#sappho gives two thumbs up

[ofspvrta]

The taste of her lips and the scent of her breath were so sweet it was enough to make her feel like Dionysus himself, drunk on every part of her. If they were to press any closer to each other, they would meld into one being. Fingers continued to press into the softness of her moon-pale skin, feeling how soft she was compared to all the roughest parts of the misthios.

Kassandra could devote herself to the act of love, she was practiced in it, but for Anri, it was her very faith. And she practiced her faith very, very well. It was why she always came to her and no other priestess. No other could relieve her of the burdens she carried on her shoulder and no other tasted quite like she did. On a level she couldn't quite explain, Anri seemed to get her.

Kassandra's lips parted at the increasing wetness of Anri's cunt leaving trails along her toned thighs. Strong hands continued to guide her along her leg, wanting her to get off as much as she could, just to watch her face go slack in pleasure.

The kisses dipped deeper still, pressing along Anri's collar as those delicate fingers traced along the strong planes of her shoulders. Hers was a body made for fighting and killing, but Anri made her feel like she was just as much made for loving.

Such utterances against her ear had her shivering in pleasure at the very idea of it. "Every bit of me?" She purrs back, nipping lightly at the skin.

A part of her imagined Aphrodite watching them, envious of the love they made. Oh, but that was a dangerous thought, wasn't it? Making a goddess jealous. That was a fine way to become cursed, but Kassandra feared no god. She reveled in the spirit of humanity, and what the skilled hands and mouth of the priestess could do. She was never left wanting and yearning when they were done. She could feel the desire building in her core, wanting nothing more than to be touched by those practiced fingers.

"It would please me, greatly. I love it when you whisper prayers against my skin."

⚘ @ofspvrta // cont.

They hovered on the cusp of discovery, of being discovered.

The priestess sighed against the misthios, her breath pomegranate-dark and laden with something molten, nameless.  In the seclusion of the temple’s inner sanctum, beneath the soft glow of oil lamps and the perfumed hush of burning myrrh, Anri pressed herself closer to Kassandra, as if she might pass into her, become one with her heat, her solidity, her sheer force of being.

There was something divine in her – the warrior’s body, sculpted by toil and battle, an altar all its own.  Bronze skin shone against Anri’s buttermilk-pale, the priestess unburdened of sacred robes.  Calloused hands traced her spine, cradled her hips, urging, leaving their impressions upon her.  Was this not a kind of ritual?  Was this not a communion, a hymn sung in the language of flesh and breath?

Hips rolled and rolled and rolled, like the gentle lapping of the Aegean Sea, her cunt slick and wet, made pliant by the ache of desire that gathered in her belly.  

Anri was no timid offering upon the marble dais.  No trembling maiden surrendered at the temple gates.  No, she was the priestess – the intermediary, the one who invoked divinity and called forth rapture.  And so she let her fingers dance their dedication along Kassandra’s broad shoulders, tracing where sinew met skin, where power slumbered beneath sun-loved skin. 

“First I will anoint you in oil,” she murmured, her lips grazing the shell of Kassandra’s ear, her voice a whisper of silk and violets.  “Make praise with my hands.”

She would worship her as she might a goddess made flesh – with reverent touch, with slow, knowing strokes, with all the rose-crowned mysteries Aphrodite had whispered to her since girlhood.  The night stretched before them, languorous and dark, rich with rites yet to be performed, with whispered prayers that might never reach the ears of the gods.  Anri felt her blood grow hot and sweet, burning like fragrant oil at the altar’s flame.

“And then with my mouth, if it please you.”

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Because of personal experiences, can I get some headcanons or a scenario of Abby with a gf that gets tired really easily? Also I just wanna get this out there, I am really glad your blog exists

Thank you so much for your kind words, they really mean a lot. I hope this is similar to what you imagined 💌 (I hope you like poetry!)

about 2k words of fluff and a little angst at the beginning. content warnings for language, ableism.

“This is it, Y/N. I’ve let this behavior slide too many times.”

Your heart dropped and your breath caught in your throat. Trying to fight back tears, you forced yourself to answer.

“I’m so sorry James, I can’t help it. My body just can’t work for hours without break, I’ve tried everything.”

You threw a soapy towel back into the washtub and took a step towards your supervisor.

“Please don’t throw me out, I don’t know where else I could do my part!”

“Well, you certainly aren’t doing your part here.”

He was speaking the truth; he had caught you way too often, crouching in the corner with your head between your knees or sitting on the floor against the wall half asleep. You couldn’t help it; this was your third job at the stadium and every time you had managed to get yourself fired. It had nothing to do with the laziness your previous bosses had accused you of or with simply not wanting to work. Your body just seemed to work against you.

After more than an hour of standing, there was no way for you to stay standing up and working at the washing station now, the hard bodily labor was just too much for you. You constantly felt like you were going to faint, no matter how much you ate, drank and slept. As soon as you were unsupervised, you’d have to sit down or take a break because you couldn’t hold yourself upright anymore. It was becoming harder and harder to find acceptance from others and a place where you could work and contribute to the WLF while also taking care of yourself.

James rubbed the back of his shaved head and sighed.

“I’m sorry, I seriously don’t see how this is doing any of us any good. You should report in with task management tomorrow and see if they can give you a less physically straining job. I’m not sure how I feel about your little dizzy spells or whatever, but if you’re actually not fit enough for work, you should find something else.”

The rage that started boiling in your stomach sent hot tears down your cheeks. This wasn’t fair. You loosened the ties on your apron and tossed it on a table, then you left without another word.

The only person who didn’t constantly batter and scold you was Abby. She had met you in a stairway, sitting on the steps and leaning your head against the cold railing to stay conscious. The blonde had practically sprinted up the stairs toward you and asked if everything was okay; after you had explained, she had nodded and offered you her arm on your way back to your room. From that day on, she had checked in almost every day, bringing you snacks at work or dinner from the cafeteria when you were too exhausted to go yourself. She had believed you without hesitation and made it her purpose to help you out wherever she could.

Ignoring the surprised faces of the people you walked past, you stormed to your room. You were lucky to live alone, even though it was just a shoebox of a room. You had a bed, a locker, and a tiny window that you ripped open before throwing yourself on your bed.

You hated having to rely on others for support and you had spent the last year mostly on your own, hiding your condition and isolating yourself from others so they wouldn’t notice and judge you, even though the story of you falling asleep and taking too many unauthorized breaks at work had already made its rounds.

With Abby it was different. You knew she never wanted anything in return, she just liked to spend time with you and knew what it was like to be the odd one out, the one everyone had already heard about. In return, you liked to give her little drawings of her and her friends, short comic strips and poems you wrote when you had some time to yourself. She loved sitting on your couch and listening to you talk about poetry; although she was a big reader she had never really gotten into that genre.

She had gained your trust in no time and was the first person you really told everything that went on in your head. Well, almost. You hadn’t dared to tell her about how her presence made you feel like you were flying, how your heart sometimes started racing when she looked at you and how all you wanted sometimes was to fall asleep in her arms after a long day.

Your pillow was wet with tears and your head was pounding from crying for too long. Great. You reached under your bed and felt around for the water bottle you had accidentally kicked under there earlier. As you gulped down the lukewarm water, you finally felt the knot in your throat release its grasp from your airways.

Exhausted, you turned over your pillow and pulled your blanket up. This day was fucked anyway, you might as well declare it complete and hope to wake up in a better mood tomorrow.

It was dark when you awoke, disturbed by a quiet squeaking noise and the beam of light shining through a crack in the door. A big figure was squeezing through the gap and softly closing the door again. The light from under the door was just enough to see Abby tiptoeing toward you.

You couldn’t help but smile and pushed yourself up onto your elbows. She immediately froze in her tracks.

“Fuck, did I wake you? I just wanted to check on you and bring you some dinner.”

You switched on the lamp next to your bed and soft light illuminated the room. Abby had a burrito in one hand and an apple in the other. She looked genuinely sorry.

“It’s okay, I’ve been sleeping for hours. I just had a terrible day, that’s all.”

She immediately sat down next to you, putting the food down on the bedside table and brushing a strand of hair out of your face with a worried smile.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

Her sweet concern brought back those stupid tears and you were too distraught to fight them. You shook your head and cleared your throat.

“No, I just got kicked out of work. Again. I honestly don’t know what to do. Maybe admin will just throw me out completely tomorrow.”

Abby squeezed your hand.

“Bullshit. I’ll talk to them. Why are they making you work these stupid hard labor jobs anyway? They could put you somewhere you can use your head instead, you’re the smartest person I know!”

She gently brushed her calloused thumb over your cheek.

“These assholes are not worth a single one of your tears, Y/N. James can honestly go fuck himself.”

You snorted and Abby beamed at you, happy to have gotten through to you.

“Hey, how much have you eaten today?”

You thought for a second, then you answered: “Some oatmeal for breakfast? I left work before lunch and came straight here.”

The wolf sighed and shook her head. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself, you know that?” She handed you the burrito. “Here, it’s still warm.”

The first bite was delightful and you let out a moan without thinking. Blood shot into your face immediately as both of you stared at each other for a second, then Abby broke out in laughter.

“See? You’re practically starved. I should have gotten you two of those.”

She suddenly straightened up.

“Oh, I completely forgot!” She pulled out a small paperback from her back pocket. “Manny gave me this. Some fling of his gave it to him and he doesn’t know shit about poetry and never will. He remembered you liked poems so he said to give this to you.”

“You told him about me?” you asked in astonishment.

“Of course I did, we’ve been hanging out every day for the past few weeks! Do you have any idea how amazing you are? How much you’ve taught me?”

With your mouth full, all you could do was smack her shoulder and give her a doubtful look.

She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers into each other.

“I mean it, Y/N. I know you don’t think of yourself as very interesting or fun to be around, but you’ve made my life so much better just by spending time with me. Even if you’re always falling asleep on me,” she added and grinned.

You didn’t bother trying to be witty and grabbed the book instead. The title surprised you.

“Selected Poems by Sappho. Why the hell would that woman give this to Manny?”

Abby shot you a questioning look. “Why not?”

“Abby, Sappho is the OG lesbian. All her poems are just about yearning for the touch of a lady lover.”

“Oh.” Now it was the wolf’s turn to blush. “I had no idea.”

Sitting up, you turned so you could lean your back against the wall. You tapped on the bed right next to you.

“Come on, Abs. Let me tell you about Sappho, then.”

Hesitating only for a brief moment, Abby took off her boots and scooted closer to you.

You spent the next hour reading her poems and telling her stories about women and romance in Ancient Greece. The blonde listened attentively, asking a few questions here and there. After a while, you felt your eyelids growing heavier and your concentration dwindling, as much as you tried to keep it together.

Abby gently laid a hand on your knee.

“You tired, babe?”

Your head flew around and you stared at her; had you heard that right? Abby gave you a shy smile.

“I can try to read some of these to you until you fall asleep. Only if you want me to, of course.” She shook her head as if trying to get rid of a thought. “I should just go. You need to get some rest.”

Before she could get up, you had already placed your hand on her underarm.

“I’d like that. I’m sorry for just drifting off like that all the time, it’s got nothing to do with you.”

She cocked her head. “Don’t apologize for that. No one can just change the way they feel.”

You slid underneath the blanket and, following an impulse, rested your head on Abby’s thigh. You could feel the heat underneath the fabric and her muscles twitched involuntarily as the wolf took a deep breath and opened up the book again.

deathless aphrodite of the many colored throne,

daughter of zeus, weaver of spells, I entreat you.

do not with grief and anguish

tame my heart.

Drifting away into that wonderful state between waking and dreaming, you let the words of Sappho, spoken by the soft voice of your most trusted friend, the woman who took care of you and listened to you, the wolf that was tame only for you, sink in.

Do not with grief and anguish / tame my heart.

There were so many things in this world that made life harder and turned people bitter. You would not be one of them. You would not tame your heart. You would let it speak freely, you would let it burn for the woman cradling your head and protecting you from anything the world could throw at you. Tomorrow you would tell her. Tomorrow.

stars around the beautiful moon

hide back their luminous form

whenever all full she shines

on the earth

silvery

All your life, you had felt connected to the moon. Its unwavering beauty, its consistent waning away and returning in full shine, it had always assured you that no matter how bad things got, they would turn around for the better. It would be okay. You would be okay, more than okay with Abby by your side.

-

let me know what you thought (especially if you requested this!)

[faerune]

a safe pair of hands

pairing: nate sewell x f!detective [naomi adler]

summary: nate reads the detective to sleep.

warnings: none! just some good soft nate/detective!

[AO3]

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to find you here.”

Naomi pauses in the doorway. A warm light had cut a swathe across the darkened hallway. One that was too tempting to ignore.

Sleep hadn’t come to her tonight. She’d crawled into bed some time before eleven but by the time she had finally given up her tossing and turning the neon numbers of her alarm clock read a terribly late number past midnight. 

The cool wood of the warehouse floors had made her shiver, her arms attempting to ward off the cold as she set off down the halls in a t-shirt and sleep shorts without a thought to her destination. 

Nate had heard her coming, sticking a finger between the pages of his book and turning his full attention to her before she’d even slipped into the library. It’s bathed in the glow of a lone lamp with a green stained glass shade. Naomi is struck by the handsome lines of his face  — his kind brown eyes, the stubble on his jaw, the little curls of escaped hair that frame his face.

She loves him like this, relaxed and easy, draped on the leather sofa in his favorite place. Just the sight of him makes the anxiety curling in her muscles alleviate. Just an inch but enough that she has become addicted to what the warmth of his presence does to her. Nate wears just a pair of soft pajama pants and a simple grey t-shirt. All it makes her want is to curl into his lap. 

Her destination tonight had been more planned than she had originally thought.

“Unable to sleep?” he asks and there’s that worried look again that she’s not terribly fond of. 

Naomi waves a dismissive hand and shrugs, shuffling over to him. He sits up and sets his feet on the floor, making room for her on the plush couch. Nate rubs a hand over his sleepy face as she settles and her heart does a little tug towards him.

“What are you reading?” Naomi hums, tucking her feet underneath her. She holds her hand out and he chuckles softly, relaxing into his new position when she settles. His hand finds a home on her knee, thumb rubbing against her bare skin. It is as natural as breathing to him but it sparks something humming and frantic in her ribcage.

She accepts the book, careful to slip her finger to replace his own so she doesn’t lose his page.

Naomi turns the book in her hands. She had to give it to Nate — his  collection was breathtaking. It was so pristine and well-loved Naomi felt almost criminal for borrowing them. Even as much as Nate insisted.

One day, she had left with a stack of first editions that was almost painful to put in her shitty car — right over the coffee stain in the bucket of the passenger seat. This book has a textured, dark leather binding, an intricate scene of an unrecognizable ancient city emblazoned on the cover with swirling gold script.

“Le Lie-ver de la Cite des Dame,” Naomi struggles through and just by the slight wince on Nate’s face she knows her pronunciation had been a butchering. He wipes it away quickly and chuckles, his thumb still rubbing soothingly at her knee. 

“Le Livre de la Cité des Dames,” Nate corrects kindly, his tongue rolling perfectly over the words. Language to Nate is an art form. Just watching his lips produce the words makes her flush a little. 

Naomi rolls her eyes and hands the book back to him, “Show off.”

The two of them melt into easy laughter that makes her heavy ribs feel light. Nate’s hand gives her knee a squeeze.

Naomi rests her arm on the back of the couch, leaning her head against her fist. 

“Tell me about it,” Naomi prods, gazing at him, watching delight spark in his eyes.

“The Book of the City of Ladies,” he explains with the sweetest smile like he’s telling a secret. “Finished in 1405-”

“Ah, so not only French but Medieval French. Got it,” Naomi teases dryly. He gives her a little bemused quirk of his lips before continuing. 

“It was written in defense of education for women and of their value to society. It talks about women of note — the Virgin Mary, Sappho, Dido..,” he continues. Naomi raises her eyebrows in interest. Her own repertoire of finished books suddenly pales in comparison.

“Well, if you came for help falling asleep I could bore you all night,” Nate jokes with a little huff of an apologetic laugh. 

Naomi sits up and rubs his shoulder, an action that still makes her heart shudder because fuck it’s so easy. So simple.

“No, no-” Naomi shakes her head. “It sounds incredible. I suddenly wish I could read French.”

“I could teach you,” Nate offers, placing his hand over hers. He bundles her hand tightly up in his and brings her finger tips to his soft lips. 

“Tempting,” Naomi smirks, holding back the urge to make him blush — and no doubt purr back a tease that she wouldn’t be able to get off her mind for days. “Why don’t you read it to me now?”

Nate cocks his head a little in confusion. Naomi is already busy pulling his legs back up onto the couch. 

“Read it to me,” she urges, shifting to wiggle between his body and the back of the couch. Any protest or confusion has died in the time it takes for her to settle against him, his arm looping instinctively around her. She presses her cheek to his chest, against the dull thumping of his heart. Naomi hopes he is smiling. There was nothing better than knowing she made him smile.

The book’s spine crackles when it opens and she is overwhelmed by the smell of old parchment. She scans the words — Naomi wouldn’t be surprised if it was a special edition. Nate loved those. A thought tucked into the back of her mind for a day when she suddenly had enough money to buy him every first edition she could get her hands on.

Nate started to read as if he knew them by heart. He kisses her hair, squeezes her tight and relaxes into the cushions. His voice embraces her, holds her as tenderly as he does. It was nonsense to her but the sound of his baritone and the slight vibrato underneath her ear was soothing nonetheless. Maybe she would let him teach her French. Maybe she’d get to use it some day.

Maybe Nate would take her to Paris and he would insist on kissing her at the height of the Eiffel Tower because that seemed like something he would do. They would visit the Louvre and Nate would explain all of the pieces to her, talking in that same soothing voice. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, tucking her into his chest so again she could hear the lovely thrill of his voice against her ear.

Pages flip by. One after the other. Naomi’s eyes begin to grow heavy and her body doesn’t fight it. No pounding heart, no restless mind. Just the comfort of him against her and his tongue dancing over words she wished to understand. At some point, Nate tugs the soft blanket draped over the couch nd covers the two of them. She hums happily when he does. 

That and his voice is the last thing she remembers before drifting off to an easy, dreamless sleep.

[valhallanrose]

I’ll Spend One of Nine Lives With You

@arcana-echoes​

I’ve chosen to simply pick and choose prompts and post when I feel like it, so for my first post, I’m borrowing the Familiar prompt. 

1.6k words

In the late hours of the night, Miriyam sat perched on the edge of her balcony, one leg propped up and a long emptied mug in hand as she watched the streets below for something in particular. 

Or rather, someone. 

Miriyam watched the small figure dart between narrow alleys and around stacks of crates, all the way up until it skirted a few protrusions on the wall and climbed up onto the balcony. 

“You’re late.” Miriyam said, ignoring the bright blue eyes that stared up at her with rapt attention.

Sappho meowed incredulously, looking out toward the setting sun, which had just barely dipped past the horizon. Miriyam shook her head, reaching out and pointing to the streetlamps lining the path the feline had taken home. 

“No, you’re supposed to be home when the lights turn on, remember? That’s dinnertime.”

A few beats of silence before Miriyam sighed and chuckled, offering Sappho an open hand that she leaned into with a loud purr. She scratched behind Sappho’s ear, letting her nuzzle her nose into her palm and rub along her wrist before she finally slid off the railing, patting her thigh to get the cat to follow her inside.

“Well, no harm done. Just remember tomorrow. Come on - dinner for you, drawing for me. I’ll give you extra if you pose for me.”

With a loud chirp, Sappho climbed down from the railing, eagerly darting a few paces ahead of Miriyam - and periodically turning back to yowl for her to hurry the hell up already - until she made it into the kitchen to actually put together the dinner in question. 

As Miriyam went through the motions, muscle memory now that she’d had Sappho for so long now - so much so that she didn’t even have to look up when she scooped the cat off the counter and deposited her gently on the floor when she got too close to a moving knife. But there was a certain comfort she found in the presence of another creature, another beating heart, on quiet nights where she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to be alone with her thoughts. 

Moving to Vesuvia had been strange - it was the first time she’d approached any place with the intention of settling down and living there rather than bouncing between inns. She hadn’t gone in with the intention of becoming the neighborhood cat lady, but that seemed to have been assigned to her no matter what she would have done. 

She’d wanted to find a pretty spot in the city, but before she’d had any sort of income, the only place she could afford was run down and certainly in need of a lot of love. Not that she minded – fixing the place up gave her something to do in an unfamiliar place – but it came with neighbors.

Specifically, a large grouping of cats that seemed to claim the back alley as their territory.

If Miriyam was honest, the cats probably made her feel more at home than anything else. She’d watch them sun themselves from her bedroom window when they gathered, sketching relaxed tails and curled up bodies until she lost the light she needed. Many of them seemed like they had homes – they’d always been well brushed, well fed, and generally friendly when Miriyam had eventually taken to sitting on her back step and smoking when the weather was nice enough.

When she’d picked up work, she started leaving food out for the strays, often enough that they’d dart between her legs and press noses to her ankles when they heard her keys jingling halfway down the street. They were reasonable enough company, Miriyam thought, taking great joy in the rare occasions bumps against her ankles would turn into noses pressed against her open palm. Slowly, ever so slowly, they all began to warm up to her – save for one.

Miriyam had seen the biggest of the bunch prowling on the edge of the group, always lingering on her peripheral with ears laid back and body stiff with tension. She’d caught a glimpse of the matts clinging to the poor thing’s long coat, the odd kink in its tail, the shredded ear...but the cuts were new, and so was the limp. And they weren’t getting better.

So one cold winter morning, when Miriyam looked out her window and spotted the cat in question sunning itself atop a stack of crates, she picked up an old blanket and crept her way downstairs, trying not to startle the cat in question until she’d made it outside. She’d barely made it out the back door before the cat was up, hackles raised and poised to run as Miriyam swore under her breath.

“Alright…easy, kitty, I just want to help…”

She crept forward one step, then two, the cat hissing angrily before it devolved into a sort of scuffle as Miriyam attempted to wrangle the cat into the blanket in question.

So when she ended up on the ground, clutching a wildly squirming mass of fabric, she had to let out a laugh and a sigh all at once of the absurdity of the situation. She sat up slowly, clutching the blanket to her chest, and tentatively started to pull the edge of it back to see if she could get a look at the cat’s face.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was – fuck!”

A very, very angry paw had lashed out, slashing a line through Miriyam’s brow and catching before ripping free, another swipe only interrupted as Miriyam quickly put the blanket back in place.

“Yeah, okay, I deserved that. I’d probably be pretty pissy too if I were you.” Miriyam sighed, wiping a hand across her brow and wincing at the stark red trail it left behind. “But I’ve got a friend who I think can help.”

*     *     *     *     *

By the time she’d come back from Zelda’s shop, brow cleaned up and with strict instructions on how to clean the cat’s ears and the cuts on her face, Miriyam realized that this may not have been her brightest idea.

This cat wanted nothing to do with her, couldn’t get far enough away in fact, which meant Miriyam was screwed if she couldn’t get close enough to actually do anything Zelda had told her. But she didn’t want to leave the cat to get sick, so…time to improvise.

There was a spare room, empty and unused, that Miriyam decided would be the cat’s space for the time being. She’d dragged an armchair in there and a few sacrificial sweaters and blankets, trying to give the cat some space to relax and adjust before approaching again. And if she was honest, that took weeks - and she had a few thin scars on her ankles from the early days when the feline wanted nothing to do with her. 

But Miriyam was patient, sitting in the room after bringing food to the cat, day after day until finally, finally she was allowed to give her a few scratches behind the ear. 

Slowly, the cat began to open up, letting Miriyam carefully administer her medications and comb out the matting that had formed in the cat’s wildly thick fur. She was still wary of Miriyam, but far less than she’d been before, as if realizing that Miriyam was definitely out of her depth but doing her best to do right by the cat even if she’d never had one before. 

The bittersweet day came where Miriyam realized the cat was healthy again - the thought coming to her as she watched the unnamed feline stare after the birds and watch the other cats from the sill of her bedroom window. So Miriyam decided to let her go, swing open the door and let her go enjoy the company of her friends - thinking she’d see her lingering about the alley as she did before. 

So when the cat trotted away into the group of cats, Miriyam headed out to run errands for the day, and life went on. 

For maybe six hours, until Miriyam came home and found the cat had not only gotten into her house, but was also waiting by the spot where her dish usually went in the kitchen with an expectant look on her face. 

Miriyam dropped her shopping on the counter with a laugh, setting her hands on her hips. “Oh, so you’re thinking you’re going to freeload, huh? Pay me rent, then.”

What Miriyam didn’t expect was for the cat to hop up on the counter and nuzzle its face into her cheek, purring as if her life depended on it - making Miriyam laugh and turn her head to nuzzle the cat’s face back. 

“Okay, okay…you win. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

*     *     *     *     *

A soft meow drew Miriyam out of her thoughts, making her shake her head and look at Sappho - who had climbed into Miriyam’s lap and made herself at home after finishing her dinner. She smiled, reaching over to the table beside the armchair and picking up a small bag she’d picked up earlier that day. 

“Sorry it took me so long to do this part.” Miriyam chuckled, pulling the collar out of the bag and running her fingers across the woven material. “Want to make it official?”

Sappho chirped again, craning her head up as Miriyam slipped the collar around her neck and tugged lightly on the golden heart-shaped tag. Her thumb passed over the swirling script of the cat’s name as she kissed Sappho’s nose, smiling when Sappho lifted her head and bumped her nose into the scar that remained on her brow. 

“Happy gotcha day, Sappho. Thank you for choosing me too.”

[lallemcnt]

go ahead and watch my heart burn (part three)

TRIGGER WARNINGS! disclaimer (sensitive topics): this part includes mentions of and flashbacks of verbal and physical abuse towards a child. thoughts of wanting to hurt the self.

-

“What cannot be said


will be wept.”

— Sappho

Kissing Eliott has become one of Lucas Lallemant’s favourite pastimes in the

last couple of weeks. He is still coming to terms with the idea that there is someone in this godforsaken world that likes him enough to share saliva with him. To share his breath and his taste. He hasn’t felt this content in a long time which has him on edge in the belief that something will go terribly wrong sooner rather than later, because that’s how the world liked to play with him. Eliott’s company seemed to quieten the anxiety, not entirely, of course, it simmered there, occasionally peeking up its head and waving a hand in Lucas’ face to remind him that all good things come to end. But being in Eliott’s presence made him think less about his constant worries, he felt a peace that was all about how he wanted to be around Eliott all the time, he wanted to touch him: hold his hand and kiss his fingers, hear him speak about the latest film he watched and loved, the pieces he’s working on for the exhibition; he insists on inviting Lucas to seem them, but Lucas wants to be surprised. Kissing Eliott has really addled his brain.

They are sitting on grass that has seen better days, in shorts and t-shirts, in a flower garden, with their tongues dancing in each other’s mouths, and ice cream that is dangerously close to falling out of their cones. Lucas draws back and when Eliott leans in for another soul-searing kiss, Lucas places his palm across Eliott’s mouth, pushing him away with a giggle. Instead, Lucas presses his lips to the smooth skin of his neck and is gifted with a shiver from Eliott. Lucas smiles, pleased, before licking his ice cream and then licking Eliott’s neck. When Eliott jerks back, raising a hand to touch his neck with a frown on his face and a confused yell of “what the hell”, Lucas is laughing and clutching his stomach, his ice cream slipping out of his hand and staining the grass a raspberry-pink.

Eliott glances at his own ice-cream covered hand and lunges towards Lucas smearing his hand across his forehead. Lucas tries in vain to avoid Eliott’s touch, shoving at his arms and chest, but Eliott is deceptively strong and he’s leaning over Lucas, pining his hands on the grass and shaking his own in amusement. “How are you so gorgeous and so nasty at the same time?”

Lucas’ cheeks are flushed and he is grinning widely. “If I’m so nasty I bet you won’t want to kiss me again,” he attempts to sit up again but Eliott’s hands are firmly holding him down. “Oh, well, I’ll just have to find another boy to fill that job.”

Eliott narrows his eyes playfully. “Oh, really?”

Lucas lets out a long sigh and stares Eliott dead in the eye. “I mean, it won’t be hard,” he gestures with his hand to the grass beside him. “since I have such a long line of boys wanting to date me.”

In a move out of Lucas’ book, Eliott roll his eyes and rolls over to lie down beside Lucas, releasing his wrists in the process. Their heads are turned towards each other and Eliott rests his palm against Lucas’ cheek, a bit sticky from ice cream. He brushes their noses together and sighs, contentedly. “You.” Is all he says.

Lucas reaches up to touch Eliott’s hair, it’s incredibly soft and fluffy, like a pillow of clouds. “How does your hair grow like that? All up and down and you know.” He flaps his hand around in way of speech.

Eliott imitates the action, letting out a confused laugh. “I don’t know.” He pecks Lucas on the lips.

“It looks like how a marshmallow feels.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” Lucas responds, entirely serious. He scoots closer to Eliott, resting his head in his neck as he wraps an arm around his back until there is no space between them. “How are you this comfy. I could legit lie here forever.” Sighing once more, closing his eyes against the sun, he suddenly feels the urge to cry because this is all he’s ever wanted: to feel safe and secure.

The tears must fall because Eliott says, “Hey?” And attempts to draw Lucas back so he can check he’s okay, but Lucas won’t budge. He’s clinging desperately to Eliott because he’s embarrassed at how emotional he has gotten all of a sudden. He doesn’t want to spoil the lovely day they have had.

“Hey.” Eliott repeats, stroking the back of Lucas’ head and clutching him in his arms in a solid embrace. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Lucas wants to wipe his cheeks but this embrace he is caught up in overpowers that desire tenfold. Eliott’s words play like a song on repeat in his head, and in the hold of his arms, Lucas begins to breath without tears, his arms loosen their hold slightly, and he’s suddenly exhausted. Eliott, feeling this, draws back and cups Lucas’ face in his hands, searching his face and making note of the tears. He uses his thumbs to wipe them away. He kisses Lucas on the tip of his nose and whispers once more, just to make certain it sinks in: “I’ve got you.”

Lucas closes his eyes for a second, letting the remainder of the tears fall, before blinking his big blues open to a face full of worry and love- he closes them once more, and when they open again Eliott is still there, but he does not look as worried anymore, just a bit concerned. Lucas wipes his nose against his sweater meanwhile Eliott is sitting up and asking: “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it.”

Lucas begins to shake his head as he mirrors Eliott’s position, becoming all too aware that they are in public, but the thought is there and then gone: insignificant. Lucas begins to shake his head, then stops. Looking down at his black vans, he answers, in a quiet voice. “I- I was feeling. Overwhelmed.”

There’s a few seconds of silence while Eliott muddles over his response. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you to do anything-” he starts.

“No!” Lucas interjects, shaking his head emphatically. “Seriously. I’ve just-” He pauses, almost choking on the words, because the thought of expressing how he’s feeling leaves him feeling raw. “I’ve never liked anyone like I do you. And I do, like you, that is. I know you’ve said it to me multiple times over the past couple of weeks and I want you to know it. That, I like you. Sorry, I kind of cry a lot? I’ve always been told that I’m too emotional, and just you holding me and letting me hug you like a monkey,” he laughs, nervously, wanting to stop because it’s too much, opening up like this, but he believes Eliott deserves to know that he is liked too. “I don’t know; it made me feel cared for.”

He wipes his nose again and picks up a wilting daisy from the dying grass.

“Lucas…” Eliott’s voice is quiet. “Lucas, come here.”

Lucas shakes his head slightly. He feels exposed. Ridiculously so.

Then Eliott is there, tilting Lucas’ face up to his, cupping his hands around his neck and there is wonder in his grey-green eyes.

“Fuck,” he chuckles as his own eyes take on a red sheen. “You are an absolute dream. And if you’re too emotional then so am I. I like you so fucking much.” He rests their foreheads together and they breathe. Just breathe in the intimacy of their own making.

“Please never apologise for expressing your emotions,” Eliott’s voice has turned gruff and it remains the most beautiful sound Lucas has ever heard. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“We should probably get out of this flower garden; I think we’ve scandalised that old couple and their grandchildren.” As Eliott stands up and reaches out his hand for Lucas to glasp, which he does, Lucas looks over his shoulder at the aforementioned family and sees an old man shaking his head and an old woman, seated beside him holding her hand over the eyes of her two little grandchildren who are squirming to get out of her hold.

“Think we were being too gay for them?” Lucas asks, laughing once more, hand tucked safely in Eliott’s.

“That or us rolling around and kissing made them uncomfortable.”

When Lucas looks up at Eliott he has a pleased smile on his face, like he does not give a fuck if they were being too touchy-feely or being too gay, like he would do it all over again just to rub it in the old couple’s faces. Lucas decides it is definitely a good time to leave, determinedly leading the way to the exit while saying: “Simmer down, kitten. We don’t actually want to get kicked out.”

The park is manicured green lawns embellished with blooming flower beds of fuchsia and clementine. A colonial-style building stands at attention before a fountain where people lounge around with their feet dunked in water that is not the most clean but ultimately refreshing on a warm day such as this where everyone’s foreheads are touched by a slight finish of sweat. Lucas leads Eliott towards the fountain and looks at his phone to see it is almost at the next hour, right in time for the fountain to begin its fourth presentation of the day.

When it starts people yelp and dash out of the fountain — tourists, Lucas concludes. More daring individuals remain seated and get pelted with smooth streams of water in rapid succession, Lucas drop his arm from around Eliott’s waist, walking backwards towards the water display. He raises his eyebrows in challenge and licks his dry lips. Eliott, following Lucas tongue with his eyes raises his eyebrows in return and saunters towards Lucas. Putting himself in the line of fire, Lucas manages to duck behind Eliott just in time for him to act as a shield to the water. He looks at Eliott with innocent eyes as if to say oops and takes one step back, then another. Eliott pushes his wet hair back off his forward and stalks forwards, slowly. It’s like a game of chess, and Lucas has never been very good at it; walking backwards is not helping his case either as he has to keep looking over his shoulder to make sure there are no obstacles destined to trip him up.

It is during one of these glances over the shoulder that Eliott manages to cover the distance between them in a few strides and grab Lucas around the waist at the perfect moment to push him forward into a surge of fountain water. As Lucas splutters, yelling you dick! While pushing at Eliott’s hands, he manoeuvres himself just so Eliott is clinging onto his t-shirt and he shoves out of it as Eliott gets a face-full of water, and releases his grip. Lucas with his shirt around his neck runs, although it is not really freedom that he wants. He wants Eliott to catch him, grab him by the waist and kiss him. Kiss him until he cannot feel his toes, until fire is tearing through his body.

Removing his t-shirt, Lucas scans his eyes for Eliott, and they look eyes. He feels a heat pricking his stomach, the look Eliott is giving him. Fuck. He continues the game, walking backwards with a deliberately slow pace, and Eliott is there, right in front of him, reaching around Lucas with his long arms, and Lucas is shoving his scrunched up t-shirt at Eliott’s chest, smiling widely. Eliott’s arm draw him closer and Lucas places his hands on this beautiful boy’s biceps, looking up into his face. The anticipation is killing Lucas, his stomach is all a mess now and he’s nervous as hell, his mind is on a loop of kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me. Eliott’s eyes are roaming from blue eyes to pink, parted lips, making no move to initiate contact so Lucas does. He starts on his tip toes, brushing their mouths together, causing Eliott’s breath to hitch and Lucas consumes that breath as their lips slide together. It’s a wet kiss from all that water, but it provokes the fire in Lucas stomach ten degrees hotter. Eliott’s hands shift and roam the bare skin of Lucas’ back, stopping to trace his shoulder blades and the few raised moles that decorate his back like constellations.

They pull apart to catch their breath and then fall back into each other because they can’t get enough. This pull between them intensifies to infinity when they touch, and if they don’t stop, Lucas thinks, they’ll keep on going forever, and having sex in public is not something he’s keen on doing at the moment. When the kiss breaks again, Lucas runs both hands through Eliott’s hair until he’s cupping the back of his head. “We need to stop.” His heart skips eight beats at once, and he’s trying to catch his breath.

“I know.” Eliott’s hands flutter around to Lucas’ chest, delicately tracing his fingers across collarbones, down the centre of Lucas’ chest until he’s holding him by the waist. A heavy breath and a disappointed sigh later, Eliott and Lucas are holding hands, soaking wet and walking back to Eliott’s.

-

Despite certain situations causing it more than others, and so, one could assume there is a predictable nature to it, anxiety is anything but that. Lucas read a quote somewhere, it spoke about love, but resonated with him on another level, his anxiety attacks in rolling waves: “like the tide, but there is no schedule for it, no great silver moon to pull it in regular courses”. He knows what situations will most likely exacerbate it, but sometimes he has to plow ahead anyway, otherwise he’d never leave the house to see his friends or go to uni classes. Ever since he felt the first prickle of anxiety in his head at the age of fifteen, he’s been wondering where it comes from, and it was only when his dad left that he realised it could not be unconnected from his childhood.

Trauma is a big, scary word. For years Lucas was adamant that that word was too intense and serious for what he and his mother went through. Trauma was what people experience post-war whether they were the perpetrators or the victims of it. Being hit, and punched, and shouted at every day, being scared to come home, and walking on eggshells around his father, trying to say the right thing, that wasn’t like war. But as his conception of trauma expanded as he grew, he realised that while it was definitely serious and intense and big, trauma wasn’t something a person contracted, it wasn’t isolated to war. You could experience trauma from being in hospital, or watching a friend die, from being in a car crash, et cetera. Childhood abuse was an example of trauma, but Lucas was still unsure how this connected to him because he was never triggered by anything. Sure, some situations such as a parent shouting at their child on the bus or a child abuse storyline on a tv show brought up memories of his father, and he would cry about it sometimes, and laugh about it other times, because it was painful and sometimes the only way to get through a spell of flashbacks is to laugh.

This is why when Lucas is home alone one evening after a day spent having out with Eliott and le gang, he is scared shitless. He spirals. He’s alone and he wishes he weren’t. He has never been triggered before, so when he’s watching a thriller and the mother slaps her daughter across the face calling her every derogatory name under the sun, then proceeds to kick her, he is not expecting the feelings that overcome him. He is not expecting the need to pause the film, to turn the screen off. But he does it and then he’s there, back when he was seven.

Desperate for the toilet, he’s been holding it for the past twenty minutes and he’s ready to burst. His father, dark brown hair cut short, is in the front seat driving and telling him he has to wait, that they will be there soon, but Lucas is desperate, his stomach ballooning, and he knows that if the car wheels hit one more bump he will wet himself. He is more scared about how his father will yell at him, most likely hit him several times, than he is about wetting himself. They are on their way to Yann’s football birthday party and he’s nervous about going because he doesn’t know everyone who will be there and he can’t possibly go in after having wet himself. So he prays, even though he’s not religious and none of his family are, he prays to not wet himself, to hold it in for just another few minutes. But their car hits something on the road and it’s over for him. He’s weeing on his chair, and it’s dripping to the floor and his father is cursing him out saying: “What the fuck! What have you done, you disgusting boy. You’re seven years old, not a goddamn baby” and his face is turning red and he’s slamming his hands on the horn and because once he starts he can’t stop, he’s yelling: “How did I end up with the most stupid son, he can’t even hold his own piss in. You are disgusting, do you hear me?” And then they are there, at the shopping centre where Yann’s party is being held and his father is slamming his car door shout, stalking around the front of the car, yanking Lucas’ belt off, grabbing him roughly my the arms — hard enough that there will be bruises later — and pulling him out of the car. He’s grunting and wrinkling his nose, it smells, Lucas knows, he hates himself, he wants to punch himself in the face, because his father is right, he is disgusting. He’s an embarrassment, a piece of shit like his father has called him so much times he cannot count. His father is making him change in the parking lot, out of his clothes, so he’s standing there in the cold, naked and shivering, with wee dripping down his leg, it has filled up his shoes and his father is shoving Lucas’ face into his piss-soaked shoes, and he’s crying and crying and crying.

Lucas would often receive ten hits on the hand if he left a piece of school uniform at school, if he got a tiny bit of paint on his shirt in art class, if he left his spelling book at school. He remembers getting hit across the face at sixteen for loosing his watch at school, being called the c word and boxed about the ears for forgetting to wash up the dishes before his father got home from work. Shoved up against a wall, face pinched in his father’s hand because he talked back to him. Anything could set his temper off; it was almost like he thrived off of being angry because he would always find something to blame Lucas for.

Now he is curled up in his bed, mind consumed by that one memory, thinking what he did to deserve it, all of it. How a parent can treat their child that way. He believes that there are people who should never have children and his father was one of them. What he hates most is that he still loves him. Despite all the utter shit and pain he put Lucas through, he would knock on his door in the evening, come in and hug Lucas, stroke his hair and say: “I love you, you know that, right? I only say it because I care about you. I know I get angry, too angry, sometimes and I’m sorry. I only get this angry because I love you so much.” And Lucas was fooled every single fucking time.

He lays there, frustrated and angry and ashamed. The truth is, he never even thought of telling anyone about it when he was younger. It never even crossed his mind. Subconsciously he knows it was because he loved his dad and he didn’t want him to be taken away or for himself to be sent to live with strangers. Parents equal security. They are the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally, no matter what. That was how it was supposed to be. Simple really. It wasn’t until his dad left, was forced to leave, that he considered telling people: Yann being one of them. Every time he tried to bring it up, his throat would close up, they couldn’t get past those channels in his throat. He couldn’t force them out no matter how hard he tried. He imagined a weight being lifted off his shoulders, walking around feeling lighter, but apparently that was no incentive because the words refused to be spoken aloud. It wasn’t for a while until he realised that he was ashamed of what had happened to him, ashamed to still love the man who could be so cruel. Ashamed that he had let this happen to himself.

Lucas screams into his pillow until his throat is raw, he scratches at his face in frustration. Then he shoves his pillow over his head and burrows until his duvet, blocking all the light from entering, a black hole of his own making. It’s been years, how can he still be so sad about this. He wishes his mum would come home right then and curl up around him, kiss his forehead and tell him she loved him. He was to scream so loud that everyone in the city will hear him and come running. But his throat is raw and he is exhausted and he wants to sleep forever. He’s crying, loud sobs wrack his dog-tired body.

He yearns to call Eliott, to unload all his problems, to describe and explain his anxiety, to talk about his father. He wants to confide in him, but they’re not even officially dating, they haven’t defined their situation, and Eliott doesn’t deserve to see this side of Lucas and all the trouble it comes with, he deserves more than Lucas will ever be able to give him. The last thing he wants to be is a burden, a problem, a leech on Eliott’s happiness.

Lucas clicks on their chat anyway and suddenly he’s calling Eliott, needing to hear his voice. There’s rustling on the other end, the sound of music, and a door closing before Eliott’s voice says, “Lucas?”

Lucas doesn’t respond.

“Lucas?” Concern creeps into Eliott’s voice, Lucas feels guilty. He should just hang up, he will hang up…in a few seconds.

“I- Sorry, I misdialled.” He lies, wincing at the sound of his voice, hoarse, and wrong.

“What’s going on?”

“Um.” His voice croaks and he grits his teeth in annoyance.

“Are you home? I’m coming over.”

Lucas rushes to reassure him, he can’t see him like this, all pathetic and feeling sorry for himself. “No, really. I meant to call someone else. I’m fine, really.”

“You don’t sound okay. Please. Let me come over. We don’t have to talk or anything, let me know you’re okay. Let me see you. Please.”

The sincerity in Eliott’s voice cuts at Lucas. He’s weak, he’s feeling sorry for himself, and he wants to feel loved, so he complies. He remains huddled up in his duvet-made cave and is thankful he didn’t lock the door when he came in because he doesn’t think he has the energy to move an inch.

That’s how Eliott finds him thirty minutes later, and only the sound of his door creaking open alerts Lucas to his presence. Only now is he fully regretting calling Eliott, he clenches his fists in anger, and squeezes his eyes tight shut. All noise is muted to Lucas under his duvet but he recognises the tell-tell noise of a zip and feels when Eliott sinks onto the bed next to him. At first he just lies there next to Lucas as if unsure of what to do exactly, if he should be giving Lucas space, if that’s enough to comfort him. Five minutes later he draws back the duvet just until Lucas’ head emerges and moves so it is tucked under his own chin, one arm under his own head and the other wrapped around Lucas.

The silence begins to grate at Lucas, he can feel himself becoming irritated so he asks in his raw voice, “Music?”

A lift of an arm, a shuffle and then a faint piano melody fills the room. Lucas wants to leave forward and rest his head on Eliott’s chest, but he’s not in an affectionate-giving mood so he lets Eliott fill that role. Allows him to be cradled in his duvet burrito like a child. Allows Eliott to play with his hair and to pick the music when the song ends. Eliott doesn’t ask about the red marks on Lucas’ face, he doesn’t ask why Lucas was in bed at five p.m. He doesn’t ask.

After an hour of this Lucas speaks once more, voice less hoarse, annoyed with himself because when did he ever stop feeling sorry for himself. “You don’t have to be here. I’m seriously fine, I’m just tired and I overreacted.”

They are facing each other at eye level, not touching. Eliott looks unconvinced, a frown pulling his mouth into a downward tilt, lines appearing across his forehead. “I want to be here.”

“I mean it. I am okay.”

Ignoring this, Eliott asks. “What happened?”

Am I seriously going to cry again? I’m a fucking basket-case.

“You can talk to me. No judgement, I mean it. If you just want me to listen and not say anything I can do that too. You don’t need to carry whatever it is alone. No matter what it is.” He’s staring into Lucas’ eyes the entire time. There’s no trace of a smile, no trace of the Eliott he has come to know. This boy is new and serious.

“I know we’ve only been together for a short period of time; I know everything feels like it’s going fast, but it also feels just…right? It feels like, and this is going to sound cheesy,” his voice is anything but cheesy, it has retained its serious tone, but it’s calm. “The atoms that make up our bodies were born from the same star. I’m not going anywhere, unless you want me to leave, I will stay here with you. I promise.”

It takes him seconds or minutes or hours to speak and it’s like he’s vomiting these words out because he can’t stop once he’s started. He feels the pure rage in his voice, the pain and the shame, and Eliott is there through it all,.Lucas can’t really look him in the eye so he can’t tell how he’s taking it, except for when Lucas is describing the particularly gruelling times he met his father’s belt or the corner of a dresser and he feels Eliott’s hands flex. He isn’t quite sure why he has been able to express this to Eliott who he’s known for less than month and not his best friend of ten years, it feels almost wrong, his loyalty to Yann yanking at him, but that’s ridiculous. He knows it is ridiculous. Who knows why he was able to confess, because that’s how it feels, to Eliott, like a confession. There is a lightness that comes with unveiling well-kept secrets. Though, it is a double-edged sword because he has given Eliott numerous reasons to bolt, and he hasn’t even told him about his anxiety yet, but he’s on a roll now and the need to tell outweighs any fear in this moment.

“It’s hard to explain, especially for people who don’t have the disorder, because, yes, everyone gets anxious at times, it’s normal, but not everyone has anxiety. And it’s different for everyone who has it. I’ve had it be dismissed and seen as insignificant by so many people. I’ve been to just stop worrying and to relax as if I enjoy conjuring stupid fucking scenarios in my head, like I enjoy thought spirals that always end up in me being financially unstable and homeless by the time I’m thirty. Or people have it worse than you, because I know. I know my life is bliss compared to others but I don’t decide to be like this. And being told to be rational is the most frustrating thing because it’s not rational and I know that…I fucking know that.”

It is not until he has finished speaking that he feels the sting in his palms, his fingers having dug into his palms as he spoke. As he brings them up to cover his face, Eliott intercedes, drawing them to his own mouth and kissing the back of Lucas’ hands then he turns them over and presses quick kisses to each palm — communicating through touch instead of words. I see you, I hear you.

Lucas sighs, tucking his head into his chin. Eliott moves, as if pulled by cosmic forces, as if the atoms of his body are really connected to the atoms of Lucas’, he tucks his own chin around Lucas’ head and they lie there, still, but breathing, but alive with soft brass instrumental music playing in the background. A tune dedicated to this moment of revelations and secrets and revelations.

What no one tells you, and what Lucas has learned, is that as you grow older the pain stays with you, it may not be there every day but that is because you learn how to manage it, you learn to suffer in a graceful manner constantly moving, never stopping to indulge it, because coming face to face with it would mean letting it tear you apart, piece by piece. That is what Lucas has learned, and he doesn’t know it yet but one day he will starting to wonder if he got it all wrong, if there is another way. He will wonder how he always saw the abuse of others as the fault of the abuser not the abused and why he never applied that same philosophy to himself, that he didn’t let it all happen to him. He will learn that he isn’t to blame.

“You’re not alone.” Eliott whispers.

[fortunatelylovelytyrant]

A Garter Snake and a Python

A/N: I have no self-control whatsoever. There are some latin-y things in here cause I’m a nerd. It’s also 1,328 words excluding this and the title.

“Have you thought about herpetology?” the academic advisor said, looking at his reflection in sunglasses. If he shifted his gaze a little, he’d be looking at her hair. It’d probably look back just taunt him, but that wasn’t the issue at hand.

“No. Isn’t that some science thing?”

“It’s the study of,” he paused, watching something twitch at her shoulder. “Snakes. I think you would be very. . .interested.”

“Sign me up then, when do classes start?” she asked, picking at her nails.

“August 17th and you have to pick your major yourself.” He replied, sliding a clipboard towards her.

“Do you have this in Greek or Latin?” he couldn’t see her eyes but knew she had glanced away from him. “I can’t, um, r—.”

“We have the last copy in Greek. You aren’t the first person to have this problem.” He interrupted, taking the clipboard back and switching documents. Save the woman and himself some embarrassment.

She slid the clipboard back a few minutes later, messing with the strap on her bag before standing up to leave.

“Welcome to the University of Phoenix, Medusa.” He said before she was fully gone.

For years her name had been spoken with contempt and fear. Academically, it had been said in sorrow out of the mouths of women who didn’t know the smell of seawater disgusted her and Athena had in some way protected her. Though she may have flourished, happy and blessed, she fell from the peak and deprived of glory because of one man.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being a god any longer. Her name had been a war cry once out of the mouth of Perseus and learned two things: Athena’s shield and Hades’ helmet were fake, and Perseus was clumsy with a sword.

“How’d it go?”

Medusa jumped, unwinding as she looked at Sappho. “Why don’t you make noise?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest. “Classes start in August and—.”

“I knew you could do it,” Sappho interrupted, arms around Medusa’s neck, lips just as close even though she was a whole foot shorter. It warmed Medusa, lingering after Sappho pulled away. “We should celebrate. Hercules is going bar hopping with a few people.”

“I thought you writer types liked staying home. Can’t we just ask Dionysus for a bottle of wine and call it a day?” she asked, following her to the car.

“It’s a special occasion,”

“Meaning wine. He owns a vineyard and he owes me.”

“What for?” Sappho asked, getting in the car.

“He knows what he did.”

***

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Sappho said, wheezing as Medusa closed the door to their apartment.

Medusa shrugged, tossing her bag by the bed. “Hercules had a snake so I showed him mine. He’s got about a Brahminy,” she paused, moving her hair off her shoulder. “Maybe smaller.”

“Medusa,”

“Beau is a good boy and he meant it,” she said, holding her arm out for said boa constrictor. She was grateful to have controlled the whole snake-hair thing, but they came in handy. Such as earlier when Hercules had the nerve to harass her about her sunglasses and put his hand in her hair. So, naturally, she struck and got them kicked out of the bar.

Well, at least she got her wine. She watched as Sappho moved around the room, changed into shorts and a tank top and maybe Medusa should not have looked at Sappho for too long because they were roommates and roommates didn’t spare longing glances at each other. Or sleep in the same bed or go to the same university or oh. Oh.

“I’m gonna go get ice,” Medusa said. “For the wine.” She added, leaving the room before Sappho could reply. White wine and ice went together, right? Or was it red?

Either way, it didn’t matter because Sappho was in the next room, unbothered and most likely doing homework. Or waiting for Medusa to get back since she’s been standing at the sink under the pretense of rinsing glasses for almost fifty minutes and the water went cold already.

She gathered herself, topped both glasses off and headed back to the room. They had known each other since Sappho had got accepted into the university and now she was a junior; Medusa had never been to college before so the disparity in knowledge worried her more. She couldn’t even read English! What kind of mortal would be in love with a Gorgon anyway?

“Medusa, could you help me with this line?”

“You know I can’t read English, but I’ll,” she paused, leaning her head on Sappho’s shoulder as she looked at the laptop. Most of it was in Latin, about an unnamed woman who was the object of an unnamed narrator’s affections from what she gathered. “What line did you need help with?”

“This one. It’s supposed to be a free-form mixing English and a dead language so I, ya know, did something you’d enjoy too. Unfortunately, I can’t write Greek well.” She said, pointing at the bottom of the screen and taking a sip from her glass.

“People reference Icarus too much,” Medusa said. “It’s a cliché and he was only a boy.”

She remembered when it showed up on the news, and how Daedelus’s grief nearly killed him. He had begged her to turn him to stone after a year had passed so she did.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Sappho mumbled, hitting the backspace button until the line was blank and the cursor blinked.

“How about this:  Illa est Nyx, et luna. Crescis aut decrescis ad imperium illius ad sui amorem.” She said, the end coming out as uncertain. For once she was lucky Sappho couldn’t look her in the eyes directly, her skin felt warm unrelated to the wine as she pulled away, leaning against the pillows.

Sappho’s fingers tapped against the keyboard, the sound becoming soothing at some point. Medusa started channel surfing, the relative quiet making her nervous and stirring up half-formed thoughts she didn’t want to entertain right now. Most of them concerning the woman next to her.

She glanced over as Sappho stretched and set her empty wine glass aside. “You done?” she asked, ignoring the way her pulse ticked up as Sappho lay next to her.

“Yeah,” Sappho answered. She glanced up at Medusa, shifting up and taking Medusa’s sunglasses off.

Medusa closed her eyes, feeling Sappho’s hands cup her face. She let out a shaking breath, afraid to look at Sappho. Not because of her beauty, Aphrodite forgive her, but because she didn’t want to watch Sappho still and turn to stone. If she would was another question, but Medusa had enough of tempting fate.

“Medusa,” Sappho said, voice low and so close. “Look at me.”

Medusa swallowed, opening her eyes and meeting Sappho’s dark brown gaze. Her dark skin with a smattering of freckles seeming otherworldly in the fading daylight. “Yes?” she asked, unsure what to do with her hands as Sappho’s thumb brushed her bottom lip.

Not even Dionysus’s oldest bottle could compare to Sappho’s lips on hers. Intoxicating, yes, but the back-of-the-throat burn gone and inviting Medusa to have just a little bit more.

Sappho wasn’t someone to be stripped and gawked at. She wasn’t a flower to be pried open or a cave to be explored or a honeypot to be cracked as men described in romance novels.

Medusa was convinced they had never actually kissed a woman’s thigh or felt them clamp around their head to stay close as they teased, licked, and sucked.

No, men were too focused on themselves to ask what worked and what didn’t, if they should do something again for her pleasure.

For once, Medusa heard her name being said in genuine love, in between kisses and half asleep mumbles. Sappho was so much more than a poet. She was Medusa’s just as Medusa was hers.

[meaniechan]

lighten the cares of my sorrowful soul

This is probably way too out of character but I tried. Just imagine an early-Creatures era/present day Aleks and a much younger, present day Brett. 

Paring: Brett/Aleks

It was Brett and Aleks’ six month anniversary a few days ago. Except, Brett got called into work and couldn’t get out of it. Cue: big, huge, enormous fight. A few days later, they make up. 

 your laughing lovely: that, I vow

makes the heart leap in my breast;

for watching you a moment, speech fails me,

my tongue is paralyzed, at once,

a light fire runs beneath my skin,

my eyes are blinded, and my ears drumming

the sweat pours down me, and I shake

all over, sallower than grass:

I feel as if I’m not far off from dying.

Brett shuts the door behind him.

“What do you want?” Aleks snaps, and from the sound of his voice, Brett knows he’s been crying.

Aleks is usually very careful with his appearance, but Brett understands that- with the circumstances- he probably doesn’t really give a shit about how he looks. His hair is messed up, eyes red, and his clothes are baggy: nothing that he’d wear outside of this house. He’s scowling, and usually, Aleks scowling was funny to Brett- he looked like an angry puppy. It’s not so funny, now, when his boyfriend looks vulnerable and small and defeated and... lost.

Every little, lingering bit of Brett’s anger has dissipated, in this moment, and their argument seems so unnecessary.

“I got your present.”

Aleks looks down. “Yeah, well… I don’t wanna take care of it.”

Brett crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. Aleks pulls his legs in and wraps his arms around his knees protectively, purposely looking away from the older. The bed is, surprisingly, lacking a certain fluffy dog, who usually spent every moment she could in Aleks’ bed with him. His cat, however, is there, and she seems to get annoyed with all the movement, deciding to get up from her spot next to Aleks and jump down from the bed.

“I love it,” Brett tells him. “It’s really nice. Especially the poem. Did you write it?”

Aleks shakes his head. “Some Roman guy.”

“It’s very sweet.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.”

There’s a moment of silence, which is uncommon for Brett’s boyfriend. Aleks isn’t as socially awkward as his two best friends, but he still wasn’t great with the whole ‘socializing’ thing. Though the younger is primarily an extrovert, there are moments that even Aleks preferred to stay in the comfort of his room- far away from the main part of his family’s hillside mansion that- due to Aleks’ father and step mother’s busy jobs- was usually empty. Aleks filled it with friends- his classmates, James and Joe, and their friends, Trevor and Jakob and Asher and Anna- but his friends had lives of their own, and Aleks still spent a considerable amount of time on his own, with just Mishka and Celia to keep him company.

He thinks that’s why Aleks likes Lindsey and Brett’s shitty, two-bedroom apartment that they rent close to campus. Less space meant less to fill.

Brett clears his throat, ready to say something.

“I’m sorry,” Aleks whispers, at that moment, before Brett can speak. “I don’t know why I’m being such an asshole. Or why I got so mad about you having to work. I’m just… I don’t know. Everything was supposed to be perfect and then it just… wasn’t. I’m being stupid, I know.”

Brett stands, moves closer to Aleks, and sits beside him. “It’s okay. You were upset. Yelling at you didn’t help anything.”

Aleks unravels himself and looks up, revealing the tears streaking his cheeks. It pulls at Brett’s heart, and he reaches up to put both hands on either side on his boyfriend’s head, wiping at tears with his thumbs. It doesn’t help physically- Aleks lets out a hiccup of a sob and his face is wet again- but it mends things, Brett thinks, internally, and he leans forward to kiss Aleks’ forehead, his nose, both cheeks, and his chin, before finally kissing his lips.

Aleks hiccups a sob, again, but he kisses Brett back, hungrily, and they reposition themselves slowly so that Brett is more on the bed and Aleks is in his lap. Brett kisses him softly and Aleks takes each one like a pill and they stay there, for what could be seconds, what could be minutes. It’s not exactly making out, and it’s not sexy at all, but it’s what both of them need after the past few days and Brett takes it.

Eventually, Aleks mumbles something into Brett’s mouth that he doesn’t understand, and Brett pushes him away gently.

“What,” he asks, and Aleks blushes.

“Nothing,” his boyfriend answers, sheepishly. “Just… more stupid poetry.”

“By the same person?”

Aleks nods. “Yeah. Umm, I don’t know why, but I just started reading this poetry book and I… I thought you’d think it’d make me seem like, fuckin’, super grown up or something. So I kinda, just, like memorized a few.”

“Very romantic. I don’t know any- what was it, Roman poetry? Get this kid ready for college. Start saving for his 401K.”

Aleks giggles and Brett presses a quick kiss to his nose, which makes him giggle again.

“Fuck you,” he laughs, a lightness to his voice that makes Brett relax. “I know a few verses of a Roman poetry that I’ll forget by next month.”

“I won’t let you. You’re going to have to tell me them every day, so I know how grown up you are.”

Aleks pouts and pinches Brett’s arm, playfully.

“So, tell me,” Brett laughs. “What’s this magical poem that you decided was so important that it had to interrupt our hardcore, sexy make out session?”

Aleks grins, and he looks down at his lap. He picks at the hem of Brett’s shirt, for a moment, and normally, Brett would make a dumb comment about the lack of words coming from the younger’s mouth, but he keeps quiet himself. After about a minute, Aleks lets go of Brett’s shirt.

“‘Give me a thousand kisses,” Aleks says quietly- not quite whispering. “A hundred, another thousand, a second hundred, a thousand again, a hundred more, until we ourselves lose track of the score.’”

Brett smiles, leans forward slightly, and kisses Aleks’ neck softly and Aleks hums, softly. His boyfriend smells like something woodsy and an Old Spice deodorant that Brett doesn’t know the name of and it feels like home. Eight months ago, Brett never imagined he’d ever find someone that makes him feel at home, like Aleks does, and he never imagined it’d be in this eighteen year old, high school brat, with dumb emo hair, a green card, and a love for hardcore punk bass lines, dogs, and video games.

Hell, Brett might even love this kid.

“It’s very grown up,” he says instead, with a shitty impression of that one Vine meme.

Then, in his regular voice quieter. “And very pretty.”

“You’re pretty,” Aleks mumbles, and Brett doesn’t need to look at his boyfriend to know his face is bright red.

“So are you. Very pretty.”

Aleks pulls back, his face- indeed- very red. “What does… umm… fuck.”

“What?”

“Umm, fuck how does it go?”

A moment passes- in which Brett’s kinda confused- before Aleks looks up at Brett between his eyelashes. It sends a shiver down Brett’s body, and he doesn’t need context to know where Aleks is going.

“‘Be a sweetie, joy and charm personified, invite me to join your afternoon nap.’”

Brett grins. “Why, Mr. Marchant, are you trying to seduce me?”

“I might be.”

“I’m not just some harlot, sir.”

Aleks rolls his eyes. “Harlots fuck, asshole. They don’t make love.”

“First poetry, now this,” Brett teases. “How very grown up of you.”

“Don’t be an ass about it, Brett.”

“An ass? Me? No, I’m- what was it you said? ‘Joy and charm personified?’ Lucky for you, I fully intend to invite you to all my afternoon naps for a long time.”

Aleks laughs, and Brett kisses him, and they fall together.

  The next day, when James and Trevor show up around noon, and Aleks is almost all the way in Brett’s lap, and his friends roll their eyes at him.

“I told you that shit would work,” James yells. “Am I good or am I good?”

“You didn’t do shit, James,” Aleks shoots back, though there is no malice in either of their voices.

“Excuse you, Aleksandr. I drove to a hornet’s nest and poked at it while you were listening to your shitty, emo music and crying.”

“Fuck off, I wasn’t crying.”

“Fuck you, you were!”

Despite it, Aleks and James laugh. Trevor laughs. Brett laughs.

It feels like home.

  The first poem that is mentioned is actually, like, a copy of one that the Greek poet Sappho wrote something like, 600 years before and I like her version better than Catullus. I left out the part where Sappho/Catullus are super insane jealous of this guy hanging around their girls. I didn’t think that part really fit my vision.

Just in case you’re curious: title is from Catullus, 2.10. Included poems are Catullus, 5.7-10 and 32.1-3. All three are from the David Mulroy translation. The first mentioned poem is from Catullus 51, but the one I put in is the M.L. West translation of Sappho’s poem.

[jedifighterpilot2727]

Failing Physics

Just a heads up but I'm going to try and go through my prompts on here the next few days, and some of them will just be little short fics that don't get posted on AO3 so I’ll try and tag everything appropriately!

The story of how Lexi and Taylor meet - AKA the rom com beginning that no one asked for but I decided to write anyway.          

Taylor is failing physics.

She’s not even exaggerating at this point, because it’s right there; written in red ink on her test paper.

Forty-six.

She didn’t even know test scores could go that low. Granted she’s also never taken college level physics, so that probably has something to do with it.

Once again, she curses herself for forgetting to sign up for the mandatory science class until the last possible minute; because of course the only option that fit in with the rest of her schedule had been physics. Of course.

Groaning, she watches the rest of the class file out, debating on whether or not she should cut her losses and drop out of school entirely or try and beg the professor for extra credit. She isn’t exactly sure what extra credit in a physics class would look like, but it couldn’t be THAT horrible?

Right?

She watches as Dr. McGregor packs up his bag at the front of the class, debating.

Just as she’s made the decision to throw herself at the mercy of the extra credit gods, she hears a voice.

“Dr. McGregor! Hi! Ummm, I just had one question about the test - “

A figure laden with books steps up to the desk, drawing Dr. McGregor’s attention to her outstretched test paper.

Lexi, Taylor thinks her name is.

That’s a lie.

She knows for sure that that’s what the girl’s name is, just as sure as she knows that Lexi is one of the reasons for Taylor failing her latest test.

It’s hard to pay attention when the prettiest girl she’s ever seen in her entire life is sitting just a few rows up.

Lexi, with her dark brown hair, and her bright blue eyes, that stupid sunny smile that absolutely no one should have during an 8am class. She watches as Lexi’s free hand pushes her glasses up her nose before gesticulating wildly at the paper in front of her.

Since she’s been spared from her begging for another few moments, she takes the opportunity to give her crush an appreciative once over. As flustered as the girl sounds, she LOOKS put together, from head to toe. The braid containing her hair looks nearly impossible to wrangle, and Taylor absently wonders just how long the other girl spends on her hair in the mornings. Her outfit just screams ‘money’, from the black designer button up and the brown Hermes belt and the black Givenchy pants . . .

Taylor doesn’t even want to think about how much her loafers cost. Two month’s rent, probably.

She has to hand it to the rich girl though, if she didn’t know fashion, she would never guess that any of it was designer. It was subtle, and Taylor likes that. Not enough to flaunt, but enough that it probably kept the other rich kids off her back.

Well other than the popped collar and the fact that she seems to be debating an answer to a physics test. That probably didn’t make them consider her less of a dork.

A cute dork though.

She considers for a moment that she doesn’t really know much about Lexi other than the fact that she wears designer clothes, sits at the front of the class everyday, and that she never speaks to anyone other than the professor.

Oh and that she’s insanely attractive, but Taylor would have to be blind to miss that.

She’s startled from her thoughts by Dr. McGregor’s voice.

“Now Lexi, I know that you’re only in this class because the Dean turned down your request to bypass it for the higher level course; and I’m also aware that he turned you down only out of spite because of his long standing feud with your mother, but that doesn’t change the fact that in this class we’re dealing strictly with Earth based physics. I understand that on Mars or even Vucarra that the principles determining the result of the test mentioned in question 7 would be vastly different, but this is about how the test would play out on Earth.” He chuckles. "Try to dial back your vast knowledge of extraplanetary physics for this class, please.”

“Sorry, it’s just- the different systems got mixed up in my head, I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t understand the concept.”

“Lexi, you missed half a point on the entire test, you’re in no danger of me doubting your ability to grasp the concept of entry level physics anytime soon.”

That seems to appease Lexi, because she tucks the test paper in one of the folders balanced on her arm.

“Thank you, sir.”

Taylor is standing before she even registers what she’s doing.

Only her feet don’t take her up to Dr. McGregor’s desk, instead they follow Lexi out into the quad.

She isn’t exactly sure which part of her brain decided this was a good idea, but she’s going to blame it on the gay part.

Sappho have mercy.

“Lexi?” She calls out, and the other girl stops and whirls so fast that her papers and books fly everywhere.

Great way to start a conversation, good job Taylor.

“Oh, Rao! Sorry! I hope I didn’t hit you! I just have a really exaggerated startle reflex sometimes.” Lexi blurts out as she scurries around, picking up papers from the grass; and Taylor drops to her knees to help.

“Completely my fault, I didn’t mean to startle you!” She passes Lexi a stack of papers, pretending not to notice the electric current that passes between them when their hands brush.

Lexi clears her throat, but makes no attempt to get up or pull away.

“Was there something you needed?”

Taylor doesn’t think she’s ever seen eyes that blue.

“Pardon?”

Lexi’s fingers brush nervously at her glasses.

“You called my name?” Her voice squeaks at the end and Taylor almost melts at the adorableness.

“Oh! Right, sorry. I just - well I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Dr. McGregor, and well, I need a tutor.”

“A tutor? For what?”

She might think that Lexi is simply being mean, but she doesn’t think there’s a way to fake the look of genuine confusion on her face.

“Intro to physics? The class we were just in?” Taylor jerks her thumb back towards the door.

“Oh! Of course! Yeah, no, duh, I mean obviously -“ Lexi shakes her head. “The science center has a really great tutoring program, or I think there are some private tutors posted on the bulletin board outside the lab.”

“Actually,” Taylor hesitates for half a second before taking the plunge. “I was hoping, maybe, you could tutor me?”

She isn’t sure how to read the hesitation on Lexi’s face, so she stutters forward.

“I mean you don’t have to, obviously, and I can’t pay you - because, well broke college student - but I work down at the corner coffee shop, and I can get you all the free coffee you can drink. Plus you’d have my undying gratitude for helping me not flunk out of college.”

A twinkle lights in Lexi’s eyes and one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows arches upward.

“I am running a little low on undying gratitude.”

Taylor doesn’t let herself imagine that Lexi is flirting.

“Well, if you can help me pass physics then you will have mine, I have no idea how you even understand what he’s talking about half the time.”

“Oh!” Nervous Lexi appears to be back, tilting her glasses once again before reaching out a hand to pull Taylor to her feet. “My mom has been teaching me physics since I was like, five; so. . . . it’s just kind of . . . ingrained in there, I guess.”

“Five! You were five when you started learning this stuff?!”

“Well, Mama and I would always be worried when my Mom was . . . out on assignment, so we did science experiments. It sort of became our thing.”

“You have two moms?”

That must strike a nerve, because Lexi straightens to her full height, and even though she’s shorter than Taylor by a few inches she looks menacing.

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no, of course not! Huge lesbian here.” Taylor points to herself, trying not to wince at her own sudden awkwardness. “Just wanted to clarify! It’s always nice to hear about other lesbians having families and succeeding - out there teaching their five year-olds physics!” Lexi seems to have relaxed, but she rambles on anyway. "What does your mom even do? That she knows so much about physics, and that she apparently has beef with the Dean of the science department at USC?”

“You don’t - you don’t know who I am?”

Of course she should have know that a person dressed like they belong in a fashion show for high end tomboy wear would have an ego.

“Should I?”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean it like that; I wouldn’t expect you to know who I am, I was just trying to say . . . .” Lexi trails off with a sigh. “Most people form opinions about me based on my family before they even meet me, so it’s just surprising to hear someone say they don’t know who I am.”

Taylor feels herself relax. Maybe Lexi doesn’t have that much of an ego after all.

“Oh, well I can see how that might throw you off.”

“I wasn’t trying to be snobby or whatever, I just -“

“Lexi, it’s totally fine! I don’t think you’re being a snob! Hell, I don’t even think I’ve told you my name!”

“Taylor!” Lexi blurts. “Not that I’m creepy or stalky  or anything, I just -“

Taylor saves her from whatever apology is about to come by extending her hand for a shake,  warm and giddy off the fact that her crush knows her name.

"Taylor Mitchell, pleasure to meet you.”

Lexi’s handshake was firm.

“Lexington Luthor-Danvers, and the pleasure is all mine.”

Smooth. How could someone go from blubbering mess to suave in exactly 0.25 seconds? And -

"Wait. THE Luthor-Danvers? As in the Luthor-Danvers empire?”

“That’s the one.” As uncomfortable as Lexi may seem with her social status, there’s a hint of pride in her voice at the family name.

“Well, I can see why your mom started teaching you physics at five!”

“She’s kind of a legend among science nerds, so since I’m a science major, pretty much everyone I’ve met here has already known about me beforehand.”

Taylor vaguely remembers ‘the Luthor-Danvers heir’ making headlines on magazines for some sort of scientific research a few years back and she vows to google it when she gets home.

“Well, I’m an art major, and I know absolutely nothing about science; hence the failing grade in physics.”

Lexi’s mouth quirks upward.

“Right, well I can probably help you with that.”

“Like I said, undying gratitude.” She teases and Lexi starts to say something only to get cut off by a shriek echoing out across the quad.

“Lexi!! A little help here! This Dargorian poodle is a little out of control!!” A huge beast streaks by- one that resembles a St. Bernard only without the fur - dragging behind it a person on roller skates.

“Uhh,” Lexi begins stuffing her books into her backpack. "I - I have to go, that’s my cousin. Tomorrow at 1? Does that work for you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Study date? Tomorrow at 1pm in the library, second floor?” Lexi slings the stuffed bag over her shoulder with surprising ease and Taylor tries not to drool.

“Oh! yeah, perfect!”

“Great! I’ll see you then!” There’s a blinding grin tossed in her direction, and then Lexi is gone, running after the animal and its handler.

Taylor still isn’t sure what possessed her to follow her crush and ask her for help; but it’s easily the best decision she’s made all week.

            So let me know what you guys think about this one!! This is the closest to an original fic that I've ever written - all of the speaking characters are original characters - so i'm a little nervous!

[aubriannepelipa]

#TWTOC; Snowfall

“Learn to enjoy every minute of your life. Be happy now. Don't wait for something outside of yourself to make you happy in the future. Think how really precious is the time you have to spend, whether it's at work or with your family. Every minute should be enjoyed and savored.” -Earl Nightingale

fic below the cut..

"Alright.” Aubrianne stated as she rattled the keys in front of the other girls. “I’ve got the keys for the Gryffindor rooftop from Eric.”

“Isn’t that...going to get us in trouble?” Elbiba asked, tugging softly on her sweater as she trembled with the fear of making the wrong decision. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Sappho rolled her eyes. “Oh come on. What’s a little trouble got to do with anything?” She told her as she took the keys from Aubrianne’s hand and made her way towards the rooftop door. Aubrianne and Saraswati followed closely behind her with Elbiba trailing behind them. Sappho looked behind her and unlocked the rooftop door.

“I’ll grabbed the candelabra.” Saraswati said before grabbing the candelabra on the desk beside her. She snapped her fingers to light the candles before she walked towards the front of the line. The girls moved to the right a little to clear a path for Saraswati. “Let’s go, before the Gryffindor ghost exposes the shit out of us.”

Aubrianne sighed a little. “Sir Nicholas won’t tell on us.” She told the girls. “I had him on Kaiser look out if someone exposes us to him.”

“What did you tell him?” Sappho asked.

Aubrianne lightly shrugged her shoulders. “I just told Sir Nicholas that he had to look out for a thousand year old man that has hypnotic dark blue eyes and is only shook if you give him a drawing of a giraffe.” Sappho laughed a little as Elbiba tapped Aubrianne’s shoulder. “Yes, Elbiba?”

“I still don’t like the idea of this, Aubrey...” She whispered as they walked up the stairs. “I mean, don’t you think that Kaiser would be mad at us if someone gets seriously hurt on the rooftop?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, Elbs.” Sappho interrupted Elbiba mid-sentence. “In fact, this is our sleepover not his.”

“Exactly.” Saraswati responded as she slightly looked behind her. “Our headmaster can’t and won’t get mad at us if he doesn’t notice that we’re gone and not in our beds.”

Sappho nodded in agreement.

“See, Elbs?” Aubrianne said. “There is nothing to worry about.”

Elbiba sighed and slowly nodded her head. “Fine, but I still don’t like the sound of this, girls.” She told them. “I don’t think that it’s a good idea but I agree with what you girls are saying. This is our sleepover. What’s the use of getting into some trouble if we’re just trying to get to know each other?”

“You’re getting it.” Sappho replied as Saraswati opened the rooftop door. The door squeaked a little as Saraswati pushed it open.

One by one the girls walked onto the rooftop and pulled out their wands to use a spell that Katya had told them about to keep themselves warm. Aubrianne went a little extra and performed a weather spell, just to make everything around them get covered with snow. Sappho and Saraswati started to throw snowballs at each other as it started to stick on the ground.

“How did you do that?” Elbiba asked.

“Here.” Aubrianne reached into her pocket to pull a piece of paper out so that she could hand it over to Elbiba. “But a little warning, Elbiba...”

“Yeah?” Elbiba responded.

“The spell is a little dangerous if your wand movements isn’t following what’s written on paper.” Aubrianne told her before joining the other girls. Elbiba joined in just a few seconds after.

The snowball fight between the girls lasted for a few hours and maybe a little into the midnight. They ducked or laughed as someone threw or got hit with a snowball.

Sir Nicholas, the Gryffindor ghost, kept Headmaster Kaiser occupied by juggling his head and his sword, just to make sure that the girls were doing something that they wanted to do and away from prying eyes.

He sighed and slowly rolled his eyes. “Is that all you’ve got?” He asked the ghost. “I haven’t got all day, you know.”

“Yes, I know, Headmaster Kaiser.” Sir Nicholas responded as he placed his head back on top of his shoulders. “But it’s just a minute of your time, headmaster.”

“Well, go on then.” He told the ghost. “I need to speak to my girls about the challenges that will lie ahead of them.”

“Of course, Headmaster.” The ghost spoke before telling him a tale from the past and what happened to him when he had died. The ghost’s tale as heartbreaking as the things that kept Elijah Kaiser’s fears getting wrapped under a rock. “What’s the matter, Headmaster?”

“Don’t you worry about me, Sir Nicholas.” He responded. “The only you thing that you have to worry about is the students.”

“I understand, Headmaster.” The ghost told Elijah. “The students’ safety is and always will be a priority of mine.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Good.”

As the girls threw snowballs at each other, Elbiba started to slowly lose her balance and tripped on the snowy ground and hit her head on the snow covered ground. The girls dropped their snowballs onto the ground when they’ve heard a loud noise. Aubrianne froze and stood there unable to speak as Saraswati looked towards Elbiba’s direction and screamed, alerting Headmaster Kaiser and the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas.

“Be quiet, Sara!” Sappho said, trying to calm Saraswati down. “We can fix this... We can fix this and it will seem like nothing has happened.”

“Can we, Saph?” Saraswati asked as she sat on her knees above Elbiba’s head and pulled her close towards her lap and into her arms, trying to keep Elbiba as warm as possible. “Can we fix this? And Aubrey, this was your spell. The one that was supposed to be for fun, so don’t just stand there. DO SOMETHING!”

Aubrianne didn’t respond. She was shaking and trembling from the accident. She couldn’t even breath a word. Elbiba’s fall was something that had happened before because Aubrianne and her twin brother, Joseph wasn’t twins to begin with. They were triplets. Three Gwyndor children. Three bright young wizards. She had a twin sister named Elisha who died when Joseph tried the same weather spell that Aubrianne had mastered at a very young age.

As soon as Aubrianne looked away, Headmaster Kaiser burst into the scene and saw Saraswati on the floor holding Elbiba in her arms. “What happened?” He said, as Sappho dropped her wand onto the ground. “What happened to Elbiba? Girls... What happened here?”

Saraswati held Elbiba’s hand before she moved it onto her wrist, placing two fingers on her wrist and her thumb behind her wrist to feel for a pulse. She felt nothing. Not a single pulse. “I don’t think that there’s something that we could do, Headmaster.” She told them as Sappho and Headmaster Kaiser made their way towards Saraswati and Elbiba.

“What are we going to do now?” Sappho asked Headmaster Kaiser before she turned her head over her shoulder and looked back at Elbiba.

Headmaster Kaiser took a glance at the two girls as they wept at the lost of their fellow Ilvermorny student. He looked around them and reached towards the piece of paper sticking out of Elbiba’s pocket and the wand in her hand. “I know this spell.” He uttered before standing up. “Aubrey... Do you know something about this? AUBREY!”

Aubrianne started to cry before running into the Gryffindor common room and then into the corridors, getting stopped by the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas and Eric Nohr along the way.

“Aubrey...” Professor Evangeline Caverly softly said, as grabbed Aubrianne’s arm. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s Elbiba.” She replied in between sobs. “She’s gone and it’s all my fault!”

“Sweetie.” Professor Caverly pulled slightly away from the hug. “Accidents happen all the time. This one just...went slightly out of hand. That’s all.”

[shell-senji]

Gajevy Week 2017: A Surreptitious Suitor, Chapter 5

Here’s chapter five of my Gajevy week story! (Chapter four is here.)

I know I keep thanking y’all, but seriously, I am so thankful and amazed at the reviews, likes, and reblogs. 

Read HERE on fanfiction.net.

                                  Day 6 Prompt: Grief

It was no secret to anyone in Fairy Tail that Levy McGarden could sleep through just about anything. It had been a long-standing joke among the members of Team Shadow Gear—that throughout the many jobs that had taken them across Fiore, Jet and Droy had searched high and low for an alarm clock that could rouse Levy. They joked that said alarm clock had yet to be made.

Thus, Erza made no attempts to be quiet when she confronted the not-so-stealthy Jet and Droy trying to sneak out of Fairy Hills one morning.

“Explain.”

Jet held up slightly shaking hands in appeasement. “Erza-san! G-g-gomennasai! We were only leaving a surprise for Levy.”

Droy nodded vigorously.

Erza didn’t look convinced. “You couldn’t have asked one of us to give it to her or put it in her room?”

They hung their heads and made noncommittal noises.

Though it woke the few remaining slumbering residents of Fairy Hills, the pain-filled cries of “itaiiii” failed to wake Levy.

Levy cracked open an eye to peer at the clock. Ten a.m. Could be worse.

She stretched and dragged herself out of bed, nearly tripping as the tangled sheets tried to come with her.

Gods I need coffee. I stayed up way too late last night reading.

Again.

One teeny downside to being a bookworm and working at a library was the almost infinite supply for her addiction.

Before she could mainline caffeine, a small potted plant on her desk caught her eye. It had dark green foliage and daisy-esque flowers with pale pink petals surrounding a pinkish-orange center.

She smiled at the cheerful little plant, which she assumed was a new gift from her secret admirer.

Who she hoped was Gajeel.

Feeling more awake than was normal pre-coffee, Levy decided to get her morning java at the guild, and it was difficult to keep a happy little skip out of her step as she went.

No sooner had she entered the guild than a stern-faced Erza stopped her.

“Levy, as the leader of Team Shadow Gear, you are responsible for making sure your team behaves appropriately. I let it slide with only minor punishment, but any further such grievances and I will not be so tolerant.”

Levy raised an eyebrow in confusion. “I… Um…” Though she had no clue what Erza was going on about, she decided it was best to simply smile and nod. Doing so, she added, “Of course, Erza. Thank you for letting me know.”

Satisfied, Erza smiled back and left Levy to—finally—get her much-desired coffee.

Steaming cup of heavenly bliss in hand, she made her way over to Jet and Droy’s table.

“So why exactly did I just get lectured by Erza?” she asked, sipping her coffee slowly. It was hot. And divine.

“We were sneaking you a surprise, Levy. I’m sorry,” Jet said, looking a bit like a kicked puppy.

“Did you see it? It’s a special cultivar, just for you! I call it ‘Levy Pink’ since it almost matches the one on your headband,” Droy said. “Argyranthemum frutescens1 usually require full sun and planting outside, but this one will be fine indoors as a houseplant. It’s easy to care for—”

Jet cut off Droy’s enthusiastic horticultural ramblings. “We thought you would like it, but we never intended to cause you any trouble. Hopefully she didn’t give you too much grief?”

Levy smiled gently and placed her hands on top of theirs. “I love it. It’s such a cheerful little plant, and it makes me so happy that you did it just for me. Thank you both.”

Their answering grins were so full of relief she couldn’t hold back a little giggle.

“And don’t worry about what happened with Erza. Except…maybe hold off on the sneaking in, okay?”

They nodded, and Levy went back to drinking her coffee.

Those two… I swear…

She really did love Jet and Droy, but like brothers, not anything more. And they seemed to have finally accepted that as well as her budding relationship with Gajeel, though the latter had taken some convincing.

An errant thought had her stomach churning unpleasantly.

They snuck me…a surprise… Oh no!

Levy kept her features schooled in a neutral expression and continued drinking her coffee. Inside, however, her mind was a veritable maelstrom of emotions.

Does that mean…the other mystery gifts…

Are they my secret admirers?

So the books weren’t from Gajeel after all?

No…surely… Surely if it had been them, Erza would have caught them sooner.

A sliver of doubt pushed back. Or maybe you just want to believe it was Gajeel, so you’re refusing to accept that it could have been them all along?

She swallowed hard around the golf ball-like lump that had formed in her throat.

Feeling hot tears prickling the backs of her eyes, she scolded herself mentally.

Cut it out, Levy. Stop acting like a kid. So what if Jet and Droy are your secret admirers? You know Gajeel likes you—sure, he moves at a glacial pace, but things are progressing! You’ve gone on several dates, shared a few kisses. This is not the end of the world.

“Levy-chan!” A singsong voice halted her self-chastising.

Forcing a smile, she looked up at Lucy. “Morning, Lu-chan!”

Lucy dropped into a seat next to her. Jerking a thumb at the still-subdued Jet and Droy, who had gone to browse the job board, Lucy asked, “What’s up with them?”

Levy laughed. “Oh, they got a dressing down from Erza for sneaking into Fairy Hills.”

Lucy joined her in laughing and wiggled her index finger back and forth in a “tsk-tsk” gesture.

“Upside is that now I’ve identified my mysterious admirer. Or should I say, admirers. You’ll have to come see the beautiful plant they gave me. Droy cultivated it just for me!”

The girls chattering away happily, they didn’t notice Pantherlily frowning in concern at Levy’s comments.

Padding away quietly as only a cat can, he found his friend observing a Natsu-Gray argument. No one was quite sure what this one was about.

“Gajeel.”

The iron dragon slayer looked down at the Exceed and waited patiently for him to continue.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Levy was just telling Lucy about her secret admirers Jet and Droy bringing her a plant today,” Lily spoke softly, knowing Gajeel would not want others in the guild to hear him.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Gajeel groaned. He shoved a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly.

“Do you want me—”

“Nah, I’ll figure somethin’ out. Thanks for the heads-up, Lily,” Gajeel said.

Lily nodded, though he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little concerned about what seemed to be an overly indirect tactic on Gajeel’s part.

I shouldn’t meddle. But if their happiness is on the line…

He mulled for a moment before deciding that for now, a wait-and-see approach would be best.

Deleted Scene

(The author apologizes in advance. It’s your choice whether to believe this happened during the story, or if it is simply the result of an overwrought brain. Should you wish to draw and quarter me, I will accept my punishment. But bear in mind that if you do, it means you won’t get the remaining chapters…)

 “Natsuuuuu! Why are we stopping here first?” Lucy asked as Natsu and Happy dragged her into the guild.

“Because I’m starving! Can’t start a job on an empty stomach!”

Happy nodded enthusiastically. “Aye!”

“Good grief, you two. You ate breakfast not an hour ago at my apartment!” The blonde glared at her partners, who’d plunked themselves at a table after giving Mira their orders.

Right on cue, both Natsu and Happy’s stomachs growled loudly.

Lucy sighed in defeat and sat down across from them. She started to comment when she noticed Levy staring at her.

“Oh, hi, Levy! Is everything okay?”

“Ne, Lu-chan, ever wonder about the origins of words or phrases?” Levy marked the page of the book she’d been reading and took a seat next to her friend.

Lucy gave an appreciative laugh. “Sure, all the time! But I think you and I might be unusual in that regard. What is it you’re wondering about?”

“The phrase ‘good grief’—excluding the idea of catharsis, not very many of us would think of grief as being a good thing,” Levy said.

“Hmm…good point…” Lucy tilted her head as she thought it over.

Around a mouthful of his second breakfast, Natsu asked, “Good grief… Ain’t that like Kobe?”

Lucy and Levy groaned and frowned at him.

“No, baka, that’s ‘good beef’.”

Natsu laughed. “Sorry, my bad.” He downed the last of his drink and slapped the tabletop. “Yoshi! Ready to go, Luce?”

Lucy waved to Levy as she hurried after her companions. “Bye, Levy-chan! You’ll have to let me know when you figure it out!”

Levy smiled and nodded, waving in return.

Author’s note: I wasn’t sure if I wanted to try to tackle full-blown angst in one chapter, plus I was uncertain about going there in this rather fluffy short story. So, I’ll back up my more lighthearted choices rather than traditional grief with a quote from Sappho—“There is no place for grief in a house which serves the Muse.” Given that my muse is finicky enough as is, who am I to argue??

Oh, and if anyone is wondering, “good grief” is what is known as a minced oath, believed to be substituting grief in place of “God.”

Footnotes:

1. Argyranthemum frutescens is also known as a marguerite daisy, and since it typically requires full sun (as Droy mentions), it wouldn’t be well suited as a houseplant—hence the need for Droy to cultivate an indoor one for Levy. While it does come in pink, to my knowledge no “Levy Pink” exists 😉

[aeide-thea]

i'm so sad! about what, we don't know. giving up on the idea that this relationship can be enough, maybe, but i can't even quite tell you what i mean by that, and even if it's true it's not the whole of the thing, just an irritant for the nacre to crust around. i miss C. i keep trying to invest things (school very lately, other things also) with meaning that i don't really, in my heart of hearts, believe they have; but how can you put real energy or work or hope into a life that is pointless? so maybe trying to believe in things is the right course after all, even if it is a deluded one.

+

how often do you have to be asked to a thing, and stare at the messages wishing so much that you felt you could go, or even respond—this is the safest warmth going, probably, you aren't going to get a better invitation, so if you can't manage this what hope have you got? Η πόλις θα σε ακολουθεί. you will keep disappointing people in the same ways, again and again, out of fear.

+

girlfriend is flying back to the east coast for a taiko convention, apparently—a little after valentine's day, not that that means anything. (B used to humor me in observing these things, and where did that get me? nowhere any better than this.) anyway once upon a dreamier time i would have tried to make that into something, maybe; would have thought, oh, i've been thinking wistfully about visiting j., i wonder if the two could be combined, maybe we could all get dinner or something? but where i am now is i learn something like this in passing and my heart lifts its head wearily like an old dog and then slumps back down again: there is nothing for you here, heart, nothing to get excited about. don't get your hopes up.

i am meant, i suppose, to stay centered in myself, and invest in myself, and, and, and… none of which feels possible or useful. nothing can grow here: the earth is salted. tempted to go to domina and say to her, how do you exist in this space that is meant to be sanctuary but makes it so bruisingly clear that we are never expected to be there in the room? i shopped a course on gender & sexuality in ancient greece yesterday; i might even take it. but how do you deal with being told archly, oh, for them it was perfectly normal to love both women and boys! unlike, you know, those freaks who do that today. and then in another class, talking about greek lyric and how much of sappho is reconstructed and saying, well, sometimes we have to supply gendered endings, so they could be male just as easily as female! so important always to prevent heterosexual erasure. why are these people so clumsily careless with our feelings, our selves? why do they get to be? and this is where i'm meant to seek balm for my bruising.

+

there is so little that's good in my life; and the small sweetnesses that could be nurtured into growth, i'm afraid to engage with & inevitably kill. thumb black as mood. how do you tell depression from a recurrent grinding hopelessness, a future you can't see or believe in, fits of crushing misery that come over you like weather? i want, so much, to be happy. (audacious declaration.) i keep clutching at things i think might get me there, and finding i don't get to have them after all, or else they aren't as solid, as nourishing as i thought. like that raccoon in the video, watching with helpless bewilderment as its cotton candy dissolves ungraspably into the water.

i want to curl into the side of a person i love, some safe harbor that doesn't exist, and lie quiet there. warmed, unscrutinized: that sounds like as much as i can imagine of happiness.

[valhallanrose]

Dream a Little Dream

Some soft and sweet goodness that’s been rolling around in my brain for a little while. Thank fuck for brain power no longer being reserved for finals week. 

2.2k. Cadenza belongs to @arcanecadenza

In the late hours of the night, Miriyam found herself standing by the open window, cigarette between her lips and the cold winter air making her damp cheeks flush with heat. 

She’d jolted awake only a few hours after she and Cadenza had fallen asleep, drenched in sweat and biting back a shout of fright to try and keep herself from waking her partner. She was trembling, but she slipped out of bed as carefully as she could, washing her face and resigning herself to a sleepless night watching the stars go by. 

Miriyam had been there a while longer before Sappho, snuggled up against a sleeping Cadenza’s chest as if to fill the space her person had left behind, stirred and made a chirping noise that drew Miriyam’s attention. She looked over, watching for a moment, keen eyes picking up the unsteady rise and fall of Cadenza’s chest and the way her face pinched slightly from the depths of her sleep. It made her pause mid drag, then frown deeply as she put out her cigarette, approaching the bed and nudging away the cat that was kneading at Cadenza’s chest the way she did to Miriyam when she had her own nightmares alone. 

“Peach?” She murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning over Cadenza as she stirred. Miriyam’s hand slipped up to cup her cheek, trying to gently wake her and brushing a single tear away with her thumb as it leaked from the corner of her eye. “Cadenza...Denza, darling, I’m here. You’re alright.”

Cadenza stirred a bit more, a whimper escaping her lips when Sappho dragged a sandpaper tongue across her freckled cheek. Miriyam’s hand slid down the side of Cadenza’s face, landing on her shoulder and giving it a gentle shake with whispered words. 

“Wake up, Denza, it’s just a dream. You’re perfectly safe, I promise.”

Honey-brown eyes snapped open after a few more moments, and Miriyam sat back as Cadenza sat up, gently rubbing her back and letting her catch her breath until she was at least outwardly calm enough for Miriyam to gently prod at her. Sappho was already climbing into Cadenza’s lap, letting her tangle her fingers in long fur with a loud purr of contentment. 

“There we are. Perfectly safe, see? Nothing to worry about.” Miriyam kissed Cadenza’s temple as she spoke, gently tucking some hair behind her ears. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.” Cadenza murmured, voice hoarse with sleep, and Miriyam just nodded and leaned back slightly.

“That’s completely fine. Why don’t we go downstairs, then, make some tea?” Miriyam offered a hand to Cadenza, patiently waiting for her to wrap herself up in blankets while grumbling about how the bedroom was too cold and why would Miriyam open a window in winter before Cadenza set her hand in Miriyam’s. 

The pair made their way downstairs, filling the silence with the soft sounds of preparing two cups of tea - Miriyam, for better or for worse, had become quite used to Cadenza’s absurdly long steeping times - and only when they sat together on the living room couch, the raven haired woman curled under Miriyam’s arm, did Cadenza break the silence between them both when she was ready to speak. 

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, no, I was already up.” Miriyam nudged her playfully with her knee, then kissed her temple between sips of tea. “Not that that should stop you from waking me up if you want the company.”

A dark brow lowered, and Cadenza sipped calmly at her tea, tone serious but undercut with a touch of amusement. “Like you do?”

Miriyam choked on her tea mid-sip, Cadenza chuckling quietly beside her as her cheeks flushed and she sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck. “Alright, alright...yeah, I deserved that.”

“You did.” Cadenza’s tone was matter-of-fact, so much so that it sounded out of place when juxtaposed against her sleep mussed hair and her cocoon of blankets she’d pulled from the bed.

“Mm, well...I’m getting better. I used to not even want to talk about them.” Miriyam gave Cadenza a gentle squeeze, resting her chin atop her dark curls as she pulled her in closer. “Not that they’re anything interesting in the grand scheme. Just memories...things I can’t let go of.”

Slowly, Cadenza nodded, a sigh escaping through her nose as she leaned into Miriyam’s embrace. “...mine, too. At least, tonight they were.”

Miriyam was quiet for a long moment, fingers stroking through Cadenza’s hair as they sipped at their tea together - Miriyam only wrinkling her nose as she reached the end of it where the taste seemed strongest - before she finally spoke up again. 

“Do you want to go back to bed? I don’t think I’ll fall asleep again, but...I’m happy to lay with you until you do.”

Cadenza mulled it over for a long while, leaning into Miriyam’s hand as she closed her eyes and let her gently scratch at her scalp, before she answered with a shake of her head. “No...I don’t think I want to go back to bed just yet. Perhaps I’ll read, I did get a new book recently…”

“Hm...no, I think we need something fun.”

“Reading is fun.”

“It is, but I’m pretty sure the book you bought is a text on animancy, and that feels like more work than leisure. Do me a favor and dress warm.” Miriyam smoothed her hands along Cadenza’s jaw, kissing her between her brows and giving her a gentle smile. “Very warm, actually. We’re going to go out.”

“Right now?”

Miriyam shrugged. “Not like we’re planning on going to sleep anytime soon. Come on, I want to try and show you something. You’ll probably want both your sweaters, the wind gets chilly, and I don’t think I can keep you that warm.”

She turned Cadenza around and playfully nudged her toward the bedroom despite her protests, closing the door behind her with a singsong tone in her voice. “I’ll meet you on the roof when you’re done!”

*     *     *     *     *

By the time Cadenza climbed up onto the roof, Miriyam had already changed - in the most literal sense, anyhow. 

She stood just far enough back from the edge of the roof to keep anyone from seeing her in her more draconic form, wings tucked neatly against her back and muscles flexing beneath scales as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. The wind was cool, but she was warm, even without extra layers, but she couldn’t help but laugh as she turned her head to look at Cadenza upon her approach. 

Not only the two sweaters - she was wearing gloves, hat, scarf, the thick coat she wore when walking about town, the fur lined boots Miriyam had bought her for her last birthday, most likely a few layers of tights to keep her legs warm...she wasn’t sure how Cadenza wasn’t boiling.

“What’d you do, put on every piece of winter clothing you own?”

“You said dress warm. I’m warm.” Cadenza tipped her head back to look up at Miriyam as she straightened from her crouched position, breath fogging around her mouth. “Where are we going?” 

Miriyam offered Cadenza a clawed hand, lips pulling into the sweetest smile her sharp-toothed mouth could manage. “Not too far, I promise, it’s just a bit easier to see if I fly...but only if you’re comfortable.”

She expected some sort of hesitation, as what she was offering wasn’t something they’d really discussed and Miriyam had only shown her this form a few times before, but she was pleasantly surprised when Cadenza set her gloved hand in Miriyam’s without a moment of pause. 

“I trust you.”

Miriyam’s smiled broadened, and she carefully scooped Cadenza up into her arms, holding her snugly against her chest with one arm hooked under her knees and the other around her back. She adjusted a few times, making sure Cadenza was comfortable and secure, before she kissed her temple and let her wings flare wide. 

“Hold on tight, peach.” She murmured, and Cadenza barely had time to throw her arms around Miriyam’s neck before the pair shot straight up into the air. 

Miriyam could hear the squeak Cadenza made, felt the way her arms tightened around her neck, and she waited - ever patient for Cadenza to relax a bit more, chuckling as she muttered to herself where her face was buried in Miriyam’s neck. 

“I change my mind, this was a terrible idea - what are we doing?” 

“Do you want me to put you down?” Miriyam offered, and Cadenza shook her head, refusing to lift her head from Miriyam’s neck.

“No, no, just...give me a minute. I think the idea of even a controlled fall several hundred feet to the ground is more terrifying than staying up here.”

The silver-haired woman chuckled, a deeper and raspier sound, and kissed the top of Cadenza’s head as they flew in lazy circles high above Miriyam’s home. “I promise it’s not so bad, Denza. We’re perfectly safe, just...take your time, and when you’re ready, I just want you to look down.”

“Look down? Do you want me to pass out?” Cadenza tipped her head back slightly to glare at Miriyam, and the latter snorted, kissing the pink-tinged nose that peeked out from over her scarf. 

“Well, no, but at least I’ll know I can’t take you on longer trips this way.”

Cadenza’s brows furrowed. “What makes you so sure I’ll want to do this again?”

Miriyam chuckled, nodding toward the view in front of them both as she turned a wide arc toward the heart of Vesuvia. “Because there’s a whole world of views like this that you can see if we do.”

With wind pulling at her hair and curiosity at her mind, Cadenza slowly turned her head - looking out instead of down, because down seemed like a terrible idea - and gasped aloud as Miriyam flew a leisurely course over the city. 

At this hour, the lamps were aglow, lining every path with a warm golden glow that stretched from the South End to the Heart District. The stragglers heading home at the end of the night looked like specs, the buildings like dollhouses, the canals like stretches of dark silk in the calm of the night...and she could hear the music rising up from the bars and taverns, swatches of sounds she did and didn’t recognize as they passed overhead. It felt impossible to describe, in some ways, but perhaps that made sense for something she’d never considered possible to see in her own lifetime. 

Miriyam could feel her relaxing the longer they flew together, and eventually, Cadenza turned wide eyes 

“Is this what the world really looks like for you?”

Miriyam considered that for a heartbeat, taking in Cadenza’s flushed cheeks and the gleam of excitement in her eye as she devoured every sight and sound she could, and with all the seriousness she could muster she nodded. 

“My world does look like this.” She murmured, kissing Cadenza’s forehead before finally turning her gaze back to Vesuvia. “It makes Vesuvia feel so small, doesn’t it? Seeing it all from up here.”

“It looks like a toy set.” 

“Imagine a massive Ribbit wreaking havoc on it and it’s certainly more amusing.”

Cadenza laughed quietly, shaking her head as Miriyam continued with a smile of her own. 

“...I started coming out here when my nightmares made the bedroom feel suffocating. Took a lot of trial and error, learning to fly, and I certainly had more than a few ungraceful landings, but it’s something I’m grateful for. It reminds me that no matter how small my memories make me feel, that it’s all perspective - I made Vesuvia feel smaller than I felt, and I felt a little lighter. It’s silly and childish perhaps, but...it helps.”

Miriyam turned golden eyes on Cadenza, nuzzling her nose against hers.

“There are views more lovely than this. I think you’d love the southern lights, if I took you to the Scourgelands or the Crab Isle. Of course, nothing can compare to you,” Miriyam grinned as Cadenza groaned and smacked her shoulder, “but if your nightmares get to be too much, and you need a bit of an escape…”

Miriyam nodded out toward the city skyline, slowly being illuminated by the first rays of dawn for as long as they’d spent out in the sky. 

“...this is yours, too. All you need to do is ask.”

Cadenza had grown steadily quieter, and when she audibly yawned, Miriyam glanced down, lips pulling up into a smile at her sleepy expression.

“Do you want to go back?”

When Cadenza shook her head, yawning and tucking her head into Miriyam’s neck, Miriyam chuckled and smiled. “Alright...one more lap, and then to bed with both of us.”

Miriyam felt Cadenza shift ever so slightly, pressing a kiss to her jaw and whispering a quiet ‘Thank you’ that made her heart roar its delight as she bid her pleasant dreams. 

View be damned - the most precious piece of her world was right here.