Heartstrings (Part One)
Fandom: Sleep Token (Band)
Pairing: eventual Vessel x Female reader
Length: Medium
Summary: Memories haunt our beloved frontman, some he'd like to forget and some he's been hiding.
Warnings: eventual NSFW, 18 + ONLY, strong language, tobacco use, alcohol consumption, supernatural (no, not the show) element, a twisted little game.
Tagging: @synnersaint as always, @megangovier20
NOTES: I’ll be reposting to @roman-is-a-horse as well as that’s my little hole in the wall for all things masked men and Sleep Token
ENJOY!!!
He's exhausted. He's all sweat and grit, dirt beneath his fingernails, mud on his boots.
He could care less.
What he needed was sleep. Glorious, pillow soft sleep. And the deity let him.
He dreamt of monkey bars, chipped green paint, orange creme popsicles, a dizzy tire swing blurring in the distance, a familiar face hanging upside down from a wound up swing set. The air is light and the sun is high. He learned why ancient Egyptians rimmed their eyes with kohl. Learned the proper pronunciation for Persephone. Had his first kiss. Got into his first of many, fist fights and tasted blood and why you don't pick at knuckle scabs. The taste of woodchips.
And then he met you.
Vessel woke with a jolt, restless leg syndrome, jerking him at the worst of times but helpful on the stage.
"You're pretty when you cry." That silky voice that lulled him to the dreamworld sang down to him. Above his head, resting oh so carefully upon his pillow was Sleep, taking the form of a smoky red cat with six black slits for eyes. The deity grinned sharp, bone white fangs before leaping into the air at Vessel's recognition that he was indeed crying, his cheeks and lips streaked with salt. Sleep hung in the air above him, wagging its tail.
"Bad dream?" Sleep asked, resting its face on its paws like some teenager, coiling the phone cord, awaiting the latest hallway gossip.
"I'm fine," Vessel sniffled and turned on his side, an attempt to ignore his maker.
Sleep rolled onto its' back, little red paws pointing up to the ceiling before floating in front of his face and purred. "That's not what I asked."
Vessel blamed it on his uncomfortableness, the bed was cold and the sheets icy against his bare legs. Sleep wasn't buying it, squinting all six eyes at him as he tossed and turned for the rest of the night.
....
"That's not fair!"
"Life isn't fair, brother, get used to it."
"You big troll, that's the last can!"
"Watch it you little gremlin or I'll step on you and put you out like a light."
Brotherly threats floated up stairs along with the smell of someone cooking breakfast. Cinnamon butter, scrambled eggs, no doubt since his heathen brothers refused to eat them any other way. Roasted earthy mushrooms, peppered bacon.
Vessel clung to the staircase watching three others maneuver around someone's rented home in the highlands. Through a large bay window he could make out the silky green grass and sparkling yellow daffodils dancing in the wind.
SpaghettiOs.
III and IV were giving II shit in between grabbing plates, poor thing was jumping up and missing terribly the can of the tomato sauced rings. Vessel shook his head and jumped down the last two steps before they all stuttered to a stop, III hid the can behind his back as if he were about to be scolded.
"Never gets old, huh?" He asked and snagged a piece of less burnt bacon.
"Not a chance." III resumed his taunts until II gave up, growling low in his throat and angrily shut off the stovetop, marching outside into the daylight.
"Package came for you this morning." IV mumbled through a mouthful of eggs as he found him out on the porch swing. Vessel took the box with more questions than answers.
"Who knows we're here?"
IV shrugged and joined him on the bench, crossing his legs as the wooden slats swayed.
Vessel looked it over. Just a standard brown box, wrapped in a weeks worth of clear packing tape. Just several stamps -international corners, a beating or two in a mail office dented one of the boxes sides. He took the switchblade IV handed him, scoring the edged until it came loose.
He shook whatever was hidden, another box came tumbling out into his lap along with a folded piece of cardstock. He handed it over. Though as he dug around inside, he should've looked at the note first because IV's eyes, already on the large spectrum, had bloomed into bright blue saucers.
"What? What is it?"
"Look and see."
Vessel dropped the note to the ground as it were on fire. Explosive. A grenade of nostalgia and pain, if not sudden death.
ARE YOU GAME?
No.
No no no no no.
He could feel IV's eyes on him as he fumbled with the spare box, careful with the folds, peeling back the layers on carefully placed and wrapped tissue paper. His fingers ghosted over the jewelry or what was left of it before holding it up in the afternoon sun.
Vessel began to panic, anxiety was never far from him as he thumbed over one of the personally laid coins like a treasured rosary and if he were totally honest; it was just that.
....
Vessel had recently gotten into a band called Immortal the previous summer, expressing himself in a similar manner of covering his face (still experimenting with paint on his hands, he was always on the look out for the best greasepaint his first high school job could afford), in black and white paint, cut off jackets and ripped denim. Had attempted to look as cool as possible with a cigarette behind his ear. He never smoked it, just toyed with his mothers' addiction. The girls dug it so there was always that.
His friends chased squirrels until the popular girls noticed them, could've been a dare, could've been a prank but that didn't stop them from turning and chasing them instead. Their shrills squeals of laughter sang through the halls, tickled pink for attention in the back of classrooms.
The boys had ditched him once again as they left him at the playground, holding on to his bullet belt as he made his way, by foot, across town towards his job. He was going to be late, but the owner of the coffee shop couldn't care less; he was probably a few beers in as it was only three that Saturday afternoon.
Louie could really pound them down.
He was almost there when he stopped short. There on a park bench were a pair of shapely legs. Just sitting there in the air. Torn fishnets with shin high striped socks and boots, scuffed and beat up, much like his own when he looked down.
He crept by slowly, curious if they were a mannequin's legs or if they were real or, God forbid they were just that. No body attached! How scandalous!
A murderer on the loose and Vessel would be the first witness to the crime. His stomach had flipped at that.
But still, the young man proceeded forward, cautiously now as he left his usual path and got closer, squinting when he saw one of the ankles twitch.
Vessel made calculated steps around he bench and saw- gratefully of course, that the legs were indeed attached to a body, the body of a girl his age that he'd never seen before. She was laying upside down with her eyes closed, arms bent and on the ground beneath her head so she wouldn't roll off and crack her skull. An opened can of SpaghettiOs sat next to her, along with a sad looking purse.
"What are you doing?"
"What's it look like I'm doing, smart guy? 'm thinkin'." Was her response. She didn't even bother to open her eyes and acknowledged him. Foreigner for sure, he thought.
"Upside down?"
"I get all the cobwebs out better this way," then she cracked one eyes open, searching for him in this state and she smiled, the brightest smile he'd ever seen on a person. Stunning. Absolutely fucking stellar. "You should try it."
"Doesn't all the blood rush to your head like that?" Vessel turned his head to see her face better.
"That's the point, silly! When my brain talks to much the best way to shut her up is to rush her out, let her out. Come on, try it. There's plenty of room." She quipped and wiggled over in the bench, using her hands for leverage.
Vessel looked at his watch; twenty minutes until his shift started and he'd need to be there and get his apron on and punch in his timecard and Louie might not be drunk and waiting for him patently at the doors with a pained expression and angry, uncaffeinated patron waiting to get their fix.
He had trouble moving his body and wincing when one of the bullets jabbed his hip bone, but all in all he managed her similar position. Fucking wild. His jacket creaked when he moved his hands to the earth below, mimicking her position.
"Good job. Now watch me. Just breathe in and out like this, don't think about anything other than that and you'll be clear as a Koi fish pond."
He frowned but went along with it, looking at her as instructed he slowly shut his eyes, long legs growing tired he let them hang over the back of the bench instead and controlled his breathing.
He wasn't thinking about school or work, his thesis he had yet to start that was due in two weeks time. Not what he was going to have for dinner or which skirt II was trying to get under this week. Probably Jessica. II was always after Jessica.
"See. How do you feel now?" She asked.
Vessel couldn't even answer her at first, too caught up in the sensations, more aware of her perfume when his senses kicked into overdrive with his heartbeat pounding in his ears like this.
"Weightless. Clear." He mumbled.
"Exactly."
Then her hand was on his, carefully he opened his eyes and his world felt like his house of cards were about to tumble down if he breathed too loudly.
"I'm Y/N."
....
He thought about you as he ran the rest of the way to coffee shop, the little blue and white striped awning coming into view as his boots pounded pavement. He was just seconds away from being late, clocking in just in time and wrapping a brown apron around his jacket in the backroom.
He thought about as he rang up a pretty dark skinned girl, fresh faced and smiling at him.
He thought about you when a crotchety old woman barked her order and waited too close to the counter until he could brew it, which she made him do it twice.
He thought about you when a regular by the name of Johnny Two-Step came in, grooving to the beat of whatever song which was playing softly in the background.
He thought about you on the walk home, every park bench he passed by, with his hands in his pockets were shockingly empty.
Would he ever see you again?
Where you from? What were you doing here in this small seaside town? And why were you eating cold SpaghettiOs right from the can like a cat with a tin of tuna?
....
"Straight from the can?!" III asked the following day, sitting on his roof with an open notebook, ready for some action along with a stolen can of his father's beer. It would go unnoticed. They always went unnoticed.
III's dad would give a shrug and mumble about needing to slow down though he never did, he just went out and bought more, stocking the fridge in the garage for the next day.
"Never seen anything like it."
"I would hope not! Sounds like she's a screw or two loose."
"Maybe."
Maybe you did. Maybe you were what his mother would call 'quirky' or carefree, the possibility of being a hellion might be written in the stars for you too. Either way Vessel was into it.
"No no no, that's not how you do it. Here, you're just gonna' make a mess of it. Now look, you take the can like this..."
Vessel couldn't help be drawn into the kitchen of a house party a few weeks later, he'd toyed with the cigarette again, holding between his two front teeth as some girl in an obscenely short dress chatted him up outside. He told her to hold that thought and maneuvered through the bodies. Sweat and beer lingered on the air, music pulsed and couples and a possible throuple but Vessel's standards were making out in a dim corner.
The snap of a beer can had him joining the little circle around the sink. A few guys cheered. A few girls made noises, he couldn't decipher whether it was a good or a bad thing at the moment.
Vessel towered over the group, watching II wipe his mouth over the sink before slipping his trusty balaclava back up over his nose. He saw someone and when he looked, his eyebrows shot up to his hairline in an instant.
It was you.
It was really you!
You cheered in delight, gave him a high five and grinned.
"Whose next? How about you pretty lady?" You waved Jessica over, who was shy at first but followed your lead in her pink and yellow bellbottoms and halter top.
After your next shotgun you hugged Jessica who looked worse for wear and slumped against II who was more than happy to help her stand and move out out of the kitchen. II passed him in the doorway, giving him a fist bump to the shoulder, talking to his love interest, lost in the haze of beer and clouds of weed smoke.
"You! There you are you big tall drink of water."
Vessel turned just in time to see you, focused and barreling straight towards him, a look of drunken excitement on your face. You weren't stopping and then you were lunging at him, embracing him in a hug that should feel all sorts of foreign and wrong but... was welcomed and warm and you smell like floral perfume and beer foam.
You looked up at him with silly grin. "Hi."
"Hi yourself. Having a bit of fun I see."
"Wanna' shotgun a beer with me?"
"Maybe later. How many have you had already?"
You made a goofy sound in your throat, released his waist and took his wrist in your hands, dragging him outside. Something made of glass shattered somewhere inside the house as you two ducked out and sat down in a little gazebo on the property. Vines and little white flowers coiled up and around the lattice.
"You gonna' smoke that?" You asked, digging those same weathered boots into the dirt.
"You want it?"
"Can I share it with you?"
"You can have it. I actually don't smoke."
Your expressions ranged and rivaled those of a comic strip as you looked at him. "What the what?! You don't smoke, yet you just casually have a cigarette behind your ear?"
Vessel shrugged. "It's just an accessory at this point."
"Next thing you'll be telling me is you're not a real jester!"
"A jester?"
"The makeup! You're not a clown either? Some practicing mime? Although if you were a mime you wouldn't be talking, would you?" You drunkenly mused and Vessel wondered how many beers you’d already rushed into your bloodstream.
Vessel snorted and shook his head. "Afraid not. I'm just a guy."
"A handsome guy." You huffed and lit up the cigarette, leaning back on your elbows as you smoked.
Vessel snorted, unaffected by the tobacco hanging around your heads as you both looked up at the moon. Tethered to it's soft glow over the treetops. "I've been called a lot of things, but handsome ain't one of them."
You bolted upright, cigarette renting space between your teeth and burning his eyes as you grabbed his face like you were old friends.
"That's a damn shame. I'm going to make it my mission to tell you everyday I see you how good you look. Even if you are talking mime!"
Part Two Part Three
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I can't stop thinking of Kyanako's Order of Attack au... there's something so moving to me about how things getting so much worse could be what finally causes Amane to get better -- seeing Fuuta dying may be the final straw of getting her to rethink her rejection of medicine. Been a while since I've attempted something whump-y, this was fun to work with.
Tw for mentions/contemplation of death. I don't go into detail about the cult but the doctrines are implied through it all.
Fuuta was not a big fan of dying.
When he imagined his own death, he always pictured it as something dramatic and fast. Action heroes going out in a show of explosions and gunfire. Fantasy characters meeting the shining end of a blade. Even when he accepted his place in Milgram, it filled his mind with images of gallows and electric chairs.
Whatever this slow, lengthy fever was, it was pissing him off.
He’d lost all sense of time. He could no longer tell which hour the prison bells were marking -- morning and night blended together. Dreaming and waking blended together. His head injury and broken leg and broken bones blended together. It was all just pain at the end of the day. He had nonstop visitors that kept him awake and asked him too many questions and prodded his injuries and made his head spin. Somehow, he was simultaneously alone every time he rolled over to talk to someone. Painfully, suffocatingly alone.
If Kotoko was going to kill him with those ridiculous emo boots of hers, she should have just done it. He was losing his mind here: devoid of all energy, suffering through broken bones and a cracked head, and boiling in an increasingly fiery fever. Maybe that was the reason he stopped commenting when he watched Amane pocket the medicine Shidou had left him. Maybe that was why he’d stopped following Shidou’s instructions himself. Even after losing an eye and taking a beating herself, Amane always looked at peace. He was tired of dealing with all of this. He wanted a bit of that peace.
Regardless of why, it was working. His fever had quickly gone from the biggest pain in his ass to the very thing that dulled his racing thoughts.
He awoke suddenly, or maybe he’d already been awake. He couldn’t feel anything in his limbs. There was only a breathless heat around him. He raised himself into a sitting position, looking for a drink. Moving his head felt like one of those glitching computer windows that leaves a trail of copies behind it. The room swam around him. His eyes moved absently around him.
Fuuta picked up the glass that someone had left him. His fingers were clumsy, and it immediately went crashing to the ground. He hardly heard the noise as it broke apart on the concrete below.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d just go get a drink himself. Shidou told him not to get up without help. But what did he know? Thinking of the man ordering him around only drove Fuuta to step out of bed even quicker. He cried out, pain shooting through his leg. That was right, it was broken…
Fuuta looked down, finding himself on the ground. It was so hot. Maybe this is what she felt, he thought numbly. Was it this slow for her too? Probably not. She had no regrets to fill the time like he did. The heroes got quick, beautiful deaths, and it was the villains who had to suffer the long ones.
He lifted his right palm from where it had caught his fall. The shattered glass on the floor had cut into it. Shattered glass? What had broken? He stared blankly at the blood dripping down.
He didn’t have the strength to raise himself up. He was burning. Why was he on the ground? Was he bleeding? He could barely breathe. What was he doing here, anyway? He just wanted to curl up and sleep. He was so weak... just to lie down... he wouldn't have the strength to get back up again. Was that such a bad thing...?
A voice caught his attention. His eyes struggled to focus on the figure who’d come running into the cell. He couldn’t understand a word of what she was saying, but he was happy when she pressed her cool little hands against his forehead.
He allowed her to prop him up next to the bed. She held onto his hand, squeezing it tight. Why was she holding it like that? That hand was bleeding. When did that happen?
Her arms wrapped tightly around him. He wanted to shove her away -- it was too hot -- but couldn’t. In his ear, he could make out her words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, Fuuta. Don’t leave me alone. I’m so sorry...”
As she pulled back, he recognized Amane. Her uninjured eye was filled with tears. Was she upset? He thought he’d been making her happy. He wanted to keep making her happy. He’d never made anyone happy before.
He opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come out. They all scrambled up in his mouth. He felt the cell swirling around him.
Amane raised her voice. She looked desperately upwards. “This can’t be --! This isn’t right!”
Fuuta looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing there.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
She continued talking. Fuuta was too busy studying the ceiling. She was shouting. Or maybe crying. Fuuta didn’t like that she was so upset. Huh, had there been someone there? He surveyed the empty cell. What was he doing on the ground?
He looked down at his hand. The sheet from his bed had been pulled down and wrapped hastily around it. Why? His eyes felt sticky as he blinked. Everything hurt. It was so hot. What was going on? He was so angry. He was so scared. He wanted to cry. Why was he here? Why couldn’t he just hurry up and die already?
The next time she entered, Fuuta recognized Amane instantly. Her one hand pointed to him, the other held onto someone else. The second figure hurried over to him.
Fuuta was not a big fan of dying. Shidou reassured him he wouldn’t.
—
“You’re wearing the eyepatch,” Fuuta observed.
He was playing a dangerous game, drawing attention to it like that. He was too exhausted, and his curiosity won out over his better judgment. If Amane was going to explode with one of her typical speeches, he’d just let her.
She didn’t.
Amane’s hand drifted up to her eye. It had been hastily covered before, but now it was cleaned and wrapped in professional-grade materials. She simply said, “Kajiyama Fuuta. How do you feel?”
“Like shit.”
“But--”
“-- But I’m better, yeah.”
Amane nodded, her shoulders releasing.
“Oi, I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since…” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. Shidou had told him what happened, but it was difficult to believe. He couldn’t quite trust his own memory of the night. No matter how much clearer his mind felt since receiving proper treatment, those days of fever still muddled together. He heard that Amane had up and switched her beliefs overnight -- she was now complacent about all of Shidou's treatments -- but Fuuta knew people didn't just change like that. He wanted to hear it for himself.
She lowered her gaze in shame. “I… I thought you hated me.” Her voice was steady. “As you should. I almost killed you. I accept any ill will you may feel.”
“I -- what? You’re wrong. You… it wasn’t…” He grabbed his head, grunting in frustration.
After standing awkwardly in the entryway the whole time, Amane took a few steps inside. She made it to his bedside when he finally collected his thoughts.
“It was your fucked up family or whatever that caused everything. They did this. And I went along and made things worse.” He looked away. His next words felt stupid to say to a little kid. He felt like the most pathetic, weak, loser. But it was too important not to say.
“They almost killed me. You saved me.”
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So, now that I finished the game (again) and the DLC chapters, I'm going to ramble about Crosscode C:
This game is really bizarre in the sense that, to be completely 100% honest, there isn't any particular part of the game that I think is all that mind-blowing. But all the individual elements (heh) of the game come together so well that the resulting product ends up being so much stronger and memorable than the sum of its parts.
Like, most indie games have one or several notable flaws or shortcomings (and understandably so) but this game is such an airtight experience that I can't help thinking about it and just being like "the how HECK is this game so GOOD?!"
...I am of course just getting started, I've got a wall of text of things I liked and thought her just "meh" under the 'keep reading' if you're interested (you've been warned (also spoilers obviously)):
The combat is definitely one of the strongest elements of the game and probably one of my personal favorites; its brutally difficult and sometimes feels like bullshit (and maybe there is one or two instances where it actually is just bullshit) but once you get the hang of it is really is flashy and satisfying and makes you feel badass to pull off. Plus its got the whole easy to learn, hard to master thing going on (like most of it is just charging SP and pressing the space bar, but knowing what moves to use and when def play into things).
I dunno how much of a hot take this is, but I really liked the puzzles in this game! I won't deny that they can sometimes drag on and interrupt the pacing of a temple, but personally I didn't mind. And just like the combat they're so well constructed that, while you'll spend minutes staring blankly reminded that you're a simple-minded creature and that the human mind wasn't made for this and you should be foraging for mushrooms in the woods and risking death over your next meal, they rarely feel impossible to solve without having to resort to a playthrough and are really satisfying to finally figure out (not to brag but there was exactly one puzzle in the game where I had to look up the solution and another where I did solve it on my own but then looked it up cause I thought I cheesed it by mistake). At first I wasn't a huge fan of how fast/precise you have to be for some puzzles on top of just finding out the solution in the first place, but after a while you kinda get used to it (and there is an option to slow things down which is really nice of the devs to include).
The story is... pretty alright. Yeah. I honestly don't have much to say about it. Bit of a slow pace, does the job, and has it's share of twists and emotional moments, but the narrative itself doesn't really do anything mind-blowing either so... you know. I definitely think it's the characters themselves that are memorable and prop up an otherwise average story. I mean every single one of them is just the hugest goober and even characters who initially seem forgettable or one-dimensional end up subverting your expectations and being super endearing/compelling/layered. Oh yeah, and Lea is a character that can only say like 10 words and SHE DESERVES THE WORLD I WOULD KILL FOR H-
Also, since the DLC is brand new to me I do wanna say that the ending was the tiniest bit underwhelming. Like you break into Vermillion Wasteland, fight a (surprisingly easy) boss, and that's... just it. Like 20 minutes top. I dunno, it feels like... something was missing. Still thoroughly enjoyed the entire thing and it is nice for the cast to get their happy ending (not quite as emotionally impactful as the base game's end imo, but still great and I'm glad they gave us more time with these dorks).
The platforming and navigating the overworld is tedious, which sucks a bit since that makes up a good chunk of the game. Idk man, having to scale different elevations of platforms is made frustrating by the fixed camera and the fact that the different "levels" of platforms aren't distinct from each other at all, so its easy to get duped by the perspective and jump to something you can't actually reach (yes you can use projectiles to check but it still isn't fun). Even without everything blending into each other visually, trying to find which obscure paths from four rooms ago will bring you to a chest just isn't all that enjoyable (some of the later maps like Sapphire Ridge were okay though, if only cause they started to have actually interesting puzzles to do). Basically they're just... there, between the actually fun stuff.
The trading system and farming for resources is confusing and kind of a chore. That's all I got.
Guess I'll touch on the art/music since I don't have too much to say about them. To be perfectly honest I'm not actually super crazy about the artstyle (blasphemy!), but I won't deny that the sprite-work and overall aesthetic are still super-well done, even if they aren't my personal taste (tl;dr I'm neutral on it). The soundtrack isn't something I'd put on my phone and listen to in the car, but like the art it's still well-made and perfectly suits the mood of/drives the emotional impact of the game, and there are still a handful of standout bangers (Lea's theme will live rent-free in my brain of course).
One last thing I'll say (that I mentioned before) is that as fun as this game is, it feels like a commitment to get through at times. Even when I first played it and had more free time, sometimes this game just felt "imposing" to pick back up after a break. Idk its hard to describe, but at least for me it was hard to play any other games alongside this (especially with my limited free time) which kinda sucked a bit.
To wrap things up, if I had to give the game an arbitrary number rating, I have to give Crosscode a 0/10 because its an indie game that doesn't have a fishing game (smh honestly how could they make such an obvious mistake 😔).
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