havenisms

[havenisms]

𑣲 ‧₊ re : the entirety of being

does it bother you, that mercy is so difficult to understand?

𑣲 ‧₊ character : simon ghost riley 𑣲 ‧₊ fandom : call of duty 𑣲 ‧₊ notes : quote by mary oliver. repost ( again, sorry! )

prologue :

BUT THERE IS ALWAYS A WEAKNESS IN EXISTENCE, THE CHOIR WILL SING, BECAUSE THIS LIFE IS MEANT TO BE AN EVERLASTING TRAGEDY : MEANT FOR THE RECKONING , MEANT FOR THE RUINING. THERE IS ALWAYS DEATH, ALWAYS BLOOD, ALWAYS ON YOUR HANDS, ALWAYS ON THE MASK.

YOU SAY YOU ARE MADE OF CRUELTY. THAT YOU HAVE A COLD HEART. BUT THERE IS WEAKNESS IN BEING KNOWN, IN BEING LOVED, AND YOU KNOW THIS. AND YOU ALLOW IT, YOU DO.

act 01 :

the first time simon realizes he loves you is the last time he swears to see you. best to cut off ties now, make it quick and move on. forget it all.

his life is too different from yours : wartorn . gruesome . vicious. he is the knife meant for the killing : sharp . cold . cruel. the only way he belongs in the heart of another is through the blade, and he knows this.

he's lost too many people, lost those he's cared for, over and over and over again, and if he allows this, then he'll lose you, too. he will. he knows. he knows too damn well, and he fucking hates it. he understands this more than anyone in the world.

he claims he has a cold heart ; he'd like to believe that. god, he wishes it could be true. it would be so much easier, wouldn't it? wouldn't have fallen in love with you, wouldn't have to mourn for his family and friends, his comrades. wouldn't have to feel anything, just do what he was told.

it would be so much easier, that numbness. because as much as he wants to stop this, put an end to this tragedy before it festers and blooms into something terrifying, he can't.

( how very strange, he thinks, this reminder that even a ghost was once human, too. )

act 02 :

the first time simon shows his face is perhaps the most frightening of all. there is just the faintest vulnerability that comes with being known, and he tries not to acknowledge it. yes, his comrades have seen him, but not you. never you. because this is different, and he cannot describe it, cannot describe why. it is something akin to bearing one's heart : ripping it from his chest, ugly and worn but beating and beating and beating in his calloused hands, and hoping that even then, even in the vile nature of a weapon, you won't turn away.

but when you see him, you pause for a moment, brows raised just for the slightest moment before your eyes lighten up. he doesn't quite understand. he's not sure how to react to your...reaction.

you grin.

"hey, handsome."

( you don't see his face for months after that. you don't ask to, either, but should you ever, he would have obliged in a moment's notice. what a strange thing it is, this weakness he has for you. )

act 03 :

the first time simon kisses you, he wonders if there is a happy ending at the end of this road. you've never been one to fuss over seeing his face-- something he has learned to appreciate all too well. it's almost second nature by now, though you seldom see it. a flicker of curiosity in your eyes, then a faint smile, and that's it.

but tonight is different. tonight, in quiet reverence, your hand cups his cheek, thumb tracing that little scar on the corner of his lip. it's not something born from war, but he'll tell you it is, when in truth, it was something from childhood. but you never ask because you already understand.

you stare at him, and he cannot understand your gaze. gentle. fond.

it almost frightens him, that strange stirring in the heart.

"i love you, you know." you tell him, and your words are but a whisper, yet they're so loud that it shatters the silence in ways that he will remember forever. "i do."

he swallows hard. something tells him that he cannot, should not reciprocate the words. so he doesn't.

"i know."

you smile, lean in just the slightest bit-- almost waiting with bated breath to see if he'll pull away. he should. he should stop this, stop before this turns into something that could twist joy into grief, turn this newfound home into a burial ground. but he doesn't. so you kiss him, tender, adoring, and you let out just the softest laugh, and perhaps it's the kindest thing he's ever heard.

"yeah," you say, kissing him just once more, "i know, too."

( somewhere in that kiss, there's the reciprocation of a love found and forsaken and cherished. one day, he'll say the words. it is his silent promise to you, one you somehow manage to hear. )

act 04 :

the first time simon comes home to you, he hopes it is the first of a thousand times. it has been months since you have last seen each other, and he is tired. the weight on his shoulder is a heavy one, and the ache in his bones is a dull hollowing.

you do not ask how he is. you never do. there is always love through other means. the silence is strong, but never suffocating. you welcome him home with open arms, holding him close, fingers gently running through his hair.

a kiss to the temple, then a small hum of contentment. the passage of time is a blur nowadays, simon thinks, but he would spend forever with you like this if he could.

"...'m back, dove."

you feel him hold you a little closer, just the faintest trace of his lips against your neck.

"you are." you murmur, and there is a brutality in the relief you feel in the knowing of his return. "welcome back."

( & the heart is not always meant for the destruction, simon learns, slowly but surely. maybe there's a happy ending here, somewhere, somehow. he'll be sure to find it. he has to. )

[havenisms]

𑣲 ‧₊ the way simon riley learns to love, slowly. gradually. the way he learns vulnerability and unlearns cruelty despite it all. despite the pain / the ruin / the reckoning. despite everything he grew up with. despite all he knew when he had to survive.

he learns gentleness, learns to just be. to exist. learns that you're the lighthouse, that you're some kind of haven he didn't know he wanted. learns that your touch is meant for safekeeping. learns that the heart is not always meant for pain and resilience.

he learns to love. learns to stay.

[havenisms]

𑣲 ‧₊ character : sukuna 𑣲 ‧₊ fandom : jujutsu kaisen 𑣲 ‧₊ notes : modern!au. reader & sukuna are parents. repost!

"look at you," a low murmur and seemingly harsh gaze : the furrowed brows, that sharp, scrutinizing stare ( but if you look closely, you'll only see a familiar and subtle fondness ), "so weak and powerless. too reliant on others. you won't survive if you don't learn."

a silence, heavy. deafening. suffocating.

-- and then a soft babble. and another. and... another. a grimace as a little hand bats at sukuna's face ( and yet he doesn't quite pull away ).

and then there's you, watching the interaction with both fondness and amusement as you gingerly prepare a bottle of milk for a certain munchkin.

"stop talking to her like that."

"life lessons." he responds. "she has to know."

"okay," you begin, voice flat, "but also, she is a baby."

he shoots you a half-hearted glare, though it's quick to falter when you sit next to him on the couch, giving him a kiss on the cheek before handing him the bottle. feeding the kid is almost like clockwork now ( well, actually, it pretty much is ), so it's not long at all before he's holding a content baby in his arms, one hand supporting the bottle for her ( 'she can't hold this by herself yet?' 'she can't even hold her head up half the time, sukuna.' ), his other one adjusting her the slightest bit to make sure she's comfortable.

there's just the faintest hint of curiosity and mirth in those eyes as he studies her intently -- she looks more like you, he thinks, and while he can pout all he wants about it openly, he's secretly glad that she's taken on more of your features.

you smile softly at the sight, the quiet such a peaceful one as you rest your chin on his shoulder. you don't think you've ever seen him like this before, so attentive and doting, and so incredibly worried over every little thing when it comes to the baby.

"as weird as you are with your lectures, you have to admit you're completely smitten with her." you murmur. "waking up every few hours to check on her, never letting her out of your sight, the list goes on..."

a feign scowl-- one you entirely expect and get rid of with yet another kiss on the cheek.

"it's necessary." a grumble. "she's too small, defenseless. utterly feeble and frail."

god. you think he could go on about this forever and ever.

"sukuna."

"what?"

"she is two months old."

he pauses for a long while, seemingly deep in thought as he looks down at the baby once more. you're not sure what he's thinking about, because there's no way in hell he forgot how old his own daughter was, but he's definitely... contemplating. and when he finally looks at you once more, you are very much curious to hear what he has to say next.

"-- and? what a futile point."

( the dead, blank look you give sukuna is perhaps one of the most haunting things he has ever seen. unfortunately, it does not deter him from his life lessons that he insists on teaching the baby, anyway. )

[havenisms]

𑣲 ‧₊ in belonging

when i imagine myself / i am always leaving I COULDN’T DRAW MY OWN FACE IF GOD ASKED.

𑣲 ‧₊ character : toji fushiguro 𑣲 ‧₊ fandom : jujutsu kaisen 𑣲 ‧₊ notes : quote by andrés cerpa. repost.

𝐈. droplets run rampant down a bathroom mirror. the high of the chase, the wanting, the collision, then : THE END. no separation in existence, only one in being. one. alone. a mess of everything it has been created with, no everlasting chance of individualism or identity of self.

HOW TERRIBLY, TERRIBLY TRAGIC.

𝐈𝐈. there is a fog that fills the bathroom, heavy. you sigh, run your hand over the mirror, wipe away the condensation, and in your reflection lies you and him, sun and moon. the wanted / unwanted. the loved / unloved ( but if it's by the right person, what does it matter? but in which sense? in being loved or unloved? )

toji looks at himself, unwavering. a blank expression, difficult to read-- but maybe you see something else : a flicker, a spark. is it mourning? disdain? you want to ask him, but another question falls from your lips unexpectedly, and you don't think you ever meant to say it.

"who are you?" you ask. your expression is vacant, too, and the pity and gentleness he knows never comes. not this time.

he thinks to speak, dismiss you with a mere shrug, an i don't know, but the world distorts, the mirror fogs, the droplets running and running yet never clearing the haze.

the world turns black, and toji fushiguro wakes up.

𝐈𝐈𝐈. THERE IS A VIOLENCE CLAWING AT HIS CHEST & an ache that screams with such fury that it echoes in the confines of the rotting heart ( WHO DESTROYED IT? did you do that to yourself? DID THEY CARVE OUT YOUR EVERYTHING AND SET IT AFLAME? )

he wakes to a horrid red that morphs into pitch black. he cannot breathe, lungs burning and sweat running down his temple. something is wrong, something is wrong, and his composure crumbles and out comes an unseen vulnerability. the roots of his past are growing, festering, and he can no longer suppress them.

"toji--" your voice remains a lighthouse in the mist, and you wait until he sees you, until the panic dies down just enough for recognition to sink in before your hand gently rests on his chest. you say his name over and over again, tell him that it's sunday and it's four in the morning and it's okay, that he's here in the bedroom you share and that it's alright, it's alright. the words spill out so quickly that you don't think he can comprehend everything you're saying, but your voice is enough-- always has been, and the distress in his eyes slowly abates, though the terror remains ever so present.

( but it has always been there, hasn't it? always hidden away, pushed aside in feigned absence. )

what did you dream of, you want to ask, what can i do to slow the beating of your heart? but there is a weakness in your arms and a fear so strong that it crushes you until you can no longer think. so you sit in silence now, in the darkness, your hand on his heart, your voice on his mind.

( i see you, you tell him, whispering the words like a prayer, a sacred mantra. i see you. i know you. it's okay. you see each other, and until the sun rises, you grieve separately, and you grieve together. )

𝐈𝐕. desire leaves a rift in his existence. he craves for too much and too little, searches for stability wherever and however he can find it. but it's never enough, and so he moves on, moves forward and backward, but god entraps him in a vicious circle in which he cannot remain stagnant.

he thinks he knows himself-- uncaring, selfish, birthed from contempt and animosity. that is who he is. that is all he knows, and so he creates an identity from it and deems it as his, because if there is anything left that he can reclaim, it is his past and sins reborn.

he never has that nightmare again, but it follows him. it lives in the shadows, appears in the corner of his eye-- a flash, then gone, but ingrained forever in the strings of the heart. toji tells you of it one day, almost laughs at that familiar look of pity ( but it's sympathy, the world will tell him, it's love. but you think you know nothing of the feeling, so you deem it to be what it is not. )

it's sunday again. the clock reads three in the morning and you're pulling the sheets over his exhausted, sleeping form. you scoot closer, cautious to not disrupt his slumber, and you cannot help but smile at this temporary peace. you pray that he does not relive any of those memories again.

"you'll find it eventually." you whisper, lips pressing against his temple. "you'll find yourself, toji."

you wish him a goodnight, and when you fall into the dreamscape, he opens his eyes, takes in the sight of a cherished lover in this place he can call home, and silently hopes the same.

[havenisms]

twenties. multifandom. writing side blog.

18+ only space. minors, ageless, and/or blank blogs will be blocked. no reposts / translations / feeding my fics into AI.