist? It was you.” 

He’s crying now, just a little. Enough that it makes your throat close. “I still get scared,” he admits, his voice cracking. “I still wonder if I’m good enough, if I’m worthy of you. But then I look at you, my beautiful girl, and I realize... I don’t have to be perfect. I just have to love you, and I do. God, I really do. More than I ever thought possible.” 

You’re not breathing. Every environmental distraction around you has completely dissipated. The only thing that exists in this moment is you, II, and your trembling hands in his. Your heart is pounding like thunder and your skin is tingling. You have no idea what do expect from this. And then, he drops to one knee. 

It’s slow, careful, and reverent. Like even gravity respects what he’s about to do. His hand slips into the pocket of his coat, and when it comes out, there’s a little red velvet box resting in his palm. 

You stare down at him, completely stunned, your hands over your mouth as it hangs open in utter shock. His chin is trembling and his eyebrows knit together as one stray tear tracks down his cheek, his expression wrecked in the most beautiful way. 

“I know it won’t always be easy,” he says, voice shaky but sure. “But I promise I’ll choose you. Every morning. Every night. Every version of you, even the ones you think aren’t lovable.” Every break in his words is punctuated by a shaky intake of breath. He opens the box toward you. 

The ring is simple and delicate, something that suits your hand and your heart. A soft gold band with a stone that catches the light like moonlight on water. 

“Will you marry me?” His voice trembles as he asks the huge, life-changing question. 

There’s silence. Not the sort that screams of absence or apprehensiveness, but the kind that holds you in awe. You don’t even realize you’re crying until he reaches up and gently wipes a tear from your cheek. 

You nod, finally regaining control of your mind body. You nod quickly, breath coming out in shaking waves. When your mouth finally moves, you sputter, “Yes, yes God, yes I’ll marry you!” 

He exhales a laugh, relief folding him in half as he presses his forehead to your hand. You drop to your knees in front of him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him so tight he nearly falls backward. 

You’re both laughing and crying and clinging like you’ve survived a war and come out victorious. He kisses you, salty and smiling, trembling lips and shaking hands, the kiss of someone who knows what he’s got and isn’t ever letting go. 

“I love you,” he whispers into your hair, over and over. “I love you, I love you.” You laugh through your tears. “I love you too. My God, I love you.” 

He slides the ring onto your finger, and it fits perfectly, like it was made for you. Like he was made for you. You both stand as you find each other again in a tight, tearful embrace. You’re in disbelief of what just transpired. Am I really engaged? I didn’t just imagine that, right? You sneak a look at your left hand over his shoulder, and your heart soars when you see the shining ring there, and you’re floating as it sinks in just how real this is. You squeeze him tighter, and you feel a tear escape from the corner of your eye and trail down your cheek, its journey ending once it meets II’s shoulder. 

And then, just when the quiet settles... The rooftop door swings open. 

“YOU DID IT!” III’s raspy voice booms across the rooftop like a cannon blast. You both whip around to see all three members of Sleep Token piling out of the stairwell; III sprinting toward you, arms in the air, while Vessel and IV follow with less chaos but just as much joy. You let out a startled, laughing yelp as III practically tackles you both in a hug. “You sneaky little bastard!” he shouts at II, ruffling his hair. “You actually did it!” 

IV beams and embraces you both from the side. “Told you we’d make it perfect, didn’t I?” II chuckles as III chimes in, “Couldn’t have done it without us, eh bub? Don’t worry, no need to thank us.” III finishes, mocking aloofness, crossing his arms and turning away from everyone. “Always the theatrics with this one, I swear to criminy.” II says as he reaches for III’s shoulder, pulling him in for an embrace, both of them laughing heartily. 

Vessel says nothing at first, just pulls II in for a hug, once III’s had his turn, of course, and claps his back firmly, offering a sincere, “Hell yeah, man. Thrilled for you, genuinely,” before turning to you and offering his quiet, sincere congratulations. “Welcome to the family, love.” He pulls you in gently for a hug, his towering form dwarfing you as he pats your back, then pulls away. He offers you a warm smile and approving nod before turning back to gush about “holy shit he really did it!” with III and IV. You watch in awe as the three boys jump around together, already talking about wedding plans and what kind of cake you should have. 

And for the first time all day, II looks around and realizes this moment wasn’t just for you and him. It was about you and him, that he really couldn’t have done it without the guys. Without Vessel wrapping the book for him and placing it in his coat pocket the night before, ensuring that the sticky note was properly placed. Without III’s giraffe-like height to help him hang and wire the fairy lights overhead. And without IV, who kept everything and everyone organized so this whole day would go off without a hitch.  

It was also IV who kept II’s head on straight when he was freaking out about “what if she says no?” Everyone else already knew what he’s known for months, it was just about pulling it off and making it as perfect as you. You were always his one and only. And now, you’ve made it real, and the lot of you couldn’t be happier. 

The front door swings open, and you’re greeted with open arms by the familiar scent of home; clean linen, lemon balm, and the faintest trace of III’s incense. Your shoes thud gently against the tile as you and II step inside, still hand in hand, still buzzing with that sweet post-proposal glow. 

The others pile in behind you, loud and chaotic as per usual, carrying leftover takeaway boxes and a bottle of champagne that IV had insisted on buying for ‘celebration purposes’. Vessel shuts the door behind him, chuckling quietly as III drops his keys, again, with a dramatic groan. 

“That’s it. I’m drinkin’ straight from the bottle,” III declares, holding the champagne like a trophy. “Love is in the air, and I, for one, am thirsty.” 

“Only if you’re not too busy sobbing into your controller when I beat your ass at Mario Kart,” IV quips, already slipping off his shoes with practiced grace. 

“Oh, you wish,” III fires back, already halfway to the console cabinet. “Babe,” he adds, glancing at you and II with a wolfish grin, “you two playin’ or what?” 

II doesn’t even look at him. He’s still watching you, thumb brushing your knuckles because he just cannot stop touching you. His voice is low and sure despite his smirk. “Not tonight.” You smile deviously at him as you realize what he’s implying. 

“Figured,” III smirks. “We all know what your night’s gonna look like.” IV snorts. “Yeah, do us a favor and turn on your telly or music or somethin’. Set the mood and spare us the trauma.” Even Vessel cracks a rare grin, lifting a brow as he murmurs, “Don’t worry. We’ll stay in here.” He raises a hand and gestures toward the living room as the other guys snicker at his implication. 

You bury your face in your hands, groaning through a laugh. II just pulls you into his side, unfazed, smug even. “You lot are just jealous.” 

“Dead right we are,” III mutters, flopping onto the couch with an overdramatic sigh. “I want someone to worship me post-engagement.” 

“Can’t worship what’s not divine,” IV deadpans, dodging a pillow aimed squarely at his head as his husky laugh echoes through the room, along with a “fuck off, cunt” from III as he joins IV’s laughter. 

You catch II’s hand tugging yours again, gentle but persuasive. He leans in and kisses your temple, and the world softens instantly. “C’mon, angel,” he murmurs. “Let’s disappear.” You don’t need telling twice. 

The bedroom door closes with a soft click, and you hear II engage the lock right after. Everything hushes around you, and you enjoy the momentary quiet. It’s dimly lit, just the bedside lamp casting its honey-warm glow across the soft duvet and the scattered photos still pinned to the corkboard by the desk. You’ve barely removed your cross-body purse before II is turning to face you, expression unreadable for a moment. 

Then he breaks into that soft, stupid, perfect grin. “Well,” he says, hands on your waist, “congratulations, babe.” You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You too, you sneaky shite,” you reply lovingly, earning a chuckle from him. 

He hums, brushing his nose against yours, eyes half-lidded. “So... how d’you want to celebrate? Champagne? Cake? Dance party? Quiet sob on the floor?” 

“Mmm.” You lean in, trailing your lips just beneath his ear. “I was thinking something more... horizontal.” He lets out a breathless little laugh, hands tightening on your hips. “You tryna kill me on my big day?” 

“Just want to make it memorable’s all,” you answer cheekily, a grin spreading across your lips as you place featherlight kisses along his jaw. 

“Oh, love,” he says, dragging his knuckles down your spine as he walks you backward toward the bed. “You already did that the second you said yes.” 

You undress each other slowly, reverently, like every layer matters. There’s no rush, no hunger rooted in lust or adrenaline. Just the ache of adoration. Every kiss, every caress, is a thank-you. A promise. A vow before the vows. 

He lays you down with the same gentle hands that strummed your skin like strings the first night you made love. His kisses are soft, almost hesitant at first, like he’s still overwhelmed you’re really his for the rest of his life. 

And when he’s finally inside you, buried to the hilt, he breathes your name like it’s sacred. Like it’s the one prayer that’s ever mattered. You rock together slowly, forehead to forehead, breath syncing, the weight of the moment seeping into your bones. He whispers things against your skin; little praises, quiet I love yous, and the occasional cheeky, “still think you’re outta my league” or “you sure about this?” You giggle, kissing the grin off his mouth, and his hips stutter as he gasps into your throat. The truth is, you’ve never been more sure about anything else in your life. 

You come together like always; gentle, intense, completely undone, and cling to each other like the rest of the world has melted away. He whispers soft affirmations to you as you come down, and you fall more in love with him than you ever thought possible. 

Later, you lay tangled in sheets and each other, and he strokes your arm where it rests across his chest. You lay like that for quite a while, listening to lo-fi beats on the tv, and basking in the afterglow and the glory of what happened today. You rack your brain for a bit, and you genuinely cannot think of a time where you felt happier than you do right now, except for the moments on the rooftop today. “So,” he says, voice low and lazy as he breaks the silence, “what d’you reckon? Forest wedding? Beach? Vegas drive-thru with Elvis?” You snort against his shoulder. “Definitely not Vegas.” 

“Damn. I had the white jumpsuit all picked out and everythin’.” You roll your eyes, smiling. “Something simple. Maybe outdoors. Something that feels... natural.” 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Natural sounds good.” You trace slowly over the ink adorning his bare chest. “Do you think they’ll all cry?” 

“Vessel, maybe. IV might. III’ll sob like a baby and deny it until the day he dies.” You both laugh quietly, your fingers linking with his. “I wanna write our vows,” you say. 

“You wanna outdo me, you mean.” You laugh and gently slap his chest before replying, “Obviously.” He laughs again, belly-deep this time, and you feel it rumble beneath your cheek. “Bring it on, babe. I’ll write the most poetic, weepy, Shakespeare-level shit you’ve ever heard.” 

You lift your head. “Is that a challenge?” He leans up and kisses your nose. “It’s a promise.” You smile so hard your cheeks ache. “God, I love you.” He looks into your eyes as he quips, “I love you more.” You shake your head. “Impossible.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Wanna bet?” 

And just like that, the future doesn’t feel like a cliff or a fog. It feels like warm sheets and aching cheeks from smiling. It feels like love notes in grocery lists and kisses through coffee breath. It feels like home. He feels like home. And you’ll choose it, choose him, every morning, every night, and every time in between. 

@deathcapbunny @yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken @wormm-mom @lynzeequitlollygagging @blackcherrywhiskey @thedemonofsodom @mysticmorning1 @xnikix02 here you go! Let me know if you'd like to be added here :)

[birdie-in-arcadia]

Literally one of the best ST writers on tumblr right now, if not the best.

You're actually going to make me cry :') To be thought of in this way is genuinely such a high honor, though I don't see myself as even comparable to many of the writers on here (looking at you @awingedinsect, @yupstillaghost, @blueraineshadows, @concretejunglefm, @adenobabe, @babextoken, @wolftoken and @dont-sleep-on-this-story to name just a few; you guys are awe-inspiring and I find myself coming back to your works repeatedly). I'm just a nobody from small town nowhere who decided to use reading and writing as an escape from a young age, and I'm so grateful for the encouragement to finally start posting here. I adore each and every one of you and I'm incredibly grateful to have such a supportive audience :''')

[birdie-in-arcadia]

Hii 🩷 first of all wanted to say how amazing your writing is, i have never seen anyone bring life to characters and situations like you do. I wanted to request, if possible, vessel and female reader where they get in a fight, vessel says something really harsh to the reader but they make up in the end and its fluffy with little angst. Sorry if this is long, once again you are amazing and please never stop writing 🩷🙏

Hey anon, thanks for the awesome request! You can find the finished product here :)

[birdie-in-arcadia]

Reminder: You are amazing, we love you, you are perfect

Anon, I'm smooching you. Posting this as a reminder to everyone reading it, YOU ARE LOVED! <3<3

[birdie-in-arcadia]

Always

This was an anon request, and I honestly had a lot of fun writing this despite the subject matter. Thank you for such a great ask anon, and I hope I did it justice! Enjoy <3

CW: angst, verbal fight between Vessel and fem!reader, reconciliation, fluff, and suggestive content at the end

Word Count: 5.3k

It started in the little ways. The late replies, the sidelong glances that never quite land. The way he pulls his hands or lips away just a second too early, almost like warmth and love has become something he doesn’t yearn for the way he did before. 

You’ve been trying not to notice, to shrug it off. You tell yourself he’s tired, and that tour wears on everyone, which is inevitably true. That if you give him space, he’ll come back to you in his own time. But it’s been weeks, and that quiet ache in your chest is getting harder to ignore. Every time you reach for him, literally or metaphorically, it feels like his edges are sharper than they used to be. Not angry or anything, just… untouchable and distant. 

And even now, back at the hotel, he barely looks up when you speak. You’re perched on the end of the bed, arms wrapped around your knees, watching him dig through his overnight bag. Your hair falls over your arms, tickling you occasionally as if to say, “lighten up”. But you can’t, no matter how hard you try. 

“Did you want to get breakfast downstairs in a bit?” you ask, gently. Not needy or clingy, just hoping he’ll want to be with you. 

He hums noncommittally. “Maybe. I’m not sure I’m up for it.” His tone is flat, yet loaded. You simply nod and take a deep breath before replying quietly, “Okay. I can bring something back up if you’d rather stay in.” 

“Maybe.” Another one-word response. You want to rake your nails through your hair and rip it out at the roots in frustration. You don’t understand what you’ve done to deserve such... silence. It’s all maybes with him lately. No certainty, no weight or sincerity. Like every answer is a placeholder for the thing he wants to say, but won’t. 

You try not to show your disappointment or frustration. Instead, you stand and stretch, offering a faint smile. “I’m gonna go see if the band lounge has that ginger tea again. Might help my throat.” 

“Yeah,” he says absently, his gaze now cast on his phone. “Good idea.” 

No offer to come with you. No kiss goodbye. Just the rustle of his joggers as he reclines in the corner chair and the low hum of traffic outside the window. 

You step into the hallway and let the door click quietly shut behind you, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. Your gaze is fixed on the floor beneath you as you wrack your brain, attempting to think of anything and everything you’ve ever done wrong or said sideways that could’ve hurt his feelings or pushed him away. You mentally ask yourself, “Am I too much? Do I need or ask for too much from him? Is he tired of me, or has he found someone better?” Nothing makes sense. You’ve loved him as much as he’ll let you, you give him space when he requests it, and you give him your undivided attention all the same. 

It was such a perfect relationship up until about four weeks ago. You try as hard as you can to think of something that could’ve been pivotal enough to warrant such distance. Was there an argument or a disagreement of any kind? Any harsh words or slammed doors? Absolutely nothing comes to mind, and it’s driving you mad. What did I do? 

You blink hard and shake your head, turning your focus to the elevator you’re approaching. You click the down arrow button and stare at its flickering orange glow, letting your mind run wild with what ifs and circumstances and possible answers to an impossible equation. 

The lift doors opening brings you back to reality and your eyes dart up as you see yours and Vessel’s dear friend II standing near the front of the lift, bracing himself on the handrail along the side. He smiles at you as you step in the rig, standing opposite him. You lean against the wall as you hear II’s Welsh lilt ask you which floor you’re going to. “Lobby, please.” you answer simply, your tone too deflated to hide. His face drops from friendly to concerned as his brows furrow slightly. 

He turns and jabs the button with a calloused thumb, and the doors close, trapping you in this space with him, and you just know he’s gonna ask what’s wrong. It’s in his caring nature. Like clockwork, you hear that same voice ask, “You alright, babe?” He’s called you that platonic nickname since he first got to know you nearly six months ago, and you’re used to it by now. It holds the same endearment as “buddy” or “pal” or even ���dude”. 

You sigh as you turn your gaze from the dingy steel walls of the moving rig to meet II’s, and you can see the concern on his features. You quickly decide how much you wanna tell him, and you reply, “Yeah, just... I dunno, Ves seems so distant lately and I don’t understand why. I’ve been thinking all day for the last few days about what I could’ve done to upset him or push him away, and I got nothing.” You shrug as you finish, and II’s face goes from an expression of concern to one of sympathy as he nods his head along to your words. 

“Sorry, love. Ves just gets like this sometimes when he’s got something on his mind. He was like this right before him and his last girl broke it off, for example.” II says before he realizes his implications. As your eyes go wide and your brows arch on your forehead, you feel your stomach drop through the floor of the lift. His own eyes widen, and he immediately backpedals. “Uh, no wait, I uh- shit- I didn’t mean- that's not what I-” he splutters, his hands flailing in front of him as if he’s physically grasping for the words. You chuckle lightly at the sight. 

He sighs and runs a frustrated hand over his face before dropping it limply to his side. “I didn’t mean that’s what’s gonna happen with you two. It was just an example, and a horrid one at that. Sorry about that.” he says, his tone heavy with embarrassment. His cheeks are red as his gaze fixes on his Nikes. You chuckle again as you reply, “It’s alright man, my heart only stopped for a couple seconds.” He lets out a nervous yet relieved laugh as he runs a hand over his hair, and the rig comes to a stop. 

He steps out first, and you follow behind as you ask, “You thirsty too?” He turns back to glance at you over his shoulder, and he slows down to walk beside you. “Nah, just wanted to grab more of those Lifesavers gummies. Fuckers are addicting.” You hum in agreeance as he asks, “What’re you gettin’?” You point to the coffee and hot water bar a few feet away and reply, “Hopefully one of those ginger teas if they still have any.” He hums again as he makes his selection and pays the clerk behind the counter. 

“I was actually headed up to talk with him about tomorrow’s gig after I grabbed these. D’ya want me to talk to him about what you told me?” II asks as you both walk back toward the lift. You ponder for a moment, hands comforted by the warmth of the paper cup in your grasp. After a few steps, you reply, “No, that’s okay. I’ll talk with him about it tomorrow on the flight back. I appreciate it, though.” II simply smiles at you and nods once before you both step back into the lift. 

You make small talk about venues and light rigging and sound systems as the lift takes you back to your floor. Eventually, it comes to a stop and you both bid your farewells as you step off, leaving II, as his room is another floor up. 

Your mood slowly falls back down into “what did I do to upset him” the closer you get to your room. As you approach the door and unlock it, a pit forms in your stomach as you open the door and step in, finding Vessel gone. 

You pull out your phone instantly, nearly dropping your fresh tea, and you check your messages. Did you miss the chime of a text message? Apparently you did, because you have one new message from Vessel. 

It reads, “Grabbing drinks with III. Don’t wait up.” 

What the fuck? Your face screws up as you reread the message three times over, incredibly confused as to why he’d want to grab drinks considering he’s recovering from addiction. Worry and guilt sweep through you as you wonder if he’s drinking again because of you. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away in frustration. 

Wait. Didn’t II say he was going to talk with Vessel about concert shit? Did II lie to you or is he just misinformed? You sit your cup on the counter nearest you, and you frantically pull up Find My iPhone. You zoom in on his location, and it indicates that he’s still in the hotel, and so is III. 

A bone-chilling realization washes over you, and your stomach churns something nasty as your mind flies through all the possibilities. III’s still in the hotel, and so is Vessel. Are they together? Is Vessel in another member’s room? Or is he in someone else’s room entirely? 

A myriad of emotions flood through you as your veins fill with fire and ice and your heartrate catapults. There’s no way, right? Vessel has been cheated on in the past, so he’d never... right? You aren’t certain of that, and it makes you vehemently nauseous. However, you are certain of one thing: you have to find him now. 

You storm out of the room, emotions in a whirlwind as you stare down Find My iPhone, stomping in the direction of his location. Your brain is a tsunami of thoughts and possibilities. What if he’s just in one of the guys’ rooms? What if they’re just relaxing and maybe gaming, and you storm in there like a bat outta hell for no reason and embarrass yourself? 

You shake your head, and one thought lingers: regardless of who’s room he's in, you’ve been lied to. Your chin trembles, but you deny your eyes any release of salt; not until you know for sure. His location leads against a wall in between two rooms. Huh? You refresh the app, and it still shows the same place. Maybe it’s up or down a floor? 

You turn confusedly and head for the lift you were just in with II. You press the up-arrow button since II said he was going to talk with Vessel, and you're kind of banking on him being up there with II. You tap your foot lightning fast as the rig moves slowly upward, the gravitational pull downward not helping your nausea in the slightest. 

Once the door opens a few moments later, you step out and follow his location directly to II’s room. Okay, this checks out, but why did he say he was getting drinks with III? You form a fist, knuckles forward as you raise your arm, but just before you knock, you hear your name.  

Their voices are low but still audible in the quiet of the room. You freeze, not intending to eavesdrop, just… uncertain. The way he’s speaking is different; tense. 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Vessel mutters. “It’s like… the closer she gets, the more I feel like I’m going to fuck it up.” II doesn’t respond right away. 

“She’s everything. Sweet, steady, and forgiving. And I can’t even hold a conversation without it feeling like a lie.” Vessel continues. You blink as the words land, your heart dropping into your stomach. 

“Every time she looks at me like I’m the moon and stars in her skies, I just feel like a fucking fraud. Like she’s in love with someone who doesn’t exist anymore. I feel like I’m living in someone else’s skin when I’m with her sometimes,” he continues. “Like I have to pretend to be this perfect version of myself or I’ll lose her.” He lets out a shaky breath. “But the worst part? I think she’d be better off if I did.” 

You don't hear the rest. Your ears are ringing and roaring with your blood. But you don’t need to hear it, nor do you want to. His voice cuts through you like a razor, sharp and brutal. The weight of it lodges in your lungs, and suddenly you can’t breathe. You stumble back a step, hand pressed to your chest, mouth slightly agape. Your heart pounds in your ears as you catch yourself on the wall across from II’s door. 

I feel like I'm living in someone else's skin when I'm with her sometimes. She’d be better off if I did. He can't be fucking serious.

You turn, quick and quiet, and walk straight back to your shared room. Your hands are trembling when you unlock the door. 

The air in the room still smells faintly like his cologne; amber, smoke, something earthy. You shut the door behind you and lean against it for a moment, the silence loud and suffocating. Your brain immediately goes to war with your heart.

He doesn’t love you. He’s been pulling away because he’s already gone; emotionally checked out, just waiting for the right moment to say the words out loud. You’d been holding on to hope that it was in your head. That maybe he was just stressed. Maybe he was trying. But you heard it. Not from a text, not from a rumor. From his own mouth. 

No, you know he loves you. From the way he clings to you at night like you're his lifeline. The way he always checks in on you no matter the scenario. He brings you along on every tour, to every show just so you feel included. All the times he's held you while you cried and put you back together with just his voice and vocabulary.

She'd be better off if I did. His words ring through your head again, shattering any semblance of logic or hope that he still wanted you around.

You cross the room in a haze and start pulling your things together. Toothbrush, charger, whatever clothing you could find strewn over the floor haphazardly. That hoodie you always wear to bed that still smells like him catches your eye, and you feel your throat nearly close up as a sob threatens to tear from it.

You step over to the end of the bed where the hoodie lays, and you pick it up and take a deep inhale of its scent. Agony surges through your chest like a knife to the heart and your knees nearly buckle as your combined smells lilt through your sinuses.

You clutch the hoodie with white knuckles, your face contorting into a mixed expression of anger and grief, and a sob pummels its way up your throat and past your lips. You throw the hoodie onto the floor and turn from it, picking up what's left of your belongings on the floor and surrounding tabletops.

You divert your eyes from the article one last time and deny yourself the relief of fully crying. Not yet. You stomp into the bathroom and grab your toiletries from the shower wall, knocking down one of his bottles in your wake. You groan as it tumbles down, echoing through the bathroom. You leave it where it lies as you rush back to your bag and stuff it all in with shaking hands. 

In a last ditch effort to feel in control of something, anything, you make the bed. As you finish, you hear the familiar crinkling of a small aluminum packet underfoot. You wince at the sound, at the memory, and you bend to pick it up and discard it in a nearby waste bin.

You bend and hover over the desk and tear a page from the hotel’s notepad. You pick up a nearby pen, then pause, staring at the blank paper. A single tear falls onto the sheet, wrinkling it. And then you write: 

"If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to disclose it secretly to II. I wish you’d just said it to my face." 

You fold it once and place it on the bed. You give the room one last look, and then you’re gone.  

_______________

“…I think she’d be better off if I did.” Vessel’s voice trails into silence. II says nothing at first, he just lets the words of his struggling best friend settle. Vessel had been waiting outside II's door as II returned from grabbing his snack in the lobby with you. He'd let Vessel in without a word once he saw the helpless look in his eyes.

Vessel leans against the wall, head tipping back, eyes shut. The room smells like lemon floor polish, burnt coffee, and old carpet; cheap and forgettable. A fitting backdrop, he thinks bitterly, for the way he’s been acting lately. 

“I mean, fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “She gives me everything. Patience, kindness… all this love I don’t know how to process. And what do I do? I shut down. I shut her out. I can feel her slipping away from me and I just keep letting it happen.” 

II sighs, arms crossed. “So talk to her, man. Don’t let your head run the whole show. If you’re scared, tell her. If you love her, and I know you do, show her.” 

“I do,” Vessel breathes. “God, I do. I’ve never-” His voice catches in his throat. He clears it, blinking hard. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Not since... you know. It’s terrifying, being vulnerable again. But I don’t want to lose her. I’d rather die trying to let her in than watch her walk away thinking I didn’t care.” 

II rests a hand on his shoulder, solid and grounding. “Then go. Tell her that, all of it. Before your silence speaks louder than your words ever could.” Vessel nods, heart thudding against his ribs, determination coursing through his veins. “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you, man. I’m going now.” 

He turns, heart already racing, and opens the room door. The hallway stretches ahead of him, silent, like it knows what's coming. His feet move rapidly toward the elevator, and he jams the button. He all but jumps inside when the doors open, and he mashes the floor number until the rig is moving again. He’s grinning as he descends at a slow pace, ecstatic that he’s about to go fix everything with his girl, and maybe even make love to you if you’d let him. 

The door clicks open with a familiar sound, the keycard light flashing green. He steps inside, voice low but warm. 

“Baby!” His cheerful greeting rings through the small room. 

He’s met with silence. He frowns as he notices that the bathroom door is open, and the lights are off. 

“Baby?” he tries again, this time laced with a hint of confusion. Still nothing. The room is quiet, way too quiet. His eyes scan the space. The bed is made, the chair in the corner is empty, and the closet door is slightly ajar. 

And then it hits him. Your things are gone. The tote bag that always slouches beside the dresser? Gone. Your travel case of skincare and scrunchies that typically adorn the counter? Missing. The sweater you wore this morning, cream colored, soft, probably still faintly scented like you? No longer tossed over the arm of the chair where you always leave it. 

His blood runs cold. “No…” he breathes, stepping forward. He checks the bathroom, heart lurching. Nothing. Your soaps are gone, even your microfiber hair towel. 

His hands start trembling as he crosses back to the bed, eyes darting over the blankets, the table, the floor, anything. “Maybe she just ran out for food”, he thinks. “Maybe she-” 

Then he sees it. Folded once, an unpinned grenade on the center of the bed, his given name, not the moniker, not a pet name, in your handwriting unmistakably on the hotel paper. He picks it up slowly like the bomb that it is. His eyes trace the words. 

If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to disclose it secretly to II. I just wish you’d said it to my face. 

The paper trembles in his hand. He rereads it.  

Once. Twice. A third time. 

“No, no, no- fuck, no-” His voice breaks. 

His knees give, and he sinks onto the edge of the bed, the note still clutched between trembling fingers. The breath leaves his lungs like he’s been punched. His chest burns. His vision blurs. 

You must’ve come looking for him and overheard. Dammit, his plan of diverting your attention by telling you that he was going out with III did the exact opposite. Go figure. Regardless, you heard him. But you didn’t stay long enough to hear what came after. Didn’t hear him say he loves you. Didn’t hear him say he wants to fight for you. You think he wanted you to go. 

He drops his head into his hands, shoulders shaking as a raw sound escapes his throat; half anguish, half pleading. The pain slams into him like a wave, unforgiving and cold, clawing its way through every part of him. He presses the note to his chest like it might somehow undo the damage, but it doesn’t. It just hurts. 

“Fuck,” he gasps again, standing suddenly, stumbling, frenzied, and searching for anything that could give him an answer. He grabs his phone from his front left pocket, and he opens your thread. His thumbs hover, trembling, then he types: 

“Please come back. I didn’t mean it like that. Please.” 

“I love you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you heard. Please just tell me you’re okay.” 

No “... is typing...”, no response. He hits the call button. 

Straight to voicemail. 

He calls again. 

Two rings, then voicemail. 

“Pick up, baby, please,” he whispers to the static. “Please, just... fuck, just talk to me. Let me explain. I swear to God I didn’t mean it like that…” 

He’s pacing now, chest heaving, phone in a death grip. And then, a miracle. He swipes down with shaking fingers and opens the location-sharing app. Your dot is still live, still glowing. Looks to be approximately three blocks down. A little boutique hotel near the edge of the shopping district. You must’ve forgotten to turn it off amid all the emotions and taxi-hailing. Otherwise, you definitely would’ve turned off your location. You don’t want to be found. 

Without a second thought, he bolts for the door. 

Rain pours against the sidewalk as Vessel sprints down the street, dodging passersby, lungs burning, the cold biting into his damp skin. He doesn’t feel any of it, not really. The only thing he feels is you. The absence of you, the shape you leave behind, like a phantom in his chest. 

The GPS dot blinks steady on his screen, his lifeline. He turns a corner and sees it, small and quaint, tucked between a florist and an antique shop. The boutique hotel you chose in the heat of heartbreak. 

He’s there in seconds, breath ragged, soaked to the bone. The front desk blurs past as he races up the stairs, skipping steps, heart pounding so hard it makes him nauseous. He follows your beacon of hope to the very door you’re hidden behind. 

He knocks once, three light sounds against the wooden door. He’s met with nothing. He knocks again, another three times, but a tad bit louder this time, in case you’re sleeping. 

“Please,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to the wood, rain dripping from his hair and trailing down the door, his fingers clenched into fists. “Please let me in.” 

Still nothing. He swallows down a sob and knocks one last time, louder this time. “I know you don’t want to see me. I know I hurt you. But baby I swear, I didn’t mean it like that. You left before you could even hear the rest.” Silence on the other side. He breathes hard, trembling hands travelling upward to brace himself as he leans on the door, and he fights the urge to break it down to get to you. Your silence completely unnerves him. 

“I was talking to II because I didn’t know how to talk to you,” he confesses, voice cracking. “I’m scared all the time. That you’ll realize I’m not what you need. That you’ll wake up one day and see what a fucking mess I am and walk away and-” 

The lock clicks, and his head shoots up to look for your face, regaining his balance and lowering his hands to his sides. The door opens just enough to reveal you; eyes red and glassy, hair tied back in a loose bun, gray hoodie zipped to your throat. You don’t say anything at first, you just look at him like he’s something wild and foreign. 

You cross your arms tightly over your chest as you prop the door open and turn, walking away from him, the sights of the city momentarily capturing your attention as you approach the window in your room. You hear the door click shut, and you feel his presence in the room as you turn to face him. He’s standing about a foot from the door, his hands at his sides, his face drawn down, his big, beautiful puppy eyes focused solely on you. 

“You lied to me,” you say finally, breaking the silence, your voice quiet but sharp. “You told me you were going to get drinks with III when you were just upstairs talking shit about me to II.” 

“I wasn’t-” he steps forward, then stops, hands raised like you might bolt. He exhales and checks his tone before continuing. “I wasn’t talking shit. I was spiraling, alright? I was telling him that I’m scared of how good you are to me... how I keep messing it up.” He finishes, and he takes a small step toward you as if you’re a feral cat he’s found outside. "And I said I was going out with III because I didn't want you worrying and wondering where I was. I couldn't just tell you I was going to talk to II because I didn't wanna risk, well... this happening..." He trails off and you mull over his explanation. You know mentally that he was right. You would've definitely insisted on going with him. You decide leave that part of the argument to be discussed later.

“You said I’d be better off without you,” you snap. “How the hell was I supposed to take that?” You punctuate your question by unfolding your arms and gesturing toward him, your brows furrowing in frustration. 

He flinches, the realization of how bad that would’ve sounded from your perspective washing over him. “I know how it sounded,” he says honestly, voice breaking again. “But that wasn’t the end of the sentence. I was saying I didn’t want to lose you. That I was going to talk to you. That I love you. I’ve just been- fuck, I’ve been so in my head lately, and I didn’t want to put that weight on you.” 

You shake your head, eyes shining. “You think lying was protecting me?” you ask exasperatedly, your arms out to your sides, forefingers pointing inward toward yourself. “But I didn’t lie about that,” he says, his tone serious. You point as accusatory finger at him as you spit, “It was lying by omission, Vessel.” His face drops. 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” he breathes. “I just… I thought if I told you I was falling apart, you’d start seeing me the way I see myself. And then you would leave.” You step back, arms crossed tightly, and your frustration is evident on your face. “And the distance? The coldness? Was that supposed to be protection too? Because it felt like punishment.” 

His face twists in anguish as the truth in your words pelts him like bullets. “I know,” he says. “I know I’ve been distant. I’ve been awful. And I hate how I’ve made you feel. I hate that I made you doubt yourself when the only failure in this relationship has been me.” He looks at you through defeated eyes, tears beginning to brim again. 

Your voice wavers now, anger giving way to hurt. “You made me feel like I wasn’t enough, or maybe I was too much. Like I was annoying you just by existing. You’ve been pushing me away for weeks, Vessel.” You feel your tough exterior cracking as the look in his eyes peels you apart layer by layer. 

He steps forward again, slower this time. “I didn’t know how to let you in without showing you all the worst parts of me.” You look at him, eyes searching, still guarded. “Ves, you already have. Remember when your family cut you off because they don’t agree with your new lifestyle? Or when we first got together and you were so anxiety ridden you practically bolted for the bedroom anytime you heard your doorbell ring? I was there through all of that, and I never batted an eye. It’s my job as your partner to see you through every chapter of life, no matter how scary or unbecoming. You know this, love. You just have to let me in.” You finish, your arms falling to your sides as a tear marks its own trail down your face, dripping from your jaw. 

His expression crumples. “And you’re still here, still talking to me, even with me coming to find you like some sort of headcase,” he says quietly. You blink fast, biting the inside of your cheek. “How the hell did you find me, by the way?" You ask him, suddenly reminded of the blaring question.

He lets out a short, breathless sound. Almost a laugh, almost a sob. “You didn't turn off your location, lovey." he replies, a slight hint of amusement in his eyes. You chuckle and run a hand over your face as you're taken aback by your own lack of attention to such a major detail. "Christ... Well, I'm glad I didn't," you reply, looking up at him through long lashes. A long silence passes between the two of you as you both take in what the other has said. Then, with trembling hands, you capitulate and motion him forward, and you move toward the bed. “C’mere.” 

He wipes his face with the back of his hand as he approaches you slowly. He perches at the edge of the bed like you might dissolve if he touches you too soon. Vessel looks over you after a few seconds, taking in your disheveled appearance. His chest aches with the knowledge that it’s his fault you fled in such a hurry, and that you’re so forlorn. You meet his gaze and allow your eyes to take in the sopping wet cat of a man next to you. Rainwater drips from his hair onto his lap below, but he doesn't seem to notice, and he looks like a man who’s been through war just to get to you. 

“I love you,” he says again, steadier now. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And I’m sorry for every time I made you question that.” You look at him, eyes glossy, heart swelling in your chest. “I love you too, Ves. That’s why it hurt so much.” 

He moves to kneel in front of you, hands reaching for yours. You let him take them slowly, like it's a test she’s not sure he’ll pass. “I’ll do better,” he whispers. “Not just today. Every day. I’ll keep choosing you.” You swallow hard, the lump in your throat rising again. “Don’t shut me out again, please,” you whisper to him, eyes blurring with tears. “I won’t,” he says, forehead pressing to your hands. “I swear it.” 

Your breath shudders as you exhale through the sadness leaving your body. You pull him up and into your arms, holding him tightly, like you’re afraid if you lets go, he’ll vanish again. You stay like that for a long time, just holding each other, letting the fear bleed out. Eventually, you whisper, “Let’s go home.” Those three simple words wash over him like a cool wave of relief, and he didn't realize how badly he craved to hear you say them until you did.

The walk back is quiet, but your fingers are laced the entire way. Once inside the room, Vessel closes the door behind you with a soft click. The lights are low, the hum of the city a dull throb beyond the shaded windows. You turn to face him, and he just stands there for a moment, eyes soft yet unsure as they flicker over your form. 

You step toward him, hands reaching for the hem of his soaked hoodie. “Let me,” you say. He easily acquiesces and lifts his arms, letting you peel it away slowly, reverently. His shirt comes next, and it hits the carpeted floor with a dull, wet slap. Your hands glide over the bare skin of his chest; cold from the rain but warming beneath your touch. He watches you like you’re shaping the skies before his eyes; like you’re the only thing anchoring him to earth. 

He undresses you slowly, hands lingering, fingers and lips exploring, and you move together like water, slow and unhurried. There’s no urgency now, just the deep ache of reunion. He lays you down with such care, like you’re thin glass. 

When he enters you, it’s with soft gasps and a whispered, “I missed you.” Your bodies meet in a rhythm that speaks more than words ever could. Not rough, not desperate. Just homecoming. Every thrust, every touch, every sigh is an apology, a promise, a thread sewing you gently yet thoroughly back together. 

He presses his forehead to yours as you move in tandem, voice trembling. “You terrify me,” he whispers, “Because I want you, all of you, forever. I want to bare my entire soul to you, my beautiful girl.” You whine as you pull his face to yours and you kiss him slowly, deeply, and so lovingly. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper as he moves above you. You wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders as you approach your peak. 

When you both reach your climax, it’s a beautiful release of emotions and endorphins. Your shared moans and heavy breaths curl through the room around you. You’re breathless, your eyes are locked with his, and your fingers stay intertwined. 

You lay like that long after cleaning up, curled into each other beneath the sheets, skin to skin, heart to heart. You sport only Vessel's hoodie, the same one which broke your heart earlier, and a pair of knickers, and Vessel lays comfortably in only his underwear. His nose is buried in your hair, arms locked around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip.

His voice is low, barely a breath against your ear. “You smell like me, love.” You laugh softly, eyes fluttering closed. “That’s because I'm wearing your hoodie, you goof.”

“Oh,” he murmurs delightfully. “Then I guess I like me better on you.” You groan playfully and swat at his chest. “That was horrendous. I rescind all affection.”

He grabs your hand and kisses each knuckle with dramatic flair. “Forgive me, my darling muse. I’ll compose better lines on the morrow.” You hum, feigning pretentiousness. “I’ll be expecting a full sonnet.”

“Only if I get paid in kisses,” he jokes, smiling against your cheek. You open one eye. “You drive a hard bargain, Mister Vessel Marie.”

He smiles wider and chuckles before taking on a more serious tone. “I missed you. Even when you were still next to me I missed you so fucking much.” Your heart tightens, full and aching. “Don’t do that again, please. Don’t pull away like that. I am always here for you, sweetness,” you assure him, rubbing over the tops of his knuckles with your thumb.

“I won’t,” he promises. “You’re stuck with me now. I’m basically your emotional barnacle,” he finishes, and you can hear the cheeky grin shaping his words.

You snort. “Sexy.” He pulls his hand from yours and he licks the tips of his pointer and pinkie finger before smoothing over his eyebrows with them. "I try," he says, waggling his brows down at you. "You are such a dork," you say to him as you giggle. You turn in his arms just enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you,” you tell him, and you've never been so serious about anything else in your life.

“I love you more,” he whispers. “Even when I’m an idiot. Especially then.” He kisses your cheek as he pulls the duvet higher around you both, your legs tangled, his thumb brushing soft circles into your hip. The steady rhythm of his breathing lulls you closer to sleep. How would you ever be able to live without this?

And when you’re nearly unconscious, he whispers to you, “Gonna stay with me, sweet girl?” You squeeze his hand as you whisper your reply, and it’s the last thing said for the night. 

“Always.” 

@deathcapbunny @yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken @wormm-mom @lynzeequitlollygagging @blackcherrywhiskey @thedemonofsodom @mysticmorning1 @xnikix02 Here you go! If you'd like to be added here, let me know :) I really hope you enjoyed this, anon <3<3

[birdie-in-arcadia]

Okinawa summers :|

a detailed list of things i hate

hot weather

high temperatures

heat

warmer than average conditions

[birdie-in-arcadia]

hi! 🩷 if possible could i request something similar to ‘the love you want’ and ‘mine’ for II 🙏 us II girls need smth and i really really loved those two fics with vessel and would love something similar with II if possible :)! maybe wedding planning and such, and maybe some cameos from the other st members? just fluff and love and happiness. thank you!

Hi anon! I'm sorry it's taken me a few days to get to this. I'm going to begin working on it today and hopefully have it finished up within the next few days! Once complete, I'll link it here :)

[birdie-in-arcadia]

Whoops :')

[birdie-in-arcadia]

In Our Wake

Here is the long-awaited post script, my lovely, patient readers. This marks the end of the work; the end of quite a journey that we've gone on, and I thank you for tagging along with me. I write quite often, so if you'd like to check out the masterlist pinned to my profile, there's more works by me there. Enjoy! <3

POST SCRIPT - FOUR VOICES

Vessel

Love used to be something I watched from a distance. Something I held at arm’s length, too afraid it might fragment in my hands or worse, that I would be the one to break it. For a long time, it was enough just to protect her. To offer solace when everything else around her screamed. To hold space and not ask for anything in return. 

But love can’t live in shadows forever. And when she finally turned toward me, and saw me, it didn’t feel like triumph. It felt like home. I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need promises carved in stone.  I just need the small things we share now. The breath before she laughs. The way she reaches for me in the dark without thinking. She chose me. And every day, I choose her right back. And, if she’ll let me, for the rest of our lives. 

III 

If you’d asked me then, I would’ve told you I was in love. I would’ve said I was doing my best. That the anger wasn’t about her. That I never meant to hurt her. All of that is still true. And none of it’s enough. Loving someone doesn’t excuse the damage you leave behind or bottle up. Wanting to be better doesn’t heal the parts of them you broke while you weren’t trying to reserve yourself. But I’ve stopped asking her to carry that. Now, I carry it myself. And I’ve asked for help. I see a therapist once weekly and have since about five weeks after everything happened. 

I still love her. I think I always will. But loving her now means keeping my distance. It means turning that energy inward. Learning who I am without needing someone else to need me or fix me. Letting go wasn’t the hardest part. Forgiving myself might be. But I’m doing the work. And for once, I don’t feel like I’m doing it for anyone else’s sake. It’s okay to choose yourself for once. She's incredibly happy now, and realistically, that's all I ever wanted. And despite it all, I still have her friendship. Something I definitely don't deserve, but I'll never take advantage of it again.

IV 

People think silence means absence, but I’ve always believed it means respect and attention. When things were falling apart, I watched. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared too much to interfere before she was ready. Some truths can’t be told; they must be lived. 

I saw the way Vessel looked at her. The kind of stillness in his body when she entered a room. The ache in him, quiet and deep like roots under soil. And I saw her slowly reach toward that stillness like it was the only place she’d ever felt safe. 

There were moments I wished I could be the one to hold her like that. But I also knew the gentlest kind of love is the kind that never asks for more than someone is ready to give. So, I gave her silence. And I gave her space. And I gave her my quiet hope that she would find her way. She did, and I’m bloody proud of her for it. 

II 

Not all of us are built to carry the heavy stuff out loud. Me? I make tea. I crack jokes. I play until my hands and feet go numb and I feel like I can breathe again. I’m not the one people run to with their pain. But I’m always nearby. I watched us all unravel a bit; watched her trying to stitch herself back together with thread that kept fraying. Watched Vessel trying not to drown in everything he wasn’t saying. Watched III burn too bright and too fast. 

And through it all, I played. I played when no one was ready to speak. I played when the room got too heavy. To fill the void of silence. I played because someone had to remind us that we were still here. We’re different now. Better, I think. A bit bruised, a bit softer. But still playing together, still making music and sharing it with the world. And for me, that’s plenty enough. 

@yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken here you go! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged here for future works.

I hope this brings a good close to such a long, wild ride. It was a blast to write, and I definitely have ideas for other multi-chapter fics, it's just about finding time to actually write them out that's difficult, given my current circumstances. Thank you for coming along for the ride with me, and I hope you see your username for future works! <3

[birdie-in-arcadia]

All In

I've been made aware (thank you anon!!) that I accidentally posted a duplicate of chapter 7 instead of an updated chapter 8, and I apologize greatly for that. As I've been saying, the world of Birdie is not a peaceful one at the moment amid family emergencies, but I appreciate you all for bearing with me! So, without further ado, here's chapter 8 with a bonus POV from Vessel. I hope you enjoy! <3

CHAPTER EIGHT — FREQUENCIES UNSPOKEN  (My Point of View) 

The rain comes back in the evening, soft and steady as it streaks against my window, creating a watercolor of the lights outside. My dorm room glows gold beneath the lamplight, the air steeped in that familiar blend of wood polish, paper, and the lingering trace of vanilla chai tea. Two guitars rest between us on the rug, mine older, worn in all the right places; his darker, sleeker, tuned by ear with the kind of precision I still aspire to find. 

We’ve been trying to write for the last hour, half-formed ideas scribbled in the margins of our notebooks, but nothing sticks. The music won’t come. Or maybe we’re both too caught up in something else tonight. 

Vessel leans back on his palms, gaze drifting toward the window. The curtain shifts in the cool, damp breeze. His silhouette glows faint in the candlelight. “It’s just one of those nights, I suppose,” he murmurs. “What do you mean?” I ask, his voice gently bringing me out of my daze. “Where nothing fits, nothing sounds good or makes sense on paper.” I glance at my notebook and chuckle dryly. “I know the feeling.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, then gestures toward the guitars. “Play me something. Something you already know.” I hesitate, fingers twitching, nearly stuttering my reply. “You first.” He raises an eyebrow, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright.” 

He picks up his guitar, adjusts the tuning slightly, drop D, I think, and strums a single, slow chord. The sound is deep, resonant, humming in my ears and travelling to rest in my chest. Then he begins to play. The song is unfamiliar, something soft and lilting, almost hymn-like. His voice follows a moment later, barely above a whisper, but clear. His voice is the type that sounds unexpectedly from a quiet corner, and every head in the room pivots to find its source immediately as if it’s some primal, cellular-level call from nature. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen or experienced before, and it absolutely fascinates me. 

“...and no matter the cost of rain... I will shelter you all the same...” 

There’s something in the way he sings, careful, but not cautious. Like each word is carved from pieces of him. By the time he finishes, I’m still frozen in place, guitar untouched. He glances up, sheepish. “Too much?” I shake my head slowly. “It was beautiful, Vessel, truly.” I tell him, and I wish I could help him see just how sincere I am about this. His voice takes every bit of my pain and makes my mind go quiet, and that is an incredibly rare occurrence for me. There’s always something swirling around up there. “You’re not just saying that?” he asks, his eyes unguarded. “Not even a little.” I tell him, shaking my head to enunciate every word. His cheeks color faintly, but he doesn’t look away. He smiles at me. It’s small and only reaches one corner of his mouth, but it’s still a smile, and I’m a bit taken aback at my own cardiovascular system as I feel my chest tighten, and my heart begins to race. There is just something about this awkward, enigmatic man that causes my body to betray me. 

My fingers find my guitar. The strings feel familiar beneath my touch, but suddenly weightier. Like the silence after his song still lingers in the wood. “I don’t know if mine will measure up,” I say, adjusting my grip. “Don’t compare,” he replies gently. “Just play.” So, I do. It’s a song I’ve known since I was sixteen; one I used to sing alone in my bedroom when I needed to feel something steady. The melody is simple and beautiful, something I taught myself. I sing it softly. Not trying to impress, just trying to be understood. 

“Somehow I’ve found a way to get lost in you... Let me inside, let me get close to you...” 

When I finish, I keep my eyes on the fretboard. The room is still. Then, his voice, quiet and sincere: “You have a beautiful tone. Very warm and the natural vibrato is splendid.” I glance up, startled. “You really think so?” He nods once, his eyes sincere as he looks into mine, and I can’t help but smile. “You too, y’know,” I say. “Your voice, it lingers. Incredibly soulful and comforting, really.” I finish, and I hope I haven’t said too much, but I meant every word. He doesn’t say anything back, but he smiles at me again, really smiles. His teeth are pearly white and neat, his canines more prominent than the rest of them. He looks down for a moment, then he looks back up at me, and suddenly I can feel every hair on my body stand on end. His gaze isn’t boyish and nervous now. It’s heavy and... longing. His eyes scan up and down my form as I shift in front of him, suddenly aware of the way he’s looking at me. It’s almost hungry. 

Something shifts in the space between us. The air thickens, just a little, like the pause between two notes that haven’t quite resolved. He doesn’t look away, and neither do I. But neither of us says it. He breaks the silence first. “Earlier,” he begins, voice quiet, gaze softer than before, “at the market… I didn’t mean to act strange.” I pause for a moment to ensure that he’s finished speaking. “You weren’t,” I say gently. “Not really.” 

He exhales through his nose. “I just didn’t expect it to feel like that.” he says, and my stomach drops a bit. “Like what?” He hesitates for a moment, then: “Like maybe I’d been taking something for granted.” I watch him closely. “I didn’t think he was flirting,” I whisper. “Not until he asked for my number.” I finish, my gaze softening on him. “I know,” he says. “That’s why I didn’t say anything.” his eyes meet mine. “You could’ve.” I say, and he pauses. He takes a deep breath, then says, “I didn’t want to ruin the… whatever this is.” He gestures vaguely between us. My breath catches, eyes going wide for a moment. Neither of us corrects the word this or the notion behind it. 

The record player hums low in the corner, forgotten. I shift slightly, closer, but not touching. “Do you ever wish things were simpler?” I ask. He lets out a quiet laugh. “All the time.” I look back up at him, and my nerves flare, but this needs to be said. “I mean… us.” His eyes meet mine, and they're almost quizzical. He doesn’t answer right away. Then: “I don’t wish it was simpler necessarily. I just wish I knew the rules.” I tilt my head slightly as my brows furrow slightly. “What rules?” I ask. “The ones that say how close you’re allowed to get before it stops being just… music.” 

My face smooths out as my eyes widen slightly. My skin is buzzing and my mind is a tsunami of thought and words, none of which I should say aloud. I offer something smaller, less demanding yet still true. “I really like playing with you, Ves,” I whisper, and he nods, his shoulders visibly relaxing a bit. “I love it.” he replies simply, and if you were to hook me up to a monitor in that moment, it would read a flatline. 

We spend the rest of the night sharing songs; old favorites that spark nostalgia and feelings we’ve packed away, new experimental and thought-provoking tracks. We exchange fragments of ideas and wordless melodies are passed back and forth like secret classroom notes folded in half. Nothing else is said, but everything is felt. 

(Vessel’s Point of View) 

The rain returns like a second skin, soft and unassuming, washing the windows in gentle streaks. It catches the glow of the streetlights outside her dorm, painting blurred halos that dance across the floor. The inside is warm, golden, and peaceful. There’s a candle burning near her desk. I can smell it; something sweet and comforting, like vanilla and maybe cardamom. 

She’s here, barefoot on the rug with a guitar in her lap, and I am utterly, quietly infatuated. I sit opposite her, posture relaxed to hide the tension beneath my skin. My own guitar rests beside me, freshly tuned, but untouched for the last several minutes.  

We’ve both been pretending to write for the better part of an hour, scrawling the same few chords and half-rhymes across the page, but the truth is, at least for me, the music is already here. It’s sitting across from me in an Evanescence tee and messy braid, humming low to herself while her notebook holds her attention, like she’s not already the center of mine. 

My gaze drifts to the window, to the dim outline of the city behind the curtain, and I feel her watching me. “It’s just one of those nights, I suppose,” I say quietly, voice barely above the rain. “What do you mean?” she asks. Her voice brings me back like it always does, gentle and grounding. 

“Where nothing fits,” I murmur. “Nothing sounds good or makes sense on paper.” She glances down at her notebook and lets out a soft laugh, and I must look away for a moment. There’s something about her laughter, like it’s meant for the walls of a home, not a studio or this tiny dorm room. It’s something genuine, something I want to continue hearing. 

I gesture toward the guitars, attempting to shift the focus and bring us both out of our brain fog. “Play me something. Something you already know.” 

She hesitates, and my heart stumbles at the way her fingers twitch over the strings. She’s shy. It’s endearing in a way that makes my lungs feel too small to hold any necessary amount of oxygen. “You first,” she says. 

I raise a brow but can’t help the smile that creeps in. She doesn’t realize yet how much I’d do if she asked, if she just looked at me the right way. “Alright,” I say, and pick up my guitar. 

I drop the tuning into D without thinking. My fingers move automatically over the frets, and I begin to play something soft, unfinished, one of the pieces I always come back to when I’m not sure what to say. My voice follows, hushed but steady. It wavers a bit with my nerves and vibrato, but I continue anyway. I keep my eyes low, focusing on the chords, and I try not to let my nerves show. But I can feel her listening. She listens like she’s learning me this way. 

“...and no matter the cost of rain... I will shelter you all the same...” 

When I finish, silence settles between us after the last note. I finally look up from my trembling fingers still in position on the fretboard. She’s still staring, guitar untouched. Her expression is soft, stunned almost. It makes something flutter low in my stomach. 

“Too much?” I ask, suddenly unsure. She shakes her head. “It was beautiful, Vessel. Truly.” I swallow. There’s a part of me that wants to believe her, and a bigger part that wants to taste her lips as they say my name like that. I shake that thought form my head. Too much too soon, man, damn. “You’re not just saying that?” I ask, shifting my focus. 

“Not even a little,” she says, slow and deliberate. I can’t look away from her. Her eyes shine in the candlelight and her face, soft and sweet, makes my brain short-circuit in the most divine way. Her words curl around something raw inside me and make it feel a little less empty. 

I smile, small, but real. She sees it, and her own smile grows, and I swear the air shifts in that moment, and I feel it in my chest. It’s something fast, something dangerous. 

She picks up her guitar and I watch her hands; watch the way she adjusts her grip. “I don’t know if mine will measure up.” 

“Don’t compare,” I tell her. “Just play.” I’m desperate to hear her. She begins to strum the intro to her chosen song, and I lose the ability to breathe properly. Her voice isn’t loud or trained, but it’s moving. Moving in that way only truth and trust can be; quiet and intimate, like she’s handing me a part of herself I’m not sure I deserve. 

“Somehow I’ve found a way to get lost in you... Let me inside, let me get close to you...” 

I close my eyes for a moment, and that’s all it takes. The feeling rises again; this helpless, hungry ache in my chest. The wanting. The wishing. The need for her to be secretly singing this song to me, because I know I was singing for her even if she doesn't yet.

When she finishes, the silence is louder than before. I manage to say something, anything to fill the silence because I swear she can probably hear my heartbeat. I comment something about her tone, her vibrato, and I mean it. God, I mean it. I want to tell her how her voice curls around me like a jumper fresh out of the dryer and how I’d have it as the only track in queue on the endless record player that is my mind. 

“You really think so?” she asks, and I nod quickly. Too much. I’m thinking too much, shit. Her smile hits me like a sudden warmth in winter, and I feel that familiar heat that floods my belly when I think about her smile. 

“You too, y’know,” she says softly, her voice adding to the heat stirring low in me. “Your voice, it lingers. Incredibly soulful and comforting, really.” 

My heart stutters. I look down, trying to gather myself. When I look back up at her, she shifts slightly, and suddenly, I see her. 

Not just with my eyes, no. I feel her. Her presence overtakes the room, filling every pore on my skin. The soft slope of her throat, the curve of her cheek in the lamplight, the way her chest rises and falls with every breath... It all feels dangerous now; a slippery, magnetic slope. 

And I don’t look away. I can’t. I let it show for once; the hunger, the ache, the endless want. 

Something shifts between us, like gravity’s been recalibrated. My eyes trace her form before I can stop them, and when I meet her gaze again, it’s like standing at the edge of a precipice. But she doesn’t flinch; she doesn’t even pull away or try to shift the focus. I feel my sweats suddenly becoming tighter, and I all but roll my eyes as I slide my guitar over that area, ashamed of biology being rude as per usual. 

She speaks first, grounding me again. “Earlier, at the market…” I nod, breath catching as my focus returns to the elephant in the room. “I know, I’m really sorry for going cold like I did. I just... didn’t expect it to feel like that.” I tell her. “Like what?” she questions. As she should. She deserves an answer. 

“Like maybe I’d been taking something for granted.” I reply, my voice wavering with the fear that I’ve just said too much. She watches me closely, and her voice drops to a whisper. “I didn’t think he was flirting. Not until he asked for my number.” 

“I know,” I murmur. “That’s why I didn’t say anything.” I reply honestly. I really didn’t have a right to get as worked up as I did when I saw that guy talking to her. It’s not like she’s spoken for. Yet. 

“You could’ve.” The way she says it, so gently, like timid granted permission. “I didn’t want to ruin the… whatever this is,” I say, gesturing a finger between us. And it’s true, I don’t want to screw up what we’ve got going on here, because it’s become a crucial part of my life. 

I want to touch her, to pull her into my arms and love her 'til there's nothing left of either of us. I want to tell her, God, I want to tell her everything; how I think about her voice hours after I return home, how the scent of her candles or perfume linger in whatever I'm wearing, and how I keep the article in my bed so I can breathe in her scent until it fades. How I dreamt about her last week and woke up breathless and messy. But I don’t, because it’s not time yet. I can tell she’s been hurt before, so I have to let her do this at her own pace. I know in my soul that she will be well worth the wait. 

“Do you ever wish things were simpler?” she asks. I laugh under my breath. “All the time.” I answer honestly. She looks at me again, differently this time, braver. “I mean… with us.” 

My heart seizes in my chest. This is it. “I don’t wish it was simpler, necessarily,” I say, a lie. “I just wish I knew the rules.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. I want to bash my head into a wall. 

She furrows her brows. “What rules?” I exhale through my nose, gathering the courage, and reply, “The ones that say how close you’re allowed to get before it stops being just… music.” 

And there it is. The truth, softly spoken but hanging in the air between us like dense smoke. She stares at me; her mouth slightly open, but she’s quiet, she’s glowing. 

“I really like playing with you, Ves,” she whispers. I nod, unable to help the smile. “I love it.” She has no idea how much I mean it, or how much I wanted to say a different, much heavier three-worded phrase instead. 

We spend the rest of the night trading melodies and holding back words we’re both too afraid to say. Every note, every glance, every quiet laugh feels like a secret we’re keeping from each other. But I hope, I really hope one day we’ll be brave enough to speak them aloud. 

@yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken @wormm-mom @lynzeequitlollygagging @blackcherrywhiskey here you go! Let me know if you'd like to be added here :)

[birdie-in-arcadia]

All In

So sorry for the delay! The realm of Birdie is a bit hectic as of late. I hope you enjoy! <3

CHAPTER SEVEN -- STATIC  (My Point of View) 

The flea market hums with vendors and customers alike. It’s late morning, and the sky is pale, overcast in a way that makes everything below it feel slightly like light behind frosted glass.

The scent of roasted peanuts and old paper lingers in the air, carried on the breeze along with the clink of porcelain and the banter of strangers. I walk beside Vessel through the winding rows of stalls, my weathered black Converses scuffing occasionally on the uneven concrete, scarf wrapped loosely around my neck. He’s quiet, as always, but there’s an easy rhythm to his steps. He moves like he belongs in places like this. A vendor calls out something about rare vinyls, and Vessel perks up slightly. “I’ll catch you in a minute,” he says, nodding toward the corner booth where old records are flipping in a fan’s fingers. I smile. “Don’t get lost.” He offers a quiet half-smile and disappears into the crowd. 

I wander slowly, eyes scanning each display briefly. I approach a stall that’s cluttered and charming; vintage trinkets, postcards with foreign stamps, a typewriter with someone’s half-written letter still caught in the roller. I brush my fingertips over the dusty keys, wondering if the last person to use them ever finished their thought. “You look like someone who appreciates a good story.” I turn at the voice. 

The man standing across from me is older than me, maybe early thirties, with sharp eyes and a crooked grin. He’s holding a stack of old Penguin paperbacks and wears a coat that smells faintly of cedar. I blink. “I do, actually.” He smiles. “Knew it. You’ve got that kind of look.” “That kind of look?” I ask, amused. He shrugs. “Thoughtful. Bookish. Bit of mystery.” I let out a soft laugh, unsure how to respond. 

He leans slightly over the table, lifting a small silver locket from the display. “Ever wonder what kind of secrets something like this holds?” he asks, his eyes on mine. “I think about it all the time,” I admit, brushing a thumb over the edge of the silver oval. I trace the pad of my thumb over the etched vines around the outside edge and the heart in the middle, stained black with age and wear. “See? Knew I had you pegged.” I raise an eyebrow. 

I open my mouth to reply, but freeze. Because from the next aisle over, just past the corner of the tent, I catch sight of him. Vessel’s there, standing perfectly still, fingers wrapped around a record sleeve. Watching. Our eyes meet just for a second, but it’s enough. His expression isn’t angry, not even annoyed. Just... still. Too still. Unsettling, even. 

The man in front of me continues speaking, unaware. “So, what brings you here?” he asks, gesturing to the market. “You local?” I nod, voice catching in my throat. “Sort of. I’m here for university.” “Let me guess, music?” I blink. “How did you-” “It’s always music,” he interrupts. “Or art. You’ve got that energy. That ‘I stay up all night making something no one else understands’ vibe.” I laugh, nervously. “That’s... fair.” From the corner of my eye, I see Vessel set the record back on the table and walk away. Not toward me. Just... away. 

The man chats a bit more, something about a bookstore he frequents and how I’d love it. He asks for my number, but I decline gently, citing coursework and time. He nods, doesn’t press, and moves on with a wink and a wave. The moment he’s gone, I exhale. And immediately start looking for the man I came here with. 

I find him a few stalls down, standing by a display of old cameras. He’s flipping through a basket of faded photographs of people smiling in places that probably don’t exist anymore. “Hey,” I say, approaching carefully. He glances up. His expression is neutral. Too neutral. “You find something good?” He shakes his head. “Not really.” There’s a beat. I shift my weight. “That guy, he was just talking. I didn’t realize...” “You don’t owe me an explanation,” he says softly. I blink. “I wasn’t trying to-” “I know,” he cuts in gently. “It’s fine.” But it doesn’t feel fine. It feels like a note played half a beat off. Just enough to unsettle the rhythm. 

We walk the rest of the market in near silence. I notice how he keeps his hands in his pockets now. How he doesn’t stand quite as close. How he looks at the ground more than the stalls. And I can’t tell if I did something wrong, or if this is just who he is when he’s thinking too hard. 

At one booth, I pause in front of a stack of handwritten sheet music. Something about the ink, the careful slant of the notes, draws me in. He stands behind me, quiet for a long moment. Then: “He was flirting with you.” The words are barely audible. I glance at him. His jaw is tight, eyes fixed on the paper in my hands. “I didn’t notice, not until he asked for my number. I walked away after that,” I say truthfully. He replies simply, “I know.” Silence again. Then: “It surprised me.” I turn to face him, my brows slightly furrowed in confusion. “What did?” I ask. “How I felt when I saw him speaking to you.” he replies lowly.

I swallow hard. That's the closest to a confession that we've ever been. Is that all I get from him? I want to say so many things to him, ask questions I don't know if I'm ready to hear the answers to. So, I say nothing. I don't want to push him because he's obviously still shut down from whatever he felt about the interaction between that guy and I.

We don’t speak after that, we just stand there, surrounded by fading music and the ghosts of someone else’s memories, and hundreds of things left unsaid.

@yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken @wormm-mom @lynzeequitlollygagging @blackcherrywhiskey here you go! If you'd like to be added here, let me know :)

[birdie-in-arcadia]

This is genuinely addicting so far. If you haven't checked it out yet, I highly recommend that you do. Can't wait for more! :)

This is the Start of Something

Sleep Token fan fiction

There’s something that feels wrong about this world, and maybe this music is the key.

Chapter List

Chapter 1 - 2025-06-01

Chapter 2 - 2025-06-04

Chapter 3 - 2025-06-06

Chapter 4 - 2025-06-08

Chapter 5 - 2025-06-11

Chapter 6 - 2025-06-15 (Out now!)

Chapter 7 - 2025-06-18 (Coming soon!)

Chapter 8 - 2025-06-22 (Coming soon!)

Content Warnings

Suicide

Sexual Assault / Rape (18+ Only)

Domestic Abuse

Description of Gore

Miscarriage mention

Sexually explicit content (18+ Only)

Content Warnings will also be labeled within each chapter.

Disclaimers

No band member names will be used. No real-life personal history is referenced. If anything does match real-life then that is a coincidence cause I don't know anything about their real lives.

Please note, the narrator is described with vaginal genitalia, and is referred to with “she/her” a few times by one character. Please interpret the narrator’s gender as you choose.

This Chapter List will be updated as chapters come out!

If you have any questions or concerns, Ask Box is open.