#mitski save me..

[yayee-pspsps]

I want you

[funsizedshark]

I ALWAYS WANT YOU WHEN I'M FINALLY FINE

[honeyhobbs]

I'll meet judgement by the hounds

[snowwgravve]

i really just want them to kiss or something but their face shapes r weird so i will continue to draw them staring longingly at eachother

[muchmossymess]

I had a vision

[saltsig]

if you need to be mean, be mean to me

[the-girl-with-too-many-ideas]

The other day, I was scrolling through Tik Tok when I came across a video talking about a 6 week old kitten who was found trying to take care of a few other kittens who were 2 weeks. They were screenshots, and one of them had a quote saying, "Imagine you're small and cold and scared, but there's smaller ones that are smaller colder and more scared."

I haven't been okay since because it sounds like Yue Qi and Shen Jiu. Their only three years apart, so all I can imagine is a toddler taking care of an infant.

All I can imagine is Qi-ge, who is nothing more than three or four. His an orphan slave and his hungry and cold and scared. When he suddenly finds a baby. His smaller and crying and just like him. Hungry and cold and scared while not knowing why. Then, next thing he knows, his picking him up and trying to comfort the little infant. As Qi-ge holds this little boy who is younger and even more helpless than himself, he decides to care for him.

He is just three-year-old Qi-Ge who decides to take responsibility for an infant Xiao Jiu.

[alltimefail]

"I'm Your Man" by Mitski

Sorry for the angst, I've just been consumed by the pain Charles buries, and how that internalized self-hate and trauma connects to his long-term arc and overlaps with his relationships and sexuality. NBD 😅

[blackbeauty-bby]

happy birthday lana the girls are so grateful for you

[butchdiaz]

was listening to mitski, thought of them & blacked out

[claiireluv]

what if i jumped

[luminacerin]

There’s something so upsetting about Shen Jiu forever being misunderstood by the original readers of PIDW, forever to be called a sleeze, forever to be blamed for Liu Qingge’s death, forever to be considered a spoiled young master.

Forever to be known as nothing more than the ‘scum villain’ to them. To forever be Qiu.

[lolitsleia]

my love is mine, all mine

[alarts]

some frames of a solavellan animatic project I'm doing right now . i was made to draw solas soooooo sad

[foreverppl]

I Put a Spell on You (Because You’re Mine)

Roxanne “Roxy” Rose/Samira Darcy | 1.1k words | IF: Can’t Save Your Love From Dying

God, Samira really doesn’t want to come. Doesn’t want to give Roxanne the satisfaction of making her come, not after the shit she pulled today. She wants to maintain her composure. Say in a sure tone, “Sorry, baby. You just don’t do it for me anymore.”

But Roxanne is fucking into her like her life depends on it. Working her up and tearing her down with each snap of her hips with such ease that it’s almost embarrassing. It is embarrassing.

More than embarrassing, it’s fucking annoying.

And it’s not even fair because Roxanne knows her body so well. She knows every place to linger, where to push, where to pull. Samira becomes absolutely certain she’s fighting a losing battle when she feels Roxanne getting that angle, hitting that spot and instantly something in her stomach is pulling taut and her head’s tilting back and she swears she’s seeing fucking stars behind her eyelids—

And then she’s there, at the tip of the spear. The piercing is sharp and sudden, but it just doesn’t stop. She can feel herself—distantly, very distantly—making a mess of the toy, of Roxanne’s thighs. Even then Roxanne—her lover, her worst enemy, her fucking baby—doesn’t stop working her through it, whispering downright filthy things in her ear until she’s all spent and boneless. And then Samira has to physically halt anymore movement because of the discomfort.

Fuck, she thinks with her sweaty forehead pressed against Roxanne’s shoulder, that’s probably the hardest I’ve ever come.

Roxanne, then: “I think that’s the hardest—“

Samira shuts her up with a searing kiss.

Later that night—or the next morning. Sometime in that nebulous period where one day melts into another, whatever—they find themselves still wrapped up in each other. Bed sheets slung across them, warding off the worst of the chill.

Samira loves it. Luxuriates in the ease of it. These moments somehow always feel the most real. Or the most normal, at least. Whatever normal even means anymore. Those moments when Roxanne’s eyes are unfocused due to sheer exhaustion rather than whatever concoction of drugs and alcohol she’s consumed. Where she gets to have Roxanne all to herself. No pathetic screaming fans or annoying bandmates looking to touch, to harass, to demand attention. Nothing to tempt Roxanne away. Just them. The way it should be.

“I didn’t know it’d get this bad.” Samira starts, whispered voice breaking up the silence. Outside, somewhere below, she hears a car horn. Then a siren. The amalgam of city life drifting into the penthouse at a low hum. None of it can touch them from this high up. Not really. Not now. Samira shuffles back with some intent until she feels Roxanne’s arms tighten around her. Smothering. Secure. “Didn’t think I’d let it.”

“What,” Roxanne mumbles from behind, voice thick with sleep. “What are you talking about?”

“When we first met…” Samira continues on, only distantly registering the question. This is more for her than it is for Roxanne anyhow. Aimless stream of consciousness, whispered aloud in the dead of night. “I did get the impression that you could ruin me, but I figured it’d be a matter of me allowing it to happen. I mostly thought I could—well, this sounds bad, and change you isn’t even necessarily the right wording—but—”

“Fix me, then?” Roxanne cuts in, voice a little more lucid now.

“You’re not broken.” Samira deigns to respond this time, her tone resolute. “Misguided. Misguided, definitely. But not broken.” Not yet.

“Fine,” Samira feels the heat of Roxanne’s breath against her nape as she huffs out the word. “You thought you could… what? Mother me into being one of the many upstanding, reasonable, boring rockstars who go to bed at 9pm and eat quinoa salads or whatever. Is that it?”

Samira rolls her eyes at the heat behind the words, because that really hadn’t been the point she was trying to make at all. She ignores her sarcasm to focus on the part that catches her attention.

“Is that what you think I do?” Samira shifts, suddenly regretting her decision to respond at all. “Mother you?”

Roxanne is silent for a moment, two, then: “Well, you do like being called—“

“One time! That was one fucking time and I just wanted to see - stop laughing!” Samira defends, though relishing in the feel of Roxanne’s laughter vibrating against her back.

Samira has always loved her laughter. Always. Even when it’s the cruel kind. She’s told her this before, she thinks, on one of those late nights where she stayed up long enough to watch her coming down from whatever she took. She loves the look of it on her mouth, the way it sounds. Loves swallowing it up with a kiss, licking the edges of it with her tongue.

“I don’t mean to hurt you, baby.” Roxanne says once her laughter has calmed down. Voice faltering a little like she’s drifting off again. “Just wanna have fun.”

Maybe Samira could stand it better if she knew Roxanne hurt her on purpose as some sick form of entertainment. It’s better than her doing it repeatedly on accident. The idea that their lives are so incongruent, that they are so incompatible as people, that just by virtue of Roxanne being who she is Samira is the one who ends up getting hurt…

Samira eschews the thought. She knows—knows deeply, without doubt—that she could make this work. That if Roxanne simply listened to her once in a while that she could get them on track. There’s nothing Samira wouldn’t do to make her happy. Really, truly happy. A happiness that could be maintained even after the drugs wore off. Roxanne just has to let her.

Roxanne’s arms start to slip away from her, sleep loosening her hold or just general restlessness. Either way, Samira tightens her grip over the arm still slung around her, stilling the movement. Forces herself to ease up a little once she realizes her nails are digging into Roxanne’s skin. Rubs her thumb over the indents they leave.

Roxanne, now deep in slumber, doesn’t even twitch. Samira releases a sigh and allows her eyes to slip closed.