MDNI in dms/asks | 23 pansexual enby w/ she/they pronouns | i don’t cater towards men or anyone of similar identity here | don’t be shy about starting a conversation | her-gayness is my main blog | i don’t tolerate bigots or entitled readers | grammar is fucked to hell, love an em-dash | fuck ai |
welcome to my side blog (main: her-gayness) where i’ll be writing fic mainly about sevika from arcane, but also a smattering of other random characters (in- and outside the fandom, women and men alike). i will 100% consider any requests (fluff/angst/smut) so long as i feel capable and comfortable writing them.
i’ll be writing for mostly women leaning readers (in any way shape or form, afab and amab, femme and masc), absolutely will write for nonbinary (as one myself) or any other identity (ex.: genderfluid) if requested, but i think my writing keeps itself fairly neutral. i expect to keep “reader” without many physical descriptors (especially pertaining to reproductive organs) unless specifically requested, if it’s story-specific (like an afab reader giving birth or even a bizarre feature that’s due to mutation or even body modifications), or to even indulge in my own heritage/features, but i’ll always warn beforehand in the content warnings.
no ai, i just happen to love an em dash even if i have terrible placement, a ton of bad grammar, i don’t fuck with smut-shamers, no minors/ageless blogs for any nsfw i might write or in my asks/dms. bigots of any kind, fuck all the way off.
i want to explore sevika’s traumas (and i sort of am in a current wip i’ve been agonizing over for months now) but i’m constantly worried i may come off as absolving sevika of all her wrongdoings or as babying her 😵💫
SUMMARY: a life of endless fighting and working make for a life of aches
WARNINGS: season 1 sevika, nondescript reader, able-bodied reader, reader implied to be shorter than sevika exactly once, established relationship, popping and cracking joints, sevika calls reader “baby” and “ma’am” once, arguments, cursing, bad grammar
(I do not consent to my work being published/translated elsewhere or used for ai chat boxes.)
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The air is damp and heavy with the stink of fish and salt, polluted with smog and the blaring horns of docking ships. It does little to overwhelm Sevika who’s already too groggy to care about anything else but getting your stall up and running. You both work in companionable silence for completely separate reasons. Yours bears little weight, mind clear from having been awake for several hours already, body twinging with the familiar aches of working on your feet on an unsteady ship just to do the same on land. You find yourself more concerned with the profit you may or may not be able to turn out today than to really concern yourself with Sevika who offered her help seemingly out of the blue. You know there must be a reason why she’s here, something she’s not considered you need to be privy to, clearly, but you prefer to worry only about yourself in the moment.
Sevika’s head, on the other hand, is foggy from lack of sleep, and it takes far too much to focus on her task at hand. She just barely manages to pull over the canopy before she’s once again distracted by setting up your crates, each filled with ice before you begin layering on the catches of the day. She watches you for a moment, wondering how you can seem so entranced before chalking it up to the years’ long routine it must be for you. She drags up the stools you’d brought, setting one up a pace behind you for whenever you’re ready then promptly plopping down on her own with a sigh. Her gaze lifts into the darkness of early morning and she finally manages a coherent thought.
“Can’t believe you do this shit daily,” she grunts, fingers digging into her pulsing temple.
You jolt out of your concentration, stuck on counting your inventory and cursing when you lose your place. “Listen, I like you, but give me a sec, yeah?” Sevika can’t help but be amused and obediently silences herself until you finally put down your clipboard with a sigh, shooting her a look that she definitely wouldn’t categorize as apologetic. “What were you saying?” After she repeats herself, you sigh and shrug, pulling your own stool forward. “It’s nothing at this point.”
“Don’t think that’s healthy,” she grunts, extending her legs outwards until her knees pop. She lets out a sigh, intent on saying more when she feels her hips shift uncomfortably, creaks emitting from beneath her flesh in real time. She groans at the slight ache before noticing you’re staring.
“Neither is that,” you deadpan before standing from your seat, wandering over to beckon Sevika to do the same. “Up.”
“It’s nothing.” Despite her protests, she obliges you all the same and stands, grimacing slightly when you grip at her hips in a much more clinical way than she’s used to from you.
“You need to stretch.” She nearly rolls her eyes as you begin your usual tirade, but refrains when she remembers your particular skill at abstaining.
“Yes, ma’am.”
You squint up at her and Sevika has the faint notion you felt her near-slip. “Then why haven’t you?” You return to analyzing, digging your thumbs into her hipbones and the sudden pressure nearly has her hunching over in surprise.
“Don’t exactly have the time,” she grits out, finally taking your hands and peeling them off. She huffs when you simply lower them to her thighs. “Baby- okay, enough.” She’s a little more hasty this time as she pulls you off, startling when she hears a pop of your own. “Shit-”
“Just my knee.” You’re quick to reassure her, brandishing your functioning body to her to quell her panic before it can arise. “You didn’t hurt me.”
It takes her a good moment to process then trust your word, nodding slightly as her flesh hand molds to the curve of your lower back, fingertips kneading into the base of your spine. You notice how she begins to gently pull you closer to her right side, her mech-arm disappearing into the folds of her cloak. Your mouth presses into a thin line, but you know better than to acknowledge the retreat — instead, you focus on her.
“You should see someone,” you say softly, a hand sliding up the back of her shirt to pet her back as the other massages her hip.
“Nobody to see.”
“…you know I meant a tops-”
“Out of the question.” Your brows furrow at the sharp dismissal. “Sevika-”
Her grip tightens around you. “Out,” her voice lowers, “of the question.”
It hardly deters you seeing as you’re far too used to her hardheadedness. You pull out of her embrace — her arm falling away with only a touch of hesitance — and glare up at her. “You have the resources, Sevika, how many people can say that?” you hiss, lowering your voice in case the fresh rush of vendors passing by to put up their own stalls don’t overhear.
Similarly, Sevika ducks her head and reduces her volume. “I’m not letting topside gain more from us.”
“All I’m asking is one appointment. Just one. All our money goes up anyway, what could this hurt?” you scoff. “Especially if it stops you from working.” Your back straightens as you become sterner. “Like you’re doing now.”
She finally does roll her eyes. “Putting a stall up and sitting pretty is har-”
“I meant the job you’re actually on.”
Sevika stiffens immediately. Seconds pass before she exhales sharply and looks away from you. “How’d you know?” she questions flatly.
Your own gaze falls to her chest before flitting back up to the cheek she’s given you. “You’re not subtle.” Your voice has softened now with something like defeat. “And you never help me set up. The only reason you come to the docks is to pick me up when you can or if you’re handling one of his ‘shipments.’” She finally looks back at you, but you don’t allow her a breath in until you’ve had your say. “If you won’t do it for me… at least do it for your job. Silco should be able to cover it himself, right? Takes care of his investments.” You cross your arms. “And it cuts the middleman considering he sends his coin up directly.”
Her parted lips press into a grimace, jaw tightening. “You really wanna do this now?” she practically spits. “This fucking early? And here?”
You can't help the curt laugh that bubbles forth. “When else are we going to, Sevika? Tonight when you’re not at home? Or maybe tomorrow morning when you’re also not at home?”
Sevika’s expression darkens and she opens her mouth to speak when something behind you seems to capture her attention in an instant. Her jaw clamps shut and there’s no mistaking the way her eyes keep in pace with her target. You watch this all with a deep frown, eventually sighing so deeply, it hurts your chest. She doesn’t even look back to you when she addresses you again.
“Listen. I-”
“Just go.”
Her stare finally wavers as she glances down at you, her own frown returning. “We’ll talk,” she promises. Again. You nod, as usual, and give her a halfhearted, “Okay.”
Sevika grimaces then takes a step, gives you her back with all the intention to leave when she suddenly stops. She looks back at you before retracing her steps, closing the distance between you in a single stride. Her arm curls around your back and pulls you tight against her chest. She angles her head just right and presses her lips to yours, lingering as much as possible before pulling away. Her eyes search yours for the bottomless understanding she can always depend on finding, and once she does, it’s with a painful tug at her heartstrings that she realizes it’s accompanied by a weary acceptance.
“I’ll see you at home.” I love you. I’m sorry. Goodbye.
You give her a thin-lipped smile and nod, barely able to squeeze her before she’s out of your arms, the ghost of her still lingering on your fingertips. The same fingertips rise up to feel the warmth of your mouth, already committing the kiss to memory in case it’s your last.
SUMMARY: sevika has never known an unburdened life
WARNINGS: pre-season 1 sevika, reader uses she/her pronouns and is referred as a “sprite/creature” (i meant this as she’s just got an off-putting vibe), platonic relationships (i’ll be using “+” to signify this in the future), no romance, oc deaths (including infants), financial insecurity, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of child neglect, sickly and disabled (correct me if i’m wrong, please) characters, food (including meat/seafood), eating, grief/mourning, allusions to child prostitution (doesn’t happen) and theft, some minor theft (by reader), angst, bad grammar
(I do not consent to my work being published/translated elsewhere or used for ai chat boxes.)
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In a hurry, Sevika roots around the dumpster for something, anything, edible. Hardly anyone wastes a scrap in the undercity, so she’s been forced into the outskirts, more than a few levels higher to search. Her nerves are on an all-time high. She knows she can’t afford to get caught, it doesn’t matter how pathetic a crime she’s committing, she’d be sent for Stillwater in the juvenile sector without so much as a trial — that’s really only a formality — for picking through “private property.” She has mouths to feed and she can’t deal with the setback.
Her ears perk at the sound of light footsteps tapping against concrete, and she immediately dives. She allows two minutes to pass before warily peeking her head over. She chokes on a gasp when she’s met with a pair of curious eyes staring back at her. She’s stuck, frozen where she crouches as she stares up at this… sprite.
The silence lingers, gazes unmoving, until the creature parts her lips. “Whatcha doing?”
Sevika swallows down her previous anxiety and returns to standing, finally breaking eye contact as she resumes her search but with much less gusto. “Nothing,” she answers gruffly, not wanting you to think anything she finds is a free for all.
You hum and watch her for a moment then say, “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”
Sevika’s jaw ticks, but she says nothing. Miraculously, you keep quiet just as her fingertips brush up against something familiar. Subtly pushing away some newspaper scraps, she finds a butt end of a loaf. It’s a bit old, the crust hard, but it’s enough. She’s quick to swipe it up, stuffing it into her bag before shamelessly digging for more.
“What about this?” Sevika has to make a double-take, barely registering the distraction of a voice the first time before her jaw drops at the half sandwich she’s presented with. You offer it like it’s nothing, like it wasn’t life or death for you.
“How…?” You shrug and look down at the sandwich. “Blue bellies… They talk too much while they eat.” Then you offer the half again. “Want it?”
Sevika’s brows draw together as she reaches for the food. “You don’t?” She stares down at the sandwich before delicately wrapping it and putting it away carefully.
You shake your head. “Don’t need it.” What?
“Then why take it?” A shrug. Sevika sighs and returns to digging, when she finds nothing, she trudges forward to the path she’d used to get here. She doesn’t need to look back to know you’re following, the soft slap of your weathered shoes against the ground lets her know.
You move in silence that could be considered companionable if Sevika wasn’t berating herself for accepting the sandwich. Maybe now you consider her in your debt, maybe that’s why you’re following. Maybe you’re assessing her value, what she can offer. She grimaces at the idea. She doesn’t need to be in anyone’s debt, can’t be, can’t waste her time trying to repay you when she needs every last scrap. She’s so in her thoughts that she doesn’t realize she’s picked up her pace, not until she feels your fingers clasping her elbow. She jumps, thinking an enforcer has come to take her away until her panic-wide eyes land on your hand. She deflates, relieved, but feels her ire begin to bubble. She’s quick to turn a glare on you.
“What?” she snaps, wrenching her arm from you and stepping close in an attempt to intimidate you. Maybe if she’d been taller, maybe older, she would. But at the ripe age of twelve and still not a growth spurt in sight, she isn’t as scary as she wishes to be. And if you’re a fellow sumprat like she suspects, she knows you’ll see through the bluff Pilties seem all too eager to believe. “Why are you even following me?”
You frown, hands twisting the hem of your shirt awkwardly as you stare at her. It’s disconcerting even though it shouldn’t be. You’re not pleading, not glaring or even weeping. You’re certainly not devoid of emotion, but the innocent curiosity stirs a sort of dread within her. You’re not harmless, no one down here survives so long being harmless, but she knows right off the bat that the pain you might choose to inflict on her will hurt worse than an enforcer’s baton or the sharp clap of her father’s palm. It feels closer to the pain of bedridden mothers and tiny brothers who can barely breathe.
You don’t answer, not in any way she expects. Instead you nod towards a stall and it takes her a second glance to recognize it. Her body slumps with a sigh. “That’s a food stall.” She frowns. “That means money.”
You shake your head and prance your way over to the vendor, watching him cook from behind a few crates. Sevika can’t help but grow antsy, shifting her weight from one foot to the other before giving in. She jogs forward, ready to grab your arm and pull you away before a frying pan can thunk you on the head. The knives and cleavers standing at attention on his shoulder pad aren’t quite promising of a warm welcome. She nearly abandons you when the man does turn, already skidding to a stop and going to turn when she stutters at his grin, all sharp teeth but somehow making his gargantuan height less intimidating. He grunts something she can’t hear and thumps your shoulder before turning back around. Still wary, Sevika stays put, watching him navigate his station. Her jaw drops when a large bowl of something edible is presented to you with a gentleness she’s never seen before. You say something to the man, beaming, then point towards her. She nearly freezes again when she’s met with the man’s curious gaze. She hardly expects to be waved over, much less finding herself walking over.
“Jericho.” You introduce the man with a mouthful of whatever’s in the bowl to her.
Sevika blinks up at the man. “Sevika.”
Jericho nods down at her before shoving a bowl into her hands, the size of yours, and she notices inside are thick noodles doused in a dark sauce. She can practically feel herself drooling when she suddenly remembers something crucial.
Her brows furrow as she looks up at him. “I can’t pay for this.”
Jericho shakes his head and juts a thumb at you, garbling in a language only you seem to understand. The end of a noodle slaps at your nose before you clear your throat to speak. “She can,” you recite faithfully. “Works for me.”
Sevika quirks her brow. “Cooking?”
He snorts and turns back to his grill, shaking his head as he drives a cleaver into thick slabs of… something. Around a mouthful of food, you continue, “Nah. I run errands for ‘im mostly, like getting the ingredients.” You smile and clean your mouth free of sauce with your sleeve. “Sometimes I chop, help him set up.” You shrug. “Get paid with meals and any coin he can spare.” She’s tempted to ask if he’s willing to take her on, but she knows he probably won’t be able to afford a second mouth to feed so she stuffs her own with noodles and tries not to viscerally react over how good it is. She’s oblivious to the way you watch her, beaming into your bowl as you chew around a thick bit of tentacle.
About halfway through the bowl, Sevika stops eating, pausing as she remembers she’s meant to be finding something substantial for her mother. In her silence, she doesn’t notice the way you tilt your head in question then tug at Jericho’s apron. She doesn’t break out of her thoughts until you’re bumping an empty carton against her bowl. Her brows draw together in confusion until she quickly realizes the carton is meant for takeout or even leftovers. You must be thinking she’s full even though she can still feel the remaining emptiness gnawing at her belly. Nevertheless, Sevika takes the carton and dumps her bowl inside, blinking in surprise when you do the same — albeit after taking one last clump of noodles for yourself.
“I’ve gotta…” Sevika grimaces and shakes her head, hardening her expression as she stuffs her bag with the carton. She doesn’t meet your gaze again, standing awkwardly in silence then huffing and giving you one last nod before turning and trudging off. She can feel your gaze following her and ducks her head as she feels heat overwhelm her face and ears.
It isn’t a long trek before she makes it home — home being a colorless wreck of a shack in an innumerable line up of other colorless wrecks. The one she lives in is in slightly better shape than others, her father actually able to fix a few things here and there when he isn’t working; Sevika figures it’s the least he can do.
Climbing up the steps and sliding past the front door that’s really just a formality dressed in mesh, she frowns at the silence. It’s disturbing but familiar. Sighing, she hangs up her coat and makes her way into the one bedroom of the house. She tries to avoid looking at the prone figure of her mother on the main bed, wheezing breaths coming out unevenly. The boys lay on the side pressed against the wall, none the wiser to unable parents and an older sister who’s trying.
Sevika lays her bag down on the stool by the window that works something like a bedside table, and fetches the carton of food from inside. It’s just as she’s sitting on the edge of the bed that her mother stirs, bleary eyes cracking open. As much as she loves her, Sevika can hardly find it within herself to gentle her expression for her mother.
With a finely tuned tongue, Sevika strays from Common. “C’mon.” Dutifully, she helps her mother sit up against the headboard, cushioned by thin pillows. “Are you alright?” She begins prying the carton open after receiving a nod.
Immediately upon seeing the contents, her mother’s eyes widen and her brows arch in surprise. “Where did you get this?”
Sevika’s lips press into a thin line before she attempts to shrug noncommittally, already twirling some noodles together when her mother’s sharp eye makes her sigh. “Just…” She lifts the clump up to her mother’s mouth. “A friend.”
Her grimace furthers when her mother dodges the food. “What did you do to get this?” Logically, Sevika knows her mother’s only worrying, that this isn’t an admonishment, but she can’t help but get a little snippy.
“It was nothing, alright?” Sevika scoffs, trying to swallow down her temper when she notices her brothers beginning to squirm. “Now eat before the boys wake up.”
“You’re too young-” Sevika slides the noodles into her mother’s mouth before she can finish talking, not wanting to hear her assumptions. She hears the hitched breath and near moan at the taste, poking at a tentacle to pass time until her mother can manage to swallow.
“M’not doing anything,” Sevika grumbles.
Her mother stares for an uncomfortable while before sighing. “You let your father handle it,” she says as sternly as possible even though her voice is as weak as ever.
Sevika refrains from rolling her eyes. “He told me to feed you, so I’ll feed you.”
“Not if it means… owing.”
Sevika says nothing in response to that, just raises the seared tentacle. Her mother eats and she glances at the boys, softening slightly when she notices her own eyes staring back at her. “Didn’t find any milk, not even powdered,” she informs her mother, never taking her gaze away from the babies. “Have you produced enough?” She looks back to her now frowning mother.
“No,” she confesses, solemn. Sevika only nods. “I’ll keep looking.”
Later that evening, Sevika’s got one little brother in each arm, both curled against her chest with their heads on a shoulder. She tries not to be afraid by how small they are, smaller than they should be and too small to justify the damage done to their mother. They’re not at fault, she knows, running her thumbs back and forth over their padded behinds, but it’s hard to reconcile the bedridden invalid with the woman who never missed a day of work and still managed to argue even with sore lungs. She only knows there’s nothing she can do now except try her damndest to keep her mother and brothers alive.
So out of her thoughts, Sevika doesn’t realize there’s an addition to her already crowded party until she hears a disapproving grunt. She tenses for only a split second before trying to relax when the twins let out an identical whine of discomfort. She adjusts them against her chest as best as she can before reluctantly acknowledging her father. “Appan.”
“Sevika.” She feels the slight breeze of him walking past and she purses her lips. She waits until she hears him stop, waits until a few seconds of terrible silence passes before she exhales a sigh.
“Didn’t find much… Just that.” Sat on the wobbly table is the stolen half of a sandwich, the old end of a loaf, and the last bit of the noodles her mother insisted they save for her father. It isn’t much of a feast, especially after she took the vegetables from the sandwich to mush up into something edible for the boys. Her stomach turned when she’d notice just how eager they were to eat.
A chair is dragged out then cracks under the weight of Sevika’s father. By the rustling, she can tell he’s going straight for the noodles. After the first slurp, there’s a quiet but stern, “What did you do for this?”
Sevika’s grimace returns. “Nothing-”
“Don’t lie to me-”
She’s on her feet before she knows it. “I’m not fucking lying!” she snarls, tired of going unheard, tired of fruitless scavenging, tired of the weight of a small family on her back, tired of being tired. She almost regrets raising her voice when her brothers pitch a fit, tiny fists scrambling at her shirt to get away from the noise while also pleading for comfort. She doesn’t tend to them just yet, wanting to take this moment for herself and only herself.
Sevika and her father stare one another down and the air is thick with the tension. She can tell he wants to do something by the twitch in his jaw and the spasm in his fingers. It doesn’t scare her, not in the way it should. He’s never beat her, never left behind anything lasting except perhaps an unwelcome window of who he really is. There’s been a smack here and there, hard enough to humiliate and sting but not to bruise. She doesn’t like that she’s grateful for that.
Another second passes before her father finally looks away. “Go deal with that.” It takes everything within her to hold her tongue and turn her back to him, stalking out through the front door.
The night air does wonders, a trick Sevika discovered all on her own. A cool breeze makes her mother forget her aches even for a brief moment, her brothers find an embrace in the chill that relieves their lungs of the stuffiness of the house. Her father… Janna seems to remind him that he is, in fact, a father. And for once, for a single moment, Sevika feels like a daughter and a sister. Not a parent, not a nurse, not a scapegoat. She tries to relish the feeling for as long as she can, but the boys’ pitch louder until she can no longer ignore them. With a sigh, she makes her rounds up and down the block, bouncing and rocking the twins until they settle just in time for her to return home.
The next time she sees you, it’s at the quarry. Months have passed and so has a single birthday. She’s thirteen now with only an inch more on each knee to show for it. Two seasons gone and with them, her mother and brothers. Her mother had gone in a fever, ablaze with hacking coughs and a collapsing chest. The twins had gone in silence. Sevika had just gotten done with wiping her mother’s corpse down with a cool cloth when she decided to check in on the boys who she and her father had moved into the common area as an improvised quarantine zone. She went to lift them, brows furrowing when the first felt cool to the touch and a bit heavier than usual. She adjusted him in her grasp, tiny body molding into the cradle of her elbow expertly, but the way his head lolled made her come to a stop. She didn’t know how long she stood there frozen, unable to move or form a coherent thought except a faint prayer sent to anyone who might hear that as soon as her fingertips touch the tiny septum, she’ll feel Janna’s gift spurt over her skin. It doesn’t. She felt nothing, and it was with a shaky hand that she reached for her second brother. There had been a breath.
Eyes brimmed with anguish and relief alike, Sevika lowered the body of a brother without life back into the crib with the utmost care before lifting the other to her chest with the same delicacy. She had never felt such fear before as she had walked out and onto the platform that could hardly be called a porch. She sat down, lowering herself with more gentleness than she had ever spared for herself. She rested his forehead against the exposed skin of her collarbone and cradled the back of his head with a clammy palm. She can’t recall what she had said in the moment, she only remembers the familiar twist and curl of her mother’s tongue, the first and last she knew her brother will ever know. She tried to keep him comfortable, tried not to allow her premature grief to show as his breathing began to slow. Began to hitch. Came to a stop. She didn’t recognize the wet heat completely enveloping her face, didn't know what was wrong with her own breath as it began to hurt her chest with its rapidity. It wasn’t until her eyes finally focused and she recognized her father crouching before her, repeatedly commanding that she breathe, gaze flitting between her and the babe in her arms. For a second, she panicked and held her brother closer, but then her father took the space next to her and did the same to her, tucking her much smaller body into his side. It stunned her so greatly she nearly dropped her brother, but her father seemed to understand her more than she had in the moment by curling an arm beneath hers, extending his strength and unburdening her of the weight of death.
The rest of her day was spent in the living room, eyes unseeing as her father moved about the house, draping each body with scraps of old curtains and bedsheets and lying them in the pre-dug hole out back. When the dirt was packed in, her father came for her. She trudged out obediently and simply stared at the freshly disturbed earth. Her father had tried to coax a few words from her, but she couldn’t manage it. Instead she turned her back and stalked away from the grave. It’s what brought her here, tears dripping slowly into the oil slick surface of the water as if to cure it. Her hair is loose, having broken free from its tie after the run she had sprung into the second she stepped outside of the rotting fence. She does nothing to push the strands away, not even when they irritably stick to her wet cheeks. She only watches the water ripple, too out of sorts to hear the gentle slaps of bare feet against dense rock.
“Sevika?” She tenses upon hearing the inquisitive and even cheery sound of her name, turning her chin slightly in your direction. She doesn't say a word and she’s certain you feel the weight in her heart by the sheer volume of your silence alone. She faces forward once more, listening to the steady drip of water and the quiet patter of your feet as you approach.
She catches the way your legs swing over the face of the boulder as you settle in beside her, giving her a few inches of space without being totally detached. Minutes pass before you pipe up once more. “You hungry?”
Anger curls deep in Sevika’s belly, head raising to glare at you and demand why you’d ask her such a trivial thing while she’s in this state, but the low growl echoing from her stomach beats her to the punch. She clamps her mouth shut, eyes following as she becomes nauseated by the influx of varying emotions racing through her. Eventually she nods and lets you help her to her feet, fingers clasping yours by complete accident, but tightening when you begin to pull away. You say nothing and slip into your shoes before leading her to the Entresol level. Not a word is said, not in the lift, not down bustling roads, not even when you reach Jericho’s stand. Seeing that the man is in no particular need of your help, you take two bowls and fill them each with a grand helping of broth and dumplings, returning to her without fuss.
You sit beside each other, accompanied by the noise of a thousand feet and voices, by the slurps and gulps you each make. It isn’t until her bowl is clean, not a drop to spare, that Sevika finally says something. “I really hate my hair.” Her voice belies all her exhaustion even if it doesn't quite do the same for her grief.
You look over at her, eyes following the drape of her hair down her back. “It’s long.” It seems to be all you have to offer before you add, “Impressive.” Then you crawl onto the crate behind her and she startles when she feels your fingers gathering her hair back into a sturdy bundle. “Wanna cut it?”
Sevika thinks the answer should come easier than it does, but the moment she opens her mouth, her throat swells with emotion, and she shuts it promptly. She replies, instead, with a shake of her head and allows you to comb through the strands. You take your time as you part then twist her hair into a neat plait, tying the end off with a fraying string you had kept around your wrist.
“There,” you hum, curling the hairs too short to braid over the shells of her ears. “Better.” You slide back into place beside her. “I’ll cut it whenever you want.”
She only offers you a nod in response. Hours pass, you return to Jericho’s side in the meantime, washing, chopping, serving, and, at times, offering her a skewer or two when you can. You spend your breaks with her, not minding the silence or having a one-sided conversation with yourself. Naturally, the stall comes down and you’re stuck helping put it away. It’s a slow-going venture until Sevika comes over, tired of sitting on the outskirts of the scene, and extends a hand. Her arms are later laden with containers of leftovers, a show of gratitude from Jericho himself, and she holds onto them with as much care as possible on her way back down to the Sump, alone once more. She’s all too-aware of the silence this time around and frowns when she realizes she’s gotten too used to your chatter even if this was your second meeting within a year. She shakes it off, in want of a clear head as she slips past her front door.
The air is still, much like the first day she’d met you. Its silence is more haunting than ever now that she knows no matter how hard she strains her ear, she’ll hear no other breath than her own. Not a cry or creak except her own. She trudges forward and lays down her trove before gathering her courage to venture outside. Somehow being alone with the tombstone she knows her father had been saving up for since the birth of her brothers isn’t quite as daunting as when she’d been accompanied by him. A dense lump in her throat forms when she recalls that this dull slab of cement was only ever meant for the twins, knows that it stands erect without so much as a letter because they’d all been too afraid to name the boys. She isn’t quite sure stripping them of identity helped in the long run, and she wonders if her father can tell her if it did. She had long kept the secret to her heart, and as she crouches down, stale chalk in her hands, she shares it with the world.
First, she writes down her mother’s name, careful not to mess up the curves and lines, retracing them to bolden the characters. Samira.
Then, with a deep breath, she continues.
Aarush for the eldest boy.
Madhav for the youngest.
Yes, she thinks as she pulls the chalk away. This is much worse.
WARNINGS: season 2; act 1 sevika, established relationship, nondescript reader, able-bodied reader, brief nudity (sevika), reader helps Sevika bathe (it’s more like a sink bath), eating/food (specifically fried fish), mentions of wounds/injuries, jinx, isha, the usual bad grammar
(I do not consent to my work being published/translated elsewhere or used for ai chat boxes.)
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Even in sleep, Sevika can feel the aches weighing heavily throughout her body. It wasn’t the greatest idea to fall asleep against the couch on the floor with her head lolling forward. There’s a distinct crick in her neck, a pain in the way her back is hunched. She supposes it’s entirely her fault for falling asleep at all when she’s supposed to be on guard. Everyone ought to know by now just who is protecting Jinx; her silhouette, her style of combat — it’s all too obvious. She knew taking the girls back to her place would be risky, but she couldn’t have them out of her sight, not now, not after the recent attack topside. The bounty on Jinx’s head must have doubled.
Sevika feels a sigh ensue before she can even fully wake up, eyes cracking open with a groan that she ends up choking on when she sees a pair of legs standing in front of her. She straightens in a panic, about to jump to her feet when she finally recognizes you. She stutters to a stop, a yell dying in her throat as her nerves spiral. She sighs heavily and winces when she drops back down to the floor.
“Hey.” She runs a hand over her face, jaw tightening.
“Hi.” She can tell you’re distracted, used to her coming home banged up as she is, but usually without strays. Now there’s two scrawny, scrappy things laid up behind her, snoring to their malnourished hearts’ content.
Glad to have since abandoned her new arm, she lifts her right one without a word, gritting her teeth as you clasp her forearm and haul her to her feet. You steady her with a hand at her waist and she melts into you instantly when you greet her with a kiss. She nudges the tip of her nose against yours before pressing her face into the crook of your neck, septum squishing against your pulse. She curls her arm tight around you until she can feel every inch of you. Today was a close call, so she decides to cherish what she can while she still can.
“You brought her home.” It isn’t a question, but Sevika nods anyway, still not pulling away.
“She can’t be on the streets. Everyone’s looking.”
“I know.” You pull back and try to give her a smile despite the obvious worry in your expression. “We’ll just have to be careful.” Even more so than usual. You cup her face, brushing your thumb over the bruise on her cheek. “Alright?”
She recognizes the check-in for what it is. Another sigh ensues and she leans into your palm. “Tired.” A memory of blinding pain rocketing up her left side, a flash of blue that haunts her dreams. She can tell you notice she’s withholding, and she squeezes your hip in gratitude when you leave it be for the moment.
“Let’s get you to bed.” You cast another glance at the pile of gangly limbs before you guide Sevika towards your shared bedroom. “We’ll deal with that later.”
She can only offer you a stiff nod, left side aching, bruises pulsating, scars throbbing, and head muddled. She’s silent as you strip her of her clothes, wincing only slightly when her bare skin touches the too-cold porcelain of the toilet lid and tank. She shivers as you run a lukewarm cloth over her body, paying special attention to the nooks and crannies she tends to sweat the most in. You clear up any blood and bandage what you can before helping her into a change of clothes. Sevika feels particularly better when you free her hair, alleviating some of her headache as the strands fall into place around her nape.
You hoist her to her feet and drag her to bed, and Sevika tries not to feel too guilty as you try your best at gently lowering her just to slip when she only has an inch to go and send her bouncing. She grunts from the pain, but manages a chuckle, pulling you into her before you have a chance to apologize. She buries her face against your throat and contents herself to a single moment of peace.
Sevika doesn’t realize she’s falling asleep until it’s too late. By the time she wakes, it’s with a panicked jolt, heart racing at the sudden darkness blanketing the room. Her hand reaches for you on instinct, but her anxiety rockets when she’s met with nothing. Her brain just barely manages to process the rhythmic thump of something against wood. Her nerves give her little choice but to scramble up from her spot, stumbling from the blankets being tightly wound around her legs. She rushes forward and through the bedroom door before coming to an abrupt stop at the end of the hall when she sees you standing in the dim light of the kitchenette, standing over a cutting board with your favorite cleaver in hand, chopping loudly into several apples. Jinx and Isha sit around you at the table, munching away in silence. The eldest of the two girls looks up, eyeing Sevika with a tired but questioning look. Sevika only now remembers she must appear ragged and insane, hair mussed from sleep, clothing loose on her body and full of holes, and the brat had never seen her without makeup and it so happens that now, instead of kohl, her eyes are rimmed with panic. She straightens her posture with some awkwardness and clears her throat, still assessing the scene. Isha’s attention is now on her too, but you’ve yet to look up, perhaps too used to her after all your years together.
“Hungry?” you hum, hacking out a core with a skilled ease before chopping the halves into wedges, unloading them into the steadily growing and gradually shrinking pile. “I’m frying up some fish, but it’ll be a while.” Sevika just barely notices the faint sizzling coming from deeper inside the kitchen where she assumes is your well-loved skillet swimming in oil with fish cooking in one of two ways — filleted and battered or simply whole without any excess fuss. She briefly considers if the latter would be such a good idea, but concedes that the child must have eaten worse things than something that can stare back at them in the short course of her life. She also knows you most likely don’t care. You’d decided on fish yesterday and fish it will be today. She says nothing about her unnecessary concerns and instead takes a seat at the table, snatching up a slice of apple before they can completely disappear.
The air is infused with their silence but warmed by the stove and the grease bubbling away. Sevika’s attention is torn between you and the girls, watching as you pull away from the table to routinely flip the fish as Jinx mutters quietly to Isha, the youngest of the two seemingly enraptured with each word. Sevika is surprised to suddenly realize that both girls have been cleaned of soot and changed into what she recognizes as some of your older clothes, time-softened tees and patched-up pairs of boxer shorts. Isha’s helmet is missing from her head and her hair seems tamed by a comb. She looks cozy in a way any child ought to be while Jinx sits beside her as the perfect juxtaposition. Even while scrubbed clean, the young woman looks dreadful. Her skin is nearly gray from its cleanse of ash and dark makeup, practically bloodless in her malnourishment and self-neglect. The only thing that makes Sevika feel marginally better is that you managed to patch Jinx up, the leftover stump of her middle finger is thickly bandaged and by the heavy droop of her eyes, Sevika’s sure you must've delved into your own personal stash of painkillers for the girl. Her thoughts begin to stray before coming to a full stop as a platter of steaming fish replaces the small plate of apple slices.
Sevika falls into the familiar routine of picking the flesh from the carcass, fingertips since having gotten used to burning upon contact. It isn't so easy for your newest guests if their continuous hissing is any indication. Having had enough, she quickens the deboning before exchanging her own plate with Jinx’s, startling slightly when another plate clatters down at the same time as hers does. She only now takes notice that you had the same thought as she did, your own fish now replacing Isha’s. You say nothing as you get started on your new plate and she joins you in her silence. There’s a soft crunching and she notices the hint of a smile you just barely manage to temper when you catch a glimpse of Isha picking at the severed head without hesitation.
Sevika says nothing and allows the silence to encompass the room, choosing to live in the rarity of such a moment with the knowledge that, in these days to come, it won’t be quite so easy.
WARNINGS: pre-arcane/season 1; act 1 sevika, bisexual! reader, sex worker!reader, accidentally afab!reader, able-bodied reader, mentions of sex work but no actual descriptions (may seem like i’m romanticizing it, but that’s not my intention), non explicit sex between Sevika and reader/vague strap-on usage (reader’s receiving and it’s a magical strap that sevika can feel because why not), talks of previous relationships, brief mentions of silco/reader/vander, mentions of drugging and kidnapping a child, mentions of death, canonical deaths, light angst, blood, light violence, bad grammar
A/N: this idea’s been cooking in my head for the longest time. might be an actual series, but i don’t know yet. sevika & reader are intended to be endgame, though, so dw. hope you enjoy the potential drama
(I do not consent to my work being published/translated elsewhere or used for ai chat boxes.)
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Sevika never knew what to make of you. She admired you from afar when you first met all those years ago. You were older than her, a grown woman seven years her senior who shared the title of First Daughter with Felicia when the undercity first began to know this revelation of Zaun. You were always there. The youngest of them by two years, but the fiercest. You never shied away from being as loud as Vander, as ambitious as Silco, as intuitive as Felicia, and as discerning as Benzo. You’d been the best of them, in Sevika’s eyes, and you certainly had an idea of it though you chose to allow the people to choose their leaders in Vander and Silco alike. Maybe it was because you knew there’d be less respect for a prostitute despite the knowledge deeply ingrained in every trencher that only the strongest endured such work. You wouldn’t risk it.
Sevika saw more of you once she’d joined, younger, but of age. She’d see you flit around The Last Drop with a stern crease in your brow, batting away too-familiar hands too broke to afford you. But she suspected that wasn’t the point. Not when you held yourself with the respect you deserved and especially not when she noticed your gaze fixed on Silco and Vander both. There had always been talk about the reason you were “kept around”, one such reason being you kept the two men warm and were pretty enough to parade around. Sevika was sure you knew it, you all did, and she was sure you intended to keep whatever you did, in fact, have under wraps amongst company.
She watched you closely as the years went by, silent yearning breeding building resentment. It wasn’t so much that her feelings weren’t reciprocated that made her look at you differently, but how you’ve dulled over time, your previous drive slowly flickering out. It was still as alive as ever the day of the Bridge, even if you were all seriousness as she suspected you would be, antsy and only comforted when you could see the head of purple in the crowd, the broad shoulders at the head of it, the flash of crimson weaving to and fro, and the reassurances crooned in a deep, steady voice. You’d lost greatly that day as many had. First, your best friend, then a lover as reported by your second. You’d been inconsolable, she’d heard, from losing the mother of the nieces you’d soon raise, and the paramour that you had always bet to be your future.
You had become different, almost like a widow despite Vander having survived as well. He had tried, everyone could tell, to bring you back. It never quite worked. You loved him still, kept to The Last Drop whenever you could as you slowly rose in rank at the brothel before you branched off on your own to cultivate another. Everyone had suspected you’d retire. You had a comfortable home with Vander and your four children, stable income from the bar, who wouldn’t take the opportunity? The gossip only worsened, the patrons not caring about the little ears that might be listening at the sound of their mother’s name. There had been one too many instances someone was tossed out by Vander or even her if your name was said with so much as the wrong tone. A then tiny Violet would try to emulate the same intimidation, but her spit would only ever land on her own chin rather than in the offender’s eye. Vander would always be quick to swoop her up and carry her back inside.
You never backed down, however, instead you managed to build yourself a striking business, producing more jobs as you did. There were the workers, of course, then the seamstresses and cleaners, eventually you earned enough from Pilt clientele alone to refurbish the terrace, placing tables and a stage for a band to play while customers waited, a gallery of balconies all around. It was a marvelous success, but an obvious distraction. You weren’t as active as a worker, only taking who could afford you, but you were diligent as the madame. After the first black eye presented on one of your workers, a maiming quickly followed, taking nearly everyone aback at your newly acquired brutality that Sevika was sure was really just bubbling under the surface, ready to boil over. She wasn’t quite so surprised by it or the inevitable fight that broke between you and Vander. He’d threatened to keep the children from you, you’d threatened to castrate him if he did. The Last Drop emptied with a single bark from Vander, feet scuttling towards the exit. Sevika joined the fray in less of a hurry, gaze lingering on the both of you as she nearly slowed to a stop before you caught her eye, searching with an impenetrable expression before nodding to the door. She left. The next day came and with it came an unamused Vander in no mood to speak or be teased about the scratches peaking through the back of his shirt or the bruises and bites decorating his neck. Later, when Sevika visits you with full intention of only checking up on you considering she hardly has the coin to spend on what she’d prefer, she’d been promptly shut up by you dropping into her lap and riding her to high heaven.
Sevika had been overwhelmed and pleasantly so. Her hands roamed and groped eagerly, guiding you faster and harder as her lips found the marks Vander had left behind, eager to make them her own. Upon contact, something within her softened, everything she’d suppressed arose. Her kisses and caresses lightened into a reverence she hadn’t known she was capable of, arms pulling you closer and so lost in her own pleasure she hadn’t felt the way you stiffened. She only felt the shift in the air when you gripped her hair and yanked her head back, diving for her throat. She’d shuddered, mind clouded with the feel of you and unable to completely process the glint of tears in your eyes. She came the moment you sunk your teeth into her skin, hips bucking wildly under yours. She remembers trying to catch her breath, nails clawing into your thighs when you only continued, clearly not done. She watched you with a sort of awe before something twisted inside her, telling her there was something wrong. Every rock of your hips felt more punishing than the last until Sevika herself felt a twinge of discomfort. Finally, she twisted you onto your back and forced you to still, her gaze searching yours until you wilted beneath her in defeat. Your eyes were swimming and her heart tore in two.
Not knowing what she could possibly offer you in that moment other than herself, Sevika simply pressed her lips to yours, gentler than she’d ever been, then trailed downwards. She left behind her own signature before finally burying herself between your thighs, relieved only when your grip loosened and your legs relaxed, body no longer holding any tension. The night seemed to blur in the very moment, her head muddled, but she swears she can recall each second, every breath and touch. She remembers mostly how you each clung to each other — for different reasons, she knows, but in that moment, she was content to believe you wanted everything she does- did. Did.
Sevika knows better now. She’s older, doesn’t chase what she knows isn’t worth catching. She only wishes Silco can say the same. Maybe she wouldn’t be currently bleeding out, the expensive prototype hanging from her left socket damn near shred to pieces with its wires exposed. She’s glaring at you, chest heaving from a fight she’s nowhere near healed enough to engage in despite Silco’s insistence she be the one to fetch you. You're equally a mess. Your clothes are torn, the jagged edges sticking to your skin with blood as its adhesive. Your nose is gushing and your bottom lip is split. She can admit to admiring your tenacity in this moment, even if it is mildly annoying.
She turns her head to the side and launches out a giant glob of spit and blood. “Don’t got much left in you,” she observes lowly, eyes tracking down your wavering stance. “Just hand over the brat and come with me.” Her gaze returns to yours. “Silco might still be in a forgiving mood.”
You shake your head, but that proves to be the wrong move when you begin to tip to your left, stumbling. You nearly trip over the limp figure behind you and Sevika takes it as her opening. Your eyes just manage to widen before her remaining fist comes rocketing towards you, knuckles crashing into your temple and skidding across your cheek. She watches you go down, body falling to the ground. She straightens her posture and peers down at the pathetic display. It’s hard for her to reconcile what you were with what you are now. She had thought with the reemergence of Silco, of his influence, you would have returned to life. Maybe you would have been naive, hoping that you could rekindle what you had with him and Vander alike. However, she remembers the screams and wails of that night in the abandoned warehouse. You’d been pleading for Vander’s life — for your children’s. There was no hope in your eyes as you were restrained even though you continued to try and barter one life for five. You clearly hadn’t known anything that had passed between your lovers. Not the betrayal, not the lies. You’d only known the whispers of unrest over Vander’s passive leadership and had done nothing, only speaking in defense of your own children when they were brought into the conversation — especially in response to Sevika.
Of course, you were quick to realize your disadvantage. A boot to your back and an arm to your nape as an inferior pressed you into the metallic gallery, forcing you to bear witness to Vi fighting her way through several goons before being chased with the promise of death by a shimmer-strengthened Deckard. Then came the blast and Sevika knew nothing else until she returned to Silco’s side where he’d retaken The Last Drop for himself. She was almost relieved to be on her own two feet again even while experiencing the trauma of losing an entire arm until she saw a familiar head of blue clinging to Silco’s side and a dead-eyed you watching from the sofa. You’d seemed almost chained to your own seat, not moving a single muscle as if at risk of being beaten. Over the weeks, Sevika was forced to behold Silco’s attempts at bringing you back to him, but you only ever really spoke to the brat. It took another month until you seemingly got over yourself and Sevika would find you in his office more often than not, talking lowly and simpering shyly. She even managed to catch you helping with his daily injections. But it wasn’t until last night that she realized why you were suddenly so chummy, and she was quick to report.
You’d stirred up quite the ruckus. The brat was missing and so were you. Tension was high and Silco was in a full blaze, sniping and barking orders, placing rewards for your return. Alive, he hissed. You had to be alive. Eventually, he calmed enough to gain some sense, coolly informing her this mishap wouldn't go any further than the two of them and she would do the retrieving with a promise of extra coin by the end of the day. Looking at you both now, it wasn’t hard to piece together you’d drugged Powder or Jinx or whatever the hell she was being called these days. You’d been planning to take her as far as Demacia if the airship tickets in your pocket were anything to go by. As best as she can, Sevika heaves you then Jinx over her shoulders and makes the trek back to the Drop.
continuing to defend fandom (shipping, analysis/discourse, fanfic etc.) to the general audiences that found their way into these spaces (without learning the etiquette and outright refusing to because they’d prefer to be assholes) is genuinely exhausting
line cook!sevika x waitress!reader (1,860 words) connected to - chin up
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SUMMARY: sevika takes the initiative when she hears you’re sick
WARNINGS: modern!sevika, sick!reader, bad grammar, swearing, eating, nondescript reader, able-bodied reader, snot, mentions of sevika’s dead mother, allusions to a neglectful father, reader wears a nightgown you’d typically see on an old lady and all my life i knew those as muumuus without actually knowing what a proper muumuu was so i redacted the muumuu use and just address it as a nightdress (edit: just now found an unchecked “muumuu”, i wont be removing it now that i’m more aware it’s fine to use lmao), molcajetes but i just refer to them as mortars and pestles made of volcanic rock to broaden the horizon
A/N: i reread this and now i’m wondering if i accidentally make them both come off as twenty-something-year-olds and not the middle-aged women i’m trying to convey 💀 40 is still young, but there’s definitely a difference in behaviors between a 40 year old and 20 year old and i’m not sure if i’m hitting the mark exactly like i want to since i am, in fact, 22 myself
(I do not consent to my work being published/translated elsewhere or used for ai chat boxes.)
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It’s Sevika’s day off, but yet again, she finds herself in the kitchen, chopping and grinding as a pot boils away. Any available window is open, the summer heat clashing with the manufactured one positively radiating from her stove. Not even her air conditioning would have stood a chance so she allowed nature to take over, resigning to it and consoling herself with the promise of proper A/C when she’s done. She’s glad to have had the forethought of wrapping a bandana around her head to catch any sweat beading at her hairline and especially at her temples which are now painted with loose strands of hair. Moving to lift the lid of her mother’s banged up pot, she curses when she’s immediately assaulted by steam rising with a vengeance she barely manages to dodge.
Sevika shakes her head and contemplates why she’s even going through this effort before just as hastily banishing the thought. She very well knows why, it doesn’t take a genius to know. The moment she’d heard you clear your throat last night nearing the end of your shift, the sound thick and borderline phlegmy, she was on high alert for not entirely hygienic reasons. It wasn’t until you called her earlier just to ask about her day, voice husky and sniffling every other second, was she resolved to do something about it. She recalled her memories of her amma and finally rooted through the recipe box left in her name that had since collected dust. She picked out the card meant for jeera milagurasam and carefully made her way through the instructions. She’d made several of her own versions of all the dishes in the box based off memory and what the aunties practically raising her used to fill her with, but none quite measured up to the comfort and taste of the childhood that ended with her mother’s death.
Sevika carefully ladles what fits into a worn bin she usually keeps for her stock before finally shutting off the stove and closing all her windows. She leaves the soup to cool while she takes a brief shower and tries not to put too much thought into what she changes into. She pins a claw clip to her shirt for later use, sliding into her car with her makeshift care package. The drive to your place isn’t very long and she’s soon at your door, frowning with concern when you appear with an incredibly raw nose that’s starting to peel at the nostrils and what smells like an incredibly thick layer of VaporRub that glints off your collarbone just barely seen under your well-loved and too-big nightdress, one she tries not to stare too much at when she notices the fit of it. It’s certainly too old of a fashion for you, but you don’t seem to care.
“You look like shit.” Not incredibly tactful, but Sevika can’t find anything else to say.
You sniff pathetically and nod, stepping to the side to let her in without question. “Feel like it,” you croak, wincing then reaching up to massage your throat. You close the door behind her and lock up. “What brings you ‘round?”
Sevika’s hand finds the small of your back, guiding you towards your kitchenette. “Figured if you sounded half as terrible as you did over the phone,” she begins, setting down her gift. “I could try my hand at helping you feel better.”
As soon as you’re seated, she instantly moves in search of a bowl and spoon in a cowardly attempt to escape the smile she knows is on your face. She still doesn’t meet your eyes as she ladles you a generous portion of still-warm soup, sitting it in front of you then herself at your side. She gently nudges the food toward you. “How’d you manage a cold in this heat, anyway?” She takes a second to finally draw her hair up, twisting it halfheartedly then securing it with the claw clip that had been clinging to her shirt.
Your smile doesn’t waver as you give her a shrug, carefully stirring the soup to cool it. “That’s just sort of my luck, y’know?” you hum, lifting the spoon and blowing. “The worst isn’t over, though, I can feel it.” Sevika watches you, fingers wiggling in her lap out of sight as she tries to gauge your reaction.
“Gonna be a few days,” she adds to hide her nerves.
You nod, not giving anything away yet, simply scooping up a few droplets from your lower lip. “Mhm, exactly.” You take another spoonful and close your eyes, swallowing with what looks like relish. “Fuck, this is already helping so much.” You look curiously at Sevika as you fully abandon the spoon, taking to sip straight from the bowl. “What’s in it?”
Sevika clears her throat, not having expected your enthusiasm, and sits up straighter. “Uh, tamarind-”
“Shit, that’s genius.” Her lips quirk.
“Curry leaves, black pepper, turmeric, cumin. Threw in some garlic for the taste and benefits-”
“Benefits?” You’re sniffling again, but this time, she’s sure it’s because of the spice. She can hardly stifle her smile any longer, taking a napkin to dab at your nostrils for you. It isn’t a pretty picture, but damn it if it doesn’t kindle a warmth inside her.
“Supposed to have an anti-something-something in there,” she mumbles, pinching your nose with the napkin. “Blow.” She openly grimaces at the quickly dampening tissue. “Nasty.” She balls up the paper towel and leaves it on the table for now. “I think it’s anti-bacterial.”
Unperturbed, you return to your sipping. “Oh, so this is like a home remedy?”
Sevika nods. “Something like that. It’ll help with your throat, reduce coughing, and the spice should clear your sinuses.”
You make a noise of approval. “You’re an angel, Sev.”
She ignores the rising heat in her cheeks and the sudden weight on her chest by waving you off in a nonchalant manner then looking around your kitchen to provide herself a distraction. Her eyes catch on a peculiar looking item and she points. She says nothing, already feeling the weight of your gaze as it follows her finger. She turns back to you when you snort, finding you nearly hacking out a lung.
“Wrong way,” you manage between coughs. Sevika has the decency to thump your back until you’re better. You clear your throat and return to the subject at hand. “It’s a pig mortar made from volcanic rock.”
She arches an eyebrow but nods. “Sounds expensive.” It’s more a question than a statement as she fails to find anything else to say.
Nodding, you answer with a chuckled, “It was, but it’s worth it.” You tilt your head. “You got one, chef?”
Sevika allows a small smile, close-lipped as opposed to the grin she sported when she was cleaning you up. “I do.” She gestures to your now empty bowl. “Had to grind a few things into a paste. Took time.” She folds her arms on the table and leans forward, eyes locked on the tub of soup. “It was a bitch to make. Can’t leave the paste too long or it’ll get bitter. And I used my last bit of toor dhal for you.”
There’s a beat of silence where Sevika pretends to still be surveying your kitchen and like she’s not aware of your staring. It isn’t long before you speak again. “Why’d you make it?” you ask softly, mirroring her and folding your arms on the table, leaning forward. “If it was so hard?”
She finally turns back to you, meeting your gaze unflinchingly even if all she wants to do is hide. “You’re sick,” she states plainly.
You tilt your head. “I’m grown. Responsible for myself. Capable. You didn’t have to go through the trouble.”
“You’re no trouble.” Before you can retort, she picks through the bag she’d brought the soup in, producing a few packs of nasal strips, a bottle of nasal spray, cold syrups, and several packets of different vitamins. “Thought you could use these, too.”
The next smile you give her is softer than she’s used to, a touch too knowing, and she instantly pours you the adult serving size for the syrup. “I got you the night ones so you can sleep yourself through it.”
You nod and take the small cup, downing it with a grimace. “Gods, I hope these work,” you mumble as you firmly press down on the nasal strips you’ve already applied.
“Even if they’re shit, I can’t return ‘em,” Sevika snorts as she stands, pouring you only a ladle full of rasam to wash away the medicinal taste. When you’re done, she washes it and the spoon before putting away the soup. “You should get to bed.”
You stand to your feet, a bottle of cold syrup in one hand as you tuck away the strips and spray into a pocket of your muumuu. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Don’t worry about me.” She collects the balled up wad of snot between pinched fingers and tosses it in the trash to then take a disinfectant wipe to the table. You watch with raised brows but say nothing, silently jotting down every little thing she’s done for you in the past hour she’s been here.
“I won’t be at work for a while.”
“I figured.” She tosses the wipes before getting into your space, pushing you towards your room. “Got someone to take your shifts?”
You nod, climbing into bed. “Jinx wanted to try her hand at waitressing.” You rearrange your blankets to cover your legs, the mattress dipping when Sevika sits on its edge. “Caitlyn’s on damage control for that one.”
Sevika snorts and watches as you finally lay down. “You gonna be alright?” she murmurs, palm encasing your jaw to ensure your attention’s on her when it’s clear you’re starting to drift.
Drowsily, you nod and pitch further into the warmth of her hand, disregarding the several beats her heart skips over. “Mhm…”
She hesitates for only a moment before nodding, standing with only a wince at the loud creaking of the mattress. “I’ll lock up.” You’ve already dropped to sleep and she goes unheard. She lingers before finally retreating.
When you eventually get back to work, it’s as if nothing happened. Well, that’s not quite true. Sevika tends to catch you looking more and, as opposed to before, you don’t immediately turn away. You meet her eyes, unashamed, and only smile after having your fill. She doesn’t address it, but neither do you. She was content to leave it at that despite feeling ridiculous to be as old as she is and running in circles the way she does. That is until she finds herself staring back at a giant unblinking turtle made of volcanic rock amongst a mess of bubble wrap and tape, a pestle of the same material rocking to a stop within its concave shell. It came with a note she’s yet to read, still reeling from seeing it sitting so innocently but ginormously in the box it was sent in.
She doesn’t know what quite moves her, but her hand tightens around her car keys and she’s soon out the door on the way to yours.
Several AI services (chatbots ) are purposely addictive, the same way people can become addicted to gambling or shopping. We’ve literally seen in real time how ChatGPT has caused psychosis and delusions in people; it can have a huge affect on someones’s mental stability. Just because it isn’t substance-based doesn’t mean that doesn’t count as an addiction, and shaming people who are trying to move on and improve themselves is counterproductive. Im proud of that dude and his 4 month mark!
line cook!sevika x waitress!reader (823 words) connected to - home remedy
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SUMMARY: sevika takes a break and catches you on your own
WARNINGS: modern sevika, nondescript reader, able-bodied reader, some cursing, smoking of cigarettes, sevika calls reader “sweetheart”, reader wears eyeliner, allusions to reader having been previously crying, allusions to the horrors of customer service, bad grammar and structure, i know nothing about this kind of work but will definitely research if i expand 💀
A/N: i’ve been watching too much kitchen nightmares and this is the result lmao. some lore on this au at the very bottom! ♥️
(I do not consent to my work being published/translated elsewhere or used for ai chat boxes.)
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Tonight was especially busy, the heat of the kitchen and several bodies doing little to keep Sevika’s temper in check. It’s finally around that time of night where she goes almost completely silent, lips pressed thinly unless she’s calling out confirmations and times. Yes, chef. Five minutes, chef. Plating. Where’s my fucking mash? She enjoys her work, really, but she enjoys her breaks even more. She pushes past the back exit, cursing quietly as her near-empty lighter refuses to spark. She almost gives up when a large flame shoots out. She jolts back with a swear before swooping back in before she loses it, inhaling quickly. The cherry burns bright and she coughs at the assault of smoke before taming it with a phlegmy clearing of her throat. She spits the gathered mucus out at the alley’s ground and settles against the wall.
“Ew.”
Sevika chokes again at the sudden voice, head snapping up to see you, glassy-eyed and crouching on the other side of the door she just came out of, a cigarette in your hand as well. You’re smiling, obviously amused even if it doesn’t quite brighten your eyes the way your laughter usually does, and it makes her frown in turn. Before she gets to ask after you, you continue.
“It’s not the alley’s fault you’re a chainsmoker, y’know?” you chuckle and Sevika notes the slight hoarseness. She hides her observation with a quirk of her lips.
“Rain’ll come soon enough,” she murmurs, cheeks hollowing around a hit as her flame-lit gaze flickers over your face. “You alright?”
The smile you give her tightens and you finally look away. “Just some jackasses.” You give a half-hearted shrug and finish off your cigarette. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” You extinguish the cherry, crushing it against the wet cobblestones. Sevika notices how you keep it in your hand after.
You stare down at the ground for a short while before sighing. “Honestly, I just think it was a bunch of shit that,” you make a frazzled gesture with scrunched hands, “culminated.” Another sigh. “I’m just glad I didn’t break down in front of ‘em.”
Sevika hums in acknowledgment, tapping her cigarette and watching the ash fall off. “Ambessa’s crowd?”
You shake your head. “Ours… And I think that’s what made it worse.”
“Finn?”
“Margo.” Sevika instantly grimaces, familiar with the cattiness and calculated overfamiliarity of the baroness. “It’s always worse when it’s a smart one.”
“Yeah.” There’s a beast of silence before she pushes off from the wall and over to you, extending her hand out to you. “C’mon, sweetheart.” She decidedly ignores the thickness in her throat she’s forced to swallow when you clasp her hand without hesitation.
She hauls you up, cigarette clamped tight between her teeth so she can use both her hands to stabilize you. “They’re not worth it, yeah?” she mumbles, thumbing the remaining tears from under your eyes, refusing to react over the way your eyeliner clumps and peels away. Instead she reaches into her pocket for her own pencil.
She exhales smoke out the corner of her mouth, jerking her chin upwards once. “Look up.” You obey instantly and she cradles the back of your head, tilting it back as she drags the creamy tip of kohl along your water line. She doesn’t do any intricate work, no sharp points or perfect swirls, just shades in with precision.
She steps away once she’s done, capping the pencil and pocketing it. “I know you prefer liquid, but, y’know.” She shuffles her weight from one foot to the other. “Not bad in a pinch.” Her shoulders relax the second you smile.
“Thank you.” Your gratitude is soft, quiet, and makes a complete wreck of Sevika.
She gives you a jerky nod and searches for anything to say when she’s beat by the beeping of your watch. You’re quick to shut it off, sighing. “I gotta get back in there. Caitlyn could only get me seven minutes.”
She nods. “Go on ahead.” She takes your wrist and gently turns it so she can read the time, ignoring the feeling of your eyes stuck to her profile. “I’ve still got five left.”
You hum quietly and retrieve your hand from her grip. “See you in there, then.” She holds the door open for you, worry simmering as she watches you dispose of your cigarette in the trash then maneuver around the other waitstaff without your usual finesse. She exhales soundlessly and closes the door, finally plucking the cigarette from her teeth.
The next four minutes pass in a flash, and she stabs the wall with the dying ember. Her grip on the dead cigarette loosens, but before she can drop it, she pauses, staring at it before cursing under her breath. She fists the smoke and returns inside, letting the door slam behind her as she drops the cigarette into the trash on her way back to the kitchen.
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UNSEEN: waiter caitlyn, busboy and on-site handyman jinx, busboy ran, restaurant co-owners silco and ambessa, bartenders vander, vi, and thieram, hosts scar and gert, head chef jericho, cooks ekko and jayce, dishwashers claggor and mylo. damn near everyone was hired on nepotism alone. [cassandra called in a favor with ambessa to hire caitlyn to get her to learn “responsibility” but on her (cassandra’s) own privileged terms.. vander is a working trophy husband (zaundads). jinx, vi, mylo, and claggor need no explanation. jayce is straight out of school and “knew a guy” (caitlyn), finally taking up the offer after several failed interviews. on the flip side, jericho is a day one and ekko was actually sought after, catching the owners’ eyes when he managed multiple nonprofits to feed the homeless and teaches to cook on a low-income budget. he’s also known to grow his own food and attend the community garden on the regular. still deliberating on sevika’s background ♥️]
WARNINGS: post-season 2 sevika, ex!sevika, nondescript reader, child oc, implied afab!reader, amab!sevika or simply the magic of lesbians (your choice), able-bodied reader, bad grammar and structure
A/N: been going through a serious bout of writer’s block, that’s why my previous posts are so far apart, so i’m honestly just squeezing out whatever comes to mind and it’s actually working well for me production wise. hope you enjoy ♥️
(I do not consent to my work being published/translated elsewhere or used for ai chat boxes.)
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The soft rustling of paper pierces the silence in the overly gaudy office, too spacious for one person but too little for her acquired prestige, Sevika knows. She tries not to think of the quiet animosity still present between her and several of the other councilors she calls colleagues. It’ll only stir her temper and she needs to focus entirely on her task.
It’s been just over two years since the war with Noxus, the casualties counted and memorialized, reconstruction still underway in both topside and the undercity which now bears the honorary plaque that extends the official title of Zaun. The latter being a little thing the Council did to make her and her people shut up.
Spread across the table now are the plans and blueprints for Zaun, which territories and levels were destroyed during the war and long before it. In one hand, she has a list of names and addresses of successfully housed Zaunite residents that is still too short for her liking, but she digresses. Her eyes search, aching from the strain as she refuses to be quick and potentially miss your name. She curses whoever was in charge of organization, curses whoever stripped family names from Zaunites and forced them to be the nation of orphans.
With a haggard sigh, she nearly tosses aside the parchment when she hears the paper shift and sees an extra fold peek out from the bottom. She grinds her teeth together, sending up silent prayers that what’s happening, isn’t, even if it were to solve all her problems. Slowly, she turns the paper and nearly upturns her desk when she notices the list is folded, the bottom scrunch where metallic, unfeeling digits crease it.
The tip of her tongue pokes the inside of her cheek and she sighs, finally unfolding the list and internally revoking all those she smote in her head. The list, still too short in her opinion, is bountiful with names and she returns to her careful reading. At last, somewhere in the middle, she lands on your name. She pauses, sharp thumb tracing over each letter before they find another beside it. Her brows furrow.
Zayd.
Sevika ponders the name, trying to remember anyone you knew with it. When she calls to memory all of your coworkers and friends, there’s no Zayd. Still none in any family you have leftover. She shakes her head. Maybe you’d met someone, maybe you’d been given a roommate seeing as housing is so limited and construction’s slow going. She settles that that might be it. She hopes. Just as she hopes you won’t find it too strange when she seeks you out.
With your address embedded in her head, she makes for your apartment the very next day she has off. Sevika reasons with herself that it’s normal. She simply wanted to make sure an old friend — an old love with exceptionally young wounds — was doing well. No one could blame her. She thinks back on how things ended between you two. It wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t ugly, either. The love you two had for each other had never wavered, had stopped you both from hurting each other. Maybe it would’ve been better if you had, maybe she’d be deterred from knocking on your door like she is right now.
She waits, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she recalls the last she’d seen of you. It was when tensions were rising after Jinx’s second attack on Piltover and the people rallied together. You’d asked her to stop, she couldn’t. Her betrayal of Vander, her direct hand in Silco’s reign and the complicity that followed, the risks she took daily and the consequences you both were too old to pretend wouldn’t affect the both of you, no matter how much she tried to protect you from them — it all mounted, it all became too much to bear.
It wasn’t a surprise when you decided to end things, it’d been several months of silence and unspoken resentments on both parts that culminated to that point. She let you go without a fight, the first time she’d ever quit willingly. You never left her after that, not really. You lingered in her thoughts and in her very being. She would reach for you in the dead of night, look for you in the kitchen after hearing a creak, come home with a greeting on her lips just for it to die off when she registers the stillness of her apartment. The ache in her chest in those moments made her briefly consider the pain a proper widow would endure and wonder how they could possibly survive it.
Sevika shakes herself free of those ridiculous thoughts when she finally hears life stirring beyond the door. Her brows quirk when she hears the unmistakable sound of a chair being dragged then pressed up against the door. Her fingers flex anxiously at her sides as there’s silence then a sharp click of locks being undone. Her eyes follow down the unseen line as they descend until they suddenly stop at the sound of a voice.
“Zayd?” Sevika immediately recognizes you, even muffled as you sound, but goes still when she hears a giggle and the final lock twisting open.
Before she can tuck tail and run so she can examine her own sense of dread privately, she quickly notices the door shifting forward and manages to jump back as it swings forward. “Zayd!” Pounding footsteps are heard, quickly approaching, but all Sevika can do is blink down at what she’s sure is an arcane mirror of old.
The child — a toddler — she presumes to be Zayd lets out another giggle before sliding off the chair, darting away to the inner recesses of the apartment without a clue of the impact he made on a perfect stranger. Sevika’s head races. A head of coal and skin of mahogany, eyes like the storm he was currently brewing between you two. She raises her head, gaze locking onto yours, and she instantly finds the confirmation to her suspicions in the tension of your shoulders.
SUMMARY: sevika is forced to confront an unwelcome truth
WARNINGS: season 1 sevika, light angst, established relationship, allusions to sex, nudity (sevika & reader), no mention of reader’s physical description, able-bodied reader, mentions of hypothetical death/sacrifice, smoking (sevika & reader, what are they smoking? whatever you want), bad grammar, “proofread” (i skimmed over it sleepily), written out of the need to get out of my writer’s block, inspired by this post
(I do not consent to my work being published/translated elsewhere or used for ai chat boxes.)
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“Done?” Sevika chuckles hoarsely as you collapse beside her, naked chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.
You manage something of a grin before giving her your back. “For now…” you hum, turning onto your stomach without hesitation. Sevika snickers and runs her right hand down your back, squeezing in approval when she’s met with the sweaty flesh.
Time passes in silence. If there’s a shift to be found, Sevika doesn’t notice. She turns towards you, heat coursing through her again as her mouth grazes your skin.
“I would die for you.”
Sevika stops where she’s peppering kisses along your shoulders, raising her head to look at your face. Your cheek is pressed against your pillow, a thoughtful frown creasing your mouth as you stare at the window across from you. She stares at you, waiting for you to continue, swallowing thickly when you don’t. She lowers herself on top of you, lips finding your cheekbone as her bare breasts press into your back.
“Don’t need you to be dramatic,” she replies gruffly, trying to be as nonchalant as possible as she kisses any available skin. “You know I don’t need that sappy shit with my dirty talk.” Her affections are disrupted when you shake your head.
She sighs and tucks her face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the smell of sweat from your skin. She strays for a moment before completely detaching herself, moving to sit up on her side of the bed and reaching for the blunt on the nightstand. She slips it between her teeth and strikes a match, cheeks hollowing for a split second until the end lights.
She takes a long draw before finally looking back over at you, noticing that you’ve turned to face her. Her brow perks before her hand finds your thigh, hitching it over her lap. “What’s going on with you, hm? Thought we were having fun.”
She meets your gaze through the smoke and welcomes you without a word when you scoot into her side. “I would die for you,” you repeat, quieter but much more decided than the first time. It makes Sevika pause, the truth in your declaration plain to hear. It makes her nervous.
“I don’t need you to,” she says slowly, nose scrunching when a too-thick string of smoke catches near the back of her nostril.
“I know.”
“Then why you offering?”
“I’m not offering,” you huff which in turn makes Sevika grimace. “I’m just saying I would.” Your leg slides off her lap as she leans forward, hunching over herself.
“It’s a shit way of thinking,” she grunts, offering you the blunt after taking another hit for herself.
You copy her example and sit up. “Well, it’s the truth,” you sigh, lips closing around the blunt. “You have Zaun, I have you.”
Sevika’s eyebrows furrow as she turns her head to you, loose hair brushing her shoulders. “You’re not making sense.”
Another sigh before you’re perching your chin on her shoulder. A beat of silence passes between you as you trade turns on the blunt, passing back and forth until only an inch is left. You curl your arms around her waist, wordlessly signaling you’re done, and press closer.
“I’m just saying, you’d do anything for Zaun.” You shrug. “You’d give up your life for it. Every day is already a risk, but you stay ready to pay for it… For me, you’re my Zaun.”
Sevika is silent for a moment, turning your words over in her head before snuffing out the cherry of the blunt. She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t feel like she can. “Saying I don’t care about you?” It hurts to think, but she needs to know.
You shake your head, no hesitation, but there still seems to be a lingering melancholy. “I know you care,” you murmur, thumb stroking down her navel. “But I also know how important Zaun is to you… If it was between me and Zaun, it’d be Zaun.”
You kiss her shoulder. “I’ve made my peace with it.”
Sevika opens her mouth to speak, straightening her back. She feels your breath cut short, expectant. But when the seam of her lips parts, nothing comes out. She racks her mind for something to say, anything at all, but eventually, she shuts her mouth and slumps into herself. A moment of silence passes before she finally feels your breath hit her bicep — a weak, trembling thing.
Neither of you says anything because what else is there to say?
WARNINGS: season 2 sevika, able-bodied reader, child ocs, sevika’s implied to have carried this baby, topless sevika, brief casual nudity (sevika), implied afab!sevika, reader is referred to as a “girl” (“Sevika knows her girls…”) once, no regard for proper grammar
(I do not consent to my work being published/translated elsewhere or used for ai chat boxes.)
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Sevika couldn’t help herself. As soon as you and your eldest daughter were asleep, she abandoned your bed in favor of sneaking her way into the nursery and scooping up the newest addition to your little family. She knows if you catch her, she’ll be in for an earful. She should be resting, you’ll say, that you would’ve kept her company if she felt so restless. Maybe even add that she shouldn’t disturb the infant as she is even if it’s well-intentioned. But she can’t help it. As with Bhanu, Sevika marvels at this tiny thing who seeks her rather than runs from her. She takes in every single detail all over again and can’t help her crooked grin. She really doesn’t understand why it keeps happening. Why her genes seem so hellbent on dominating. It’s her second run now, and still she wonders not who this little one will look like, but who she will be. It’s already apparent in the umber skin and stubborn pout who her looks will favor. Her eyes remain cloudy, however, and Sevika holds a silent hope to her heart that they’ll soon match yours.
Internally, Sevika takes inventory. Brown skin, dark hair, ten fingers, ten toes. Two arms, two legs, two ears, two eyes. Everything she can think of is accounted for, but there’s no telling just yet how well the babe’s eyes and ears will develop. Not yet. She hopes quietly all will be well, but has already resolved to learn what she will need to in order to care for her child should there be anything needing of concern. There’s only thanks that no blue radiates beneath brown, no pink swirls around black pupils, but Sevika knows there will be something. The same something in Bhanu who’s quicker than she should be, who can carry more than her weight should allow at the wobbly age of two-“Almost three!”-years-old. It’s still a challenge both you and Sevika have yet to overcome.
Like the sister before her, the infant is silent, but you both agree it’s at an intensity that not even Bhanu had reached. This little one only lives to eat and sleep, letting out a single shriek of discomfort when the time comes for a changing or feeding. A second only follows if any of her parents is deemed too slow for her liking. Each is just as startling and as effective as the first. But now, where she lies on her tummy all curled up over Sevika’s bare chest, she finds little reason to call for attention.
She runs her thumb over her youngest’s sprouting hair, studies the way her cheek squishes and blends into the swell of her breast. A tiny fist lays over the lightning bolts of scars lining her side, scrunching curiously at the sight as if trying to wield the power of the arcane pulsing beneath the skin.
“Damini.” Sevika knows it’s futile. The infant is so new and so fresh, she will not know her own name, but Sevika just has to say it. She loves the way her lips mold around the shape of this daughter’s name as much as she loves the way they do with her eldest’s. She loves hearing the way you practically hum them, soft in a way you’ve never been before with anyone but her. She smiles at the memory and it only widens in the present when little Damini moves a fraction of an inch, yawning like she’d worked a fourteen-hour shift.
Chuckling, Sevika braces both hands around her newest girl, cupping her bottom and her back as she shifts her up further. The woman leans her weight back and the chair begins to gently rock, her foot keeping the pace steady. She drops her chin on her daughter’s head with a sigh and glances around the dark room. All is silent, but if she strains her ears past the downpour raging outside, Sevika can hear your snores alongside Bhanu’s. They coincide with each other, each of your inhales is followed by the toddler’s. Every whistling or snorting exhale is just the same. There is life in this still bare home you’re both still trying to make your own, but at least each life here was molded by your very hands.
Sevika strokes Damini’s back idly, rocking back and forth and losing herself in the rhythmic creaks of the chair. She closes her eyes and allows her body to sink. For the first time in weeks, her guard is down. She barely even notices the crack of lightning or the rumble of thunder until her eyes fly open at the answering shriek. Nerves shot, Sevika stands to her feet swiftly and swings her head around to seek the danger. Her head aches when she finds none, and it throbs when lightning and thunder crack again just to be followed by another screech. Her brows draw together and she finally peers down at Damini whose own expression mirrors her own. Her lips are parted and her brows are scrunched, and it takes a fairly long moment until Sevika puts the pieces together. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen until the next bout of lightning and thunder.
Sevika doesn’t know whether to be shocked or amused. She stands stock still, staring at this little thing she made who answers the calls of the raging storm outside without tears. She’s so completely enraptured that she completely forgets herself and anyone else under her roof. She doesn’t notice when some of the snoring stops, and she definitely doesn’t notice the shifting of floorboards. It’s all too late when the door is opened wider and Sevika's head shoots up.
“Amma?” Bhanu stands in the doorway, rubbing at her eye as the other squints up at her mother then zeroes in on her sister. She pouts and drops her hand to instead hold her stuffed monkey closer, nearly strangling it. “Sleep with baby?”
Sevika lets out a small exhale that could be a laugh before making her way to Bhanu. She offers the tot a small smile when she notices the touch of wariness and fear in her eyes. She holds out her hand and the child is quick to snatch it in her jealousy and need for comfort as lightning strikes and thunder rolls in once more, jumping when her sister follows it up with her own war cry. “Just checking on her, little miss.”
“Mama?”
“In bed.”
“I come.” Sevika knows her girls well enough to differentiate between a request and a demand. This is certainly not a request. So, with a smile, Sevika lowers herself just enough so the child can climb up and onto her hip. She can practically hear you fussing now, worrying that she’s taking on too much, that she ought to let her body rest. But she ignores the tiny angel you that sits atop her shoulder so she can instead cradle your eldest into her side — as steady and dependable as ever.
Sevika sneaks her way back inside your shared bedroom, setting her eldest down on the bed so she can tuck Damini into the old bassinet. She strips out the rest of her clothing before sliding on a thin robe, bionic arm off and the unused sleeve having since been cut then sewn shut. She slips under the covers with Bhanu who immediately latches onto her, releasing her plush in favor of her mother.
Just as she’s settled, there’s another crash of thunder but it’s fainter now, further in the distance. Sevika watches with held breath to see if Damini dares to follow up. The infant certainly seems to try, but after a moment of awkward wriggling, her lips part to only release a small sigh as her little body relaxes into the comfort afforded to her by generations of spilt blood. Sevika follows soon after, turning her head to catch one more glimpse of Bhanu drooling in the moonlight before finally closing her eyes.
You, all the while, snore away to your heart’s content.
can anyone help me with my personal hc of tamil sevika? I’ve researched for myself, but it always feels superficial. i’d like a personal feel to my writing and i never want to offend anyone. i’ve gone through the experiences of feeling misrepresented and have also been annoyed before by how i’ve seen spanish/spanglish written, and it’s a feeling i never want to inflict on others. most authors are well-intentioned, but i’ve come across my culture either being fetishized or reduced to stereotypes before, so i’d rather avoid the risk as much as possible.
i just want it to feel real, y’know? down to the cuisine and the trauma commonly found in the culture. i already have an idea about young sevika and internal conflicts about having long hair, but i would love some conversation about it. i don’t want to make something out of nothing or group a certain community with another.
so if anyone’s interested, please don’t be shy, i’d love to hear your thoughts. even if your hc is different from my own, i just love learning about culture from people who live it everyday.
amirah vann’s (sevika’s va) voice singlehandedly makes me giddy with the idea of new yorker sevika. it just makes so much sense to me.
and with new york being so diverse, i just know new yorker sevika has a bunch of languages under her sleeve whether she’s fluent or not. i 100% believe she’s fluent in spanish (courtesy of amirah being part puerto rican/having grown up speaking spanish and english) and she has a “guy” for everything because when she “networked”, it was really just her being adopted by the most random people while she was still growing up.
it’s necessary to fight back against adult content bans obviously because it leads to queer bans, but also, you cannot forget that we must fight back against these bans because adults have the right to make and enjoy adult content. no credit card company has the right to censor what we look at. yes, this includes the “problematic kinks” and stuff you think is gross and bad. just as we deserve to be openly queer online, we deserve to enjoy adult content without fear of total censorship, and it’s absurd how few places there are to do that online nowadays
SUMMARY: after one too many days away from you, sevika just wants to eat and go to bed next to you in your shared home.
WARNING: season 1 sevika, reader is referred to as “girl” once, reader is briefly mentioned as being shorter than sevika, reader is mentioned to have hair (hair type and length are unmentioned), able-bodied reader, nudity (on both parts), topless sevika, financial insecurity, food consumption, reader calls sevika “baby” once, gratuitous grammatical errors because i work off vibes alone
(I do not consent to my work being published and/or translated elsewhere or used for ai chat boxes.)
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The air is tense between the two. Despite the surrounding chatter, splashing of boots in puddles, the sizzling of the griddle, the silence couldn’t be louder. Sevika doesn’t lower her gaze or her chin, mouth set in a grimace as she waits. She denies any guilt or shame, seeing no reason why she shouldn’t be here, she’s a paying customer after all; but the way Jericho doesn’t so much as make eye contact with her as he does his job with much less animation than he does with others sends a pang of something through her. She’d known the man her whole life, just as damn near everyone in the undercity did. He’d fed her when she was just a scrawny kid looking for a fight or big enough scraps to feed the little brothers that used to be. But she still doesn’t turn away, doesn’t say anything, just accepts the loaded containers he hands her and tries not to feel some type of way when he only takes the required amount of coins and not the extra she’d put down. They stare each other down before Jericho eventually concedes and takes exactly one coin, waving away the others.
“For your girl.” Sevika’s teeth click, but she says nothing in return, taking her money back and stalking off.
The walk back to her apartment isn’t long with her strides and haste getting her there quicker. She blends into the shadows as best as she can, not wanting to be bothered by wide berths and abrupt silences. She can only think of getting back to you and dropping into bed after having dinner. It’s something she’s been dreaming about for days.
When she doesn’t see you immediately upon entering her apartment, she calls out your name, setting the takeout on the side table so she can remove her cloak and boots. She only looks up when you respond. “In here!” She follows your voice into the bathroom where she finds you stripping out of your fishing bib, stinking of the Pilt and of fish.
You finally glance up at her when you’re fully nude, unabashed as you give her a tired smile. “Hey.”
Sevika closes the distance between you within a single stride and cups your face, bowing her head to press her lips to yours. “Hey…” She wraps her arms around your waist and pulls you in close, burying her face into the crook of your neck. She takes in a deep breath — fish and salt and sweat — and nearly leans all her weight into you.
You allow her to linger, squeezing her in return, before finally peeling back. “Shower?” When she nods, you turn to start the water, waiting as it warms. As you do, you watch as she first wipes off the flaking kohl around her eyes then the dark stain on her lips, movements sluggish in a way you know must mean her body has nearly been rendered useless from days’ worth of work.
You slink into the stall with a soft sigh, silently worrying after Sevika but glad to be rid of the stink and tension in your body. Sevika follows you within seconds without her bionic arm, and you both take turns soaking under the spray. Washing is quick but thorough, both of your instincts to hurry in order to save the hot water are so deeply ingrained, they stop you from true enjoyment. You both towel down then dress minimally — you in a tank and some underwear, Sevika in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. You wrap your hair in the only piece of real silk you’d ever owned (something about Sevika buying you anything extravagant even with her pay never felt quite right) then proceed to braid Sevika’s hair.
When you’re done, you both settle on the couch and pop open the takeout. Your shoulders slump with relief when you smell something other than fish. While you happen to enjoy the occasional seafood dish, when you work at the docks and on boats heaving nets of the critters, you start to lose your appetite for it.
“Mystery meat,” you sigh, delighted as you dump a heap of grain into the gravy-thick broth. You allow it to soak before taking in a mouthful. Sevika hums in agreement beside you, tearing into a bit of flatbread you forgot was in the pantry, and dips it into her bowl. You steal a piece for yourself and copy her, nearly moaning at the taste.
“How was work?” you mumble, eyes flitting upwards briefly before returning to the masterpiece in your hands.
Sevika shrugs and continues to eat with the same exhaustion that’s bled through her every pore since she got home. “Work,” she replies gruffly, cheek full of food. “You?”
It’s your turn to shrug, dimming slightly at the topic. “Work,” you repeat. “Could’ve sworn something popped out of place before popping right back in. Had to take a minute.”
Sevika stops chewing for a moment to look at you before her eyes fall back down to her food. “Quit.”
You’re quick to answer. “No.”
“You don’t need to work.”
“I like working.”
“No the fuck you don’t.” It’s true. You’re not even sure why you even attempted that lie.
Your lips press into a thin line before you sigh. “I’d just be another mouth to feed.”
Sevika refrains from rolling her eyes, knowing this was a sensitive topic and one she knows she’d adopt your stance on should the shoe be on the other foot. “But I can feed you. That’s the point.” She gestures lazily around her apartment. “Just stay home.”
You poke at your slowly fattening rice. “And what happens if something goes wrong?”
Sevika’s eyebrows draw together. “What do you mean?”
You stop eating entirely. “What if one day, you don’t come back home?” You refuse to look her in the eyes as realization dawns on hers. “What if one day, you lose a fight?”
Sevika stares at you as you fall into an uncomfortable silence, watches as you scoop in another mouthful without any real pleasure. She doesn’t know how long it takes her to finally say, “I won’t.”
It’s your turn to stare. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” she says curtly, almost as if she were offended.
You frown in return. “No-”
“Having you home to come to everyday is enough incentive.” That certainly shuts you up and she looks away. “I’ve done a bunch of fucked shit. Things I do and don’t regret. Shit I can’t even handle sometimes.” She grimaces. “I’m not even sure if I know what I’m doing when it comes to you.”
She turns her head back to you. “But I do know I wanna do right by you. Take care of you. I’m not willing to even let my own possible death stop me from doing just that.”
You listen diligently, frown waning, and are left without knowing how to respond. So you simply try to smile for her. “Possible?” you hum. “You’re not invincible, baby.”
Sevika doesn’t soften, doesn’t let up on her intensity. “I will be, if that’s what it takes.” But you’re already shaking your head and setting both your bowls aside.
“I don’t want the impossible.” You slot against her side “Just you. Old and gray.”
Sevika regards you with an expression you can’t quite make out. “Yeah?” Her eyes flicker about your face.
You nod. “Yeah.”
She takes a moment, but she finally seems to accept your answer and pulls you close, food forgotten as she nuzzles into your throat. “Bed.”
You crack a more genuine smile. “Bed.”
The both of you stand and you let Sevika pull you into your bedroom. After scrubbing your hands clean, you both strip out of your clothes, folding them and setting them to the side before finally slipping under the covers. Without needing to ask, you press up against her side, your head landing on her chest. Your arm drops over her waist and her hand finds your forearm just as quickly, sliding back and forth. You know she’d prefer to be able to hold you, but her need to protect you outweighed her need to touch you. She settled for these brief touches until she could soothe herself to sleep. She turns her head to look at you and her expression softens when she notices your eyes are already closed. You’re not asleep, not yet, but she can tell you’re on the cusp of it from the way you try to even your breathing rather than letting it come naturally. She goes to shut her own eyes, exhausted, but they remain open when your voice pierces through the silence.
“I’ll reduce my hours.” It’s the closest you’ll come to conceding to her offer, she knows, and it's a compromise she doesn’t mind settling on. She lifts her chin and brushes her lips against your forehead in silent thanks. She melts back into the mattress with a soft sigh before gruffly demanding, “Closer.” Her chest warms at the sound of your tired chuckle as you oblige her, not an inch left between you as your legs intertwine with her own.
Finally, she closes her eyes and manages to drift off to sleep, dreaming of a better tomorrow for you both so long as she can keep pushing forward.
