#my fav tiny lesbeans

[wildcatcatra]

i tried a different style with one of my many otps hhhh❤️💙

(click for better quality!!))

[cleopatraas]

little wings; big heart

She has flown with Miryam dying in her arms for miles. She has dived through waves, banked past rocks, the feeling in her arms slowly leaving her. Yet she presses against the seeping hole in her Lady’s gut, blood sliding and flying past her nimble fingers. Yet she keeps flying even as her wings scream in protest. Not enough training, not enough muscle to carry herself let alone Miryam. 

Yet Nephelle keeps flying. 

Miryam moans in her arms, but Nephelle can not stop, can not look down. She can only press harder against that warm, flowing wound. Miryam grips her hand and Nephelle wants to sob, to beg her to just stay awake. Drakon needs her, her people need her. Nephelle needs her. 

She has always looked up to Miryam. Having her idol dying in her arms is tearing Nephelle apart from the inside. Her wings are shuttering, but they stay strong against the wind’s current, beating down, carrying both of them to their people. 

Nephelle has flown through the crashing sea, has curved between the deadly rocks, has kept Miryam alive for this long. She will see them to safety. Miryam’s hand flutters against hers and Nephelle can feel her smiling. It is a smile of defeat. 

“Nephelle” 

She knows her name. Miryam knows her name. A tear curves down her cheek. Miriam’s thumb wipes it away, leaving a line of blood in its wake. The spear is not out, not completely. Nephelle could only break it in half, leaving most of it in. If she had taken it out… Miryam would have bled out faster. Nephelle is not yet sure if she made the right decision. 

“I’m cold” 

Nephelle still does not look down. She focuses on the sky line, on where Masina had said their people would regroup, set up camp, then keep moving. So far… so far. 

Nephelle wonders if Masina will miss her. She has been in love with her since she can remember. But Nephelle is of the lowest rank and Masina has been Drakon’s right hand since the pen has touched the parchment, writing their stories down for all to read. 

That did not stop the gentle caresses and touches. That did not stop Masina from massaging her back and her wings, telling her tales and triumphs, stories and defeats. That did not stop Masina from kissing her that night under the stars. 

That did not stop Masina from flying Nephelle across the skies, after Nephelle had cried one night, saddened that her wings would never be able to hold her weight. If only Masina could see her now… 

Nephelle wonders if she will see Masina again. 

“Drakon”

Miryam’s voice is so frail, so shallow. She must hold on. They are no more than a mile out. They have healers, the best healers. Nephelle presses her hand down harder, trying to stop the bleeding as best she can. She should have ripped off a piece of her leathers, tied it around the wound. 

A mistake that could cost Miryam her life. 

Nephelle finally talks. Her voice, too, is small, fragile, frail. But for a different reason. The pain in her back has spread. She wants to stop flying, to fall down to the earth and never move again. She would do this if she were not carrying Miryam. 

“He loves you so very much,” Nephelle says, her small wings giving another mighty big flap, propelling them forward. Her back and stomach scream in protest. She can no longer feel her arms, but Miryam is still there. That’s how she knows her arms are, too. “He speaks of you often. In the most flattering light that even I am jealous”

Nephelle can feel her smile. “Jealous… of me?” Miryam asks. Nephelle nearly laughs. No. As fascinating as Prince Drakon is, with his deep brown skin, glowing golden eyes, cropped hair, and muscles that could crush her skull… she is not attracted to him. As kind as his words are, as gentle as his smile is, as good as he is with his people… she would never be attracted to him. Or anyone who mirrors him. 

Her heart, soul, her everything belongs to Masina. The soft curves that stretch against her leathers, her hair that is always in five tight braids that seem to squeeze at her skull. Those beautiful brown eyes that suck Nephelle into Masina’s soul. The bright, charming smile. The cut on her lip. She wants all of that. She wants Masina. 

If she was jealous of anyone she was jealous of Drakon, though she did not think of Miryam that way. Nephelle shakes her head and Miryam swallows, licking her dry lips. “Masina” 

Nephelle nearly falls out of the sky. Does anyone else know? Does anyone else know the way she looks at this warrior princess, this general, this beautiful female who lights up her world with each breath she takes? 

Nephelle nods just barely. 

There. 

On the horizon. 

There, there, there. 

Nephelle’s wings beat down again and she nearly cries out in agony, but she flies harder, faster. She can feel the last remnants of warmth seeping from Miryam’s body. Even though her skin is paler than the rest of them, a moonlight color, she is so sickly now… it is as if Nephelle can see right through her. 

Nephelle’s own brown skin with its golden undertone is turning paler and paler. But she keeps flying. And she sees the camp. She hears shouting, though her mind is too fuzzy, too far gone. 

The landing is rough and Miryam cries out in pain and Nephelle can barely mutter her apologies. But she tucks Miryam tight against her chest and she takes the brunt of their fall, screaming as her wings bend under her. 

“Miryam!” “Nephelle!”

Nephelle does not know who would call out for her. Who was waiting in that camp, biting their fingernails, dreading her death. She does not let go of Miryam, does not move her hand from her wound. She gives Miryam the last bit of her warmth… her eyes are closing. 

“Nephelle, baby, Nephelle” Firm yet soft hands are shaking her shoulders. Nephelle forces her eyes open and tears fall out of them as soon as she sees Masina. Those braids… those eyes… Masina. 

“I love you,” Nephelle whispers and it is fatigue that has taken over. Masina’s eyes widen and Nephelle smiles, her eyes closing again. But the warrior princess, the general, the female she is so hopelessly in love with grabs her face and kisses her. 

Everything else disappears. The feel of her smooth full lips against her own dry and cracked ones is better than any euphoria that came with flying. Masina pulls her tighter against her, brushing her small braids away from her face, holding Nephelle’s chin. 

“I love you too, Nephelle,” Masina whispers, picking Nephelle up. Nephelle grunts gently, wrapping her arms around Masina’s neck, burying her face in the curve of her shoulder. “Marry me, Nephelle”

Tears run down her cheeks, sliding onto Masina’s neck. She looks up, her eyes red, her body still screaming in agony. She stares at Masina and a grin forms on her face. Brighter than any metal that makes their swords, happier than anything Masina has ever seen. 

“Yes”

Someone called for the best love story of all time? They answered. Leave comments, please!