#my sapphic soul is put to shame

[metalhoops]

Nancy Wheeler always wanted something. That was her secret. It was the one thing that no one knew about her because she hardly knew how to explain it to herself. It was like being hungry for something other than food. It was illogical, incomprehensible and all the things Nancy had never let herself be. 

She prided herself in being capable and competent. This manifested in different ways across the years. In the days before her best friend’s death, she had prided herself in her grades, her appearance, and her capability to somehow charm the once acclaimed ‘ladies' man’ Steve Harrington. 

After that, things got messy, and her world changed. Her friend died, and she hadn’t been able to stop it. She’d learnt how to use a gun to keep herself and those she loved safe. She redefined capability, using it to encompass roles like ‘fighter’ and ‘protector’.  

She realised she’d never loved Steve, not really, not in the way she should. Steve was funny. He knew how to make her laugh, sweep her off her feet, and make her feel special. No one had done that for her before. She’d lived in a crowded house that always felt empty. Steve understood that. Her mother and father had been dancing around each other since she was born. Even as the eldest child, she’d never felt special, not until Steve. 

Then there was something about Jonathan. He’d been kind and compassionate. He’d been something Steve wasn’t. She didn’t want to be with Jonathan because of any external forces. Dating Jonathan wouldn’t turn heads or make the other girls in school look her way with something akin to envy. But it might fill that gaping hole of want.  Jonathan understood her. He saw her for who she was and he’d loved her for it. No one had ever done that before. Steve had come close, but he hadn’t seen her. He’d seen the possibility of a white picket fence and a family. 

Nancy knew if she went for that life, she’d be just like her mother. A woman filled with ambitions and dead dreams. A woman who got glassy-eyed when gazing out of her bedroom window, as though envisioning herself opening the glass and soaring free or falling to her death, impaled on the same white picket fence that’d sprung up like a field of daisies the day Nancy Wheeler was born. 

For a while, Jonathan had been enough. Until he wasn’t. She didn’t know who owned the blame for the demise of their relationship. It happened slowly, maybe when he moved to California, possibly before that. They were two continents drifting apart. He left in his wake the same old familiar aching hole of want. 

She applied for colleges, worked on her journalism, and freelanced for a couple of local papers outside of Hawkins, ones where women were allowed a seat at the table. It helped. She was done trying to impress others. She wanted to impress herself. 

She felt more at home in her body while she was moving, but when she came home, either to her estranged family house in Hawkins or to her silent student dorm room, she felt the hole once again. That was when Steve asked her to move in with him. 

She wanted to say no. She wasn’t going to do it to herself or Steve again. She didn’t want to give him hope. He was always in love with her. It waxed, waned and morphed like the moon, but the love was always there. Yet, to her surprise, he shook his head, showing her he’d also changed in their time apart. 

“Not just with me, Nance. Robin and Eddie are coming too. There’s enough room. It’s gotta be lonely sometimes hauling up all by yourself.” 

Nancy couldn’t think of a good enough reason to say no. So she didn’t.  

What she hadn’t expected was how much she would enjoy having someone to come home to. The house was never quiet. Eddie would play his guitar at all hours of the night and morning. Ever since the group had made the mistake of getting Steve a record player for his birthday, he’d blast his music while cooking or cleaning. She couldn’t go a week without waking up to Toto’s Africa. A prospect that’d once petrified her, had somehow managed to bring her such comfort. Then there was Robin. Robin was never quiet. She was always talking to Nancy. 

Nancy had gotten used to her childhood home, where they ate together at mealtimes but remained silent. The place where, when she asked about someone’s day, she’d get a one-word response and a thousand-yard stare. When she asked Robin about her day, the girl told a novel-length, detailed account, filled with wild hand gestures and, more than once, illustrations. 

Nancy had come home late after spending the day at the library trying to complete a paper for her Intro to Communication and Journalism course. She was surprised to find Robin home alone, sprawled out in front of the T.V. watching what appeared to be a French Film. 

“Where’s everyone?” Nancy asked, letting her bag thud to the floor as she positioned herself on the armrest of the couch. 

“Watching a movie at the drive-in. I said I couldn’t go since I’m sick, real bummer.”  Robin faked a cough, then winked at her, sitting up and making room for Nancy. When she didn’t move quickly enough, Robin pulled her closer.  

The girl was clearly faking it. For what end, Nancy could guess. She knew Steve and how he acted when he was in love. He and Eddie had been mooning over one another for months. At first, it’d surprised her. She’d tried to deny her intuition, unsure why the concept of Steve liking Eddie made her feel naked. Nancy had always been progressive. It didn’t bother her that Steve or Eddie liked men, but it made the old, odd ache within her burn. 

“Do you think they’ll finally work it out?” Nancy questioned, watching as a flicker of surprise, followed by an air of mischief fell over Robin.

“Oh, Steve knows he’s got it bad for Eddie,” Robin confided, a cheeky grin spreading over her lips. Their faces were very close. Her eyes were blue, flecked with greys and greens, perfect in their imperfection. 

“He’s been waxing poetic to me for the past month. You thought listening to him talk about girls was bad? At least I can relate to that. Listening to him gush about Eddie kinda makes me want to puke. I mean Steve’s all ‘his hair looks so soft and curly, Robby.’ what am I meant to do with that? To me, Eddie’s just... I don’t know, our gremlin roommate that lives in our walls. I like the guy, but I don’t know what Steve sees in him,” Robin admitted with a laugh. 

She slung a hand around the back of the couch and absentmindedly tangled one of Nancy’s curls around her finger. Oh. Nancy liked that more than she should. Robin smelled like green apple shampoo, pen ink and poor decisions. 

Nancy was good at noticing things. She wanted to be an investigative journalist, and it came with the territory. She’d heard Steve mention how Robin had the habit of talking too much when she liked a girl. 

Nancy also noticed how Robin looked at her, the way her eyes lingered when she came out of her bedroom in her nightdress. Her eyes had scraped over Nancy’s shins, calves and the hollow space beneath her clavicle. All the new exposed flesh she usually kept hidden. It shouldn’t feel intimate, but it did. She’d seen drawings of her likeness amongst the clutter on the kitchen table and knew who they’d belonged to. Robin was good at drawing. She wondered if the girl would ever consider doing comics for the papers. It’d be nice to work with her around.

Nancy knew Robin was talking, but she didn’t hear a word of it, distracted by the stray strand of sandy hair, caught in Robin’s lip gloss. Nancy was smart, smart enough to know nothing good could come of acting on what she was feeling. She leaned forward anyway, brushing the hair back behind Robin’s ear, watching her go still. 

“How’d you get that?” Robin asked, capturing Nancy’s hand, trailing her finger over the scar cut across her palm. It was too close to another night, another possibility of love, another stupid decision by Nancy Wheeler.

“It doesn’t matter,” Nancy breathed, pulling back from Robin’s hand. 

“Robin, can you do me a favour?” Nancy asked, but before she had time to reply, Nancy pushed forward.

“Don’t fall in love with me,” she warned, her voice small but deathly serious. 

Robin pulled back as though slapped, looking at the woman before her with wide eyes, seeming like a creature ensnared in a trap. It’d come out all wrong. Nancy was never good with this kind of thing. 

“I hurt everyone that loves me,” she amended. 

“So please don’t fall in love with me, because I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Robin blinked owlishly at the girl before leaping to her feet and pacing before Nancy and the TV. 

“Holy shit,” she breathed as she paced. Robin’s body never felt at home staying still either. Nancy opened her mouth to say something, but it was drowned out by another bout of ‘holy shit’. 

“You like me, Nance,” Robin exclaimed, gesturing an upturned palm between the two of them. 

“You have to like me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t say that. And I mean, why the hell would you say that?” Robin ran a hand through her hair before huffing and sitting back down across from Nancy, taking her hands into her lap. They were both shaking. To her credit, Robin didn’t touch the scar again. 

“It’s not your fault. What happened between you and Steve. You know that right?” Nancy hadn’t expected that. Robin was always on Steve’s side for everything, they were best friends. 

“I broke his heart, too. He’s told you that, right?” He had. 

“That’s different,” Nancy reasoned. 

“Just because a relationship doesn’t work out doesn’t mean it was pointless. It’s like... I don’t know, having a crush on Tom Cruise,” Robin reasoned, instantly losing Nancy.  

“Alright, bad example. What I mean is back in high school, I had a major crush on Tammy Thompson. Don’t give me that face. Steve has said everything you could say. The point is, looking back at it now we never would’ve worked. She was a total flake. She was pretty but I’d drive her up the damn wall, like, could you imagine Tammy Thompson letting me talk about Italian Neorealism for two hours? No. But you did.” Robin nudged Nancy’s shoulder as though to prove a point.

“Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked. The point is, I realised I liked girls because of Tammy Thompson, so liking her wasn’t a waste of time. You changed Steve and Steve changed you, same with Jonathan. It’s made you who you are, Nance and who you are is a total badass, that I really, really like. So please don’t tell me not to fall in love with you. It’s not fair. You won’t hurt me, but even if you do, I think it’d be worth it for us to try.” 

Nancy never had learned to shut Robin up, but she suddenly had an idea. 

She leaned forward, placing a shaking hand on Robin’s cheek and crashing their lips together, sleek, sticky, glossed lips smacking together, tasting of strawberry, feeling like home. 

Maybe the third time was the charm. 

[dragonsrule18]

Accidentally did one of the Sapphic September 2021 prompts instead of the Sapphic September 2022 prompts, but here's my first drabble for Sapphic September. :)

Fandom: Pokemon

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 374

Title: Sunrise

Summary: Lillie and her Pokémon watch the sunrise. Moon enjoys the view and thinks about how stupidly in love she is with Lillie.

Moon stepped outside, juggling two cups of coffee and a bag of malasadas. It was a gorgeous fall morning, the sun slowly rising above the horizon, painting the sky and clouds gorgeous shades of pink, orange, and gold, the palm leaves swaying in the soft Alolan breeze.

But this all paled in comparison to the beauty of the girl sitting on a blanket in the grass, nestled against her Solgaleo's side with her Clefairy in her lap. Lillie's gorgeous green eyes were sparkling as she watched the sunrise, a soft smile on her lovely face as she stroked Clefairy gently. Her blond ponytail was shining under the sun's rays, turning it an even brighter gold than it already was. She looked so relaxed and happy, and Moon couldn't take her eyes off her.

And then Lillie turned to her and smiled that bright smile of hers, putting the sun to shame. Moon's heart fluttered as she handed her her cup of coffee, feeling her girlfriend's hands brush against her own as Lillie thanked her and took the cup. She couldn't be more stupidly in love with this girl if she tried.

She set her own cup of coffee down, careful not to spill it all over the blanket, and distributed the malasadas, giving Lillie and Clefairy their favorite pecha berry filled ones and Nebby the oversized big malasada he loved. Nebby nuzzled her hand then gently took his breakfast. She smiled and stroked him, silently thanking him once again for that fateful day almost seven years ago when he had escaped his bag and in doing so, brought Lillie into her life. The Psychic/Steel type purred, giving her a fond and almost amused look, and somehow she knew he understood.

She stroked him once again before sitting down next to Lillie, wrapping her arm around her girlfriend's shoulders. Lillie snuggled up close, smiling at her and resting her head on Moon's shoulder. Moon lovingly kissed her head and Lillie giggled before leaning up, capturing Moon's lips in a tender kiss, making Moon's heart race and setting her soul alight.

They cuddled together, eating their breakfasts and watching as the sun rose higher in the sky.

It was going to be another beautiful day.

[collectoroflovelythings]

drop your ut/dr blorbo list

Whoo! baby

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most): you already know, the hot girl, goat moma, toriel! love this sweet moma, such a kind, caring soul who's been through shit, and kept her heart the whole way through, in deltarune it's kris! drawn to weirdo teens always

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped): AZZY, and also frisk, and ralsei, and noelle, and please get they're all my babies, these games give me so many babies, and I want to hug them on and plant a kiss on their forehead, and ruffle their head

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave): hmmm, I don’t really know, feel like this answer is skewed cause of sans so I can say any character

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week): already told you about gerson (it's a shame cause she really was the brains of this whole operation)

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave): ah, you know how much I love asgore, really I hate how I started growing attached to him just by roasting the shit out of him but the more I think about him the more I love him, just pathetic divorced dude, single malewife, who gets along really well with sapphic women and also you got me to love Flowey so much, you see their both just traumatized, and responding to grief (also now I've mentioned every dremurr somewhere except chara...soon)

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason): spamton, i love him, he should have happiness, i want to put him in a jar and carry him eveywhere

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell): these games are about kindness and forgiveness, and how nobody's truly evil and how we're all just making choices and responding to pain, and all of us are capable of change and doing good........................................................................jevil

[jennyboom21]

But then you get to “dorothea,” four songs further in, and it all clicks together. Classic Swift, a song couldn’t just be a song, existing in a vacuum with no relation to anything else. Frankly, shame on me for even thinking it could be so. At this point, in the post-“betty” economy, I find myself listening to Swift’s songs holding my breath, waiting to hear if there are male pronouns. In “dorothea,” you’ll find none. Instead, it’s a story told from the perspective of an unnamed narrator in Dorothea’s hometown. Dorothea moved away to seek fame and fortune in Hollywood. “Hey, Dorothea, do you ever stop and think about me?” the narrator sings. “You got shiny friends since you left town. A tiny screen’s the only place I see you now.” Over on Twitter, a chorus of shouts emerged. “dorothea,” they claimed, was for the sapphics.

By verse two, I was yelling right with them. In it, the narrator talks about how Dorothea skipped prom to piss off her pageant-loving mother. Blowing off heteronormative tradition? Interesting, interesting. “And damn, Dorothea, they all wanna be ya/ But are you still the same soul? I met under the bleachers,” narrator Swift sings. During the lead-up to the release of the “willow” music video, Swift answered questions over in a chat on YouTube. She told fans “there’s not a direct continuation of the betty/james/august storyline, but in my mind Dorothea went to the same school as Betty, James, and Inez.” What is in the water in this town? At any rate, I love this clearly very gay high school where women are just secretly making out under the bleachers left and right. It’s got me rethinking Taylor Swift on the bleachers singing about the girl in the short skirts in “You Belong With Me” in a real way. (The Prom was released on Netflix at the same time as evermore, and there’s a scene in it featuring the lead queer couple under the bleachers that will make you wonder if this particular “dorothea” lyric isn’t a Ryan Murphy brand activation.) “There’s an ache in you,” the narrator sings. “Put there by the ache in me.” What’s gayer than shared trauma, I ask you? Nothing.

Which brings us back to “tis the damn season.” Listen to it again. Dorothea has come home for the holidays and she’s begrudgingly and temporarily hopped back into bed with her former paramour. (This is not required, but to enhance your listening experience, I highly, highly recommend imagining the high school friend and annual holiday hookup here is Aubrey Plaza in The Happiest Season. Does this make any sense in the context of the film? No, absolutely not. But will it bring you mental joy? Yes.)

“Time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tires. Now I’m missing your smile, hear me out,” Dorothea sings. “We could just ride around, and the road not taken looks real good now. And it always leads to you in my hometown.” Of course, this teenage love drives a truck! It’s in the bridge of the song, though, where Swift, true to form, delivers the emotional heft. Dorothea admits it’s more than just a hookup of convenience. That she might stay if asked, might not go back to L.A. and her “so-called friends.” That the lover who knew her all those years ago is “the only soul who can tell which smiles I’m fakin.” “And the heart I know I’m breaking is my own.” Ahem, you’re breaking your gay heart and mine, Dorothea.

That Swift has been able to be productive in this period might make me irate if these songs weren’t gifts that are going to sustain me through a long, bummer of a winter. Productive enough to weave beautiful narratives across songs and through albums, thinking, as always, five steps and ten hidden clues ahead of the rest of us. Remember that annoying tweet back ten thousand years ago in March that said Shakespeare wrote King Lear while in quarantine? Turns out, somebody (Swift) really took that to heart. See, Shakespeare was relevant here.

[pers-books]

17 and 54

17. War AU and 54. Secret Relationship. Again with the interesting combination! And again with the content suitable only for grown ups! (I mean that REALLY seriously!!) Also, this really ran away from me - to the extent that it’s just over 3700 words! Oh, and a content warning for a discussion of a student/teacher (ff) relationship.

Serena Campbell, head of the Lower Holby district Land Army, looks the newcomer up and down, taking in the overlong fringe, through which the woman’s peering at her. The blonde is only slightly taller than Serena but seems taller thanks to her exceptionally long legs, which appear to be encased in her breeches, despite the fact that the breeches are baggy on most of the women. She’s got strong looking shoulders and arms under her shirt and green regulation sweater. What most catches Serena’s attention, however, is the woman’s soulful brown eyes - they look deep enough to drown in - and which are full of a mixture of trepidation and pain. Serena frowns.

“Your application says you were an ATA Girl.”

“Yes, ma’am. Got shot down and injured, though. Can’t fly any more.”

“Why not?” asks Serena. “If you’re considered fit enough to be a Land Girl, you’re surely fit enough to fly planes?”

“No, ma’am. My - um - my back. It goes into spasms. Too weak to hold a plane steady. Major said I was less likely to - um - to do any damage with a pitchfork or a hoe in my hands, than a plane’s controls.”

“I see. Can you handle a pitchfork or a hoe?”

The blonde shrugs. “I wouldn’t know, ma’am.” She swallows audibly, her shoulders hunching as she traps her long fingered hands between her knees. “‘m good with engines, though. Not just - not just planes. Tractors, cars, trucks.”

“Then I suppose I’ll find a use for you after all,” Serena says, very carefully not thinking about one particular use she’d like to put those hands to. “Because you’re joining us relatively late in the day all our billets are full, so you’ll be sharing with me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Serena picks up the hand bell on her desk and tinkles it, and the door to her office opens. “Essie, dear, you’re in charge here for the rest of the afternoon while I show our newest recruit what’s what.” 

“Of course, Serena.” Essie smiles at their newest recruit and the blonde smiles back a little uncertainly.

“This is Berenice Wolfe. She’s joining us from the ATA. Berenice, this is Essie Harrison, she’s my right hand woman.” Though not in that sense, alas, Serena thinks glumly. She really hopes that this new woman is of the Sapphic persuasion because she wants, oh she wants so badly, to have those long fingers gliding over her curves and sliding into her darkest place to bring her exquisite pleasure.

She swallows that thought down, hoping that she hasn’t gone pink, then bends down to take her handbag from the bottom drawer of her desk, just in case.

“Come along, Berenice, I’ll take you on a quick tour of the district’s highlights, then take you to our billet. I trust you’ve brought your ration book?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You needn’t call me ‘ma’am’, Berenice,” Serena says as she leads the blonde out of the town hall and around the corner to where her car is parked. “Despite the name of our organisation, we’re not military. Call me Serena.”

“Could you - would you mind calling me ‘Bernie’?” the blonde asks. “I don’t really like ‘Berenice’.”

“Well now, that’s a shame, because from what I’ve seen so far, I very much like Berenice.” The words slip out before Serena can censor herself, and she knows Bernie’s understood her real meaning by the burning look she gives Serena as they slide into their seats and she starts up the car. 

“You’re not married, then?” Bernie asks.

“Widowed,” Serena says. “My late husband, Edward, was in a plane that was shot down over France. I can’t say that I mind very much. He was an alcoholic and an anaesthetist - hardly a good combination. He was also all ego, especially in bed, if you know what I mean?”

Bernie shrugs. “I - um - I haven’t - that is to say -” She’s gone pink, Serena notices.

“You’re don’t like men.”

“No.” She clears her throat, then speaks in a much lower tone that sends a shiver down Serena’s spine. “I only like women.”

“I like men and women,” Serena tells her. “Although having been married to a man, I’m beginning to revise my liking for them.”

“When you - um - when you said we’d be sharing a billet, did you - um - did you mean -”

“We’ll be sharing a bed,” Serena tells her. She stops at a T-junction to allow a couple of trucks to pass, then glances at Bernie. “Is that acceptable?”

“Very,” Bernie says, her dark eyes practically devouring Serena. 

“Good.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ninety minutes later, having given Bernie a rather whirlwind tour of the Lower Holby district, Serena pulls up outside a cottage on the outskirts of the town. She feels as if every inch of her skin is crawling with her intense desire as Bernie has been subtly, and a couple of times not-so-subtly, touching her. Mostly their arms and shoulders have brushed, but on a few occasions, Bernie’s fingers trailed Serena’s arm or back. And when they stopped for a late lunch, they’d sat closely enough for their thighs to press together and Bernie’s left hand had squeezed Serena’s right knee, then gradually eased its way up her leg to rest casually on her thigh, close enough, Serena’s sure, for Bernie to have felt the heat radiating from between her legs.

Bernie grabs her bags from the boot - one of their stops having been at the railway station for her to collect her kit from Fletch, the stationmaster. She follows Serena inside the cottage and across the main sitting/dining room, onto which the front door opens, to the staircase that leads up to the upper floor.

“Bathroom to the left, bedroom to the right,” Serena says, a little breathless with want and desire. “Hot and cold running water in the bathroom.”

“In that case, I’m going to grab a bath first, if you don’t mind? Wash all the grime of travelling off me.”

“Of course, not.”

Bernie steps close to Serena, her lips brushing Serena’s cheek as she speaks directly into her ear. “I suggest you make yourself nice and comfortable, Serena Campbell. I won’t be long and then I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

She shivers at the heat and pure lust in Bernie’s tone, then nods. “Very - uh - very well.” 

Bernie’s teeth lightly graze her earlobe and then she’s gone, disappearing into the bathroom, and it takes Serena a moment, because her legs have gone quite shaky, to move into the bedroom. She strips out of her suit, carefully hanging up the skirt and jacket, then she removes her blouse - a rather nicer version of the shirts worn by the land girls - before peeling off her bra and knickers. She can’t help sliding her hand between her legs to see how wet she is, and finding herself more than ready, she steps out of her heels, then settles on the bed, her knees bent and her feet flat. She closes her eyes and pictures soulful brown eyes and  messy blonde hair above her face. She moans as she imagines Bernie’s pink lips, the top one thinner than the bottom one, on her own, and those long, slender, and above all, clever, fingers sliding into the heat and moisture into which she’s sliding her own fingers. Another moan escapes her as she works her fingers in and out; her left hand cups her breast, toying with the nipple, while her right hand is busy between her legs.

She groans as she feels the coil of pleasure tightening in her belly, and she picks up the pace of her thrusts, driving herself closer and closer to the exquisite pleasure of an orgasm. She cries out at the moment of climax, then her hand slips from between her legs, her left hand drops to her side, and her knees splay outward.

“Starting without me, I see, Campbell.”

The quiet comment from the doorway snaps Serena’s eyes open and she sees Berenice - Bernie - wrapped in a towel from breasts to mid-thigh, watching her with eyes that are dark with desire. 

“Still, it’s good to know that the thought of me makes you scream.”

Serena frowns at Bernie, and her mouth curves into a knowing smirk. “You didn’t realise?” she asks and when Serena mutely shakes her head, she chuckles, a surprisingly filthy sound. “When you reached your climax, you screamed my name.”

She feels herself blush, the heat starting at her breasts and shooting up her neck and into her face. 

Bernie drops her towel, revealing breasts that are somewhat smaller than her own, and a neatly trimmed bush of brown hair at the apex of her thighs. She kneels on the end of the bed, then crawls up it, reminding Serena of a prowling cat.

“I really appreciate you leaving on the stockings, Campbell,” she says, pausing on her knees between Serena’s thighs. “They look very good on you.” She clasps both of Serena’s ankles, one in each hand, then slides her hands up Serena’s shins, tickles the back of her knees, then slides her hands onto Serena’s thighs. Bernie rubs her thumbs back and forth across the soft skin of her inner thighs, her eyes intent on Serena’s since she climbed onto the bed.

“Thank you,” murmurs Serena, before gasping as Bernie’s right thumb lightly brushes her clitoris. “Oh. That feels good.”

“Mmhmm.” Her left thumb repeats the gesture, then she slides her hands back down to Serena’s knees and pushes, so that her legs are outstretched out on either side of Bernie’s body. “I believe I promised that I’d take care of you, and then you got impatient and took care of yourself.” She lifts her hands away from Serena’s legs and leans forward, one hand on either side of Serena’s torso. “I think naughtiness should be punished. Don’t you, Mrs Campbell.”

Serena’s breathing hitches and Bernie gives her a knowing smirk again. She shifts so that she’s kneeling on Serena’s left, in the middle of the bed. “Roll onto your stomach, Campbell.”

There’s a snap to the instruction and Serena realises it’s a command, that Bernie expects to be obeyed, and she can’t help doing as she’s told, rolling onto her belly. She rests her head on her arms, her face turned towards Bernie, who climbs off the bed for a moment, then returns holding the towel she’d been wearing a short time ago.

Serena watches as Bernie folds the towel into a pad, then moves closer. “Lift your hips.”

Serena obeys, then feels puzzled when the blonde puts the folded pad of the towel under her thighs. 

“Ever been spanked, Campbell?”

“When I was a child.”

Bernie nods. “As I was. Not by my parents, but by my head teacher.” She breaks into a smile that seems to illuminate her entire face. “I suspect that if she knew the effect she was having on me, she’d have found some other way to punish my infractions.”

“What effect?” asks Serena curiously.

Bernie chuckles. “It aroused me to be spanked by her. My knickers were always quite soaked afterwards. I learned to carry a spare pair in the pocket of my skirt.”

“Oh,” breathed Serena, wondering avidly if being spanked would have the same effect on her.

Bernie caresses the cheeks of her bottom, one after the other, then asks, “Ready?”

“Yes,” whispers Serena. She shrieks when Bernie’s hand crashes into her bottom.

“Count for me, Campbell.” Bernie leans in to speak the words in her ear. “I’ll stop after six.”

“One,” Serena says, breathless and wanting.

“Two.”

“Three.”

The third lands on her left buttock, the first two having landed on the right buttock. So does the fourth. 

“Four.” She gasps that word out because she is very aroused already.

“Five.” Bernie switches back to her right buttock at this blow.

“Six.” She gasps again as Bernie’s hand slides off her ass and two fingers push between Serena’s thighs, and then she’s crying and moaning, her body beginning to writhe as Bernie’s movements send her higher and higher, her desire seeming to spiral harder and faster as a result of her spanking, and then she climaxes before she expects it, her body squirming in pleasure as Bernie drives her over the edge and she screams the blonde’s name.

She lies, shuddering and throbbing, for what feels like hours, though she suspects it’s not. She feels the pads of Bernie fingers brushing lightly over each buttock, then the blonde carefully rolls her onto her back and Serena finds herself being kissed deeply.

“Okay?” Bernie asks when she pulls back.

“Okay,” Serena agrees with a tired smile.

“Good.” Bernie leans down to kiss her, then pulls the towel free of her body, tossing it to the floor. “I bet you feel well and truly fucked now, don’t you?”

She’s a little surprised by the word ‘fucked’, particularly hearing it from Bernie, but she can’t deny that her words are true. “Yes.”

“Good girl. Now, why don’t you take a nap and I’ll go and sort out some supper.”

“What about -" She gestures vaguely towards Bernie. “You. Don’t you want me to - to -” She swallows, the sound loud in the silence of the room. “Don’t you want me to fuck you?” she whispers.

Bernie gives her a sweet, tender smile. “Later, love. You need a nap and some food, first.”

“Okay.” She closes her eyes, then sighs softly when Bernie brushes her lips over each eyelid, then down her nose, before kissing her quite chastely on the mouth.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They have to keep their sexual relationship a secret, of course. It would be considered deviancy were anyone to find out, and Serena would lose her role as leader of the Lower Holby Land Girl Army. Bernie, in all probability, would be sent away since it would be assumed that she, rather than the respectably widowed Serena Campbell, was the pervert. Bernie doesn’t mind keeping their secret, she tells Serena, and explains that she had, in fact, had a sexual relationship during her final two years at her boarding school, and another with a flying instructor after she joined the ATA.

“Who were you in a relationship with at school?” asks Serena one Sunday morning. They’re sprawled, spent and sated, in Serena’s bed after Bernie has spanked her again. (It’s become a weekly occurrence every Sunday morning and Serena finds it more satisfying than the morning service that they attend together a couple of hours later for the sake of respectability since neither of them are particularly believers.)

“I’m not sure I should tell you,” Bernie says, a smirk curving her mouth sinfully.

“I think you should,” Serena says. 

“It was my Head of House. We’d have got into terrible trouble if anyone had found out, especially since everyone would automatically assume that she’d seduced me.”

“Are you saying you started it?”

Serena watches as Bernie blushes, biting at her bottom lip, before she nods. “I did.”

“What happened?”

“I was in my room, changing my knickers, because the Headmistress had just spanked me again after I got caught smoking behind the bicycle sheds. Mrs Walter came in and found me with my skirt off and my clean knickers in my hand. She wanted to know what had happened and I told her that I’d just been spanked. Her eyes lit up and I knew she understood what had happened - that I’d had a climax while being spanked - so I kissed her and brought her hand between my legs. While she fucked me, I took off the rest of my clothes, except my stockings, and encouraged her to suck on my tits while her fingers were in my cunt. I climaxed so hard I had to press a pillow to my mouth to contain my scream of pleasure.”

She shakes her head, looking a little embarrassed as she adds, “Mrs Walter then suggested to the Headmistress that she give me two hours of private tuition twice a week to help me to get back on track so that I didn’t keep breaking the school rules. The Headmistress agreed, so twice a week, I went to the private rooms of my Head of House and she would spank me and fuck me, and she taught me what gave her pleasure when being fucked.”

“How old was she?” asks Serena.

“About twenty five? I don’t know precisely as I didn’t ask her age. I was seventeen, then eighteen, at the time.”

“And no one ever suspected?”

Bernie shook her head. “We were very discreet. And of course I made sure not to get into trouble again - after all, with Mrs Walter available to spank me, I didn’t need to get myself sent to the Headmistress anymore.”

“What a bad girl you were,” Serena says.

“I was just very forward,” Bernie argues. “I suspect it comes from having three older brothers. I never really had the opportunity to remain shy and introverted.” She snorts. “I was thirteen the first time I saw someone having sex. Reginald, my oldest brother, was engaged to the daughter of the lord of the manor, and I spotted them fucking in the woods that ran along a good part of our property. He had her pinned back against a tree while he drove into her. I will say this for him - he pulled out of her before he spilled his seed, so she wasn’t in any danger of falling pregnant before the wedding. He walked off to the river to clean up, leaving Georgette leaning against the tree, and I felt very excited, seeing her with her dress hitched up and her thighs sticky with her own juices. That was when I first started to realise I preferred women to men.”

The two of them kiss and cuddle, and in a short while Serena’s fingers are buried inside Bernie, as they’re both aroused by the anecdotes she’s shared.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“What are you going to do when the war ends?” Serena asks Bernie one Sunday afternoon in August. They’re lying on a picnic blanket that Bernie brought along, together with an actual picnic, in her kitbag. They’ve come out here on Bernie’s motorbike, which had been ditched by a local dispatch rider as it kept breaking down. Bernie, however, with her clever, skilled hands and aptitude for engines, had fixed it and they’d used it for a drive into the countryside.

Bernie rolls over onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows and looks up at Serena, who is sitting upright. “Well, before I left school I’d been planning to go to America.”

“Why?”

“So that I could study to become a doctor. We could go together.” She looks pensive, then adds, “We could go together as a couple. Live together as man and wife.”

Serena’s eyes widen in surprise. “What?”

“Well,” Bernie says, swivelling about until she’s sitting up facing Serena, her legs crossed in front of her, “if I wore looser men’s clothing, and bound my breasts, and wore an appendage, then no one would know any different. I’d have to cut my hair, too, of course.” She looks uncertainly at Serena. “Unless you didn’t want to, of course.”

“And what would I do, in America?” she asks, feeling a little shocked by how much Bernie’s thought about this.

“Anything you want to. Become a businesswoman. You’ve got excellent organisational skills, and you’re an expert at dealing with people of all classes. Plus, you’re a very warm natured person, and you can flirt men into almost anything.”

“You’ve thought of everything, I see.”

“Not - no - not everything.”

“And where would this marriage take place?”

Bernie grins wickedly. “Gretna Green.” Then her face falls. “You hate the idea.”

“No, I don’t,” Serena says immediately. “But it’s quite a big deception to pull off.”

“Yeah, but you know that I’ve been mistaken for a man before when we’ve gone out.”

Serena nods. “Your Reg’s suits.” Bernie had got the news eighteen months earlier that her brother Reginald had been killed aboard HMS Penelope, which had been torpedoed. She’d brought many of his suits and shirts back to Lower Holby, and while some had been used to supplement clothing rations, she kept three suits and some shirts for her own use, and on more than one occasion Bernie had been mistaken for Serena’s husband, and that was without taking any special precautions.

“Could we really?” she asks, half doubtful, half hopeful.

“I don’t see why not,” Bernie says. “Of course, if we did this, I wouldn’t be able to give you children.”

Serena recalls their conversation a few weeks earlier, after she’d learned that her older sister Marjorie had had a son, Jason, and how she had expressed a desire for children of her own. She shakes her head. “There are bound to be a lot of orphans after this War. No reason why we shouldn’t adopt one or two.”

Bernie swallows, then nods. “We could do that. If that’s what you want.”

“Can I think about it?”

“Of course.” Bernie shakes her head, her expression rueful. “It wasn’t the most romantic proposal ever, was it?”

Serena laughs. “I don’t mind, love, honestly.” She draws Bernie to her, and they kiss, their hands wandering more than is seemly, and she wonders if she’s about to experience sex outdoors for the first time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nine months after the War ends, Mr and Mrs Bernie Wolfe arrive in New York, just off the latest passenger liner from England. Bernie Wolfe has a place on a degree at Harvard Medical School, while Serena Wolfe has a place on a degree at Harvard Business School. And thanks to the forgery skills of a young friend of Bernie’s, she is now, as far as the world is concerned, a man.

They plan to give it a year before they try to adopt any children. 

[Pick two (2) tropes for me to mash-up and explain how I’d write them (Berena only)]

[red-butler]

Sapphic Sutcliff Week - Hair

Cold…where was the blanket? Mey Rin kicked her legs, trying to see if it had fallen off, but felt no reassuring weight of fabric move with her. Where was it, had it fallen to the floor? It might be summer, but it was still cold at night. So where was it? Other side of the bed? She gave a heartfelt sigh and rolled, reaching out with one hand to find the errant blanket. Instead however, her hand came down on smooth warm skin, a sleeping body next to her that shifted under her hand, murmuring something incomprehensible and Mey Rin’s eyes flew open in panic, what was happening!

She twisted over, sitting up and reaching desperately for her glasses and gun while she squinted at whatever figure had snuck into her bed. As she managed to get her spectacles in place and see who it was memories came flooding back. Oh…right…

Grell Sutcliff was lying on the other side of her narrow bed, head pillowed on their arms as they breathed, eyes shut and expression more relaxed and peaceful than she’d ever seen. Slowly Mey Rin lowered herself back down, staring at the long lashes usually hidden behind his glasses, the high cheekbones and the slightly parted lips. She’d invited her up, blushing fit to explode, and almost entirely convinced that they’d say no. After all, a kiss was one thing, this was something else entirely, and she’d only kissed her a couple of nights ago, was it moving too fast? But then Grell would be leaving back to London in a little over a week, and Mey Rin was terrified of being forgotten, just a passing fling. So she’d decided to be brave, and just ask her to come up to her bedroom, and then had almost had a fainting fit when the other woman had smiled so eagerly at her and accepted.

And now Grell was asleep next to her, looking as though it was exactly where she belonged, and Mey Rin blushed to think of the things they had been getting up to; far better than in any of her romance  books had even hinted at, when it was real and happening to you, not some character on a page. A contented sigh escaped her as she reached over Grell to pull the covers back over them both, unable to resist glancing down at the bared body next to her. She cuddled closer to her lover, listening to Grell’s soft breaths and trying to accept the reality where she, Mey Rin, former assassin and now Phantomhive maid, had a beautiful woman in her bed, sleeping peacefully. It just didn’t seem real, and she smiled wide enough to make her cheeks ache, reaching over to run her fingers through the butlers silky smooth hair, now freed from its ribbon and trailing down her back and neck.

She could hear the clock softly chiming the hour, nearly four in the morning, but right now Mey Rin was feeling wide awake, just getting to enjoy this soft secret time with Grell, who trusted her enough to sleep beside her, who wanted her enough to come to her room with her in the first place, and who cared enough to stay with her and not go sneaking straight off back to her own room the moment they were finished. A gentle smile playing over her face, she continued to stroke her hand through Grell’s hair, carding it, letting the long dark strands twist between her fingers, and admiring the contrast between them and her pale skin.

If someone had asked her a week ago to believe that this could be happening to her she would have laughed nervously and then tried to edge away from an obviously unhinged person. It probably wouldn’t last, once Grell went back to London she’d soon forget about her, but she would treasure it while it lasted. It was a shame she had to keep it a secret as well; but neither she nor Grell were comfortable with the idea of telling Bard or Finny, let alone Sebastian, and the prospect of the young master finding out about it was enough to make her die of embarrassment!

Mey Rin paused in her movements and frowned, caught up in her own thoughts she hadn’t noticed before, but was Grell’s hair getting lighter? And…longer? She sat up, peering in the weak moonlight, trying to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. But she was wearing her glasses, and besides, her fingers were confirming it; the more she ran her fingers through Grell’s hair, the longer and brighter it got. She swallowed, her heart and stomach twisting, what was this? How could someone’s hair grow and change colour in just a few seconds? It simply wasn’t possible!

She sat up, feeling her pulse pounding beneath her skin, Grell’s hair was down to her waist now, and a fiery red colour, instead of the subdued brown it had always been, and it seemed thicker and wilder than before, like a blazing mane trailing over the white blankets, unmistakable. Maybe she was still dreaming? She pinched herself sharply, and hissed at the pain. Not dreaming then. Going mad perhaps?

Her horrified gaze dragged over the rest of Grell’s body and May Rin swore her breathing stopped entirely. Inside Grell’s slightly opened mouth she could make out the outline of serrated teeth, sharp like a dogs or a cats…and something about her face seemed different as well, sharper, less worried and confused. Her eyebrows were more defined, and she wasn’t frowning, who was this stranger? Where had Grell gone? How had she transformed from a dark haired, nervous young woman into this fiery looking red haired titan? It….it just wasn’t possible! She backed away even more from the imposter, reaching behind her for her gun, only to forget just how close she was to the end of the bed, and fall off it with a muffled shriek of surprise, landing on the floor half tangled up in the blanket and scrabbling frantically for her gun as she heard the stranger on the bed make an inquisitive sleepy noise and shift, sitting up to peer over the edge of the bed at her.

She wished she were dressed, she thought as she stared up at the intruder. Even her eyes were different, a brighter, almost double toned green, practically glowing in the dim light, strange, unnatural and horrifying. A familiar calm settled on Mey Rin as her hand finally closed around the handle of her gun and she swung it up to point straight at the stranger, whose sleepy smile vanished immediately, frowning at the weapon in surprise.

“Mey Rin?” She asked, almost hesitant, and Mey Rin narrowed her eyes grimly, she didn’t know who this stranger was, that her Grell had somehow turned into, but she wasn’t about to lower her weapon.

“Who are you?” She demanded instead, and the stranger only looked more upset and confused, sitting up properly on the bed and peering at her, one hand reaching behind her and grabbing the round glasses Mey Rin was so familiar with. “What happened to Grell?”

“I-I don’t understand, Mey Rin?” The voice was so familiar, still that same soft, almost shy voice she knew so well, it sounded strange coming from the mouth of the red headed beauty before her. Mey Rin scowled and stood up, pulling the blanket with her so she didn’t feel quite so unprotected and keeping the gun levelled at the strangers head. She could call Sebastian, she supposed, but it wasn’t as though there were any danger yet, and she wanted answers.

“You ain’t my Grell, you look completely different! What happened to your hair, and your eyes!” She snapped as the stranger continued to look at her in hurt confusion. At her words they glanced down at themselves, and Mey Rin watched the dawning horror cross their face.

“Oh no, nonononooooo, dammit!” Her hands were in her hair again, combing through it just as Mey Rin’s had earlier, and the burning red was leeching out, the hair becoming thinner and tamer, shrinking back down, a swipe across her mouth and suddenly her teeth were normal again, straight and white, her face shifting, switching back until the timid young butler was blinking up at Mey Rin again, looking as hesitant and nervous as she’d ever seen her.

“Grell?” Mey Rin asked, against all common sense relaxing a little. She shouldn’t, Grell had just proven they weren’t human, they could shift form, change at will, they were dangerous and a threat. But at the same time, they were still the woman who’d been there for Mey Rin in a way she’d never believed anyone would be, and Mey Rin still cared about her.

“Yes…I….um…could you lower the gun please? I don’t want to get shot…”

“I’m not lowering my weapon! What are you? Who are you! And what do you want here?”

“I’m still me Mey Rin.” Grell said, a faint, slightly sad smile crossing their face. “I’ve always been me. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to let you see…me, like that. Should have realised, I was sleeping, not concentrating on holding it in place, it only took a little to release it…stupid.”

“Holding what? What are you Grell, how can you do that?” Mey Rin demanded, voice rising.

“I’m…um, I don’t suppose you’d accept this is all just a dream and forget about it? No? Alright…er…” She frowned, twisting her hair over her fingers as she thought. “Could you please lower the weapon though? Bullet holes would be rather difficult to explain…”

“And have you attack me and go on to attack the young Master or something? I don’t think so.”

“I’m not exactly in a position to attack you, you don’t have to put it down, just stop pointing it at me? Please?”

It was probably a bad idea, but Grell did look sort of small and weak sitting there, and even if it was an act, Mey Rin was confident she could still shoot before Grell could lunge at her or something. So she lowered the weapon but didn’t relax even slightly.

“Thank you.” The smile looked genuine, full of relief. “Mey Rin…um…what I’m going to tell you is rather hard to explain, and to believe really.”

“You just transformed between you and that other person in front of me. I think I can cope with a little unbelievable.”

“…fair point. Right, um…well…as you may have surmised, I’m not entirely human. I’m a Reaper,

“A what?”

“A Grim Reaper, I look after the dead, make sure they pass on correctly and stop anything from attacking the souls as they move on.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that before.”

“Why would you have? We don’t exactly deal much with humans. But…well…we used to be human, long ago. And I’ve never quite forgotten what it was like…so sometimes I like to come back down and, well, pretend to be human again for a little bit. Make friends and eat good food and see the world again…” She said, her tone turning rather wistful and longing. “So when I met the lady Burnett…it seemed a good opportunity. I’m no danger Mey Rin, I would never hurt you. I promise.”

She sounded sincere, and Mey Rin’s confidence wavered a bit. There were clearly plenty of things in this world she didn’t understand, Finny and Sebastian were proof enough that people could, somehow, be brought beyond what would be normally expected for a human…and she wasn’t naive enough to think she knew everything about the supernatural, so the story could be true…

“Was..was that why you kissed me then?” She asked, fists clenching slightly as the thought occurred, “Jus’ for the experience?”

“No! No Mey Rin, no! I kissed you and, um…came up here tonight because of you!” Grell said immediately, straightening up and gazing at Mey Rin fiercely. “Because you’re smart and kind and sweet and you cared about me and accepted me no matter what. Because you are beautiful my dear, even if you don’t believe it, and because I like you, I really honestly do!” She made a move as though to reach out to Mey Rin, noticed the gun again and pulled back, “Even if you don’t believe anything else I’ve told you, please believe that Mey Rin…you are beautiful and amazing and I care about you.”

Mey Rin took a breath…Grell sounded like they were speaking the truth, but they’d been lying to her this whole time, could she trust them? Did she even want to? They wouldn’t have ever told her the truth if she hadn’t found out about it by accident, she knew that…but, well…it wasn’t as though Mey Rin had been honest with the butler either, she’d kept her past hidden and secret and let Grell think she was nothing more than a normal maid who happened to sometimes have a gun to hand.

“Can you change back? I want to see you, the real you.” She asked, lowering the gun almost completely now. She might not trust Grell entirely be, but she didn’t feel as if the other woman were going to attack her, or was any real danger. Grell tilted her head to one side, eyes scanning her face as though checking for sincerity before she raised her hands to her hair once again, combing through them, the red trailing after her fingertips as though she were painting in fire. Her teeth elongated, sharpened, her eye colour deepening and darkening and her bearing changed, sitting up straighter, more confident and controlled.

Mey Rin took in a careful breath and set the gun down on the table, coming to sit on the bed again, meeting Grell’s half worried, half hopeful expression. Now that she was looking properly, she could still see the butler hidden behind the flame headed beauty. They had the same face, the same way of carrying their entire soul in their eyes when they looked at you. Her hands were the same, long and elegant and just beautiful…and that expression, that look of soft gentle warmth when she met Mey Rin’s eyes, that was familiar, intimately familiar. Raising her hands Mey Rin brushed them through her hair, feeling how it was both familiar and strange to touch Grell like this, feeling the pulse under her fingertips pick up slightly as she leaned closer, almost within kissing distance.

“Is it still you?” She asked, quiet and soft.

“It’s still me Mey Rin, I’m still here.” Grell’s hands rose to wrap around hers, solid and warm and reassuring and Mey Rin nodded, she trusted Grell, she trusted that this was still the woman she’d fallen for, the woman who’d swept into her life and swept Mey Rin off her feet. She was still Grell and Mey Rin still loved her.

[unbe--weave--able]

The (Hair) Ties That Bind

Sapphic Sutcliff Week

Tuesday: Ribbons/Sharing Clothing

Pairing: Mey Rin/Grelle Sutcliff

On Ao3

The morning dawned far too early in the Phantomhive household, earlier even than the sunrise itself. The sky outside not yet touched by even the orange-pink light of the dawn. It was October and the sun wouldn’t rise for a good few hours yet, Mey Rin realised with a sigh as she set about preparing herself for the day, or rather, trying to. It was quite hard to do such things without glasses, not because she couldn’t see without them but because of quite the opposite, every tiny detail was far too in focus, it gave her a headache in such a small room. But given her status, she could hardly request a larger one, it wouldn’t be right and she would so hate to inconvenience anyone. Besides, occasionally this over abundance of vision could have its perks.

It did mean that she could spot a red velvet ribbon in the furthest corner of her room; one that most certainly didn’t belong to her for she couldn’t dream of owning something so lovely. Tossed aside and forgotten about from the night before.

Visions of long, silky, smooth dark hair framing her face and bright green eyes that seemed almost unnatural and luminous in the dark; a shy voice whispering sweet nothings to her while gentle, far more capable than she’d expected, hands ran across her body, flashed across her mind. Her cheeks flushed hot and pink.

The flustered maid hurried across the room and gingerly picked the accessory up between her fingers, holding it at arm’s length to get a good and proper look at it. It was fairly simple, as far as ribbons went, nothing too outstanding or special about it. Just an ordinary velvet ribbon really. Only it wasn’t. When it caught the candle light the dull red tones turned vibrant; a deep blood colour and suddenly it was beautiful. Sort of like Grelle, Mey Rin mused.

She hadn’t been much to look at either at first, just someone who would sometimes be there in the background. Not important to Mey Rin’s daily routine and when she was, it was because she was making a nuisance of herself and giving the poor maid even more work. But once she’d stayed those weeks and made herself known, the maid had to admit to being slightly blown away by what she’d found.

The brown-eyed girl sighed wistfully before a slightly wicked grin appeared on her face. She hadn’t done her hair yet, no she hadn’t. And she had here such a lovely red ribbon. It would be a shame to let it go to waste and stay on her bedside table until such a time that Grelle might want it. She wondered what the butler would think of her new accessory...

–

It wasn’t until breakfast time that she got any sort of an answer to that question, the dismayed sounds of woe luring her into the dining room like a curious moth to flame. Exasperated, incomprehensible words sounded from the room, getting clearer and clearer as she approached.

Peering owlishly around the edge of the door she gazed into the room, immediately joined by Finnian and Baldroy, both of whom were equally interested. Though why Baldroy was out here rather than helping with the breakfast she had no idea. (That was a lie, in her mind keeping Baldroy away from food at all costs was a rather good idea, Mr Sebastian was right sensible to be the one making breakfast today.)

Inside the room the Burnett butler was frantically trying to clean up the latest mess she’d made, her long hair cascading around her face like a waterfall, unrestrained by its usual ribbon. Clearly, Grelle was unused to maintaining such a hairstyle while she worked, she kept blowing strands out of her face as she cleaned or attempting futily to push it behind her ears. Mey Rin’s heart pounded in her chest at the sight of her, beating as though she’d just been running a marathon. Above her she heard Bard snicker, whether at Grelle or at her reaction the maid wasn’t too certain, regardless she scowled. Then she elbowed him in the chest, which only made him laugh harder.

“Shush Baldroy.” She hissed. “Mister Sebastian won’t like it if he knows we’re spying instead of working, no he won’t.”

“No, indeed he won’t Mey Rin.” Came the voice, smooth as the finest of silks, of the red eyed butler.

The trio started, falling out of the doorway like a triad of dominoes, one on top of the other. Sebastian pinched his brow and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh that clearly displayed what he thought of the Phantomhive three. They were imbeciles with not an ounce of brain between them and a single narrow-eyed glower from the man was enough to send all four of the unruly servants scrambling for the door, leaving butler and master alone.

The boys went their separate ways, Baldroy shooting a knowing, amused wink at Mey Rin, who flushed again and then pretended she’d not seen it. He could be a right horrible tease sometimes and she was certain he knew it too.

Next to her, Grelle sighed, blowing a hair out of her face before turning to Mey Rin with a nervous sort of agony on her face. And the maid could hazard a guess that she knew why that was. The loss of her hair ribbon was obviously playing on the genteel woman’s mind something awful. Mey Rin almost felt bad for having the article of clothing in question upon her person. Almost.

The butler tugged nervously at her hair, playing with the ends of it and biting her lip in a manner so sweet that it made Mey Rin wish she was far braver than she actually was. Made her want to drag the other woman down to her height right there and now and kiss away all of the worries; pluck them from her soul by way of her mouth and their entwined tongues. Pin her against a wall and…And damn what the young Master or Mister Sebastian would have to say should they come out here. She refrained. Somehow. Though her cheeks were burning brighter than a candle flame; it must’ve been fairly noticeable for Grelle stopped dead in her tracks to stare at her, green eyes blinking behind the round frames of her glasses.

This only made Mey Rin flush all the more. Such open concern on that face, and all for her! She’d never had someone care for her that way before, no she hadn’t. It was all new and a bit confusing but Grelle was looking at her so kindly and sweetly that she almost felt that her heart was going to burst from it all. Her hands twisted around the fabric of her dress as the two women stood, an almost awkward silence settling around them before Grelle made a quiet noise of distress, hair falling into her face once more.

“Oh bother…why can’t it just stay put?” She fretted, beginning to run a hand through her hair before stopping dead and swiftly pulling her fingers free again, as though had she continued to trail through it, something terrible might have happened.

“You look awful distressed miss Grelle, yes you do.” Mey Rin informed her, all wide eyed innocence as though she hadn’t a clue what was bothering the dark haired butler. “Is there something the matter?”

Grelle gave her a look that on anyone else’s face she might’ve called a glare, but as it was Grelle everything was just a bit too soft. She looked as though she was squinting in sunlight more than she did actually attempting to be in any way annoyed at the other woman. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again with a snap. This time she was most definitely scowling.

“Yes. There is rather…I’ve…oh dear…you see I’ve lost my ribbon. You know…the red one I wear in my hair… my mistress will be terribly angry with me if I’ve lost it.” She fretted. “And you see I was so worried I had. But now I see all of that was for naught…”

“Oh?” Mey Rin asked fighting back a grin. So she’d been found out already had she?

“Yes. Oh you…how could you?” Grelle asked in anguish, flailing dramatically for a moment before composing herself. Her voice dropped an octave, making a shiver run down Mey Rin’s spine. “You’re such a wicked girl Mey Rin. Stealing ribbons from me when you have your own…I ought to tell Sebastian about the fact he has a thief in his house…”

It was strange Mey Rin thought, in these private moments, when it was just the two of them. Grelle seemed entirely different to how she usually was. Though the red haired maid couldn’t say that she minded at all, even if Grelle had somehow managed to back her against the wall, one hand coming to rest up by her cheek. “Or I could simply steal from the thief. Take what’s mine…it���d only be right after all…” The gentle butler practically purred, suddenly not seeming quite so soft. In fact quite the opposite, the Burnett butler turning almost dangerous and seductive in that moment.

Mey Rin could feel her knees growing weak as Grelle reached up, trailing her hand across her cheek gently, white gloves barely even touching her skin as the butler leaned in. The maid’s heart stopped. Grelle’s lips were mere inches away from her own and she could feel her breath on her face. She longed to close the gap but her limbs seemed entirely out of her own control, not cooperating at all, she could only stare as Grelle loomed closer, and closer until… She pulled away entirely, red ribbon in her hands and calmly tied it back into her own hair, pulling it back into its usual neat queue. Humming with satisfaction Grelle turned to Mey Rin again, her own cheeks flushing as she seemed to realise what she’d just done.

Sensing an apology coming, the maid almost let out a sigh and, having regained some control over herself, wobbled her way over to the butler, tripped over her own feet and found herself colliding with Grelle’s chest. The butler’s arms came up to circle her waist and steady her automatically. There was a moment, brown eyes meeting green before someone moved. One, or perhaps both, leaning in until their lips were pressed together in the softest of kisses. If this was Grelle’s response to it, Mey Rin thought happily, perhaps she ought to steal her ribbon more often.

[starswornoaths]

💏? (if that's alright)

@glyphenthusiast I sat on this for waaaaay to long but it’s pride month now and I’m bi af so have some Soft Sapphic Smooches~! Under the cut bc I was an indecisive bean and picked 3 of them, so it’s a little long. Thank you so much for being wonderful, considerate, patient you, my dear

(For disclosure’s sake, these have been pre-approved prior to posting! Enjoy~)

26. As an apology

The fight with the Behemoth had been hard won— and while it had been a worthwhile risk, one that she was glad to have taken in the first place, Serella would be lying if she said it was only her armor that came out of the encounter worse for wear. Her whole body ached down to her bones.

Yet though their hunting mark was only just fallen, its body still warm with the dying embers of life, the Paladin’s eyes scanned the field for her companion— and only once she saw the bright pink of Anemone’s head of hair did she allow herself to breathe.

Her sword, still slaked in grime and gore, was left where she had promptly stuck in the ground as she stumbled over herself to get to where Anemone was gathering herself, as well as her faithful companion Hassan.

“Are you both alright?” Serella asked, her breathing still heavy, her heart still hammering. “Any injuries?”

“None on Hassan— and for me, none that can’t wait,” Anemone responded in an effort to wave the fretful Paladin off. “We need proof it’s slain, right? Shouldn’t we—”

“It’s nothing that can’t wait,” Serella said back to her with a wry grin. She held out her hand. “Your wounds first— if not for your health, then for my propriety. Please? 

“Really, this is a minor thing.” Anemone answered with an exasperated smile even as she offered the shallow, singed graze on her arm. “It scarcely got through my armor. It will be fine.”

“I know it will,” the Paladin yessed her, hands lightly pushing away the tattered sleeve of her shirt. “You’re right,” she conceded, even as she let her healing magicks stir to life a the tips of her fingers. “It isn’t too bad— but I’d much rather we take care of this now, at least a little.”

It was a minor enough injury that Serella barely had to try to heal it before the skin had closed, lightly pink and somewhat tender, but closed and clean, her two highest priorities. Only once she was satisfied that it would no longer hinder her companion did she let her magic taper off. She nodded to herself, satisfied for the moment, even as she continued to inspect it.

“Thank you,” Anemone said with a smile.

“It was only right,” Serella answered, picking up Anemone’s discarded gauntlet. “I brought you out here— that wound was my responsibility.” Forgetting herself for a moment, she brought Anemone’s hand to her lips and kissed her knuckles. “I’m just sorry you had to endure it at all.”

The Paladin said nothing more as she helped smooth over the singed fabric of the top and handed her back the gauntlet.

“I don’t blame you for this, so please don’t blame yourself, either.” Anemone spoke up quietly. “But thank you for caring as you do.”

“I’m just relieved it isn’t worse.” Serella admitted, her cheeks growing warm as she realized she was still holding the poor woman’s hand, and letting it go.

As Serella became fully aware of how hotly the tips of her ears were burning, she promptly decided that she had said and done plenty for the day. With one of the beasts horns— and a tooth for good measure— removed for proof of the bounty, the trio made their way back to the Adventurer’s Guild for their hard earned reward.

50. Out of Love

“I had no idea you were a healer,” Anemone mused later that same day as they waited for dinner to finish cooking.

“Few do, I suppose.” Serella shrugged. She gave the ladle another turn around the pot to keep the stew at the bottom from burning. “It’s certainly not what people know me for.”

“That is true,” Anemone conceded with a smile. “Before I had ever met you, I’d only heard of you as a Paladin.”

“That’s what I am— I just also know a bit of healing here and there.” Serella tossed her a wink. “Just keep that between us, yeah? No need to have everyone with a sneeze coming to me for a cure.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Anemone promised with a smile.

“Speaking of healing, though— now that we’re safe, let me take a look at that hand of yours.” Serella held out her own upturned palm. “I want to make sure it’s healing properly.”

Anemone gave an exasperated shake of her head, even as she placed her hand stop the Paladin’s. This time, Serella’s touch was slower, softer, her magic more meticulous. It felt cool as running water as it splashed across the skin and scales of Anemone’s hand. Where Serella’s initial healing had just been to close the wound, this was a full mending of the flesh: by the time she had finished, there was hardly a trace that aught had happened at all.

“That feels much better,” Anemone said, though made no move to take her hand away. “Thank you.”

Serella’s sigh of relief struck Anemone as odd.  

“I’m glad it didn’t scar too badly,” the Paladin said quietly, and Anemone tilted her head when she saw Serella bite her lip.

“Why? What would it have mattered?” Anemone dismissed. Serella let go of her hand. “A scar is a scar. It would not have bothered me.”

“I’m glad for that, too— wouldn’t want anyone to look at you as lesser for it.” Serella did not meet Anemone’s gaze again. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Anemone paused, her hand still hovering in the space between them, even as Serella resumed checking the stew.

“Have you?” Anemone asked haltingly. Serella turned to look at her. “Been made to feel lesser for your scars?”

“…For a time.” The Paladin admitted, though Anemone was not convinced that it was so much ancient history as Serella pretended it to be. Serella untucked her hair from behind her ear to let it fall like a curtain to shield her facial scars from view and nervously smooth her hands over it, all but confirming Anemone’s suspicion. “Sooner or later, someone always comments on them. ‘A shame,’ said a friend once. ‘A waste,’ said a lover.” She shrugged a shoulder and returned to the bubbling pot over the fire. “Much like the scars they flinched at, it’s a well healed wound. I’m just sorry I put you at risk of being put through the same. I should have tried harder to protect you.”

She does not add that also much like those self same scars, though the wound had healed, the marks left behind sometimes ached if she did not have a care. No sense in pitying herself over the past, after all.

“There is no telling what we might have been able to do differently, had we the chance.” Anemone spoke up beside her.

She made a decision, then, and reached out to take Serella’s hand with her own. The Paladin looked up at her, surprised.

“Anemone…?” She asked softly.

“You are lovely no matter what anyone else says.” Anemone spoke with quiet conviction. She squeezed her hand. “The fools who claim the opposite haven’t an onze of your courage.” With her free hand, Anemone tucked the hair Serella had hidden her face with behind her long, pointed ear again. “Every scar you have is earned. You survived.”

“That…means much. Thank you, Anemone.” Serella said, and for the first time in a while when she smiled she didn’t feel the way her scars stretched her skin quite so much.

The hand not being held reached over to smooth a thumb over the apple of Anemone’s cheek. Before she could think better of it— and better of the way her heart thundered so loudly in her chest— Serella leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to Anemone’s temple.

“Wh-why?” Anemone asked, her voice only just a breathy whisper, her cheeks faintly flushed.

“Because,” Serella answered, her voice—and her smile— just as soft. “You see me.”

48. Out of Habit

Springtime had arrived with the bloom of wildflowers along the familiar, beaten paths between Gridania and Ala Mhigo, and the air was sweet with their scent. Lying in the shade of a tall oak tree upon a bed of the yellow, purple, and pink blooms, Serella breathed deep of Nophica’s perfume and sighed in bliss. She was not far from the path— close enough that even the tallest flowers around her would not obscure her from those who walked past.

Which was well, really: Serella was waiting for someone. And judging by the way the sun hung high in the midday sky when she cracked an eye open, her anticipated companions should be along shortly. Still, no sense in wasting such a golden opportunity for relaxing, she thought as she closed her eyes and stretched her limbs out.

A move that was taken as invitation, evidently; she had not even let herself go lax again before she felt two paws press a heavy weight onto her stomach.

“Oof!” Serella laughed, greeted by the sight of Hassan’s snout when she opened her eyes. Smiling wide enough her cheeks hurt, she sat up enough to give him all the pets and scritches she hadn’t been able to give him in their time apart. The carbuncle preened under the attention, happily flopping to and fro in the flowers, chirruping all the while. “Well, here you are, boy, but where might your mistress be?” She asked him.

“Not far behind, rest assured,” Anemone spoke from somewhere behind her. “You look content.”

“I am! You should come join us!” Throwing her head back far enough to see behind her, Serella laughed again at the upside down vision of Anemone walking off the path to join her. Anemone offered her a smile in return, even as she wordlessly moved to stand directly behind her.

“I see you,” Anemone said quietly, holding out her hand.

Serella turned to kneel before her to look up at her properly, then, at the way the sunlight gently haloed her friend in a warm, gentle glow, at the way her eyes glittered even from within the shade of her rose quartz hair, at the joyful curve of her lips, and the Paladin’s smile softened. Like a knight pledging fealty to her blessed patron, Serella brought Anemone’s offered hand to her lips and pressed a reverent kiss to her knuckles.

“And I see you.” Serella said in kind.

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

So... I see the Defenders fandom is starting to have some opinions about the writing. And I’d like to offer my own two cents re: Karen and The V Word. Sadly, it’s not vagina. (Okay but, The Defenders needs 9000% more Sapphic women tho, I’m just saying. Do we have any canonically queer characters come to that??? Thoughts for a different post)

The V word is of course... vigilantism.

And MAN do I have some FEELINGS about Matt and Karen’s interactions, and Matt and Foggy’s interactions come to that, throughout Defenders. Now, I’ve read some good defenses of the writing and I don’t necessarily disagree. This isn’t so much a bashing or even criticism (I lied: it’s a little critical) as just... an exorcism of my feelings about what happened. And my feelings are, essentially... WTF.

Karen and Matt run into each other in the first episode of Defenders and they were... fine??? And that, RIGHT THERE, is what bothered me. WHAT. IN GOD’S NAME. JUSTIFIES KAREN BEING FINE WITH MATT??? When we ended Daredevil season 2, Karen was pissed at Matt, and this was BEFORE the mask reveal. She was pissed at him for lying to her, for patronizing her, for betraying her and Foggy and everything Matt PROFESSES to care about. She was justified in being angry with him. Again, this is all BEFORE the mask reveal. Now they don’t show us Karen’s reaction to the mask and, to be honest, I'm kinda upset with that because it would have contextualized where Matt and Karen are now A LOT better. And, honestly, I think the writers kinda fucked themselves by NOT writing that scene, even for themselves, and instead assuming everyone’s feelings about it and assuming where they would be after X amount of time passed. I’m also annoyed that we have no idea how much time passed between end of season 2 and Defenders because, again, it would make reactions a LOT easier to read.

But, regardless, this is where we are, this is what they gave us, and we’re supposed to believe that enough time has passed that Karen and Matt are on speaking terms. And you know what, I believe that. Because, for better or worse, Foggy and Matt are Karen’s only friends in New York, they are her lifelines, and as mad as she has every right to be at Matt, she couldn’t rip him out of her life entirely; it would hurt her too much. But, being on speaking terms with someone and forgiving them are two VERY DIFFERENT THINGS. And that’s what I felt was missing from their first interaction. Where was the caution? Where was the underlying bitterness, the unresolved anger? Now, part of that is presumably explained by Matt NOT ONLY dropping the truth on her but also saying “I’m retiring” in the same breath. But that DOESN’T FIX WHAT HE DID WRONG. I’m sorry, she might be relieved he’s not endangering himself anymore, she might be gratified he finally told her the truth, but that doesn’t change the fact that for MONTHS he refused to trust her with this information, refused ANYONE’S help, trust, or love, and DID run around taking the law into his own hands and putting himself at incredible risk. Which, besides being hypocritical, is a SLAP IN THE FACE to anyone who cares about him and to his ‘real’ life. Matt, if you got hurt or worse, who would defend your clients? Who would take your cases? If you really believe in being a lawyer, WHY are you throwing that life away???

To sum up, how ever much time has passed, it’s not enough to undo all that Matt’s done. Karen has every right to still be boiling mad at him, civil, courteous, even sympathetic, but mad at all the hurt he caused, the worry, the insult, and the goddamn hypocrisy.

And that was 100% missing from their first encounter. The justified resentment, distrust, and pain show sup more in their later interactions, but I, for the life of me, couldn’t work out why Karen was being so LENIENT with him or TRUSTED??? HIM??? after he had lied to her SO much. And that’s what I LIKED about Foggy, what I ALWAYS like about Foggy, Foggy knows Matt FAR too well. So Foggy doesn’t take any of Matt’s bullshit. Foggy always keeps him at arm’s length, takes his promises of change with a grain of salt. Foggy doesn’t trust Matt as far as he can throw him because he KNOWS Matt and Matt lies. He lies, especially to the people he cares about most and Foggy knows, from long exposure, there’s nothing anyone can do to change that in Matt. And that’s an honest relief because it means Matt can’t hurt Foggy that way anymore. You can’t break trust that isn’t there. And that makes me sad for Karen that she SEEMED to genuinely believe Matt, which... I guess could be explained by not knowing him as long as Foggy has, but... fuck, Matt put Karen through hell. He lied about literally everything. Even the kindest, most forgiving people in the world would hesitate with Matt again. And Karen is a very canny person, she’s been through a fuckton herself. It would strike me as a normal self-preservation instinct to not want to give Matt a second chance so soon. Hell, look at Foggy! Foggy, the kindest soul here, who has endless second chances for Matt, he still doesn’t buy that Matt wants to change.

And here comes the addiction metaphor that I gather people have... mixed feelings about. Personally, I think it robs Matt of autonomy to describe his relationship to vigilantism as addiction. I think it’s a full, free, conscious choice he makes every time. Sure, he’s compelled by his sincere beliefs about justice, but that’s not addiction; I don’t think he “needs” it. And if you believe it is a free, conscious choice, that warrants a little less forgiveness from everyone. Acceptance, yes, but you don’t have to forgive someone for something they will choose to do regardless of what you say. That’s their choice, that’s the point. There’s no excuses for it.

And this also makes Karen’s willingness to put the past behind them and invest in Matt’s future odd because... perhaps she doesn’t see it as a choice. Which would be VERY out of character from where she was in Daredevil, especially re: Frank, but... perhaps she wants to believe something other than what she knows to be true. After all, her experiences with Frank have sorely tested her beliefs in literally everything. Not least of all Matt. And I could buy that, buy that she’s trying to delude herself. That would also pair with her later reaction when Matt comes to take her to Misty’s office and Karen finally lights into him a little. It still feels... distantly hypocritical to me, given her presumed ambivalence about vigilantism, why she’d be so disappointed in Matt when she’s not even sure IF she disagrees with vigilantism in principle... I felt her reactions lacked that nuance and that telling but that was so PRESENT in the Karen of Daredevil season 2, but seems all but disregarded here. 

But, as someone pointed out, it’s entirely possible that Karen really doesn’t know as much as the audience does, or as much as the audience thinks she knows. Because The Defenders refused to didn’t show Karen’s reaction to the mask, we can never know for sure what Matt DID tell her. If he truly told her EVERYTHING, or if he was still hedging his bets as fucking usual. So it’s entirely possible that Karen hasn’t put all the myriad Daredevil pieces together yet, or that she hasn’t had enough time to truly digest what Daredevil means to Matt, if not to herself or anyone else. And I could buy that, I could buy that Matt, in his infinite wisdom, was tight-lipped about his feelings as usual and if he, like a genius, announced the whole Daredevil thing was over at the SAME TIME he tells her it WAS a thing, Karen might internalize what Daredevil means a lot differently than we all have. It would also credit her willingness to believe him if he only told her to tell her it’s finished. It makes Matt a COLOSSAL manipulative dick, but that’s not entirely outside his realm of behavior. So that makes me feel a little bit better about this trashfire questionable writing if we suppose this different context for Karen. Now, it’s unfortunate the writing is forcing us to assume a context they haven’t bothered to fucking write, but they perhaps felt that the context would be self-evident from the written dialogue and reactions. SOMETIMES reverse-engineering is intentional. If it was, I don’t think it was particularly successful this time, but I'm willing to credit it as a failed idea rather than no idea.

So that’s my two cents about the Matt-Karen-vigilantism triad. It’s still sad to think that Karen is depending on false information or at best a lack of information, but it would explain why her behavior lacks all of the outrage due to it and all the nuance it was shown to have in season 2 of Daredevil. I still believe that Karen is on the fence about vigilantism and I do think this will get explored more in The Punisher series, though perhaps not as much as we might wish, depending on how much she’s actually in the show. I really don’t want the result of all this to be a disservice to Karen Page because I love Karen Page and the Daredevil show at least has done SO MUCH and so WELL with her and it would be SUCH A SHAME to see them retract some of their good work with her. So we shall see, in the meantime, I’m hopeful for more coherent characterization in the future and I’m willing to use the above justifications to write The Defenders off as a lot of bad lies.

Hope this has been a good read!