#sometimes really difficult

[omnificent-orion]

Some more commissions from my drafts, pushing this watercolor brush to its limits HAHAHAHA!

Thank you everyone, thank you very very much :)

[jessiesjaded]

Losing my mind at seeing Twitter Discourse where a girl talks about being a waitress and how sometimes people don't acknowledge her or reply to her at all when she speaks to them and how it feels dehumanising and all the people in the replies are like UM. SOME OF US HAVE /SOCIAL ANXIETY/ You're literally an evil person for wishing people would treat you with bare minimum decency :/ like idk how to tell you this but if a waitress asks how your evening is while she's taking you to your seat in a restaurant and you're gonna pretend saying "Fine, thank you" is a horrific arduous task like. Maybe you're just a massive cunt? Maybe you're just an insufferable fuckwit?

[umblrspectrum]

i got lazy in the second panel

[harumichiii]

SAILOR MOON S: Episode 18 - 「芸術は愛の爆発!ちびうさの初恋」

[shinynewmemories]

Listen to me Suzanne Collins did not have to give Katniss and Peeta a history before the games. She did NOT have to do that. She could have just had their story begin when Peeta's name was called. She could have had them be total strangers until the moment of the reaping.

Like: "And the boy tribute is... Peeta Mellark!" Katniss: Who's that? Or she could have made them vaguely familiar with each other! Peeta's name is called and Katniss just thinks, Oh, I know that name! He's in my class, actually. Poor boy... Anyway!

Either way, SC could have written the rest of the story exactly the same! I think many authors would have done that! Because if Peeta's purpose in the book was to be Gale's competition, to be one of the 3 corners of a love triangle, THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE WAY TO DO IT!! But that's NOT how she did it because that's NOT what Peeta is.

And who is he? To Katniss, Peeta's someone who saved her and her family and received nothing in return except a beating. Peeta's someone she has had her eye on but has never worked up the courage to talk to. Peeta's someone she associates with kindness and hope. And all this before the start of the events of the book! Just because WE, the READERS, met Gale before Peeta and immediately felt a connection with him does NOT mean that was Katniss's experience! And that's what SC is trying to tell us!

To dismiss Katniss and Peeta's past as unimportant or inconsequential compared to whatever Katniss and Gale have in the present is to fundamentally misunderstand Katniss as a character and, as a result, condemn oneself to never fully understand the choices she makes in the future.

Suzanne Collins wrote it that way on purpose because she had something to say. And no one will ever be able to convince me that something wasn't "It was always going to be Peeta".

[tubbytarchia]

got an urge to design ponies oops

[fernsnailz]

sorry these kinds of comments have been really pissing me off recently lol

[anglerflsh]

the brightest student of the Magic Academy

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

The Bedside Manner Duo.

Bonus Poppys cause I had to really practice to figure out how to draw her waahah! Conventionally cute designs are hard for me....

[corviiids]

i think ive been so enamoured with tragedy and unhappy endings recently because it's so common for us to take comfort in the idea that we're okay because we will be okay, you know, the whole "it'll be okay in the end and if it's not okay it's not the end" type thing, this desire to put our faith in things turning out eventually, and that's why people sometimes get upset if something doesn't have a happy ending that gives them closure. but i honestly think there's something equally or even more comforting in having to cope with the fact that in reality the happy ending can't always be counted on. in trying to accept that fact, you're sort of forced to find your comfort and meaning elsewhere, which is what tragedy is asking you to do. if you know a story is going to end badly, can you still invest in it? can you survive it for as long as you're asked to? because then you have to concede that the things that happen and the lessons you learn during the story still are meaningful and fulfilling even if they don't culminate. if the story is unfinished and the threads are loose and you don't get closure, can you still find a way to let this frustrating and unfinished experience mean something to you? you kind of have to. can you be okay with it if you aren't able to believe that things will be okay in the end? without looking forward, can you be okay right now

[piscespetals]

summary: in which sevika becomes your roommate. click here to view all parts.

content: gay pining, angst, thought spirals, fluff

word count: 4k

this is the final part. thank you so much for all your support! very sorry for the delay, I honestly had this sitting in my drafts on here for WEEKS y'all. this was supposed to have already been uploaded and silly me never logged back on to double check.

Chapter Five

When you wake, your muscles feel like jelly. You're hyper aware of the sheets underneath you—how warm they are. And how your duvet swaddles you just the right way…Your pillow smells good. Like coming home after a long day of work. Like Sevika. 

Suddenly, there's movement behind you.

And that's when you realize it's her breath. It tickles the back of your neck, stutters momentarily while she shifts, then resumes. A chill runs down the slope of your back as you feel pressure around your waist, which happens to be her arm. She pulls you closer to her as if she's afraid of you getting up right then.

“Sev?”

But there's no answer. The only sound that echoes is a soft snore and grinding teeth.

You bite back a smile while your muscles relax, and you lean into the inviting embrace of the woman behind you.

“You’re staring,” Sevika mutters. Her eyes remain downcast as she dries off a freshly washed knife. You admire how strong she looks in that moment; how she’s handling such a thing with the utmost care.

Sevika standing there with a sparkling knife shouldn’t be an image that you welcome. Yet you do. 

“Am I?” You mutter. Your lips barely part as you get lost at the sight of the woman before you. 

She peers at you under the lids of her lashes, eyebrows raising with sparkling pools of grey. 

“I don’t mind it.” She says quietly, almost sweetly. Her gaze readjusts quickly back to the task at hand–the knife–despite it already being completely dry. “I never do.”

Your eyes follow her slow and careful movements, towel in her right hand and utensil in her left. Your heart flutters.

Softly, you smile and manage only then to look away. 

Alicia bends over, hand gripping the porch handrail as a tear trickles down her face. She’s laughing, which you usually don’t mind, but this time it’s at your expense.

“It’s not that funny,” You mumble, which only makes her laugh harder.

“Hun, it’s known to all of mankind,” Mel chimes in. “That you’re quite dramatic.”

“Am not!”

Another round of guffaws. 

That’s when you glance towards Sevika, who’s relaxing in a rocking chair across from you. She somehow thought that today was the perfect day to tell Alicia and Mel about your waxing incident a few weeks back. Maybe you should find some sort of humor in it; after all, it turned out fine after an application of aloe vera. 

But still.

It was embarrassing.

“What about the night I told you that I’d be moving in with Alicia?” Mel’s eyes shine from the distant memory. “You were hysterical.”

“Okay, now you’re overexaggerating.”

“Remember when you said that me moving out was the beginning of your end? That you were doomed to grow old and die alone in a nursing home–”

“Mel.”

“While Alicia and I had to explain to our kids what happened to their Aunt-”

“It was a rational fear.”

At this point, Alicia is struggling to breathe. She grips the sides of her ribs, eyes squinted shut and jaw slack from silent laughter. She crouches down to the floor, hands stabilizing themselves on the arm of Sevika’s rocking chair. You notice Sevika’s amusement seconds later; how she coughs fakely into her inner elbow while her forehead crinkles. Mel giggles when you playfully shove her.

“I hate you guys.” 

For a split second, you peer at Sevika to find that she’s already regarding you. Her pupils are dilated and her full lips have stretched into a lazy grin. Her cupid’s bow looks exceptionally prominent, reminding you of how warm her mouth felt when pressed against you this morning. 

She winks and manages to pull you from the memory. 

Mel rolls her eyes, sending you a cheesy grin. “You love us.”

You open your mouth to object, but nothing comes out. You can’t fight it. Because Mel is right.

You do.

When you wake up, the first detail that you can pinpoint is the smell of something warm and sophisticated. Your eyes flutter.

“Careful.” The murmur is low. Gentle. Sevika. “You’ll wake her.”

“Sorry,” The distinct lilt of Mel’s voice. “Do you need help getting her into the car?”

Shifting, “No, it’s okay.”

Then there’s movement. Is it you? Is it Sevika? You’re too drowsy to be able to fully tell. You try to open your eyes, but the pull is too enticing.

“Thank you for always looking after her…” Mel’s voice draws closer. There’s the warmth of another body now, and a gust of Mel’s signature fruity perfume. You struggle to register the feeling of being smothered by two people. Is Sevika carrying you? “She may never tell you, but she appreciates you so much.”

Mel pulls away, squeezing your arms briefly. When you try to open your eyes, your vision can only make out the edge of a jawline that curves into a neck. Sevika’s neck.

Arms hold you with a strength you hadn’t thought possible. Fingers press into your skin when you shift your weight–or try to. 

“We’ll be home soon,” Sevika says. Her voice has dipped down to an incredibly low volume, much closer to your ear than before. Her skin–at least, that’s what you think it is–brushes against your cheek for a few seconds. Lingering there before disappearing again. “Just rest.”

If you were fully awake, you’d probably be absolutely embarrassed by the thought of Sevika carrying you to the car. You must have fallen asleep after dinner, since your last memory is sitting around the fireplace with Sevika, Alicia and Mel. 

But you’re too tired to feel embarrassed.

And you’re too comfortable.

There’s a hand that touches your shoulder, a gentle caress before it pulls away and then, “She looks exhausted,” Mel whispers. 

Sevika hums. The voices begin to drift away again. You catch the end of a sentence, very specifically the words, “...Haven’t told her yet,” before you succumb to a restful sleep.

It’s only when your neck is sore from being craned, forehead resting against the cool glass of the passenger window, when your eyes flutter open. You see flashing lights and blurred buildings, and for a second, you're incredibly disoriented as you try to register the passing world. But then there's a hand that rests on your thigh, the slight caress from a thumb, before you're being gently squeezed.

“Almost home,” Sevika mutters.

You blink slowly and gaze at her side profile. There’s certain parts of her that are beautifully accentuated in the dark of the night. Her grey eyes glow as they shift from streetlights to traffic, always alert and ever-watchful. Her full lips move discreetly as she hums along to the car radio. There's something sweet that settles in your mouth then, a new flavor that you're not quite used to. After walking around the world with a bitter-aftertaste for so long, you almost convince yourself that anything else is wrong. But you know, deep down, it’s completely the opposite.

This couldn't be anymore right.

You're at a red light now and Sevika does not hesitate to flick through the radio channels, frowning in distaste at some of the songs. Your heart dances at the sight. 

“Thank you,” You find yourself saying.

Her gaze remains on the radio and she allows the silence to be enveloped by a commercial before she replies. “For what?”

“Being you. And lovi–” You swallow thickly. “...caring for me.”

You can tell that melts through to her. Your words have found a way to pierce that shell of nonchalance she always carries. Her lashes flutter and you swear you hear the slightest hitch of her breath. 

But then the light turns green, the car jolts forward and she glances back towards the road. 

The moment passes and so does the rest of your courage. 

You can’t seem to find your courage around Sevika anymore. 

The next morning, you wake to the smell of bacon lingering in the air. A cloud of fatigue hangs over you whilst you make yourself presentable. Even after splashing ice cold water on your face–and brushing your teeth twice–you barely manage to keep your eyes open when you approach the kitchen. 

Sevika stands at the island, dressed in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants. A few strands of hair sweep the sharp lines of her jaw as her gaze remains on the task in front of her. With deep concentration, she slices through a strawberry. Several pieces of said fruit sit in a bowl to her left. 

It’s ridiculous that the mere sight of her is enough to wake up every atom in your body. Within seconds, your drowsiness has dissipated, and you stand before her with your teeth working into your bottom lip. 

Her head snaps up upon your arrival, grey eyes alert before softening (a telltale sign that she was deep in thought) when they land on you. 

“Strawberries?” Is all that you can say.

Her eyebrows fret together–lips parting, “They’re your favorite right?” She appraises your forehead, then your nose, before returning back to your eyes. “Or do you not like them anymore?”

She remembers. 

Your ears ring and for a split second, you’re convinced you’ll become a puddle on the floor.

Behind her, on the opposing countertop, sits a platter of bacon and prepared scrambled eggs.  

It’s a simple gesture–but the emotions that said gesture ignites feel dangerous. Scary. All encompassing. 

Lines of worry etch themself onto Sevika’s forehead as you struggle to respond.

You want to tell her. You need to tell her.

But how? 

Is it not too soon? Will it scare her away?

To jump or not to jump is the true question that you find yourself wanting to answer. How do people take the plunge? Put their hearts on the line with a possibility of it being crushed?

“Is this too much?” She asks, voice much quieter now.

If you look close enough, you’d almost believe that there was a cloud of desperation swirling in Sevika’s grey irises. Your head shakes slightly as you try to recenter yourself. 

There it is again–that ear ringing sensation that makes you want to jump into her arms while simultaneously collapsing onto the ground. The pull towards her–the one that’s always there–no matter how many times you try to wish it away.

You shake your head, only managing to croak, “I love strawberries,” with a pounding heart.

I love you.

“It’s not too much,” You add. 

You could never be too much. 

Sevika doesn’t move–doesn’t blink. Barely breathes.

Your lips part and she watches you with a patience that’s warm enough to console you even during the coldest winters. She’s waiting for you to say something more. 

But you can’t.

You fucking can’t.

“Come here,” Her command is nothing more than a whisper. 

Your mouth goes dry when you watch her set the knife back down on the chopping board. She side-steps, strawberries long forgotten, as her hands stretch for you.

It doesn’t take much effort for you to close the distance. Despite your tongue being tied, and despite that god-awful lump in the back of your throat, your body doesn’t hesitate in following her. It never will.

Her hands, as tender as they can be, cup the apple of your cheeks. “Are you sure this is okay?” Her breath fans your skin, nose nearly inches from yours as her head bows to meet your gaze head-on.

You nod, boneless and vulnerable. 

“This is okay,” Is pretty much all that you can manage to respond. “More than okay.” 

And that seems to be enough for her. Her shoulders relax and she dips down to meet you with a kiss.

You can feel the beads of perspiration dripping down the nape of your neck. Your chest heaves up and down as you step into the lobby, eyes immediately landing on two receptionists sitting at the front desk. 

One of them sports auburn ringlets and hazel eyes. Small rectangular frames sit on the edge of her nose, and she’s dressed in all black with a large scale spider tattooed onto the front of her neck. 

Two people sit in the lobby chairs positioned against one of the walls. One of them is deeply attuned to their smartphone. The other is asleep.

The receptionist with the spider tattoo, follows your movements with acute focus. You shoot her a lazy smile, slightly dazed from rushing two blocks and also stressed about the time. 

Your eyes dart to the watch on your left wrist as you reach the receptionist desk.

4:17 PM.

You’re late.

“Hi,” You breathe, before taking a long gulp of water. Your purse is barely hanging off of your shoulder, chest heaving up and down as you struggle to breathe while simultaneously inhaling half of the contents in your hydroflask. 

The woman stares at you tepidly, the corner of her mouth twitching as she blinks. That’s when you notice how striking her hazel eyes are, which happen to be coated with a thick layer of black eyeliner and mascara. Her name reads:

Sage

She/her

Sage’s coworker, a muscular brunette with a buzzcut and two industrial piercings, finally glances up from their book. Their name tag, much more shinier than Sage’s, reads: 

Mav

He/him

Mav is friendlier, greeting you with a wide grin. Wrinkles appear around his eyes when he does so. “Hey! Are you here for an appointment?”

Your eyes dart to Sage, who is still appraising you with a harsh stare. She plays with the lanyard around her neck as her head slightly tilts. 

You shift your weight nervously, “I’m actually visiting Sevika. Um,” You redirect your gaze back to Mav. “She’s my…” A heatwave flashes through you as you try to form a comprehensible sentence. “I’m uh, like, her…” God. This is awkward. “I was originally supposed to be here at 3:45? I don’t know if she told you. Um-”

“Oh!” A hint of recognition flashes across Mav’s face. His smile widens and his gaze travels to every detail of your face. “You're Sev’s girl? It’s nice to finally meet you! I swear to God, it’s been ages of us asking,” Mav pauses, glancing over to Sage for reassurance. “...About when we would finally see you. We were beginning to think that Sev has just been lying all this time. Or that the whole love triangle thing between you, her and Monica was just a big story she made up t-Ow!”

It almost looks as if Sage kicks Mav. Mav winces, reaching underneath the desk to check on–what you assume to be–his leg. His eyes narrow as he sends a side-long glare in Sage’s direction, but the deadpan woman ignores him. 

Instead, Sage glances at you, humor dancing in the swirls of her hazel irises as she stands to her feet. “I'll let Sevika know you're here,” She murmurs.

“Thanks. I texted her a few times but she hasn't responded so I figured she’s probably busy with,” You clear your throat. “Tattooing and… stuff.”

One of Sage’s eyebrows quirk up in amusement. She doesn't say anything more, turning on her heels and rounding the corner that leads to another room. When you return your gaze back to Mav, he’s already nose-deep into his novel; your presence long forgotten.

A few minutes later, you hear footfalls echoing from the hallway. It sounds like multiple, which causes your shoulders to tense and back to straighten. Subconsciously, you wipe your palms against the denim of your jeans. A worn pair of black boots rounds the corner, clunking against the marble floors. Your eyes travel up the fitted dark-washed jeans and stop on Sevika’s exposed shoulders—thanks to her sleeves being cut off.

You aren’t able to get much ogling done before she speaks.

“I thought you weren’t gonna make it,” Her voice is low. A bit strained but laced with an undertone of satisfaction. Sage quietly trails behind, eyeing the two of you before sitting back down in her seat. 

You aren’t quite sure how to greet Sevika; at least, not in public like this. Especially since you’re at her workplace. Surely, kissing would be inappropriate?

Thankfully, she doesn’t give you a chance to truly decide. Instead, her arm drapes over your shoulders as she pulls you into her side–a half hug, to your surprise–while something warm presses against your temple.

Her lips.

The kiss is too fleeting for you to register it at that moment. It’s only when she pulls away, squeezing your left shoulder and urging you to walk with her when the gesture dawns on you.

“Are you hungry?” Her lips brush against your right ear, voice low. “I ordered food. It got here a while ago though so we’ll most likely have to microwave it.”

Your skin is warm. Every inch of it. 

Blinking through a daze, your head tilts in her direction as you nod. “That's fine with me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you still feel the heavy stare of Sage. You wait until you’re further away and out of sight from the receptionist desk when you add, “The woman…Sage? She’s kind of, uh, intense don't you think?”

Sevika doesn't necessarily laugh at your statement but her lips do stretch into a small grin as she exhales shakily. “Yeah, she is. Mostly nosy, is all. And she’s not really a people person—her apprenticeship starts here soon though. She’s one hell of an artist. So we’re keeping her at the front until then.”

You hum at the thought, Sage quickly fading from your brain as Sevika’s arm drops from your shoulders. Instead, you feel a loose grip around your waist–her fingers rest around the curve of your hip and gently urge you to move closer to her. The pair of you have long passed the piercing and tattoo stations, nearing the tail end of the building where a staircase leads to a second floor. Silently, she gestures for you to begin climbing.

Your eyebrows raise and you glance at her, “Up?” You ask, not bothering to mask your surprise. Your index finger motions towards the second floor.

“Where else?” She gives you a quizzical stare.

You suppose it was a bit silly to think that the pair of you would be anywhere else. It’s not like it’s sanitary or professional to be lounging around the tattoo stations, especially if you’re eating food soon. 

It was early this morning when Sevika proposed the idea of having a meal together. She mentioned that it could be at her job, since you haven’t seen the inside of her building (and it’s also geographically convenient since her tattoo shop is closer to home than your office).

The moment you heard the words food and tattoo shop, you immediately said yes. Spending more time together has especially been on your mind lately (and you’ve always had a nagging desire to see this side of her). 

However, you hadn’t actually thought through the logistics of the plan. Not until now. 

“Will it be too taxing for you? I’m sorry–I didn’t even realize–” She points in the direction you just came from. “...The elevators are in the lobby. We can walk back if you want. Are you hurting badly?”

What?

Oh. 

Oh.

The car accident.

You were sore from time to time, but not as bad as before. Quickly, you grab her hand and begin to climb the stairs. “No, actually–” You struggle to hide your smile. “...I’m okay with taking the stairs.” 

You lead the way, with the help of a few directions from her.

Sevika’s office is heavily decorated with all things that describe her. Hundreds of sketches are pinned to a wall while three signed basketball jerseys are hung up on another. There's an incense burning, per usual, when the pair of you walk into the room. A window is slightly propped open and gives you a perfect view of the city. Art clippings and photographs are sprawled across the desk, and a tall lamp is positioned in the corner of the room. To your right is a couch, with a folded blanket and what looks like-

Your head whips back at her. “Chinese takeout?”

Sevika still stands by the door threshold, balancing her weight against it as she rests her hands in her pockets. “Your favorite.” A small smile falls upon her lips.

You don’t know what to say. Thankfully, she continues talking. “I don’t have a TV though. So we’ll have to do without one of your romcoms.” She motions her head behind you. “I hope the window is enough entertainment.”

You laugh and make your way towards the couch. “This is perfect.”

Today is perfect.

She is perfect.

But the feelings are too powerful for you to allow yourself to linger on them. Instead, you make a beeline for the couch, opening up the takeout bag and retrieving  one of the containers. You’re well aware of Sevika’s presence–the waft of her cologne and muted thuds of her boots. Out of the corner of your eye, you see her grab the takeout bag, sitting down in place of it before placing the bag on a coffee table that's a foot away. 

Your heart is hammering in your chest, mouth full of egg fried rice and skin buzzing. If you were to scoot father right, your leg would press against hers. 

But you don’t.

A few beats pass before, “Is everything okay?” She mutters. Her voice is low.

That’s when you force your head to lift, meeting her eyes for a fews seconds. She remains calm. Steady. Her expression is clear–gaze never leaving you. 

“You’ve been distant for a little while now,” She pauses, lips parting. You can tell she’s thinking deeply about what to say and how to say it. “...For the last week or so. And I just want to make sure it’s not because of anything I’ve done or–”

“No.” Your eyes are widening. “You haven’t done anything at all. You’ve been good to me, Sev.” Blinking rapidly, you refocus back on the food in front of you. “I have no complaints. I’m happy with you.”

Hesitation. Then, “Are you sure?” 

And when you catch wind of her face again, you notice that she’s sporting an expression of genuine curiosity. A hint of quiet longing also seems to be staring back at you, and it’s apparent that she's truly–completely–surprised. Have you not been obvious about how much you care for her? Is there really a chance that she thinks differently?

A wave of courage greets you and you decide, right then, that you have to stop denying yourself.

You deserve to take a hold of this–to firmly grasp this time with her–no matter how badly you want to listen to the fear that is nagging in the back of your mind.

You deserve to let yourself fully enjoy this–to fully enjoy her.

And she deserves that too.

“I love you,” You say it as faithfully as you can, because damned if you don’t surely sounds worse than damned if you do. Your hands are shaking, but you don’t allow yourself to think twice because you’ve already said it. You can’t take it back. “God, I love you.” It’s becoming harder to see her. Your line of vision is blurry and your throat hurts. “Sorry I-” You swallow deeply. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you, or even if I should. I don’t want to scare you off. I know it’s soon and we’re still trying to figure this out but…” You’re at a loss for words, shrugging as you try to contemplate what else to say.

She grabs your hands, tugging you towards her. 

“I…” The sound of her exhaling softly is all you can hear. She tries to speak again, “You…” But her voice trails off again.

“I know you’ve expressed to me how you feel and I know this is a lot considering your divorce, then Monica and now me. I want to be with you and I want to give you everything I can, even if that includes taking things slow.” You wet your lips and that’s when you taste tears. You’re crying. “Whatever you need...I’ll be that. I don’t mind. I’ve just been trying to process it all. How I feel for you–it only seems to grow stronger each day. My love for you…” You shake your head, trying to recollect yourself. “...Becoming distant…Making you worry–that wasn’t what I intended.” 

She lets go of your hands. Air leaves your lungs when you feel her coming closer…closer…closer. Her mouth is hot, pressing against yours without any hesitation. That feeling alone makes your muscles turn to mush. But then she deepens it, leaning further into you as if none of this is enough. The urgency she exudes, combined with the swiftness of her tongue, makes you feel as if you’re running out of time….like kissing you is the most dire thing she could be doing right now. 

She wraps her arms around you completely and you allow your body to relax. 

All you can think about is her. Her lips and her taste and her smell and her hair.

All you can think about is how much you loved her when you were inside of her last night, and how much you loved her when her arms were wrapped around you this morning. How much you loved her even when the two of you bickered over the broken tea kettle last week, and how much you still love her right now. 

And that love, you're completely sure, will just keep growing and growing and growing…

You need her, in every aspect. You believe that you’ll always need her.

The tip of her nose brushes your cheek, then grazes against it when she tilts her head in the opposite direction. You feel yourself arching when her hands slide to the small of your back. Your fingers dig into her hair and tug at her scalp. Her quiet hum of satisfaction falls directly into your mouth, chest pressed against yours, body sliding in between your legs.

The salt of your tears fall onto your tongue, but she doesn't seem to mind. When she pulls away, gasping for air, her arms tighten around you even more. Her lips are swollen, eyes misting over as they stare back at you, and forehead merely inches from yours, “Don't you get it?” She whispers. “I'm yours,” Her voice strains with desperation. “You could never scare me away by telling me this. Ever.” 

“And if it isn’t obvious already,” She adds, nose brushing against your cheek. She leaves a trail of her burning touch as she inhales deeply; breathing you in. Your eyes flutter shut and the feeling of her lips pressing against your neck causes your breath to hitch. “I love,” And she pulls away to kiss your other side, “Love,” You shiver when she practically drags her face against yours before halting your anticipation with a tender peck against your lips. “...Love you. More than you’ll ever know.”

And you’re kissing her again, still needing more, but this time allowing yourself to have it. At this point, you’re pretty sure cartoon birds are circling above your head. You’ve never felt so blissed out and completely flustered at the same time. This moment is full of mirth, and promises, and undeniable love.

This is what it means to be alive.

Sevika is smiling now, laughing when you press into her for more, more, more. You’ll always want more of her and more of everything with her. 

“Take me home?” You whisper.

She’s laughing again, eyes misting over, but doesn't miss a beat standing up.

She understands. She feels it too.

Grabbing your hand, she manages to collect the food and her keys in one sweep. “Okay,” She answers, seemingly happy to grant you such a wish.

With your chest aching something fierce, you follow her without question. 

You love her.

And she loves you back.

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up and spend your morning eating toast and drinking tea, loving each other just the same. 

There’ll be days where you two will hang photos that haven’t been taken yet, loving each other just the same.

You’ll spend more dinners together, more holidays, and weekends and years–loving each other just the same. 

Your new life, the one you have been so afraid to accept ever since Mel moved out, is waiting for you with the door wide open.

Now is when you decide to take the leap forward, hand in hand with Sevika; promising yourself that you’ll never look back. 

[pansyfemme]

i would like to eventually make artwork about my experience being schizospec as a small child but i think. its hard for me when i feel like. i don’t know how to approach that in a way that people won’t interpret in a way i’m uncomfortable with. it was deeply scary, but i don’t want people to see it as scary. it was isolating, but i don’t want people to view me as tornented or a suffering artist. i kind of just want people to take away that psychosis is part of my life but. not anymore indicative towards why i make the art i do than any part of my identity. my work isn’t psychadellic because i’ve hallucinated, if i choose to make horror art it’s not the darkness of my mind creeping out. i want to make art about this but i feel like I can’t make it in a way that won’t change people’s perceptions of why I make art the way I do.

[gazspookiebear]

Thinking about waiting for Ghost to be ready for a relationship (kind of continued from this post

(Kinda angsty, self doubt/depreciating thoughts)

When you ask 'What are we?', he panics. He doesn't know. He isn't ready to be a boyfriend, to meet your parents, to open up about his life-

His internal monolog is interrupted by your hand on top of his own. He hadn't realized how anxious he must have appeared- sweaty, hands trembling, shallow breaths, the works. He felt like he was being strangled, and all of this was over a simple question. Why did he ever think he could do this?

You tell him it's okay. You tell him you don't need an answer now if he's not ready. You say that you're fine with the way things are, and if he isn't ready to move forward yet, you'll wait for him.

You tell him you'll always love him regardless.

The world might as well have stopped spinning, because you love him?

He wants to tell you he loves you too, but he's scared. He's still waiting for you to leave. For him to lose feelings. For this to all have been a huge waste of time, or for you to realize you deserve better as soon as he confesses how he really feels.

For a split second, he thinks about leaving. About ghosting you. Maybe even breaking up with you- but that would require him to admit there was something there in the first place. It felt like you had snaked your way around his heart and were squeezing with all your might.

God, he couldn't imagine himself without you. He felt like a fool, naive and childish all over again. Why were you so patient with him? Couldn't you see there was something rotting inside of him?

Once again, he's dragged out of his mind by your presence. You look worried. He can't fathom why you would be worried about him. Nonetheless, he squeezes your hand in return. A simple gesture, but it means the world to you. You know he's trying. You know he's fighting with himself and losing half the battles.

You're determined to win the war.

[traumacatholic]

I would really appreciate some prayers. I've been having so much money problems recently and I'm just not sure what to do. Every month I end up either in the negative or close to the negative. And it doesn't help that each month I have ended up having to make some big spendings because something essential has broken which needed replaced or whatever else. I can't currently get any help to cover my rent, because I'm still couchsurfing. The landlord of the place that I'm couchsurfing at isn't happy with my finances, and may refuse to add me to the tenancy, which would mean I would have to leave here. I don't even know why the landlord has an issue, because the rent has been getting paid on time without any difficulties. If I were to get added to the tenancy, I could finally ask for extra benefits to help me with the rent which would give me more money for living. But right now rent takes away from most of my benefits. I've been trying to cut spending where I can, but it's so stressful and miserable and overwhelming. I hate that I'm still in the same position I was in, where I'm just couchsurfing and trying to catch a break. I'm not currently in a position where I can save any money at all. And there's still the possibility that I'll be in a worse place housing wise if I'm not allowed to stay here. The fact that this has dragged out for so many months, and I'm still in the position of losing so much has me constantly depressed and suicidal. I just don't know what to do. Everywhere I have reached out to has been unable to assist me

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, furina, lyney {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 3.7k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

Fontaine was bathed in darkness, not even the moon daring to illuminate where the common man fears to walk. The streets were bleak and empty save for the constant, rhythmic ticking and clanking of machines marching on endlessly, dauntlessly wading where even the bravest dared not to venture. Not even the sharp click of the Gardes boots followed the occasional hisses of steam as they walked the barren streets.

It was haunting, and it'd been like that for days now. It showed little signs of stalling in the slightest, too. Every inch of Fontaine was practically crawling with Gardemeks– like a swarm of rats skittering about.

Arlecchino had secluded herself in the Hotel Bouffes d'ete for days at this point, waiting– biding her time. Her nails clicked against the wood as she tapped at the table in a stilted rhythm, the subtle click of the clock mixing into the clanking outside, weaving in and out of earshot as the patrols slipped by. She reached forward after a moment of thought, reaching for the white king.

She leaned back against the chaise, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a patrol of Gardemeks as they vanished behind the rows and rows of buildings. It wasn't enough to keep her attention for long, however, her features twisting in disinterest as she glanced back to the chessboard– and the letter neatly resting beside it. The seal was unmistakable and a sobering sight, demanding her attention– the soft hues of blue etched into the shape of a dragon stared back at her in a way that almost unsettled her.

She had already parsed through it's contents hundreds of times, but she was met with only vague, flowing script that only served to irritate her more then anything– it filled the page top to bottom yet managed to say nothing at all. Her hand reached out again, but instead of reaching for the letter she plucked the black rook from the board, setting it down with a soft click.

Arlecchino had all the time in the world to sit back and observe her prey, but all that time would be useless if she lacked the information to act.

And he was quite tight fisted about it, evidentially. None of her inquiries or attempts to decipher any potential codes in the letter left her empty handed. She could not act without even knowing the reason for his summons– it was almost worded like a personal affair rather then one would expect for a foreign diplomat. In truth, she'd expected a scalding report on her operatives, but it lacked any mention of anything of the sort.

She was no stranger to people masking hostility behind pretty words and compliments, not that it was ever unwarranted per se– the Fatui did not create connections through honesty and genuine kindness. They have strong armed more then their fair share of people into cooperation to the point distrust is all the Fatui are met with outside of Snezhnaya. Every word was meant to conceal the deceit, every action meant to conceal the price later paid.

So she had been..skeptical of the letter, to put it lightly. She doubted the Iudex of all people would offer a hand to the Fatui without a price attached– a trap, perhaps, meant to lure in the most powerful piece left on the board. Her eyes narrowed, reaching for a white rook and moving it to the right.

Or he was hiding something. Something that he simply couldn't risk getting out to anyone, not even the Divine themself. A tempting prize, whatever it was.

..A dangerous prize, too.

She'd considered burning the letter and forgetting it all together– the risk was great, and she couldn't risk getting caught up by whoever else the Iudex may have on his side of the board. But she could hardly pass up the challenge and the prize that he fought so hard to keep from prying eyes and ears. Even her agents came back empty handed each time. She lazily picked up a black rook, sliding the white pawn aside.

"Lyney," Arlecchino drawled, crossing one leg over the other and turning her gaze to the door as it slowly creaked open. The pale visage of Lyney stepped through, though his siblings were noticeably absent. The weariness that weighed down on his shoulders was apparent in the slightest furrow of his brows and the subtle creak of leather as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Father." He choked out, the title dragged out by the sharp inhale and shaky exhale.

He looked out of breath, she noted.

The silence that lingered after the small exchange was punctuated only by the click of another chess piece being moved. She sets aside the black rook, letting it sit among the dozen other pieces that had been wiped off the board. She can see the conviction glinting beneath the fog of exhaustion, but if he would utilize it was another matter all together.

He had seemed to make his choice quickly, at the very least.

"Our contacts and operatives within the Fortress of Meropide have gone silent– all we have is their final confirmed missive.." His voice is confident, but it is rigid as the words spill from his lips. He takes a sharp step forward, unfolding his arms from behind his back and opening his hands– the small, water stained and messily folded note catches her eye, plucking it from his palms with a half hearted interest. "They believe the Duke left the Fortress of Meropide..and that he may be coming to the Court of Fontaine."

Her eyes narrow dangerously, nearly crumpling the thin paper in her hands– yet just as quickly, she collects herself.

But she cannot get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, lingering as she sets down the note and slides it to the side, her lips pursed into a thin line.

So the Iudex had shown one of his pieces..she tightly grasps a black rook, tipping over the white rook, letting it roll against the board.

If the Duke was involved, things were much more complicated then she expected– he would be a problem, she was certain. She couldn't blame the lamb for fearing the wolf, either. Whether her agents had been killed or captured by the man mattered little. He had his ways, and he was a force that could instill fear in even them.

Which meant the possibility that her operation was already compromised was far too real.

What had the Iudex so concerned he had gone through the trouble of bringing in the Duke and herself? The Fatui was one thing, but to specifically request one of it's Harbingers..

The Prophecy? The thought had her clenching her fist, but..no. If it were to rear it's head now, the Iudex could simply not afford to waste time on his contacts deciphering his nonsensical script– If the prophecy were to be the issue, there time would be limited to mere minutes in the worst of cases. Which meant it was worth biding his time in order to ensure absolute secrecy.

So if not the prophecy, then what?

Her next moves were..limited. She was already walking on eggshells considering her position and the reputations of the Fatui– especially with a Harbinger in the midst. If they caught wind of her operations, they'd weed out her operatives and be on guards for any snakes that lingered in their garden.

She reached for the chessboard again, picking up one of the white rooks from the board with a scowl. The sharp click as she sets down the white rook and sets aside the black pawn draws a shaky inhale from Lyney as she moves another black pawn, the dull click of the pieces drowning out the distant clinking of machines.

..A draw, perhaps.

The pieces were all falling into place– the players of this game were slowly being revealed. Whether she could secure her victory..she was unsure.

She wasn't even sure who her opponent was. Only that the Iudex himself was but another piece in their game.

Arlecchino reached for the board again, yet this time she hesitated. Perhaps she could still swipe the win from beneath them, if she played her cards right.

She would simply have to capture the king– or, if need be, let it end on a draw. Either way, she would not concede. She could not afford to concede. Down to the last piece, she would drag out this match until she was in a position to force their hand into the outcome she desired.

She stood slowly, picking up the king piece and observing it for only the briefest of moments before she set it down on the table, taking measured steps around the table and across the room. She was hunting a much more dangerous quarry today– it would be no simple runaway traitor this time.

"Do you remember the directive?" She inquired coldly, her hand lingering on the door for that long, tense moment. "..Yes, Father." Lyney faltered, taking a hesitant step back and bowing at the waist. "Then do not stray."

All that was left was the silence and click of the door shutting behind her as she disappeared down the hall, her boots clicking harshly against the floorboards. The rest of the agents knew better then to linger in her path as she stepped down into the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. She barely even acknowledged the Fatui agent standing at the ready by the heavyset doors, their gloves hands held out with her cloak held loosely in their palms. She quickly snagged it from them, tugging it over her board shoulders and clasping it around her throat.

With a quick tug, she brought the hood up over her head to conceal her sharp features, lifting her hand and placing a neatly folded note within their waiting hands. She had only one chance to make the right moves and secure her victory– no matter the cost.

Each piece had it's purpose.

Oft, that purpose was a bloody and horrible end– but for the grand goal of the Fatui built on the backs of the dead, it was an honor.

She didn't bother speaking a word as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, pushing open the heavyset doors and stepping out into the barren, damp streets. The rhythmic clink and whir of Gardemeks was still distant– she needed to move. Her boots clicked and splashed in the rain soaked stone of the streets as she slithered between the buildings, ducking through the openings in the patrols.

It was almost too easy.

She tilted her head back, taking in the towering Palais Mermonia with a scowl, her hands clenched into fists. The final moves were being played– the king was within her reach, yet she felt no more confident then when she began.

The air carried a sense of unease, thick and heavy, filling her lungs until she felt her breath still in her chest– listening to the empty, bleak night that seemed so..quiet.

She'd done her fair share of research, had more then her fair share of her agents try to peer into the Iudex's office or the Archon's supposedly hidden chambers, but every attempt was a failure. She had to give them credit, they were quite elusive when they wished to be. Though now she only thought about it bitterly– this was all a risky gamble, in the end, and only time would tell if it paid off.

With minimal effort, she'd managed to pull herself to the flat, tiled roof, eyeing the massive tower peaking out of the center cautiously. At least here the wandering patrols down below weren't likely to notice her..she could hear them passing by the spot she'd been in only a few minutes ago, just beneath her. She pulled the hood further over her face, peering through the sheer darkness of the night for any oddities, but it was almost impossible to see in the dark.

Her boots clicked softly against the tiles as she approached the tower jutting out from the Palais, her hand gliding along the smooth stone, pressing against odd indents or crevices. If it was for the Archon's chambers, she doubted they made it very difficult– she'd only met the woman once, but she doubted the Iudex make it all that complex just from a brief glance. And it surprised her little when one of the stones sunk into the wall, gears whirring as the walls split open to reveal a stairwell straight into an inky black hall. Only the barest hint of light peaked under the door at the bottom, but it's occupants must have heard her, considering it went out not a moment later.

She cautiously stepped down into the small crevice, her breath visible in the bitter cold air– her shoulders tensed at the subtle sound of muffled footsteps behind the door, her vision flaring with a molten heat between her shoulder blades as she reached for the worn handle of the door. The heat of her vision was enough to just barely heat the metal, her vision flaring like a quickly building inferno.

Arlecchino was prepared for a fight, if it came down to it.

The door creaked as she pressed against it, shoving it open with a grunt of effort and surveying the room with narrowed eyes and a biting remark on the tip of her tongue– the lavish opulence was expected, she supposed, but the lack of the towering figure of the Iudex was not.

Yet before she could get a word in or even take in her surroundings properly, the light flickered back on and she had to squeeze her eyes shut with a hiss at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door being shoved closed behind her, the hurried footsteps retreating just as quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light.

..This was a joke, wasn't it? It had to be.

She'd expected the Iudex, perhaps even the Duke if she'd been unlucky, not the Hydro Archon. She had half the mind to test her worth as an Archon then and there, her temper flaring like an uncontrollable blaze, barely kept at bay. It took all her self control to force herself to smile politely at the woman rather then snarl.

"Miss Furina," She sneered beneath her hood, x shaped pupils locked onto the startled, trembling Archon with thinly veiled contempt. "What a..pleasant surprise. You'll have to forgive my manners, I assumed I was meeting with the Iudex." She observed her body language carefully– the way her eyes darted about like a frightened rabbit seeking escape, the slightest tremble of her lips..

Arlecchino opened her mouth to offer another scathing remark, but her jaw audibly clicked shut as her entire body seemed to lock up. Even her vision went cold against her back, a chilling feeling creeping up her spine as someone, or something, crept up behind her. Their footsteps were almost silent, the slight rustling of their clothes the only thing she could hear over her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Arlecchino had always prided herself on being on the other end of that sensation– she was the monster, and her target was the prey frozen like a deer between the hunters crosshair.

It was a chilling feeling to have the dynamic shifted on it's head.

She couldn't even swallow, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear it creak as she tried to reason with her quickly splintering mind– a futile effort, her joints locking up almost painfully. Black spots were quickly swallowing her vision from the lack of air in her lungs, the sound of shuffling behind her barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

For a moment – a moment too long to have only lasted the seconds that it did, yet so quick it gave her whiplash – she thought she would hit the floor dead before she could even glimpse her assailant.

And then it was gone. She came crashing back into reality with a startled inhale, her lungs burning and her knees nearly buckling under her. The instinct to lash out and kill whoever had done it was intense, yet she couldn't bring herself to move even a finger– it would be so easy to twist around and ignite them with searing flames, but her feet were rooted in place.

She almost didn't notice the surprisingly gentle hands unclasping her cloak, tugging it off her shoulders, if not for the sheer intensity of the presence still lingering behind her. Her mind was still fractured, struggling to right itself after the ordeal, and it had her seething.

"..Are you certain you held back enough?" Furina croaked, the normally soft lilt raspy and almost hoarse. "Not– not that I doubt your capability, most Divine!"

Arlecchino felt her nails dig harshly into her palms, heat swelling beneath her skin– Divine? Had she lost her mind? The Divine was..

The Divine was upon their throne where they belonged. She'd seen them!

"Hm. Well, maybe? Sorry, I didn't think it'd affect you too." Their voice was sickeningly soft as they stepped around her like she wasn't even there, focusing their attention on the Archon who seemed more then delighted about it. "What gave you that impression, most Divine? Aha, I..was completely unaffected, as you can see! Perfectly fine."

Furina let out a small squeak when they pinched her cheek, but the almost affectionate smile that tugged at their lips revealed the lack of malice behind the action.

"You're a bad liar, Furina. You might want to sit down..please?" They didn't take her protests for an answer, gently pushing her to sit on the bed before abruptly turning to face Arlecchino once more, a forced smile on their lips. "Oh, good, you're..uh, not dead. That's good. I thought I fried your brain. Sorry?"

..Had she hit her head on the way here? The Divine should still be on their throne, yet she couldn't shake the weight of their stare– it felt tangible. She felt like she was standing face to face with the stars– galaxies and constellations bearing down upon her.

She grit her teeth and clenched her hands until she felt the sting of her nails against her palms, grounding herself in the pain through the sheer overwhelming nature of their existence.

"You.." She croaks, reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, lifting them up until their feet left the floor– she pays no mind to the startled protests of the Archon. Arlecchino would crush her like a bug before she even got the chance to intervene and they both knew it. "You shouldn't exist– you aren't them, and yet you..you're the imposter, aren't you?" Her grip tightens yet they face her without an ounce of fear, meeting her unyielding glare with a pondering look.

Arlecchino wanted to make them bleed just to see if she could, the urge to sink her teeth into skin welling up in her chest to the point she visibly snarled, her mask of politeness long . "You're the imposter." Her expression falls for a moment before she schools it into one of apathy, setting them back down and holding them there for a moment, finally releasing them after a tense moment. "Or you were supposed to be."

Hers brows furrow– she wants to demand answers, to throttle them for damning them to being nothing more then dolls for the supposed Divine to break at their whim, but none of the words come to her.

"..Why now? The current Divine has been in power for years, yet you descend now?" Her shoulders tensed, lips pursed into a thin line– it's impossible to ignore the truth that lay before her. The Divine is a fraud and this..imposter is the true Divine. How many years had they been in power, now? How many years were they waiting? Why did they wait? Was the suffering of Teyvat not enough? Was the blood that painted the steps of their stolen throne not enough?

She'd personally been on the wrong end of the Divine's wrath– she wonders..had they watched? Had they seen the cruel hand of their imposter and turned their back on Teyvat?

"I.." They hesitated. It made her seethe, her hands clenching into fists at her sides– her vision flickered, flames swelling within it's casing just to be smothered by the presence of the Divine. But once that spark had been lit, she refused to let it go out. "I didn't know."

The answer does not satisfy her. There is an itch beneath her skin that she cannot scratch, a fire that burns in her chest so hot it scorches even herself.

"And what about now? Are you content to cower like prey in the safety of the Palais Mermonia?" She snapped, taking a step forward, her brows furrowed and her glare intense– she can see the slightest bit of worry in their eyes. She revels in it. "Will you let them use your acolytes like pawns? How many more need to be broken on the steps to your throne before you act?"

Again, her vision flares and dims– it refuses to be used against the Divine that created it.

"Have you no answer?"

The room is silent. They do not speak and neither does she.

Even the world itself seems to quiet in the face of her accusations, fury boiling to the surface so hot it incinerated all it touched.

"I will kill them myself."

Their words are quiet, but they are not soft– there is a vindictive, searing anger that explodes out like dying stars within their eyes. The sight of constellations replaced by a void that would not be . The smell of ichor grows stronger– to the point she feels almost lightheaded.

"..I am aware that I have failed in preventing this, but I had no choice in the matter. Still," They muse, their voice like the tolling of bells. A solemn melody that stills the swelling fury burning in her chest, if only for a moment. "I will rectify it– I will tear down their throne of lies and let not even the earth tarnish itself by burying their corpse among it's soil."

They pause for a moment, holding out their hand– scarred and bandaged by the weapons of the devout, yet still they take upon the burden of dirtying their hands to save those who did not save them.

"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"

Did she?

"Will you help me?"

She exhales heavily, meeting the starry iris' of the Divine with a scowl still tugging at her lips. Arlecchino trusted no one but herself.

"..Yes."

[wyrmswears]

i finished aai2 (one of these is not like the others)