#sappho types things

[sappho-favourite-pupil]

hi I saw you wondering about the difference between buffalo and American bison :D some people do call bison "buffalo" colloquially but true buffalo are actually found in sub-saharan Africa and south/south-east Asia, while bison are found only in North America and a very small portion of Eastern Europe. bison are a lot more closely related to cows than buffalo are, and they tend to have much smaller horns and more hunched backs than buffalo do!

this is a European bison (first image) and an American bison (second)

compared to an African buffalo (first image) and a water buffalo (second image)

Thankkk you 🥰

This is something i knew but kinda forgot for some reason 🫴🏻🩷

#sappho would be proud of me #dykeposting #it also exists a type of buffalo in south italy #they do a special kind of mozzarella with its milk #it's the best thing ever ✨

[brittlebutch]

going two layers deep in a fantasy to 1) a world where the bird trading cards from that make some noise prompt are real and then 2) world where they have insect trading cards of the same variety

#N posts stuff #‘i’ll trade you three acorn weevils for your sappho underwing’ type shit #my parents have been pushing me to think about going back to school for a different bachelors or perhaps a masters #i like bugs a lot but i also can never quite tell if i’m ‘smart enough’ or interested in the right things for a entomology degree #always default back to the internal acknowledgement that my interest is a lot more Visual than intellectual #so no degree. but then the thought pattern always leads back into ‘it would be So nice to have a bunch of insect cards that you could sort #and collect and rearrange and all’ such a thing isn’t real i think #but actually it could be if i wanted it to be actually; i do really enjoy drawing/painting insects #only i haven’t done any art in goddamn Months there’s been a gray void in that area of my brain instead #but hey maybe one day i guess ; but first i’d have to finish this painting one of my brothers asked for Months and Months ago oops #you might realize that we lost the thread on getting a second degree entirely. i usually do; it’s hard to feel like it’s worth the effort #and all the alterations to my schedule when my first degree turned out essentially useless lmao. #so that just makes me want to go a layer deeper in the fantasy to a world where i could learn just to learn instead of needing to be #some vague and esoteric notion of ‘employable’. alas.

[spicysucculentz]

I love you poetry. I love you ancient literature. I love you classic art. I love you sappho. I love you catullus. I love you poems that perfectly articulate the most raw feelings and experiences I’ve ever had. I love you poems that reinforce that there have been billions of humans that have come before me and so many who have all felt the same things I am feeling. I love you feeling comforted by the fact that out of everyone who has ever lived there are so many who understand. I love you poems that make me feel seen. I love you poems that resonate with me. I love you poems that make me realize that a woman in 600 bce felt the same things that I am feeling.

#spicy speaks #reread all of sapphos fragments yesterday #got me feeling some type of way #we’ve all gone through times and thought ‘no one understands what I’m going thru’ but yes!! people do!! #out of the billions of human beings who have come before us #so many of them have been through the same things #felt the same things #there is no original experience #there is humanity #and the human experience #we aren’t all that different #sappho #Catullus #poetry

[cupidlovesastro]

✨⭐️asteroids in astrology & their meaning⭐️✨

20 asteroids (not in a particular order).

💫these are just the general ideas for each asteroid 💫

☆juno- marriage, what kind of partner you are, what you’re looking for in a partnership

☆eros- sexual desires, passion, turn ons, attractions, erotic love

☆ceres- parenting, fertility, reproduction,nourishment , agriculture , womanhood

☆pallas- strength, courage, intelligence, wisdom, victory

☆sappho- romance, art, bonding, aesthetics, friendships, emotions in love, same sex love

☆vesta- goals, aspirations, devotion, what keeps you going, things that are most important to you

☆psyche- psychology, your soul, where you can find yourself, the mind

☆eris- standing for what you believe, rebellion, bravery, prevailing

☆hygeia- medicine, health, cleansing, healer/ healing, self care

☆makemake- care for the environment, environmental health/ protection, activism for the environment

☆sedna- isolation , rebellion, separation, abandonment, war, betrayal, rejecting growth, arrogance

☆pholus- turning points, changes, catalyst, curing addiction, things being out of reach

☆chariklo- miracle, destiny, compassion, spiritual awakening, astral travel, self care, self respect

☆haumea- connection to the world around you, trust in the universe

☆spirit- your spirit/ spirituality, spirit guides, your psychic abilities

☆cupido- how you fall in love, how fast you fall in love, the type of people we crush on, why we crush on them

☆alma- positive look on romance and love, expanding your heart, soulmate connections

☆amor- affection, intimacy, love lives, ideal love, relationships

☆metis- wisdom, practicality, issuing your intelligence to master skills, strategy, problem solving

☆valentine- sacrificial kind of love, deep bonding, love language

#astro observations #astro posts #astro chart #astro community #astrology #astro placements #astroblr #astronomy #zodic signs #zodiac #zodiac shit #aries #leo sign #sagittarius #taurus #virgo zodiac #virgo #capricorn #pisces #cancer sign #scorpio #aquarius #libra zodiac #gemini #asteroids #asteroid juno #beauty asteroids #asteroid in love #asteroid ceres

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

Sapphic vampire fiction mini reviews, ranked from least favorite to most:

House of Hunger: Bland characters, a story that barely scratches the surface of the implications of its premise, and a central relationship with nothing underpinning it make for an aimless story with a climax that hits like a limp noodle. If the dynamic between a vampire and her indentured maid appeals to you, try The Wicked and the Willing instead.

An Education in Malice: For a Carmilla retelling, the titular character really lacks bite. Laura at least has some interesting contradictions in her, and De Lafontaine could be quite compelling if we saw things through her eyes, but the central relationship isn't built on a lot, and Carmilla herself is really disappointingly bland. The prose comes off as overwrought and melodramatic in the first act, and the constant leaning on poetry feels gratuitous, but it picks up steam and becomes appropriately gripping by the one-third mark, and it carries the book enough that I had an enjoyable but rather shallow experience. I struggle to think of a reason to recommend this over In the Roses of Pieria, which plays with similar thematic and aesthetic elements much more adeptly. Also, it's a pet peeve of mine when a story makes a point to establish a specific historical era for its setting but has characters that feel utterly modern.

The Deathless Girls: This book does a much better job with its sense of time and place, and the characters and their motivations are quite strong. I only rate this one low on this list because the main characters don't actually deal with vampirism as a condition until the very end of the book. On its surface, the premise might seem quite similar to A Dowry of Blood, but there's actually very little thematic or narrative overlap.

Ex-Wives of Dracula: An excellent exploration of the queer teenage experience in conservative small town ~2015 USA along with some pretty novel twists on vampire and horror movie tropes. Strong, vibrant characters with a rich, messy, and compelling relationship carry a solid mystery plot and some pretty pointed critiques of its setting, but the actual climax and resolution don't quite hold up to the quality of the rest. Also I simply must warn anyone who didn't grow up in the time and place this book explores about the profound and casual bigotry and nastiness of that setting, which this book replicates to a T.

The Wicked and the Willing: A thrilling and compelling dark romantic drama centered on a British vampire in 1920s Singapore, her newly hired and desperate to escape poverty personal maid, and her majordomo who is struggling to keep her conscience under control after years of aiding and abetting her mistress's dark appetites. Extremely strong character writing pairs with deft exploration of themes of colonialism, entitlement, class divisions, sexism, and the ways in which certain types of status can and cannot afford one leeway to be nonconforming in other ways. Intermixes diagetic and non-diagetic BDSM very organically also, if that's your thing.

In the Roses of Pieria: Rich prose dripping with atmosphere follows an obscure academic as she digs into a series of ancient correspondences and discovers a millenia spanning love story between two vampires. The character writing is solid, if not quite as impressive as some other entries on this list, but the quality of the prose more than elevates it. The text makes elegant and powerful references to Sappho throughout, and the whole experience is heady and compelling in ways that I struggle to describe in greater detail. Funnily enough, the vampires are the least interesting part of the world building. This one has a sequel coming, and I can't wait.

A Dowry of Blood: A darkly enchanting epistolary novel that takes the form of letters written by the first of Dracula's wives to him as she attempts to make peace with killing him. She unpicks a delicious and horrifying knot of feeling and history as she revisits their millenia together, recounting and reckoning with the manipulations and abuses that defined the good times and the bad. The characters are evocative and rich, the narrative voice by turns sparse, longing, furious, contemplative, and mournful, and the story simply springs to life. It accomplishes an incredible amount in approximately 200 pages, and I absolutely cannot recommend this one enough.

#the wlw review #im sure there are countless more sapphic vampire stories #but these are the ones ive read #ignoring a few outliers that don't really explore vampirism

[under-olympos-bodhi-tree]

I once fell asleep reading Sappho's poetry and dreamed of her. She looked like she does in all the old artwork, and in my dream we were sitting on a beach watching the sunset with my head on her lap. She was wearing a beautiful green silky dress and her hands ran through my hair.

As the sun set and the stars came out, I saw the gods in the constellations above, and then Sappho told me to lift my head and I looked up at her. She looked like a painting come to life. She smiled at me, and indicated for me to look back at the stars.

This is the part where my dream becomes funny because I am a goofy silly girl who fell asleep at my desk studying old poems too hard, because in my dreams, Sappho opened the cheat console like we were playing Half Life, and typed in something like christianity_status_0 and just like that, disabled Christianity in humanity. No wars of religion or battles over things, just disabled it, no more Christianity.

I woke up with a stupid big smile on my face XD

#sappho #hellenism #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #aphrodite #(by extension) #dreams

[weemssapphic]

I desire. And I crave.

part one

Jane Murdstone x fem!reader

series page

summary: Jane Murdstone suffers from Hanahaki Disease. The object of her affections? Her lady’s maid. Too bad she would rather feel the cold embrace of death than confess her feelings. ~ For those unfamiliar with the Hanahaki Disease trope: HD is a (fictional, lol) disease where someone begins coughing up flower petals because they have unrequited feelings for someone. If not treated, the disease is fatal. Treatment is either a. the feelings become requited, or b. surgery (the caveat here is that the feelings for that person disappear entirely).

words: ~5k, ao3 link

chapter-specific warnings: slight angst/angst with a happy ending, Hanahaki Disease, blood, mentions of death/near-death experience, fear of death, unrequited love (or is it), hints of soft!Jane but also angry!Jane

That man to me seems equal to the gods,             the man who sits opposite you             and close by listens             to your sweet voice

            and your enticing laughter—             that indeed has stirred up the heart in my breast.             For whenever I look at you even briefly             I can no longer say a single thing,

            but my tongue is frozen in silence;             instantly a delicate flame runs beneath my skin;             with my eyes I see nothing;             my ears make a whirring noise.

            A cold sweat covers me,             trembling seizes my body,             and I am greener than grass.             Lacking but little of death do I seem.

Sappho 31

Jane Murdstone doesn’t have a soft spot for anyone. She prides herself on her calculating, cunning manner, takes joy in inciting just a little bit of fear in those she comes in contact with. A little healthy intimidation keeps people on their toes - and, in Jane’s mind, there is nothing worse than a person who is lazy or slow-witted.

No, Jane doesn’t have a soft spot for anyone. Except perhaps her lady’s maid. And only a little bit, really. It’s just that Jane has rarely met anyone who is able to keep with her like you are. 

What had first endeared her to you had been how quickly you’d caught on to your duties when you’d been hired, and how extremely meticulous you are - outshining any other maid or servant she’d ever employed with your eye for detail. 

What has her swooning (if, of course, she were even the type to swoon, which she isn’t, thank you very much), is realizing how your intelligence and quick-wit rival her own. 

She has often even caught you smiling slightly when she’s made a cutting, sarcastic remark towards another servant. Others cower in fear (which has an appeal all of its own), but you are unphased, seeming to appreciate her wit like no one else - it makes Jane’s heart flutter in a most unfamiliar way.

Today, Jane sits at her vanity, allowing you to pin up her hair for the day. She watches you in the mirror - you avoid her gaze, focusing intently on ensuring not a single hair is out of place, which gives her the freedom to stare. Her eyes track your movements, the painstaking way in which you push each pin into place, the concentrated way in which your pink tongue darts out ever so slightly and your brow furrows as you work.

Her gaze lingers on that tongue of yours, between full, soft lips, and Jane feels a warmth spread through her core. Her entire body tingles as your fingers brush against the nape of her neck, the gentle touch sending a shiver down her spine. She curses internally at herself - she should not be having such sinful feelings or thoughts about a maid. But you aren’t just a maid, are you?

She knows that her feelings aren’t professional. But you don’t seem interested in her anyway, only engaging in conversation when spoken to (although, really, that is what Jane had initially requested) - and you’re young, anyway, much younger than she is. She realizes she hasn’t had many personal conversations with you - she certainly doesn’t know where your interests lie. Men, women? Perhaps both? She allows herself to get lost in her musings, to indulge in the thoughts of lustful fantasies that will never come to fruition.

You push the final pin into place and look up, catching Jane’s eye in the mirror. Your eyes widen and your cheeks flush, and Jane quickly averts her gaze.

“Is it to your liking, milady?” comes your voice, slightly timid and perhaps a bit breathless.

“It’ll do,” Jane replies airily, regarding herself in the mirror. Of course it is to her liking - she has never felt more beautiful since you’ve come into her service - her previous lady’s maid had never been able to do her hair just right (her work, in general, had been so sloppy compared to yours).

As Jane rises to her feet, her thoughts, regrettably, lingering on you, she feels a tickle in the back of her throat. She begins to cough. It takes several seconds for the cough to ease up, and when it does there is a strange burning in her lungs that has her pressing her hand to her chest.

She turns to find your hesitant gaze upon her.

“Are you feeling ill, milady? Shall I make you a mustard plaster?”

Jane scoffs. She doesn’t feel ill. “Don’t be absurd, girl. It will pass. Fetch me some pepper tea and begin the rest of your duties, before you fall behind.”

“Yes, of course, milady. Right away.” You nod curtly, your gaze still curious and uncertain, before turning on your heel and hurrying down to the kitchens. Jane scolds herself for the longing she feels for your presence as soon as you vacate the room, shaking her head lightly and perching at her vanity to await your return, her throat beginning to tickle with another cough.

~~~

You’ve been working as a lady’s maid for Jane Murdstone for close to two years now - and they have been, for the most part, the most comfortable years of your life. After a bit of a rocky start (it had taken you quite a bit of time to be able to properly decipher Jane’s moods and get used to her cold demeanor and cutting, sometimes even cruel remarks) you’d settled into your routine and even gotten to like the abrasive woman.

She isn’t exactly kind to you - you aren’t sure if she’s ever been kind to anyone in her life - but she doesn’t seem to show quite as much disdain towards you as she does towards the other servants. She seems to recognize your diligence and intelligence, traits that she appears to value, and though she’s never openly thanked you for anything, she sometimes gives you a look of approval when you manage to anticipate her needs without her having to speak them aloud. That look alone always makes your heart beat just a little faster.

In turn, you admire her quick wit and sharp tongue, her ability to use words as a weapon and find a smart response to anything within a matter of seconds - you wish you possessed these traits, although you sometimes wish she would go a bit easier on others, particularly the other servants. 

You adore her intelligence and share her love for poetry (sometimes, she asks you to read to her and, recently, she has occasionally started to ask your opinion on certain lines - it makes you nervous, but you would do anything to please her). 

And she is beautiful. Her silky raven hair accentuates the icy blue of her eyes and her fair skin, while her unusual height and soft curves never fail to bring a flush to your cheeks. You often wonder how she hasn’t found a husband yet - if you were a man, you’d have already asked her hand in marriage long ago. There must have been suitors in her youth - you imagine a young Jane Murdstone, fresh-faced and innocent, and you shiver. She likely thinks herself too good for the likes of some foolish man, you think. Which she is, of course…

Pinning up her long, dark tresses always brings you more joy than you care to admit. Sometimes, if your mistress appears to be in a particularly pleasant mood, you allow your fingers to linger in the lush locks, taking your time with each and every wave. It is almost a sensual experience for you, though you would never admit it out loud. Definitely not to Jane herself.

When you finish with her hair and look up to find her regarding you in the mirror, you worry she has sensed your dawdling and is gearing up to reprimand you. Her response, however, indicates she is pleased with your work (you’ve learned that “it’ll do” is often the highest praise you’ll receive from your mistress, and, for that, it makes your heart swell).

A brief coughing fit causes you concern, and, of course, Jane refuses to allow you to properly care for her. It is not your place to argue, though, so you do as you’re told and scamper down to the kitchens. You leave the cup of tea on Jane’s vanity, then dismiss yourself to begin patching up a dress that Jane had requested you fix.

~~~

Jane’s cough appears to worsen over time, though she doesn’t necessarily appear ill. It puzzles you as much as it troubles you - she refuses every attempt from your side at finding a cure, be it a home remedy or allowing the doctor to stop by.

You decide to do something kind for her to ease her worries - you can sense the cough is beginning to perplex her as well, though she doesn’t say anything. Rising early, well before you are to assist Jane with dressing, you sneak into the gardens, intending to pick some flowers for your mistress.

Your eyes immediately land on the white phlox decorating the garden path. You are painfully aware that Jane is well-versed in the language of flowers, as ladies of her status often are, and would likely assign a meaning to whatever bloom you gift her, so you must be cautious. White phlox seem safe enough - pure intentions, honest commitment, faithfulness - all sentiments that can easily be written off as your devotion as a servant, with little room for misinterpretation.

Methodically snipping off a fistful of flowers near the edge of the flowerbed, where they won’t be missed, you find a small, ornate vase for the blooms and carry the bouquet carefully up to Jane’s bedroom.

You knock, as you do every morning, waiting for Jane’s smooth voice to call out “you may enter” before slipping in through the door.

“Good morning, milady.” You curtsey as best you can with the vase held firmly in your hands. “I brought you a small gift.”

Icy blue eyes fall to the bouquet, widening ever so slightly. You think you see a blush creep up her cheeks, though you quickly write it off as a trick of the light - you’ve never seen your mistress blush before.

“What’s the occasion?” Her eyes don’t leave the bouquet as she speaks, and she takes a step towards you as if transfixed.

“None, milady. I wanted to give you a token of my appreciation, is all. You have been very good to me in my time here - I hope the flowers can brighten your day.” You try not to blush or stutter as you speak, though Jane’s impenetrable gaze (that has begun to track every inch of your face) makes this difficult for you.

She is silent for a moment, as if allowing your words to sink in, her face an impassive mask. Finally, she speaks.

“They are very pretty.” She clears her throat. “Please place them on my nightstand.”

Her lips curve upward, stretching timidly towards her ears as she watches you follow her orders, and your heart races. When you turn back to face her again you can sense a hint of admiration shining through in those piercing eyes of hers, and it makes you giddy.

~~~

Jane’s cough is persistent. It doesn’t ease up as the days and weeks go on, and Jane wonders if maybe she should see a doctor, or allow you to try some other form of home remedy - even though she appears not to have any other symptoms of illness. These worries are always brief in nature, however, and she manages to push the thoughts of illness far from her mind. Until one morning just after you’ve left her bedroom, having brought her a small bouquet of white phlox from the garden.

As she admires the flowers, her thoughts drifting to the faint blush that had colored your cheeks as you’d gifted them to her, Jane feels a weight on her chest, accompanied by a light tickle at the back of her throat. The tickle quickly turns into a scratch and before she knows it, she begins to cough again. She covers her mouth and when she pulls her hand away, there is a single tiny, white petal nestled in her palm. She recognizes the petal immediately - it looks just like the petals of the phlox that decorate her nightstand. 

She furrows her brow. It can’t be… She shakes the thought from her head as quickly as it comes, tucking the petal into the drawer of her nightstand - she knows no one would dare open it - and clears her throat, the scratchy feeling already fading.

~~~

You are lacing up Jane’s corset as usual, trying to tamp down the blush that dusts your cheeks when your fingertips occasionally brush against Jane’s back. Unable to help yourself, you allow your fingers to linger just a moment longer - too long. Jane stiffens under your touch and you wonder if you’ve pushed too far, but then she begins to cough and sputter and you drop the laces of the corset as if burned. 

“Milady… are you alright?” you ask apprehensively, concerned by the exaggerated heaving of Jane’s chest. 

“Leave,” she rasps out, raising her hand to cover her mouth. You stand rooted to the spot, too worried to heed Jane’s warning - and you are sure it was a warning. 

“You insolent girl, I said leave!” she croaks, not sparing you a glance. The venom in her voice between coughs surprises you and spurs you into action - you rush out of the room, not daring to linger long enough to curtsey, shutting the door behind you. Jane’s coughs can be heard just a moment longer, before they begin to subside.

You return to your own chambers, pacing nervously as you wait for further instruction - the rest of your morning duties would involve tidying your lady’s chambers, but you are almost certain you aren’t currently welcome there. 

A knock shortly thereafter causes you to bolt to the door, smoothing your skirt before opening it just a crack. You feel a weight on your chest when you see the younger chambermaid, Emily, standing before you. 

“Hello, Miss. I am to inform you that Miss Murdstone is not feeling well today. She does not require your presence and requests you do not attend to her chambers,” Emily says timidly. 

You stare at her in shock. “O-okay.”

Emily digs around in her apron and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “I am to give you this as well, so you’ll have alternative duties to perform.”

Numbly, you take the paper, thanking Emily who nods in sympathy and turns to leave. You unfold the paper and scan the list - they are tedious duties, busy-work, and you are sure you will be finished quickly; things like replacing the water in the flower vases, dusting the books in the library, fixing up a loose thread in the sleeve of your mistresses overcoat.

You carry out these duties with a heavy heart, trying to keep your mind from wandering to Jane, from wondering what is wrong with her and why she won’t allow you to attend to her. The last time she was ill, you’d been asked to wait on her hand and foot, bringing her medicine and water and reading to her at her bedside. You wonder if you’ve done something to offend her - the thought alone makes you sick with worry.

~~~

Days turn into weeks and Jane withdraws more and more. You have come to expect a list of daily duties waiting for you by Jane’s door - you are no longer given permission to enter her bedroom, a room which Jane now seldom exits. 

Rumors about Jane’s illness spread amongst the servants - you, being her lady’s maid, are eyed curiously by the others at mealtimes, though no one dares to question you about the mysterious cough that has Jane retreating from society, not showing up to supper and refusing any form of sustenance that is brought up to her bedroom.

One morning, you see Emily exit Jane’s chambers. At first, your blood boils - why is Emily given permission to enter Jane’s chambers, and you aren’t? What’s so special about Emily? What have you done to displease Jane?

Then your eyes drop to the bedsheets that Emily carries. Brilliant white, dotted with specks of deep red. You feel as though your heart drops all the way down to your feet - you are certain it would drop even further if that were at all possible. Your mind races - that can’t be blood? If it is… then Jane is more ill than you’d thought. 

Your stomach churns and you make eye contact with Emily, who doesn’t bother to hide the worry on her face as she rushes past you, attempting to shield the sheets from view. You consider pestering Emily about Jane’s condition, however your pride is too great - you would have to admit that Jane no longer trusts you enough to speak with you, let alone see you. You are sure everyone knows by now anyway, but you refuse to admit it aloud.

You perform your duties half-heartedly and with a hollow pit in your stomach, often lingering outside Jane’s bedroom door when no one else is around. Occasionally you hear fits of coughing, and they often sound strangled, as if she is choking on something.

The first few times, you call out to her, asking if she is alright. At first, she asks you to leave, in a harsh yet utterly spent tone. After a while, she stops responding at all - and then, even later, you stop asking, choosing to simply lurk for a moment before carrying on with your day. 

It is a random Tuesday when you decide to try again - you bring a cup of her favorite tea, clinging to a tiny tendril of hope that she will be pleased at your thoughtfulness. You knock on Jane’s bedroom door, receiving no answer. 

“Milady, I have brought you some tea. May I come in?”

Still, no answer.

“I’ll just come in for a moment to leave the tea with you, milady.”

You push open the door as you’re speaking and walk up to Jane’s bedside, determined. If Emily can, then so can you, you think. 

Jane is livid.

You barely have a moment to appraise her, to assess the state of her illness, before rage settles over her features. She pushes herself up from the bed with great effort, closing the short distance between the two of you and ripping the porcelain cup out of your hands. The dark liquid sloshes over the rim of the cup and stains the rug underneath your feet - Jane either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“Get. Out.” Jane grits out, her voice scratchy like sandpaper, and you shrink back, taking slow, tentative steps backwards towards the door. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat - you have rarely seen Jane in such a blind rage, and it has never been directed at you before. 

“Please, milady, I only wish to help! If you could just-”

“NOW!” Jane bellows, lifting the hand that holds the teacup. You know she is about to throw it - you rush out the door, closing it behind you as the cup smashes against the wood, shattering instantly. 

That night, you have trouble sleeping. The shattering of the porcelain still rings in your ears, the fury on Jane’s face at the mere sight of you is imprinted on the back of your eyelids when you close your eyes. Your heart aches, grieving for Jane’s health - and for the loss of Jane’s presence in your life.

A few weeks after the incident, you overhear a conversation in hushed tones behind the closed door of Mr. Murdstone’s office that brings tears to your eyes:

“-sister. Is she still ill?” It is the voice of Mr. Browning, a business associate of Mr. Murdstone.

“Gravely, I’m afraid.” The usually impassive Mr. Murdstone, who has never sounded anything less than harsh and confident, clears his throat - his voice has wavered and this alone alarms you greatly.

“Is there a prognosis?”

“She refuses to allow anyone to see her, even her lady’s maid. I am unsure of the nature of the illness but it seems-” he clears his throat again. “-it seems she won’t make it past the turn of the season.”

You turn away from the door - you’ve heard enough. Bile rises in your throat, and your knees buckle as your legs threaten to give away underneath you - you take unsteady steps to your room, allowing yourself a moment to break down in the solace of your bed as the tears you’ve managed to keep at bay begin to fall, staining the pillow beneath your head like a patchwork of droplets.

~~~

Jane knows what’s wrong. No one else may know it, but Jane knows it, and it fills her with a sense of dread she’s never felt before.

At first she’d thought nothing of her cough. But once the petals began expelling themselves from her throat, she knew. Hanahaki Disease was rare, but she’d seen it in action before. She always thought herself above it all - she wasn’t one to give her heart out so easily, she wasn’t foolish enough to feel something for someone who didn’t want her. And, since no one wanted her, it was quite easy not to want in return.

But she’d overestimated herself. And she’d allowed herself to show softness, to show weakness. She’d allowed herself to fall in love. 

It had slipped through her grasp, that pesky feeling, trickling smoothly through the hairline cracks in her metaphorical armor like a tiny stream, going entirely unnoticed until it was too late.

And now, she is paying the price. Of course, Jane thinks bitterly as she sits at the edge of her bed, recovering from a particularly harsh coughing fit, glowering down at the petals in her hand as if they’d personally aggrieved her. Of course she would fall for the one person she can’t have. Someone who holds no love for her in their heart. 

A fitting end for cruel, cold Jane Murdstone. Dying unwanted and unloved, just as she’d always been. In her weakest moments she allows herself to succumb to her longing for you, imaginary scenarios running through her head of the two of you, happy - of a world where you love her and where she isn’t faced with her impending demise.

As she thinks of you, she begins to cough again. It hurts, as if thick, thorny vines are encircling her lungs, tightening in a vice-like grip with each passing day. The petals come out in a steady stream - they feel like shards of glass, cutting at her throat from the inside. A metallic taste fills her mouth and, as she looks down at the heap of tiny, snowy petals, she sees droplets of blood staining them red.

Jane hides the petals in the drawer of her nightstand, each new petal accompanying the last. She feels silly doing so - shameful even - and it places a heavy burden on her heart that weighs her down like lead. But if no one finds the petals - at least not while she is still alive - then she doesn’t have to bare her shame, her cowardice, for the world to see - for you to see.

And she vows never to let you see her like this - you must never find out. She cannot bear to witness the concern in your eyes when she feels unwell - it causes her great guilt, to think she may be a source of worry or pain in your life. She also cannot bear the thought of your disgust at her unrequited and entirely unwanted feelings towards you. Even if it means she must be cruel to you. Even if it means she must ignore your attempts to reach out, or channel her fear into rage. Even if it means she may never see you again.

There is a surgical procedure, she recalls, to rid oneself of Hanahaki Disease - with the price of ridding oneself entirely of the feelings causing the disease. Jane considers it, but she knows that in order to get treatment, she would have to admit to her unrequited feelings, in front of her brother, no less. The thought is humiliating. And there is a weight on her chest when she thinks of forgetting her love for you - something that, despite being the reason for her dismal state, has brought her a joyful reprieve from the dull ache of her general contempt for everyday life.

So she shuts you out. She shuts everyone out. She will die alone, and spare herself the inevitable heartbreak and humiliation. It is the only way. 

~~~

You are woken early in the morning - earlier than usual - by a persistent knocking at the door to your chambers. For a moment you think you’ve overslept, but you quickly realize that isn’t the case. You blink the sleep out of your eyes and comb through your hair with your fingers to make yourself more presentable, then pad over to the door and open it. There’s Emily again, a grave expression on her face that makes your stomach twist and causes you to lose any sense of formality.

“What is it, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Miss Murdstone, she’s not well. Mr. Murdstone has requested your company at her bedside immediately.”

Your heart sinks and it feels as though ice is sluicing through your veins.

“T-thank you. I will be right there.”

Emily nods and bids you farewell, and you rush about your chambers to get dressed for the day - you doubt Jane would appreciate you giving up all sense of propriety and turning up in your night clothes. You pull your hair back, pinning it haphazardly in place before starting off towards Jane’s chambers, your walk turning into a jog turning into a run. You catch your breath at her door before knocking. 

Once.

Twice.

There’s no answer.

“Milady? I’m coming in,” you call, trying (and failing) to control the tremble in your voice.

Entering her chambers, your eyes fall to the bed and you realize why you hadn’t received an answer. Jane lies on her back, eyes closed, cheeks sunken in. She looks like she has lost quite a bit of weight, surely a product of her missing meals for the past weeks. She is deathly pale and as you approach her with caution, you see the sheen of sweat on her brow. Her dark, matted locks spill over the pillow and stick to the perspiration on her neck.

“Milady? How are you feeling?” You drag the stool from her vanity to the bedside and settle down timidly, eyes raking over her weak form.

Her pale eyelashes flutter against her cheeks - you can tell she’s trying to open her eyes. Even in this state, gaunt and sickly, she looks hauntingly beautiful to you, so much so that it claws at your heart.

A cough racks her body, her shoulders shaking violently, her chest heaving. Her head lolls to the side and her mouth falls open as she coughs up a steady stream of small, white phlox petals.

You freeze when you see the petals. At first, horror washes over you at the sight of her gagging, at the deep red blood accompanying the petals. A slow understanding spreads throughout your entire body. Hanahaki Disease. 

You’d had a cousin die from the disease when you were a child - you curse yourself for not recognizing the signs. There’s a pit forming in your stomach.

So Jane Murdstone has fallen in love. 

Tears well up in your eyes and your heart clenches painfully. Jane has fallen in love - and she will die because of it.

She will die, leaving you alone and in search of new employment. She will die, not knowing the affection you hold for her in your heart. She will die, and you will have to go on without the sparkle of her eyes holding you captive whenever you catch her gaze, without the soft, melodic lilt of her voice brightening your dullest days.

You’ll miss her terribly (you already do). You like her, you really do… no, that isn’t quite right - you love her. The realization hits you like a train. You love Jane Murdstone, and it doesn’t matter.

You reach out tentatively and place your hand on top of Jane’s, squeezing gently. It’s the least you can do, to reassure her that you’ll be there for her when no one else seems to be. You shiver at the contact with her skin - it is quite cold in contrast to the warmth of your own, and this is more than you’ve ever dared touch her.

With your other hand you brush away some stray petals that stick to the blood on Jane’s cheek. There’s blood trickling out of her mouth and you swipe your thumb firmly down to her jaw, wiping it away as best you can. She should go out with dignity, you think. 

“Milady, can you hear me?” you ask quietly. You don’t receive a response. 

“Who is it?” You ask the question more for yourself than for her, you know she’s too weak to speak and you aren’t even sure she can hear you anyway. A single tear rolls down your cheek - you wipe it away with your sleeve. Your throat constricts, but there is something you want to say - you clear it roughly. When you speak, your voice has a pleading edge to it, desperation oozing out of your every pore.

“I love you, Jane. Please don’t leave me.” Any other day, you’d be afraid of being fired on the spot - for speaking out of turn, for voicing forbidden affections towards your employer, for addressing her by her first name. Today, you suppose, it doesn’t matter anymore. You feel lighter having said it - and heavier knowing it may be the last thing you ever say to her. Now that it doesn’t matter any longer, you lean over Jane’s face and press your lips firmly to her forehead. Perhaps this way she can feel she is loved, even if it’s not in the way - not by whom - she needs.

x

shout-out to @dianneking for being the catalyst to me writing this hehe <3 plus, gonna just tag everyone who has had the (dis)pleasure of me pestering them about this for the past month haha (love u): @yourlocaldisneyvillain @anti-bright-places @eveymay @scream-queenlover @orchidsshine @sapphicsbeloved @mrs-hilmarson 

#jane murdstone #jane murdstone x reader #i desire. and i crave. #i desire. and i crave. series

[hawkinsglasscloset]

Sappho Punch | Bottoms x Stranger Things AU

Chapter 1: All is Fair in Love and War

Word count: 2k

Warning: strong language, mention of SA, mention of violence and blood.

A/n: So my obsession with the movie Bottoms and my obsession with the show Stranger Things came together to create this baby. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Comments are greatly appreciated :3

Fall came, but the weather was still pretty summer-like. There was a soft breeze and a sky sprinkled with stars, making that night the perfect night to finally talk to the girl of your dreams. The only issue was... maybe the girl of your dreams was also the girl of your best friend's dreams. 

Hazel and Robin had been friends since third grade, they bonded over being tomboys and eventually their friendship grew deeper, but never into a relationship. They simply could not see each other in that way, not to mention they both were more into femmes, which led them down a long road of falling in love with straight girly girls. 

They usually went for the opposite type, it definitely made things easier when it came to relationships (or the lack thereof, in their case since they were both virgins), they never fought over a girl in all their years of friendship. 

Robin was more into petite redheads and blondes who could sing or play some instrument. Meanwhile, Hazel liked brunettes or girls with colorful hair, taller than her and on the chubbier side.

Unfortunately, as there's a first time for everything, this time they were both in love with the same girl. She wasn't exactly Robin's usual type, neither was she Hazel's usual type. 

Men usually say bros before hoes, straight girls say chicks before dicks, what do gay girls say? Chicks before clits? Well, something of the sort was decided between the two friends. They were definitely NOT gonna fight over some girl. 

And if she ever happened to show interest in any of them... the other would have to gracefully accept it and move on with no hard feelings. All is fair in love and war, but losing someone who has been in your life before you could even do long division was a price they were not willing to pay for coochie.

"If you don't say hi, I'm gonna say hi," Robin said with a nonchalant shrug. 

"She's definitely straight! What are you even thinking?" Hazel cried nervously as she fidgeted with a big roll of tickets and waited for her cotton candy.

"She's British! Maybe that's how British people are... straight looking," Robin shook her friend by the shoulders. 

"I don't think so, I think in Britain they're even gayer looking than usual," Hazel took the cotton candy and shoved part of it in her mouth. "Look! PJ and Josie!" 

The unpopular, supposedly untalented, lesbian crew of Rockbridge Falls was almost all there after the two arrived, Sylvie was the only one missing, but... nobody really wanted Sylvie around (except for her stepdad, of course). 

"What happened to your arm?" Hazel asked, seeing that Josie had a cast on. 

"She ate shit," PJ laughed. 

"She ate literal shit? What the fuck?" Hazel chuckled. "Did you get beat up again? Were you jumped? Was it spy camp? Did you go to juvie?" 

"Yeah, we went to juvie," PJ sarcastically sneered. 

"OH MY GOD, IT WAS JUVIE?" Hazel gasped just as Jeff, their golden boy from the football team was introduced in the most ridiculous fashion, making all the girls scream and beg him to fertilize their eggs. 

"Why are people so obsessed with him?" Robin mumbled. "He has a round jawline... like a girl." 

"I don't get why girls like boys like that. They're like dogs or pigs or... what's the grossest animal?" PJ huffed while the Viking players passed by them without caring if they bumped into someone. 

"The human being, no animals are gross" a soft voice answered her question.

"Naomi!" Robin nearly screamed.

"Where?" Hazel turned and squealed when she was met with the girl she'd been dreaming of for about a year since she moved from London with her mother. 

Naomi was the British straight girl in question. She was tall, taller than both Hazel and Robin (who was already quite tall), but in a delicate way. Her many curves were perfectly hugged by her bellbottom jeans and a crop top that said vegan women taste better. 

She had long jet-black hair and pale skin which gave her a Snow White quality that made both Hazel and Robin lose their minds.

"Hey, mate," Naomi smiled, as her cheerleader friends, Isabel and Brittany joined her. 

While PJ and Josie fumbled to talk to the other two, Hazel and Robin stared at Naomi without knowing what to say. It was like she always stole all the words from their brains. 

"I see you're vegan," Robin pointed at the shirt. 

"Yeah, I don't like to take part in any kind of animal exploitation," Naomi sweetly replied. "They are friends, not food." 

"Did you know Hazel worked all summer on her uncle's farm? In the slaughterhouse!" 

"Shut up!" Hazel hissed and then put a smile back on. "I didn't... I worked at the National Meat Association." 

"That's well bad," Naomi frowned. 

"I know, right? I don't even eat meat-"

"Yeah you do, your favorite food is steak," Robin said before being elbowed right in the boob by her friend. 

"Meat is murder... I just needed a job," Hazel tried to save face. 

"If you don't mind me asking, how much do you get paid there?" Naomi tilted her head. 

"Fifteen bucks an hour, it's pretty good," it really wasn't, not for handling guts and blood for hours and coming home every day looking like the final girl from a slasher film. 

"Say what, if you're interested, the golf course I work at needs new caddies, they pay twenty quid an hour plus tips. The old guys usually tip well if you laugh at their bad jokes."

"Wait, seriously? And I'd get to work with- with you?" Hazel's eyes lit up, not even caring if the old men in question happened to be pervs or not. 

"Yeah, kinda. I drive around serving drinks, we'd see each other all the time."

"Yes, please! I'd love that! The job, I'd love that job!" 

"I'll give you my manager's number tomorrow and you can give her a call to apply, you have the right build for it," Naomi said, eyeing the cotton candy. "Can I get a little bit?" 

"O-of course! Take all of it!" Hazel handed her the remaining of her treat.

"C-could I get a job?" Robin asked timidly. 

"I thought you worked at the video store, you don't like it there?" Hazel quirked an eyebrow at her friend. 

Before Robin could answer, PJ and Josie stormed out, snatching the big roll of tickets from Hazel and giving it to Brittany. 

"Hey, no, steady on," Naomi took the big roll of tickets back from her teammate. "These are Hazel's." 

"She knows my name," Hazel whispered to herself.

"But the little Dutch boy gave it to us," Brittany protested without any heat behind her words, as usual. 

"Don't be a twat, go buy your own," Naomi handed the roll back to Hazel and followed her friends to the nearest ride. "Have fun!" 

"Don't you work at the video store?" Robin repeated in a mocking tone once they were alone. "Fuck you, Hazel! Eat a bag of uncircumcised veiny dicks!" 

"You did way worse! You told her I eat steak!"

"You do!"

"I can stop."

"Isn't your mom throwing a barbecue tomorrow?"

"I can stop... after tomorrow. Anything for love!"

**

The next morning, when school finally started, Jeff showed up in crutches. He looked completely fine with the exception of a nasty black eye, which left PJ and Josie puzzled. 

Yes, they had technically driven into him the night before, but the car barely touched his leg, how the hell did he get hurt like that? He refused to explain anything more than the fact that he was supposedly run over.

That's what they tried to explain to Principal Meyers, but he wasn't having it, he had to protect their perfect quarterback... to escape expulsion then, Josie made up a story. 

She said they were just practicing for their self-defense club, to help the girls be prepared to face Huntington players that might want to hurt them, which had already started to happen. 

"I can't believe they're letting you guys start a fight club," Hazel chuckled as she ate her lunch next to Josie and PJ on the bleachers. 

"No, they're not, we are not!" Josie shook her head, too scared to even think about it. 

"Of course we are! Did you see the way Brittany and Isabel were looking at us?" PJ countered.

"Wait... girls were looking at you because they thought you ran over Jeff?" Hazel asked, her interest piqued.

"Hell yeah! Nothing makes a girl wetter than displays of power and strength," PJ nodded. "If we get this fight club going, we can get whatever girl we want. We just have to learn how to fight..." 

"You guys probably fought girls in juvie."

"We were lying about that, obviously!" 

"About juvie? Why would you lie to me?" Hazel asked, unintentionally looking like a mistreated puppy. 

"You assumed, I just didn't correct you," PJ rolled her eyes. "We just need to teach girls how to not get punched in the face, easy, and they drop their panties!" 

"Hey, hey guys! Did you hear?" Robin ran towards the trio suddenly. "Huntington shot up our books so the library is out of order again this year!" 

"No, actually... we're discussing creating a fight club to teach the girls self-defense," Hazel squinted, her blue eyes hurting from the sun hitting her face. "We can start with taekwondo, which I got covered."

"Wait, why are we even doing this? This sounds dumb," Robin started eating the sandwich her mother packed in a plastic grocery store bag. 

"We teach a bunch of girls how to defend themselves against the evil Huntington killers. They are grateful to us, we build a community, we bond, we share, we connect," PJ explained while gesturing with her hands and her hips. "We're punching each other, adrenaline is flowing, next thing we know Brittany is kissing me on the mouth!" 

"I take it back..." Robin shared a look with Hazel. "We definitely need a fight club. Hazel, bring Stella-Rebecca! She'll attract the cheerleaders."

"You know Stella-Rebecca?" Josie sat up, starting to consider the idea.

"We're family friends," Hazel shrugged.

It was true, but before even thinking of Stella-Rebecca, Hazel and Robin had bigger priorities.

"Naomi will be so impressed, she'll need to bring an extra pair of underwear to practice every week, cause she'll soak through the first!" Robin cheered quietly. She was usually shy and nervous, but they had a real shot this time, she couldn't throw it away.

"Shhh..." Hazel held a finger in front of her lips when she heard Naomi's voice coming from the principal's office. 

"I'm really sorry," she said. "But he tried to grope me."

"He's a boy, Naomi! He doesn't know any better!" Principal Meyers argued. "We won't make any of this public because it would hurt Jeff's image, but you can't just punch someone for their natural instincts.

"Naomi gave Jeff the black eye!" Hazel whispered. 

"Shit... it won't be as easy as we thought to impress her with our sexy fighting skills," Robin mumbled, but then she smiled. "But on the other hand, she has sexy fighting skills!" 

Hazel nodded, understanding right away and as soon as the principal's office door opened, Naomi was stopped by both girls. 

"Hey! Don't you think there's a lack of female solidarity at this school?" Robin asked, trying to sound casual. 

"Um... what?" Naomi narrowed her eyes. 

"You know, that Huntington player who fucked that girl's face up, we should do something about it," Hazel suggested, almost as if she just had that idea on the spot. "Hey, why don't you come over to our self-defense club after class?" 

"Self-defense club?" Naomi breathed. 

"Yeah, like a fight club! You can beat up people in the name of feminism!" Robin nodded excitedly. 

"Today at 3:15," Hazel added. 

"Okay, I guess it sounds nice. I'll be there," Naomi smiled as she walked away. "See you guys later!"

"May the best tomboy win?" Robin held out her hand.

"Oh, I will," Hazel teased, shaking her friend's hand.

Tag List: @mrprettywhenhecries @elliethesuperfruitlover

#bottoms movie #bottoms 2023 #bottoms fanfic #hazel callahan #hazel callahan x oc #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #crossover #au #robin buckley #robin buckley x oc #oc x canon #fanfic

[prongsfish]

thank you @fandom-trash-goblin for the tag!!

1. Are you named after anyone? nope :)

2. When was the last time you cried? i'm not sure actually, but definitely within the last 24h. i cry very easily

3. Do you have kids? noooo. i'd say i'm too young but actually i'm not all that far off from how old my mum was jeez... i don't exactly plan on following her lead in that though, she was quite young and atm i don't ever plan on having kids. i don't think i'd be a very good parent and i don't think i'll ever be ready to make a commitment that big.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot? i do sometimes but i'm not a very dry type of sarcastic, i usually over-exaggerate to extremes

5. What sports do you play/have you played? i played netball as a kid but i'm not very sporty... i also played a bit of volleyball in hs

6. What’s the first thing you notice about other people? i'm not sure honestly. just, their appearance i guess? i have a bad habit of judging people very quickly based on their appearance and other similarly shallow factors, so i guess the first thing i "notice" is just whatever category i put them in inside of my head

7. Scary movies or happy endings? these are two entirely seperate things, but in general my favourite movies have ambiguous or bittersweet endings so probably scary movies? i don't watch a lot of horror because i prioritise an impactful story over anything else and i don't like realistic scary stories, but i like general scary atmospheres and some of my favourite pieces of media are horror (donnie darko, the haunting of hill house)

8. Any special talents? not really? idk, there are things i'm good at, but not any interesting talents that come to mind

9. Where were you born? australia. that's the most specific you're getting sorry

10. What are your hobbies? doomscrolling, listening to pretentious music, consuming + talking about media, reading/writing fanfic, drawing, and... not much else really lol. i don't do much, and there are more things i'd like to do but i barely have time to do the hobbies i already have lmao. maybe someday i'll finally learn guitar...

11. Do you have any pets? none of my own but sue me i still think of the family pets as my pets, so two dogs and three cats :)

12. All-time fave piece of media? this is an insane question but okay uhh. i seriously don't know if i can choose... i think i have to say the social network, it's my favourite movie. normal people by sally rooney is close behind (the book, i haven't seen the show yet)

13. Fave subject in school? i pretty much hated everything until i understood what was going on and then i loved it until i didn't again, rinse and repeat. but probably economics or english lit!

14. Dream job? realistically, i'm on track to becoming something in finance, probably a financial advisor or an accountant of some kind. that's kind of my "dream" field because i've been set on it since i was like 13/14, and i enjoy it! but it's definitely a compromise between enjoyment and money. for a real dream job? if i had my way i'd be a uhh professional analytical thought haver. thesis statement writer, perhaps. unfortunately it seems like there is no demand for that kind of career so i will just stick with finance LMAO

15. Eye colour? brown

no pressure tags: @crackeds0b @xeme-starx @sapphos-queer-kid

#tag game

[neathyingenue]

It's about time that I did a character intro/backstory dump for my FL OC! Here we gooo

///

Name: Silvia Salcedo (she/they)

Also known as: The Radical Sonneteer

Titles: Citizen, Ms, Comrade

Ambition: Heart's Desire

///

Timeline!

1879

Silvia is born in British Honduras (modern-day Belize, the Yucatec Peninsula) to Roberto Salcedo, a cis British Honduran, and Silas Owens, a trans Welshman.

1880

Moves with Silas and Roberto to western England.

While Silvia is her dads' biological child, the 'official' story is Roberto's daughter by a wife who died.

Silas and Roberto set up a law practice in their country village.

1881-1893ish

Silvia is educated at home. She speaks Spanish and English at home, and learns Welsh and Latin as well.

Somewhere in her childhood, Silvia learns that her dads are a couple and the truth about who she is.

She's taught vaguely that ‘British Empire bad,’ but her dads try as hard as possible to shield her from their colonial trauma.

1893ish-1897

Silvia goes to a girl’s boarding school--one of those progressive, Arts-and-Crafts movement types, probably

Figures out she's a lesbian! Classic girls' school antics!

1897-1900

Silvia attends Oxford (probably as a non-degree-seeking student) and does well.

The ‘Scramble for Africa’ is in the news, which sort of re-radicalizes Silvia and her parents.

Now that they’ve given Silvia a good life and an education, Silas and Roberto decide to get more active in protesting and take more risks with political action.

Silvia also gets politically involved with other students.

She starts hearing rumors about Fallen London, people coming back to life, free love…

1901

In a protest-gone-wrong in Cardiff, a constable kills Silas. The autopsy discovers that Silas is biologically female

Desperate to preserve Silas’s dignity in death, Roberto and Silvia spend all their money and then some to hush it up and give him a funeral.

Burdened by debt, a criminal record, and even more of a desire for independence, Roberto flees back to British Honduras. He begs Silvia to go with him.

Silvia instead moves to London because she’s heard of miraculous things happening there, perhaps even the dead coming back to life!

1899 (the second one)

Silvia arrives in London

Arrested for…yelling at cops probably

Starts Ambition: Heart’s Desire in hopes that she can bring back her dad (although she won't admit it to herself)

Publishes poems. Falls in with Revolutionaries. Tries to call herself “The Revolution’s Sappho” but one publication calls her “The Radical Sonneteer” and that’s what sticks.

Meets Ginny (urchin) and Mothball (urchin's cat), which further ties her to the Neath. Keeps putting off the decision of whether or not she’ll go back to British Honduras instead.

The Starved Invasion happens. Silvia dies. It's a rude awakening, a reminder that she's not on vacation--she is in a dangerous place with dangerous goals.

Now that she’s died, the decision of whether to return was sort of made for her. But she hears about Cider—resolves that she’ll just do that AND the Marvellous, no problem!

Starts to swing wildly between “I can’t have any fun I must WORK” and “We have fun here!” Takes fighting and pickpocketing seriously, then fucks off to Mahogany Hall to do cross-dressing with her cousin Winslow, who's just arrived!

Starts a liaison with Lady [redacted], a socialite. She's terrified that it makes her a class traitor and tries to keep it secret. Their romance is brief but electric, full of many fights and trying to get the other to betray their cause.

Goes on her first serious scientific voyage, which keeps her out of London for a couple of months. When she returns, she's sent to the Tomb-Colonies.

Learns more of the Third City, discovers it was Yucatec Maya--the same Indigenous population that her father is descended from. Realizes that there are still Yucatec Maya people in the Neath, and perhaps instead of seeking home rule on the Surface like Roberto, it would be more valuable to seek the remnants of the Third City in the Neath.

Devotes herself to her studies, learning the language and numerical system of the Yucatec Maya, spending more and more time in her laboratory, and gaining entrance to Parabola.

In this process, Silvia drifts further from her old Revolutionary contacts, and begins to question whether the Liberation of the Night is her priority.

#updated 2/24/24 #long post #housekeeping #silvia salcedo #OH FUCK FORGOT TRIGGER WARNINGS #imperialism #transphobia #homophobia #police violence #ok back to complaining in the tags #i'm coming down w something right on schedule bc my students got back to school 2 weeks ago #so if i londonpost a lot that is why #really hope i don't have to miss out on my labor day plans but we'll see how i feel tmrw

[ewesless]

TIL and a few things

I misread Simeon's name as Simeoleon more times than I want to admit and Dineon, Sineon and Sinemon are often mistypes.

I mistype Solomon's name constantly. Like, I never type it right the first 2-3 times and if it's really bad I just commit to it.

Simeon Solomon is the name of a real life person! He was a Jewish-British painter born October 8, 1840 and lived until August 14, 1905. He was a Pre-Raphaelite and Romantic Era artist who illustrated Biblical and Mythological scenes as well as depicting and taking inspiration from real life. I picked a few to show!

(This is not an in depth bio, it's just a summary of what I know)

Top Left to to Bottom Right :

Sappho and Erinna in a Garden at Mytilene (1864)

Self Portrait (1859)

A Youth Relating Tales to Ladies (1870)

Night (1890)

Love in Autumn (1864)

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego (1863)

Simeon Solomon was also gay and was imprisoned, punished with fines and hard labor for his "crimes".

He collaborated with Algernon Charles Winburne by illustrating his novel "Lesbia Brandon".

One of his fans and collectors was Oscar Wilde!

Credit: Tate Museum, Wikipedia

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #simeon solomon #useless writing

[chthonic-cassandra]

There is a tangle of feelings inside of me like varicolored threads and I haven't had enough space or time to untangle them. There are threads about violence that I hear about in my job; something about myself ten years ago deciding to do this work and the stance that it requires, the things that you set aside in order to so purely embody this type of support and witnessing other people struggle with that. Something about the Trojan war and the death of Hector and Briseis' oration over Patroclus' body. Something about Mina and Jonathan Harker. Something about vampire brides. Something about having to walk unexpectedly this week past the building where I went to get therapy at 17, in secret from my family, and the still unresolved hurt of losing my relationship with my therapist in the way that I did. Something about the ways that Iris Murdoch and A. S. Byatt narrate consciousness. Something about Selby Wynn Schwartz' After Sappho, which I am presently reading, and about missing dance, tunics on my body, being on stage. Something about this video I have of me dancing at 11, right before [x] but already with this well of aloneness inside of me. Something about why it's been so difficult to eat. Something about Delphi.

I need rest.

#personal #trauma

[pumpkin-knots]

Hnnnnnng, I think I just found my life's passion

So. You know that really annoying thing were (typically older) classicists take characters and figures in antiquity (e.g. Achilles, Patroclus, Sappho, Catullus, etc.) who are seen by a lot of modern audiences to have ambiguous (or unambiguious) queer aspects to them and the older classicists are like "um, actually, the Greeks and Romans didn't even have the word gay, they had really deep concepts of same-gender friendships and also poets were expected to write about a female subject so, no, the Greeks *weren't* having a fruity fruity time back then". Like, yes, all of those things you said are true, but they also don't mean that even thought there wasn't a word that is exactly equivalent to the modern identity of homosexual that there weren't any people at all who loved people of the same gender, and yes poets were expected to write to about a female subject, but that doesn't mean that a woman who wrote poetry absolutely could not also be attracted to women, and yes the Greeks had really deep friendships, often between persons of the same gender identity, it was even one of their eight words for a type of love (φιλία - friendship or brotherly love) BUT ALSO just because not all people who did any of these things were queer, does not mean that absolutely none of them were queer.

What does this have to do with my life's passion, you say? I'm glad you asked! As some of you may know, I am a gay gay homosexual and a transgender genderless boyish femboy catboy dogboy thing meow uwu (he/they). I ALSO really like ancient Greece (and Rome, I guess, if you're a POSER /j) and I recently switched my major back from Art History to Greek Latin and Ancient Mediterranean Studies with a focus of History and Archaeology of the Ancient Mediterranean (which is what I was majoring in when I started college but made the mistake of taking both introductory Latin and introductory Greek at the same time which I do not recommend for anyone who likes having free time or good mental health and fled into the arms of the Art History department for like a semester-ish). I have decided that I am going to spend my life arguing with slightly homophobic classicists that maybe Achilles and Patroclus *were* having a very fruity time back then. I don't know, I wasn't there, were you??? Will this bring me riches? Absolutely not. Will this give me a clear career path? Academia? Maybe? I don't know! But will I get to spread the gay agenda for the rest of my days while also pissing off classicists and other supposed classical enthusiasts for being really weirdly attached to the fact that Sappho is NOT a lesbian? Yes. Yes I will.

Vote Percy as your favorite gay little sailor man from ancient Greece in the next election

#gay #lgbtq #classics #ancient greece #ancient rome #ps ellen millender i completely respect you and think you're wonderful i just think you're wrong about sappho

[metamorphesque]

🌸🌸 Hey there! 🌸🌸 Could you recommend me some really fruity poetry, please?

And when I say fruity, I mean gay poems and/or poems about literal fruit. Or any foods.

My favorite poems are the gay poems and ones where the poet is enjoying some good food.

Please and thank you ~ 💕

Hello, sweetheart 🌼 fruits and love, what more could we ask for?

Chapter 1: Fruity (foody) poems 🍊

Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled with Shrieks by Christopher Citro

Persimmons by Li-Young Lee

The Orange by Wendy Cope 

Figs by D.H. Lawrence

Oranges by Gary Soto

Abundance by Amy Schmidt

From Blossoms by Li-Young Lee

Hail by Mary Szybist

Cherry-Ripe by Thomas Campion

Fig by Dani Janae

Here, There Are Blueberries by Mary Szybist

Peanut Butter by Eileen Myles

Seaweed Soup (Miyuk Gook 미역국) by Maria T. Allocco

Baked Goods by Aimee Nezhukumatathil

Chapter 2: Fruity 🌈 poems

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out by Richard Siken

Mayakovsky by Frank O’Hara

The 17-Year-Old & the Gay Bar by Danez Smith

Domestic by Carl Phillips

Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand by Walt Whitman

Wishbone by Richard Siken

Poem for My Love by June Jordan

Poem for Haruko by June Jordan

Home Wrecker by Ocean Vuong

[To find a kiss of yours] by Federico García Lorca

Waist and Sway by Natalie Diaz

Type II by Hieu Minh Nguyen

Recreation by Audre Lorde

A Poem of Love in Eleven Lines by Gerrit Lansing

Fragments, on Love and Desire by Sappho

#poetry recs #asks #poems #literature #fruity poems

[definesanity]

Of Nights of Love & The Hunt's Moon

Aphrodite was no fool.

Oh, it is easy to think she is; her glassy eyes reflect nothing, her body revealed to the world, and her way of carrying herself.

The deities of Olympus knows better. Even Dionysus knows better.

Her eyes are glassy as to not reflect her true feelings. Mortals oft say the eyes are the gateway to the soul, so she seals her soul away.

Her lack of clothing, bar her hair and the hearts they curl into, are comforting to her. Cloth makes her feel... strange.

Her personality cannot be helped; that is just the way she is.

And yet, as the moon floated loftly above the Heavens, Aphrodite found herself gazing towards someone she never expected.

Dearest little Artemis.

Oh, the chaste little Goddess's status as a virgin was of no ill will' Aphrodite is the Goddess of Love, and so that extended to many types.

It had started many a years ago, when she made one of her huntresses fall in love with a man, and it caused her to become an animal (a bear, if she recalls) and be banished by Artemis. Of course, Aphrodite was instantly regretful, an odd emotion, and made it so the man vanished, and that the girl's virginity returned; now, of course, she has the ability to transform into a bear at will, but that's another tale, and not her's to tell.

So, it was on a moon-filled night that Aphrodite appeared next to Artemis, and narrowly avoided an arrow. Without the Prince of The Underworld here, things are laid bare.

"Dear Artemis, why so quick with your shot?" Aphrodite asked, glassy eyes gazing into the cold eyes of the Goddess of the Moon. "I would have thought I would be welcomed."

Artemis looked at Aphrodite, her expression even. "Well, you'll have to forgive me, for I do not recall ever inviting you."

"Oho, an invitation is required? My apologies, I would have given you one of my finest letters."

Artemis sighed, her hands still holding her bow. "Just... sigh. What do you want, Aphrodite?"

Aphrodite vanished, before appearing on Artemis' other side. "I come for a few reasons, some more important than the last: Firstly, I wanted to see the forest again. The bed chambers are delightful, mind, but the forest has that primal feel to it, hm?"

"...If that's your way of saying you like the forest then... yeah?" Artemis had never actually held a conversation with Aphrodite for long, and this makes it strange to have, given how... normal it was. "I mean, no offense, but I never took you as someone who enjoys... a forest."

Aphrodite gave a small, delicate laugh. "Dear Artemis, I may be the Goddess of All Things Sexual, but I am also of Love; Love comes in many different forms; one of an animal, a parent, a partner, a child--"

"--I know what love is, Aphrodite--"

"Oh, but Dearest Artemis, you do not: You wish not for the hand of a man, and I shan't fault you for it; some, like Sappho, preferred the... fairer sex, shall we say."

"That's not--" Aphrodite's words suddenly clicked inside of Artemis' head. "Wait, what did you just call me?"

"Hmm? I called you Artemis, did I not?"

"With the prefix of 'Dearest'. What do you want from me, Aphrodite?"

Aphrodite let out a sigh, and looked at the forest, a wistful expression on her face. "Dearest Artemis, I confess: I have long since grown wary of the touch of a man; they are brash, rude, and believe themselves the rulers of everyone and everything. The ones I met, anyways... which is why I am here: To see things from a new perspective."

Artemis narrowed her eyes. "Need I remind you that--?"

"Your oath has nothing to do with this; I confess that, for some time, my eyes had landed on you. I have noticed things that I have never noticed before; the small cuts on the back of your neck, the small smirk of confidence when you hunt... you are, though you may not see it, desirable, Dearest Artemis. And believe me, there are many a ways to show it than just pelvis upon pelvis."

Artemis looked at Aphrodite, opening and closing her mouth. Then, she vanished suddenly into the wind, leaving only an arrowhead in her wake.

Aphrodite leaned down and picked up, before humming to herself, glassy eyes downcast. "Perhaps I was too forward..."

#ryuusei's works #hades game #hades artemis #hades aphrodite #zagreus

[dwn024]

i think if i've ever mentioned this it was only briefly. but i absolutely fucking ADORE the imagery in freely tomorrow's lyrics. it might just be weird translation shit but like

OK so if you've never looked at the lyrics, at a surface level it's basically just a really nice optimistic love song about suddenly finding true love and recovering from a life of despair and loneliness with each other, very sweet and touching and i love the message of finding joy and then spreading that joy to others it's So sweet

but at the same time, it also has that certain kinda pre-millennium Y2K futurist style optimism in a way that can be alternatively interpreted as some scifi false-utopia-dystopia shit y'know. in particular these lines:

these lyrics could totally potentially fit right into a slightly peppier version of virtual insanity y'know?? but they're nestled in so nicely among all the usual standard more direct "i fell in love for the first time and it changed my life" type lyrics and it works BEAUTIFULLY, because it enhances the love song aspect and the fact it's In a love song instead of something like virtual insanity changes the impact and vibe of these more abstract lines, IE

"my whole mind, my whole body / all of them are the illusions in my memories" = "everything i knew up until now [when i met you] has been an illusion, even the body i inhabit"

"we can be reborn" and "that will become a revolution to change the future" = "falling in love for the first time makes me feel like i'm a brand new person / holy fuck i'm so in love i feel amazing i want to start a revolution so everyone else can feel as happy as i do right now"

and my Favorite example, "the promise that i can't express in words / i've been dreaming of it beyond time" = "i'm tongue-tied but i can express my love for you without words / this feeling is so strong it can transcend time [like what's that sappho poem that's like 'in another time someone will remember us' it feels like that but the specific phrasing in this translation of 'beyond time' somehow makes it feel more futuristic which i just adore]"

all those lyrics work so PHENOMENALLY in a love song context, and i think it's Helped by the fact they can Also be read as referring to the matrix/transhumanism/time travel type shit!!!! i fucking LOVE this song. ai dee has kind of a similar thing going on but mostly just with the lines "those memories sleeping inside you" and "your real self isn't an insignificant thing" and the latter is primarily just because transhumanism and transgenderism are fun to read from a scifi lens

#vocaloid