#it perched on the windowsill. tilted its head. looked straight at me through the glass. and stood still for a few moments before flying awa
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the single most beautiful pigeon i have EVER seen just perched on my windowsill............................................................................... NEVER KILL YOURSELFâźď¸
#i gasped out loud. this was a fairy tale kind of apparition#normally this is the bird that's actually a beautiful princess who's been cursed and tries to find help to undo the curse#OR the bird that brings a king a single golden hair that triggers the Quest For His One True Love To Whom The Hair Of Spun Gold Belongs#cannot overstate how heart-shatteringly beautiful this bird was. i'm going to cry.#it perched on the windowsill. tilted its head. looked straight at me through the glass. and stood still for a few moments before flying awa#come back.... my beautiful beautiful pigeon.............................
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Title: Revision.
Commissioned by the very lovely @pyrokittyowo.
Pairing: Yandere!Simeon/Reader (Obey Me).
Word Count: 2.2k.
TW: Past Trauma, Toxic Relationships, Codependency, Infantilization, Isolation, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Manipulation, Gaslighting.
The sun never sets in the Celestial Realm.
Itâs less whimsical than it sounds, to be fair. Sleep is a luxury for angels, a way to pass time for the young and the injured, but that hadn't been something Simeon thought to tell you when you first arrived, as you tried to follow his mangled, irregular cycle of rest and work. Youâd gotten the hang of it with time, carved out your own routine and forced yourself to follow it, but youâd be lying if you said you were completely used to it. It was grating, if anything, just how bright all of it was, the shine only amplified by the ivory and gold angels seemed so fond of. It was overwhelming, really. If you hadnât known better, you mightâve called it unbearable.
But, you did know better. This realm was warm, but not stifling, not half as oppressive as the Devildom had been. It didnât have the same constant chill, a pervasive darkness only made worse by the humid air and that invasive metallic scent, like stone and rock and the blood that must've been soaked into the cracks of both. The darkness was worse. All of it was worse, but you tried to keep your mind on the landscape, the starless sky, the bleakness youâd slowly grown to hate.
If you let yourself think about anything else, youâd have to think about the people youâd met, the brothers, the way theyâd looked at you. Youâd have to remember how tight Mammonâs grip had been, the first time he took you by the wrist rather than the hand, or how dull Beelzebub's fangs were and how much it hurt when he drove them into your skin, your chest, the sensitive area just below your collarbone that never failed to bleed, when it bit down. Youâd have to think about how Luciferâs hand felt as it wrapped around your neck, the sound of your own failing breath, the way heâd laughed as youâ
You inhaled sharply, cutting yourself off before you could get any more lost in the memory.
Because thatâs what it was â just a memory. Something youâd never have to worry about again, thanks to Simeon.
Still, you were allowed to complain. Even indoors, perched in one of the many bay windows spotted around Simeonâs sizable chambers, you could feel the unyielding sun, notice the light start to eat away at your vision like a hungry, gnawing parasite. There were clouds in the sky, perfect wisps of nothing, but they'd been their since the day you first arrived, fixed features on an unchanging canvas. They wouldn't move. You already knew that. Nothing moved in the Celestial Realm, not unless it had a reason to.
And yet, you found yourself opening your mouth regardless, asking the question thatâd been playing on your tongue all day. You could let yourself have this. You could hope that were wrong. It wasn't like this would be the first time. âIt doesnât rain here, does it?â
Immediately, there was a hum from across the room, one of the many soft sounds Simeon seemed to be so fond of. You shouldâve been glad he was there to answer at all, really. Simeon spent most of the day tending to his vague responsibilities. If he had time to sit around, pouring over a scroll in a language you couldnât recognize, it mustâve meant it was either too early in the morning or too late at night for him to be bothered with anything else. You couldnât be sure which, not when the two were so impossible to tell apart. âRarely,â He replied, still distracted. âMichael tries not to leave the weather up to chance. If he needed a storm, Iâd be able to tell you weeks in advance.â
You almost felt bad for him. You wouldâve hated it, knowing everything long before it actually happened, but you doubted Simeon would ever let himself be so careless. âI donât know how Iâd stay sane,â You admitted, your gaze moving back to the window. A white dove had landed on the edge of Simeonâs windowsill, meticulously sorting through bleached feathers with its pointed beak, and idly, you wondered if the animals bothered to regulate themselves, too. âYou wouldn't like my hometown. Couldnât see the sky most days, and when you could, it was nearly too hot to go outside. Never stopped it from snowing a month before winter, though.â You paused, letting yourself smile at the thought. You missed it; you werenât going to try to deny that. You were still allowed to miss things. âLuke would probably love it. Say what you want about humans, but we've never gotten a bakery wrong.â
Simeon didnât hum, this time. The silence couldnât have lasted more than a few seconds, but your heart still found a way to tighten in your chest, stopping completely as you heard his chair scrape against the floor, sharp footsteps following the noise immediately. You couldnât bring yourself to look at him, and he was kind enough not to force you to, brushing off your avoidance as he positioned himself on the opposite side of your small shelter. It wasn't much of an improvement, though. If he'd just let himself be a little more cruel, you might've had the pleasure of hating him for it.
âYouâre thinking about the human world again.â
He was getting straight to the point. You couldnât say you werenât thankful.
âHow can I not?â You tried to laugh, but it came out strained, out of place against his sober expression. âI havenât been home in a year. Iâm bound to want to go back, eventually.â
âYou know itâs not safe.â It was a familiar mantra, one you shouldâve been numb to, but it still found a way to hurt, to linger, accumulate into a small, aching knot in the back of your throat as you reminded yourself that he was only doing it because he cared. That was all â he cared. He didnât want to see you get hurt, not again. He didnât want to see you face anything more harmful than his clumsy comfort, even if he did have a strange way of showing it. âWeâve talked about this before, (Y/n). Itâs still too early to tell if Lucifer left any lasting damage. There could still be a tracking spell I havenât discovered yet, or worse.â There was a pause, and a gloved hand came to rest on your knee. You couldâve mouthed the words, as he said them. âI can keep you safe here, but your world is neutral territory. I might not be able to stop him, if he and his brothers tried to take you away.â
You hated the way he said it. Part of you, a persistent minority, still wanted to think this was all a misunderstanding, a result of crossed wires and mixed messages and the kind of miscommunications that only ever led to such awful things. You knew it was unhealthy, to try to tint your own memories with such a forgiving light, but that didn't help you smother the temptation to believe all the soft, pleasant encouragements Asmodeus had whispered in your ear as his brothers lived out their distorted, carnal fantasies. Whatever Simeon was trying to do, it certainly wasnât helping, either.
âIâll be careful,â You tried, slouching against the glass. It was warm to the touch, a feeling you savored under his cold gaze. âItâd be a day trip, at most. Just a few hours. IâŚâ He was wearing the silk gloves, today, soft and smooth as he raised his hand, cupping your cheek without a trace of hesitation. You trailed off instantly, still unused to the gentleness. âI just want to see my family, thatâs all. Even if itâs only for a few minutes.â
âYouâre bored of me, now?â It was supposed to be playful, the question accompanied by a light chuckle, but you still shook your head, leaning into his palm as you went on. âI canât say I blame you. I know Iâm not one for company, but if youâre dying for entertainment, I can see whatââ
âItâs not just that.â You should've let him finish, but it was already too late to stop yourself. You didnât want to stop yourself, if you were being honest. You just wanted to go somewhere else, somewhere different, a place where the sky didnât hurt to look at and the sun wasnât so willing to punish you for existing. You wanted to be able to step outside without worrying whether or not your angelic hosts still thought you were worthy of their concern. You didnât want this, anymore, even if it was the better option. âIâm just tired, Simeon. Iâm tired of being here, Iâm tired of running, and I just want to go homeââ
There was a small huff, a sharp crack. By the time you realized what happed, by the time that sudden acidic sting faded into a steady throb, his thumb was already digging into your jaw, your head forcibly tilted back in such a way that made it so you had to look at him. You couldnât avoid the softened anger in his eyes, or the stiffness in his posture, or that tight, unignorable scowl. He was disappointed, and he wanted you to know you were the reason why. He was mad at you, and youâd done everything to earn it.
When he spoke, he did so slowly. Like he was talking to a child who hadnât quite come to terms with reality, just yet. âIâve taken care of you, havenât I?â
âYou have.â There was no point trying to deny it. If it hadnât been for Simeon, youâd still be rotting in that hellscape, subject to the whims of a family of monsters. He'd saved you. He'd helped you escape, and you had to be thankful for that. âI just donât know if I canââ
âAnd you care about me, right? You donât want to see me worry?â
You hesitated, but your answer was inevitable âOf course.â
âAnd you do remember the last thing Belphie said to you, donât you? What he did to send you running to me?â He let himself smile, despite the nature of the question. âI could barely understand you back then, with the crying and all. Honestly, I almost didn't notice you were begging me to save you.â It was easy to forget how Simeon could be, when he knew he was right. Most of the time, his confidence was comforting, a gentle reminder that you could trust him, that you should trust him. Right now, it just made you feel weak. âWhat was it, again? Câmon, love, you can tell me, canât you?â
You could. Objectively, you could, if you tried to. You could force your mouth to make the words, you could shut your eyes and let Simeon guide you through it, and you could tell yourself they were just memories, that you were somewhere else now, that you were somewhere better, butâŚ
But, you really, really didnât want to, and you couldnât convince yourself you did.
If you did, youâd have to remember how tightly Belphegor had held your hand, as he said it, his fingers intertwined with yours and his grip strong enough to leave your palm bruised, after he pulled away. Youâd have to think about the small smile he wore, the hatred in his half-lidded eyes, the chill that'd run down your spine as he hid his face in the crook of your shoulder and told you that, if you ever tried to leave him, if he ever had to share you with anyone beyond the six exceptions he was already making, heâd kill you. It was as simple as that.
If he ever saw you again, heâd kill you.
You were safe, here. You were safe in the Celestial Realm, you were safe with Simeon, but you still found yourself choking on the words, your throat going dry as your shoulders pitched forward, a bolt of something frozen striking your chest before you could ward it off. You couldn't be sure why something so distant would make you cry, but you could feel it coming on â hot tears welling in your eyes, blurring your vision, threatening to spill over and strip you of what little pride you had left, but Simeon only wiped them away, as doting as he always was. As loving as he always was, even when you took his patience for granted. Even when you hesitated to lean into him, as he pulled you into his chest, urging you to hide your face and treat him like the pillar of support he was so clearly trying to be. Even when you didn't deserve it, when you didn't deserve him, when you didn't deserve any of this, not when he was kind enough to pretend he didn't know that just as well as you.
âPoor little thing.â He was humming, now, his tone teetering on the line between carelessness and comfort. You couldnât bring yourself to care, not in the moment, not when it was all you could do to muffle your hitched sobs into small, pathetic whimpers. âItâs nothing to blame yourself for. You just need a little help.â Another pause, elongated and purposeful. Sadistic, in only because he had to try so hard not to be. âYou just need someone to protect you. Itâs only human.â
It was all you could do to nod, to agree, as mindlessly as you were capable of. You didnât want to think. You didnât want to risk remembering something you shouldnât.
Instead, you just focused on the sunlight streaming the nearest window, how it felt as it hit you.
How, wherever your skin made contact with Simeonâs, it seemed to grow just a little more insufferable than it had been, a second ago.
#yandere#yandere love#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere oneshot#yandere scenario#yandere commission#commission#writing commissions#yandere prompts#obey me#obey me imagines#yandere obey me#obey me simeon#yandere simeon#simeon x reader#yandere fanfiction#yandere fantasy#yanderecore#yancore
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Of oil paints, monologues, and 36 questions (2/3) - Sashea - Silver
A/N: part 2! This is quite long (6.5k) but I hope you enjoy it! Iâd just like to say thank you so much for the lovely feed back on part 1! Itâs much appreciated âĄ
Part 1 can be found here
Dust settled. The sun rose to its hazy pinnacle, birds chirping, perched on windowsills and balconies. Curtains were pulled open, untarnished beams of sun intruding through the glass windows of the room, illuminating the once dark abyss of fantasy and surrealism. Sounds of harps and ukuleles had disappeared from the speaker, a morning radio show having taken its place. The cheery voice of the anchors fled to ears, grounding them.
The room smelt like a dangerous mix of popcorn and smoke; neither a pleasant scent. Specs of ash were littered across surfaces, lifting and swirling in to light breezes that flew in through the ajar window.
Shea blinked away the sleep from her eyes, the space on the couch next to her dented and warm, yet void of any presence. She squinted her eyes, adjusting her barely awake orbs to the astonishing daylight. Raising her gaze, acknowledging Katya pottering around the minute kitchen area, she sat up straight. Stretching the tense muscles of her back and elongating her arms towards the ceiling, knuckles clicking and bones cracking satisfyingly, she stood.
Her feet were clothed in comfortable fluffy bed socks, which made the walk to join Katya bearable. Kind of. The frigid coldness of the hard wood made her shiver as she walked, environment having yet to heat up sufficiently, irregardless of the summer weather outside.
Trixie was sat on a bar stool near to Katya. Her hair was wet as she ran a brush through it, untangling any knots delicately. Smiling lightly up towards Shea as she approached, Trixie began braiding her hair loosely.
âMorning sunshineâ. Sang Trixie, the high pitched noise making Shea shiver slightly. Lifting herself to perch on the counter top, Shea rubbed at her eyes, remnants of mascara nearing her cheekbones and glittery eyeshadow transferring on to her fingertips.
âM'morningâ. She grumbled in response, garnering Katyaâs attention. The dark blonde skipped over, her mood unreasonably - uncharacteristically - cheery for such an hour of the day. Eight in the morning, her watch told her. It was an hour that Shea hadnât greeted in weeks. Stuck in a cyclonic routine of drifting off into a turbulent sleep at well past midnight, and rising more than halfway in to the average persons typical day. She shook her head. Maybe Iâll get to class today, instead of only turning up to rehearsals, she mused. It could happen.
âYou look roughâ. Trixie deadpanned, Shea smiling gratefully when Katya thrust a plate of toast in to her hands and mumbling a low eat, bitch. Scoffing, Shea pointed vaguely towards Trixieâs dishevelled morning appearance.
âTake a look in the mirror, Trix-â. Retorted Shea, focus travelling around the room. It seemed emptier, somehow, the small amount of clutter that had gathered doing little to compensate for the feeling. â-I feel fine, shockingly, I had a decent sleepâ. She finished, biting in to the warm toast, melted butter glossing over her lips.
âSee, that couch isnât as bad as everybody says it isâ. Gloated Katya, sipping from a glass of orange juice in one hand whilst smoking a freshly lit cigarette in the other, sun creating a halo around her head of dishevelled hair.
âOh no, itâs definitely bad, my back feels like Iâve slept on a bed of nails for years-â. A line appeared between her eyebrows, frowning at the ache still apparent in her spine. â-plus we have dance rehearsals tonight, I feel like I might dieâ. Exaggeration. Trixie giggled.
âIâd appreciate it if you didnât remind me about that, I didnât get much sleep last night and-â. Trixie paused, words halted by Katyaâs hand flailing against her shoulder. Shaking her head, albeit to herself, Shea set her plate down on the counter top next to her, body still asleep.
âI donât want to know what the both of you got up to, thanksâ. Sheaâs voice dripped with sarcasm, eyebrows waggling knowingly. Katya groaned and Trixie cackled, leaving Shea none the wiser about the dynamic of their relationship. Always strange.
âYou really donât-â. Elaborated Katya, eyes darting between Shea and Trixie. â-never mind us, what did you and Sasha get up to last night? You were both out cold when I came in at like - midnightâ. The corners of Sheaâs mouth twitched, smile threatening to break out. She quelled it immediately.
Sasha.
âWe just talkedâ. Shea exhaled nonchalantly, tilting her head backwards, hand rising to rub at her neck soothingly. Katya sniggered, eyes rolling and short fingernails tapping irritatingly across the kitchen surface.
âBecause talking normally leads to cuddling?â. Katya grinned, pride streaking across her face as she realised she had cracked Sheaâs façade. The dark haired girl squeezed her eyes shut, before flickering them towards Trixie. Help, she pleaded silently, eyes hopeful. Shrugging her shoulders, Trixie mouthed a sincere sorry, dismounting the bar stool and making her way to the coat rack where sheâd left her floral patterned pink jacket; an item of clothing that was Trixie embodied.
Sasha.
âWhere is she, anyway? Did she leave?â. Shea pondered, question directed towards Trixie. The blonde shrugged her shoulders, tossing Sheaâs shoes to her. Shea smiled gratefully, Trixieâs organised instincts a welcome addition to her drowsy thoughts. She busied herself with twiddling her thumbs.
âShe has class at nine, so she left early enough to go back to her place and get ready-â. Katya intervened, reaching in to the pocket of her pants and retrieving a folded up square of paper. â-she did leave you her number, thoughâ. Winked Katya, a teasing grin becoming a permanent fixture on her features.
âYeah, she did, thatâs great-â. Dismissed Trixie, although not without a piercing look that told Shea it - Sasha - wasnât a topic that would be that easily avoided. Ushering Shea to pull her shoes on in addition to her jacket, Trixie signalled to the clock on the wall opposite. â-but if we donât leave soon then weâll be late for class tooâ. Trixie threw her bag over her shoulder, giving herself a once over in the mirror.
Admittedly, she didnât look great, wearing the same outfit that sheâd arrived in the day previously, and with her hair in damp braids. Shea looked worse, granted, makeup dissolving and wavy hair dropping. Both were thankful that their own dorms were only a ten minute walk away.
âThis morning is just music theory, right?â. Shea attempted to recall her schedule, weeks of having avoided all classes and commitments leaving a void in her mind, in her recollections. Slipping her feet out of her furry bed socks and in to her shoes, she felt the muscles in her lower back spasm and seize. Trixie gave a slow nod, observing the pain circulating throughout Sheaâs being.
âWill you be alright for practice tonight?â. Trixieâs words were tentative, cautiously optimistic. The prominent frown on Sheaâs face diminished, a convincing tight lipped smile taking its place.
âIâll be fine, Iâve just slept awkwardly, donât worry about it girlâ. Shea discarded quickly, diverting Trixieâs attention away from the possibility of not being able to practice as efficiently as possible. Eyeing the other girl suspiciously, Trixie gave in, allowing Shea to finish preparing herself to leave whilst she walked elegantly back over to Katyaâs side.
âCall me later?-â. Trixie breathed quietly, Shea just out of earshot, intending for only Katya to hear her low octave words. Katya smiled timidly, teeth tugging at the corner of her swollen bottom lip. â-please?â. She emphasised, arms slinking securely around Katyaâs waist, pulling her in closer.
âIâll call you-â. Hummed the shorter girl, flicking her eyes across Trixieâs shoulder in order to observe Shea, who had pulled on her jacket and thrown her hair in to a loose high bun. â-make sure you give this to Shea though, I know sheâs already behind schedule with finding a costume, and Sashaâs amazing at what she doesâ. Katya slipped the folded up piece of paper delicately in to Trixieâs hand, the girls pink manicured fingers closing tightly around it.
âYouâre the bestâ. Murmured Trixie, eyes sparkling. Placing a fleeting kiss to the corner of Katyaâs parted lips, she pulled away from the embrace, Sheaâs mocking faux gagging noises on the other side of the room leaving her to roll her eyes. Sauntering over towards the door, Trixie beckoned Shea who followed quickly, mouth gaping and eyes watering as she yawned.
âBye ladiesâ. Katya called jokingly, waving both Shea and Trixie away from the arch of her doorway, the extravagant hallway in front of her gleaming with sunlight. Shea gave a halfhearted wave in return, already rounding the corner to the staircase, whereas Trixie blew a dainty kiss, her pupils dilating.
âCould you be anymore disgustingly into her?â. Shea teased, platform shoes clicking on the concrete steps as she descended them, high ceilings floating above and Trixie to her right in her salmon pink ballet pumps. A saturated blush flew to Trixieâs makeup free cheeks, flaming embarrassingly. The artificial blonde shook her head.
âIâd kill you right here, right now-â. Trixie held up an accusatory index finger, pointing at Shea with a flush of denial. Shea shrugged her shoulders noncommittally, leading Trixie to huff and groan in frustration. â-but we have a class to get ready forâ. Trixie dropped her gaze to the floor, eyes travelling across the pathway that her feet met as she exited the dormitory building.
Shea grinned, shifting Trixieâs attitude aside in her mind. She felt light, weightless, carefree and unrestrained. It had begun to warm up outside, breeze atmospheric and the summer sun drying the dewy grass and making the trees glow, leaving flowers blooming and bumble bees navigating their ways gracefully around them.
Her jacket felt too heavy, though she knew if she removed it that her shirt underneath would be too thin, the woven navy fabric an undoubtably questionable choice. She felt tall in her platformed shoes, taller than Trixie and yet, the grandeur and elevation of the buildings, structures and skyscrapers alike around her had her feeling akin to nothing. Like a molecule of water being dropped into the ocean, a spec of dust in a derelict attic.
Shea mused herself with the similes that she conjured up in her mind, contentment running through her veins and bloodstream. Trixieâs face had softened next to her, eyes flickering as she prepared to start up a conversation that Shea knew Trixie had been planning since they left Katyaâs dorm. Inevitably.
Eyes moving toward the clouds above, Shea acknowledged that for once, a rare occurrence, she didnât have any qualms about listening to Trixieâs ramblings. Happiness, maybe.
Talking about Sasha didnât seem like it could be a bad thing.
*****
Tamborine and acoustic guitar music played from the speaker in the background, the tinny sound permeating eardrums and relaxing subconsciouses. Air grew thicker and darker as flames roared and burnt out, leaving behind enlightenment. The plush couch felt like a boat, floating on a tepid Mediterranean Sea, waves not crashing or shaking, but flowing seamlessly. Relaxingly.
Sasha traced her finger along the edge of her phone haphazardly, the bright screen irritating her sensitive eyes. She turned down the intensity. Shea swivelled to face her further, crossing her legs underneath her body and pulling a grey pillow from the floor in order to nestle it close to her chest. Sasha smiled, hesitation apparent on her face.
âReady?â. Questioned Shea, her gaze intense. Sasha responded only with a singular nod of her head. âYeah - thereâs three sets so-â. Sasha drawled, the blunt in the hand that wasnât holding her phone and Sheaâs intense glare already too much. â-question one, given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?â. She finished, her words stuttering.
âProbably Naomi Campbell, her confidence amazes me, you?â. Answered Shea, without missing a beat. Sashaâs forehead creased, observing in confusion. âMaybe Judith Butler, or Van Gogh, heâs a huge inspiration for my art. Two, Would you like to be famous? In what way?â. She continued, irregardless of the psychedelic glimmers in her eyes that she couldnât decipher; wether they were cause by the drug or the person. Shea. âI think I would, Iâd love to be on broadway at some point in my lifeâ. Shea smiled shyly at the thought, a significant juxtaposition to her earlier demeanour. Her passion a weakness in her own eyes. âSame here, only for my art and not acting and singing. Thatâs something Iâll never be able to do. Next, Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?â. Joked Sasha, before asking the next question.
âNot really, I tend to just go with the flow. That goes for most thingsâ. Vagueness. Sasha arched an eyebrow. Shea said nothing. âI definitely rehearse, phone calls are my nightmare. Four, What would constitute a âperfectâ day for you?â. The Russian confessed, reading out the fourth question with bleary eyes.
âRight now? Iâd like to spend a day just in bed, being the laziest I can. Maybe order a pizza. How about you?â. Shea chuckled to herself. I need a day off, she mused.
âVisiting art galleries and museums, it never gets old for meâ. Sasha recalled the numerous days sheâd spent trailing around New York visiting every gallery and museum in sight, spending hours fixated on unique artistic creations. Getting lost in centuries past and the many yet to come.
âWhatâs the next one?â. Shea dragged her back to the present. Shaking her head to herself, Sasha handed the joint over to the other girl. Too much. Shea grinned, though she thought the same.
âWhen did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?â. Sasha squeaked out. âMyself, this morning. Somebody else? A few hours ago; theatreâ. An obvious answer from a musical theatre student. Sasha chuckled. âI donât really sing, like ever. The next one is, If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?â. Admiring the thought out question, Sasha mulled over her opinion whilst Shea projected her thoughts.
âBody, call me shallow, call me uneducated, but I like my body. Youâd probably say mind, right?â. Confidence; again. Sasha was still attempting to work out wether she admired it or envied it. Both, she acknowledged. Both. Possibly.
âYeah-â. The blonde wasnât shocked that Shea had guessed correctly. Neither was Shea. â-seven is, Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?â. Shea shivered as she contemplated. Sasha didnât blink, The thought having crossed the roads in her mind repeatedly.
âPeacefully, I think. In my sleep. Nothing exciting, nothing noteworthyâ.
âI feel the sameâ. Both wished they could say differently. Wished that they could die under the remembrance of millions. Notable, even if the idea itself was more disturbing than they cared to admit. *****
Trixieâs smirk refused to leave her face as she turned towards Shea, barely a minute in to their walk to the block where both of their dormitories were located. It spoke volumes, volumes that Shea longed to turn down, to mute. Sheaâs back ached with every step she took, with shoulders clicking and neck tensing, she began loathing Katyaâs couch. Trixie seemed unbothered, drifting along in the breeze of the morning. Shea wished she could say that she felt the same, but she never liked lying.
âSo, start talkingâ. Prompted Trixie, eyes locking with Sheaâs and gleaming as if she knew. As if she knew every individual thought circulating and reverberating around Sheaâs chaotic mind, like they were visible on her skin. Tattooed in midnight black ink across her hands and her face. Printed across her clothing in luminescent, vibrant colours.
âWhat do you expect me to say?â. Sighed Shea, pupils wide. Tossing her braids over her shoulders, Trixie focused all of her attention on the other girl. Her face switched from teasing to serious within milliseconds, priorities shifted and approach softened. Reaching out, Trixie placed a tentative, comforting hand on Sheaâs forearm.
âLook, I know youâve had a tough time lately, I get it. You donât have to tell me anything you donât feel able to itâs just-â. The light blonde girl halted, words getting lost in the air, stuck in her throat and refusing to leave her voice box. Shea blinked, eyes threatening to well up. â-I feel like Katya had a point when she said just talking doesnât normally lead to cuddling. I wouldnât blame you if you did do anything with her I-â.
Shea groaned, pulling her jacket closer to her body. Armour. Protection, irregardless of the beads of sweat beginning to form on her forehead due to the humidity. The shorter girls eyebrows furrowed, confusion evident upon her face.
âWe didnât do anything, I swear. Iâm not lying when I say we just talked about stuff-â. Shea sniffed, tears brimming around her deep chestnut, lilac glitter lidded eyes. âGod, it was so stupid and-â. Shea hiccuped. Trixieâs face blazed with sympathy and empathy as she linked her arm with Sheaâs, pulling the girl closer as they walked. Shea averted her gaze, keeping it trained on the ground.
âPlease talk to me, you idiot. I donât want my best friend feeling like shit all of the time, itâs not healthy, at allâ. Soothed Trixie, voice light and words calm. Sheaâs eyelids drooped, though Trixieâs words blasted a wave of refreshment over her subconscious. She smiled knowingly, gratefully, nodding in agreement.
âI know I havenât been myself lately, and I so appreciate you being there for me. Iâm working on it, I really am. Last night kind of just - fucked me upâ. Reasoned Shea, beams of light blinding her sight and cobbled pathway beneath her feet pressing into the platforms of her shoes. Trixie simpered, humming her acknowledgment.
âIn what way?â. Trixie trod gently, hesitantly questioning the dark haired girl.
Uncertainty.
âIt started as a joke, a way to get to know each other, seeing as you and Katya abandoned us-â. Shea laughed, the sound bitter. Trixie mumbled a meaningful Iâm sorry, though Shea shrugged. She was unbothered. â-we did the 36 questions thing, and oh my god - Trix I told her stuff Iâve never told you, never told anybody, and - she listened, she listened to every word I had to say and had the most thought through, perfect response to everything. Yes, I was off my face, I was off my entire god damn existence, but I felt safe. I felt so safeâ.
*****
âEight?â. Shea prompted, steering the conversation away from the previously solemn question answered. âName three things you and your partner appear to have in commonâ. Sasha read aloud, pitch of her voice unstable and brow slightly dented. Shea snorted, the question amusing her. âPhysically, were polar opposites so - artistic ways? Maybe? Friends, I guess you could say, and, I donât know-â. Sheaâs mind ran blank, with her limited knowledge of Sasha, she didnât know. She did not know.
âI canât think of anything else. I guess you could say denim shorts? But that would be pushing the question to its limitâ. Sasha joked, sarcasm attached to her words, weaved in between sentences. Shea hummed in agreement, the question almost boring her. âLetâs move on to nineâ. Dismissed Shea, smoke trailing from her lips, clouds forming the in the thick air around them. Sasha scrutinised her phone closely, lack of contact lenses or glasses in addition to the haziness of her being making her vision more blurred than she would have liked.
âFor what in your life do you feel most grateful? Friends and I guess family for me, definitely, without a doubtâ. Sasha answered immediately after she had closed the question, memories of a peaceful, happy childhood diffusing around her. âIâd have to agree, though also opportunitiesâ. Added Shea, unable to fault Sashaâs foregone answer. Unarguable, she noted.
âIf you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?â. The blondes tone lowered towards the end of her sentence, a question of how to answer and what to answer with flowing freely around her conscience. âThese are getting intense-â. Shea paused to chuckle, though her own answer was prepared; balancing on the tip of her tongue. â-I think I wouldâve liked to have grown up here, and not in Chicagoâ. She concluded, fingers running seamlessly through the front strands of her hair.
âYou grew up in Chicago?â. Squeaked Sasha, surprise clear and evident in both her startled facial expression and tone of voice.
âMhmâ. Shea inhaled what she told herself would be the last from the joint. No more, she convinced her lungs that wanted - needed - to inhale more of the toxic paradise. She passed the joint over to Sasha, their fingers brushing. Sashaâs calloused from the years of painting and Sheaâs smooth. Contrasting. âThatâs crazy, I did too-â. Confessed the blue eyed girl, accepting the joint with a smile and a shrug of her shoulders. Preparation. Honesty. â-I probably wouldâve wanted a better relationship with my father. We donât speak, at all. Moving on, Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possibleâ. Sasha glossed over her own response, aware that this thing, whatever they had chosen to do, involved honesty, yet unable to demolish and bury the wall she had constructed around herself.
âMy god, ok, do you have a timer on your phone?â. Shea queried, four minutes seemingly an eternity in that moment. Forever. Too long. Too much to say.
âFour minutes are set, go for itâ. Sasha breathed, settling her side against the back of the couch relaxedly. Eyes almost slipping closed, Sheaâs velvety voice filling her ears, she kept breathing in. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Shea started.
âI was born on February the 8th, making me an Aquarius, to honestly the best parents I could have asked for. My moms worked in theatre all of her life, so I guess thatâs where I get that from-â. Shea spoke slowly and laughed jokingly, eyes flickering to the phone in Sashaâs hand; four minutes remaining. Sashaâs eyes were closed, though she let out vague noises of understanding when she felt they were appropriate. Donât interfere, she told herself. Keep to yourself.
â-My dad is a business man, way too serious for me, and I have two younger siblings - one brother one sister. Theyâre amazing, both are still in high school. Oh!, school - pretty basic, elementary school was a bit strange, being the only black girl in your class can be a learning curve, but from there middle school and high school were great-â. Rambling. Slowly, Shea gathered pace, facts about herself, her life, and her childhood reeling out and in to the world, in to Sashaâs head. The blonde had loosened the grip on her phone, moving it to rest on the couch in front of her, between herself and Shea; one minute remaining. She proceeded.
â-I moved here at eighteen because I got a scholarship for the college in musical theatre, and I think itâs the best decision Iâve ever made. In terms of myself? I live for the colour purple, the actual colour, not the book. I-â. Chuckling to her own unintentional pun, Shea enthralled herself in the way Sashaâs cheeks puckered as she grinned, seemingly faultless teeth gleaming back at her, dimples arisen. The phone vibrated. End.
âTimes upâ. Sasha sighed, eyes flickering open, the dimness of the candlelit room seeming too bright for her orbs. She wanted to close them again. To close them and have Sheaâs melodic voice permeate her ear drums and infiltrate her thoughts. Sasha wanted to hear her sing. Sheâd sound good, she knew that.
âThat went a lot quicker than I thought it would. You go nextâ. Shea brushed off, embarrassment tugging at her furrowing forehead. Sasha listened. She liked that. The girl opposite her nodded, resetting the timer on her phone. Four minutes.
âRight - seeing as you started with start sign, Iâm a Cancer, my birthday is June 25th. I was actually born in Russia, yes Iâm Russian, in this tiny village just outside of St Petersburg-â. Sasha halted, Sheaâs mouth agape. Russian, Shea mused to herself. Russian. The slight twang that lingered in Sashaâs accent unnoticeable until brought to attention. Shea enjoyed how it sounded like a blanket of warmth. The phone read two and half minutes remaining. Shea wanted more time to listen, to wrap herself up in Sasha uninhibited speech. She hugged the cushion closer to her chest.
â-I moved to Chicago when I was 8 with my mom and my father, but they got divorced a couple years later. My mom passed away when I was 17 and I donât speak to my father because he doesnât really approve? Of me?, But thatâs for another day I guess-â. Sashaâs eyes saddened, glimmer disappearing and replacing itself with something that Shea couldnât pin point. Something akin to disappointment; regret. She persevered promptly, ignoring Sheaâs hand that outstretched and came to rest on her knee, thumb brushing comfortingly across the expanse of her paint splattered skin. Thirty seconds.
â-I was always artistic, but my mom really pushed me in to academics. It wasnât until I started thinking about colleges that I really started taking art seriously. I moved here at eighteen, too, and from there Iâve just kind of-â. The buzz of the vibration ended Sashaâs sentence, Sheaâs hand leaving with the sacredness of the four shared minutes.
âTimeâ. Called the dark haired girl, face reading intrigue. Interest.
âThat does go quicker than you expect it to. Next one is, If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?â. Sasha sprinted over to the next question, eager to hear Sheaâs answer, to hear her voice. To know more about her.
âIâd love to be able to fly. I canât drive so it would be a great helpâ. Sheaâs lighthearted tone returned, Sashaâs grin joining. Shea allowed the corners of her mouth to upturn, too, teeth biting at her plump bottom lip. Shea liked it when Sasha smiled. She wanted to make her smile more.
âItâs a bit juvenile but Iâd like to be able to danceâ. Confessed Sasha, blush rising to her fair cheeks, eyes meeting Sheaâs sporadically before flickering away to stare at the glowing embers between her fingertips. Sasha was glad not to be sober.
âAnybody can dance. End of set one?â. Shea spoke with a confidence that was undeniable, the same confidence that she had owned when they had began the set of questions. Sasha admitted to herself that she liked that, too.
âEnd of set oneâ. *****
âSo basically, me and Katya getting the both of you to meet so that Sasha could help you with your costume, ended in-â. Trixie halted, Sheaâs rapid shake of her head cutting off her words.
âI have no idea. Somethingâ. Sighed Shea, clinging on to Trixieâs arm that remained linked with hers supportively. Trixie understood Sheaâs apprehension, how she seemed certain and yet unsure. Positive but tentative. Trixie pondered the question nagging at her tongue. She paused before continuing.
â-how did you end up-â. Trixieâs words drifted off, although Shea knew what she was insinuating. How did you end up so close and how did you fall asleep together. How did you end up in the warmth of each otherâs arms even in the summer heart.
How did it all happen, unfold, becoming something under the influence of the burning wand of intoxication before it could even begin to exist as anything.
*****
âIâll do the last set if you want?â. Sasha almost whispered her words, feeling if she spoke at her usual volume she would break the serene atmosphere around them.
Shea blinked slowly, nodding her head as Sashaâs words resonated. Passing over the phone so that it sat once again in Sashaâs grasp, Shea allowed their hands to brush for longer than she had previous. Their eyes remained locked, the rough tips of Sashaâs painted ladened fingers a contrast to Sheaâs manicured ones.
âYeah, thatâll be greatâ. Gulped Shea, Sasha so close to her than she swore she could feel every breath Sasha took hitting her face. Smoke would occasionally blow into her eyes, burning, causing them to puff and become bleary, watering.
âI donât think Iâm too keen on these type of questions either, Make three true âweâ statements each. For instance, âWe are both in this room feelingâŚââ. Sasha trailed off, balancing the joint precariously between her lips, ash falling on to her legs every so often as she moved, burning just a little; noticeably.
âCould they not have been more inventive with these?â. Shea scoffed, tone cracking and eyes rolling. âYouâre telling meâ. Quipped Sasha, remaining silent and waiting for Shea to begin. She had a quizzical aura surrounding her, thoughts of why and I donât know and how.
âWeâre both high. Is that too obvious?â. Sheaâs mind ran a blank, her thoughts empty with the exemption of right now. Of Sasha. The way she smelt like a combination of musky perfume, smoke, and a faint aroma of chemically paint, and the way her crystalline dagger eyes seemed incapable of dishonesty and deception.
âNo, itâs true. Weâre both doing this âexperimentâ right nowâ. Sasha laughed, the response seemingly too obvious and too predictable; much like Sheaâs, she observed. Candles flickered across the room as a gale breezed inward.
âWeâre both female?â. Labels, they both recoiled. Labels brought a sense of confinement and restriction, conformity and the typical normality. Sasha nodded, though shook her head seconds later.
âGender is a construct-â. She laughed at herself, Shea seeming taken aback. â-we both attend the same collegeâ. Sasha thought she had finally discovered a legitimate answer, reading over the following questions quietly in her head whilst she waited for Shea to answer, the girls eyes crossing in concentration as she furrowed her sculpted eyebrows. Sasha found herself admiring the artistry. Eyebrows could be artistry.
âWe both - girl help me out, I canât think of anyâ. She whined eventually, eyes pleading with Sashaâs. âWe both have really great eyebrowsâ. Sashaâs thoughts became words, projections. Sheaâs grin widening and slightly crooked yet pearly white reflective teeth pressing against her lips. âYouâre not wrong there. We both have the same braceletâ. Sheaâs gaze focused on Sashaâs hand that had reached out to hand over the joint to her, barely less than half of it remaining. A delicate pastel rainbow; peach, lavender, mint, candy floss, aqua, sky. Colours interweaved forming a braid of pride and support. Sashaâs eyes gleamed as they watched Shea lift her own wrist, the large circle barely hanging on to her thin, agile bones.
âI didnât even notice thatâ. Mumbled the blonde girl, rainbow illuminating the dark clouds. Unexpected and yet, welcomed. She reached out to touch, the identical bracelet adorning Sheaâs wrist more worn, more weathered than her own, signs of living. âI only just noticed myselfâ. Shea moved her arm nearer to Sasha, resting it eventually on her knee, Sashaâs warm touch a simultaneously strange and pleasant sensation. âTwenty six is - ten left - Complete this sentence: 'I wish I had someone with whom I could shareâŚââ. Sasha advanced, leaving go of the bracelet on Sheaâs wrist. Shea neglected to move her hand, instead throwing the cushion that she was holding to the side and shuffling closer to the smiling girl, shoulders pressing against each others.
âI wish I had someone with whom I could share, my love of theme parks. Nobody ever wants to go with me, people are always scared of rollercoasters and everything else fun in lifeâ. Shea kept her answer lighthearted, fun, airy and teasing. Everything else fun in life. Sasha agreed. Sheâd go to a theme park with Shea, have fun with her. Sasha hummed in agreement, flecks of light casting the shadows of her eyelashes across her high cheekbones.
âI wish I had someone with whom I could share my studio with. It gets really tiresome when youâre there all day everyday with only your paints for company-â. Sasha drew on her memories from the morning prior. Company would have been appreciated, greatly, during her landscape painting process. â-Next, If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to knowâ.
âIâm a really annoying drunkâ. Shea blurted, overly self aware and familiar with her drunken, inebriated misadventures. Sasha laughed, pictures of an even more intoxicated Shea flashing through her mind at lightening speed. Like a storm hitting waves in the ocean.
âI donât drink, I canât relate with you on that one. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone youâve just metâ. Both were unprepared. Honesty was a virtue of morality they believed in wholeheartedly, but exercising it was undeniably different. Almost like the act of swimming compared to telling somebody how to swim. Riding a bike versus watching somebody else ride a bike.
Shea inhaled.
âI like how you seem unashamed of being completely authentically you. I like how you knew youâd be meeting somebody new that might by judgemental yet you turned up covered in paint anyway. I like that youâre serious without being afraid of letting yourself be funny sometimes. I really like your eyes too, theyâre pretty. Theyâre blue without being blue, y'know? Almost greyâ.
Sasha exhaled.
âThey get lighter in the summer, itâs weird. I like how upfront you are. You donât come across as if youâd ever be worried of rejection or being let down by people. I like that youâre family orientated, shows you have a good heart. I also really like your shirt and Iâm 'gonna need to know where you got it fromâ.
âThrift storeâ. Both smiled.
*****
Trixie blinked.
Shea said nothing.
Understanding.
Continuation.
*****
âFinal question. Share a personal problem and ask your partnerâs advice on how they might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosenâ. Shea extinguished the burnt out joint in the empty candle holder that they had been using for the entirety of the night. Specks of ash floating to the heavens as the embers dimmed, Sashaâs light smile that remained present on her face glowing enough to replace it. âHow personal are we talking?â. Shea slouched further, head mere inches away from Sashaâs. âAs personal as you 'wanna getâ. Both of their breaths smelt like stale smoke. Unpleasant but unnoticeable in their close proximity, sharing the same air and embracing the same moment. Shea knew what sheâd share. If she was doing this properly, if she was doing this right, then she knew immediately. Sheâd discussed it with Trixie, once, the pink loving girl telling her do it. They love you. Theyâre supportive. Do it.
Shea had dismissed her, unconvinced.
âOk, so - you know Iâm close with my family, but I donât tell them everything, not by a long shot. Iâve been thinking of telling them, of coming out to them for years, but Iâve never had the nerve to do it. I sat them down a few months ago and tried telling them but I backed out and-â.
Sheaâs breathing was deep, heavy, getting caught in her throat as streams of tears threatened to spill from her glassy eyes. Sasha panicked, consoling far from being her forte. She leant over regardless, tentative arms pulling Shea in softly. Gently. Wrapping her in warmth and comfort.
Her arms were strong, but the way they encased Sheaâs seemingly fragile shaking being was far from it. Sweetly, sensitively.
âShh, calm down, itâs ok, I get it. If your family are as loving and caring, and as devoted to you, their daughter, as they seem, then you have nothing to worry about. Theyâll get it, Shea. People get it. Theyâll get itâ. Words came relatively easy to the blonde girl, recollections of what sheâd wished for somebody to tell her years back when sheâd been too far stuck in her own head, situation unreadable. âI know youâre right about that, friends have been telling me the same forever. Itâs just one of those things. What about you, hm?â. Shea dismissed Sasha, too, albeit no where near as quickly as she did with Trixie. It was progress, maybe.
âMines nowhere near as serious as yours, but Iâve been thinking for a while about getting a nose job. Itâs something Iâve never like about myself, an now that I have enough savings to do it, Iâm temptedâ.
Sashaâs attempt to flip the tone of the conversation, the vibe, proved futile when Sheaâs response was everything she didnât know that she needed in that instance. It was reassurance and complimentary words, combined with an attitude that told her not to care or consider what anybody thought about her physical appearance, or her personality; essentially. Shea smiled unabashedly, touching her finger to Sashaâs button nose.
âYour nose is pretty. Itâs you, I like it. But again, you really have to do what makes you happy in your life. If a new nose would do that, then by all means, do it for you. But donât do it for anybody whose ever commented badly on it. Do it for you. Plus, contouring works like a dream. Try that before any serious commitmentsâ.
Sasha cackled loudly. Humour. She liked it. She liked it all.
*****
Trixie reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out the folded up piece of paper that Katya had given to her - from Sasha. Handing it to Shea instantly, she smiled encouragingly, reassurance spread across her face. They were nearing their dormitories, approaching the high rise block. Shea had removed her jacket, her overly thin shirt underneath doing little to keep her covered from the light breeze blowing mystically and yet; she felt warm.
âText her. Call her. I donât care how you do it, but talk to that girlâ.
*****
I think weâll work amazingly together - text me whenever youâre free darling Sasha ⥠*****
Shea: itâs Shea, I got your note. About that coffee you suggested last night, how does tomorrow sound? xx Sasha: tomorrows great, come to my studio? We can work on your costume the same time xx
Shea: send me the address and Iâll be there xx
#sashea#silver#shea coulee#sasha velour#au#fluff#rpdr fanfiction#submission#of oil paints#college au#lesbian au#s9
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