blue.

She nearly melts when she feels Sappho’s lips on her neck. The sensation sends a tingle down her spine that permeates through the rest of her body.  It takes years of self control to not just push her up against a wall right there. Instead, she just places a soft kiss on her temple as she listens to the other ramble on for a bit. “Alright babe, you’ve talked me into it,” A lie, if Sappho showed up at her door at three in the morning and told her they should run off to who knows where, Saturn would do it in an instant. “I’ll go out with you. We should go shopping today.” She moves Sappho they’re face to face, one had on each side of her face and punctuates her suggestion with a kiss. “My suggestion of a suit still stands, I like to wear the pants in this relationship.”

be hungry. be greedy. be as horrible as you can be, as monstrous – every bit of the horror men turn away from and tremble under – and still, be soft as air. the kiss to her temple reminds her that the scarred hands running along the cloth on saturn’s back are more than capable of holding and keeping safe than they are of slicing and dicing and mangling the word into unrecognisable ash. everything burns, but there are things that burn for longer – sappho, included; all this fire under her skin.

“good,” she mumbles, before she has to face saturn. you ethereal thing, she thinks. the world must truly be ugly if it allowed such beautiful things in terrible situations. if sappho could go back in time, and choose whether saturn would be placed in this hell-game or not, and risk the chance of never meeting her again – sappho would rather meet saturn elsewhere, both of them human and raw. she kisses back because her body wills it so. “then let’s go shopping. and yes, darling, you can wear a suit.”

her eyes stare at the small glass in sappho’s hand, and after a long moment, she takes it - raises it to her, at the very least.  “ .. bombshell.  and you’re going to have to try a lot harder than that.”

sappho is used to being measured up. there’s a lot of judgement to go around and, despite her best efforts, sappho herself isn’t immune to being on the giving end as much as she despises being on the receiving end of it. most of what she receives is good; most of what she gives is, put mildly, unflinchingly truthful. it’d be a disservice to herself if she cuts corners with her taste.

frankly, the girl should be thankful, pleased, flattered. sappho isn’t so drunk yet that she’d just be wilfully blind, after all, nor is she so sober that she doesn’t have the courage of vodka thrumming just under her skin. (it’s not courage she needs; not confidence. there’s enough of that, too.) “what’s a girl,” she corrects immediately, “got to not do with you?” no, that didn’t sound right. she wasn’t even that drunk yet. “i mean –,” she amends quickly, hastily, running her gloved thumb over the side of the cool glass, “if the pick-up lines are working, then great. if not, then i should just tell you that you’re someone i’d very much like to get to know for the next...five minutes until i drink you under the table.”

tw: thoughts of suicide

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when the pot calls the kettle black, the implication there is that both have been burned, at one point or another – and sappho’s hands, rough and smooth and burnt to white-and-red, are proof enough that blcktmpl has a way of hurting people and letting them live with scars that only they have the capacity to heal, but only when they’re given enough prerogative to do so. healing comes in different things; scrubbing against the bottom of a pot only leaves behind scratches of what was once pristine. they have to be gentle with one another, saturn and sappho, one astral body to another.

buttercup is a thought meant for the scarring. the bruising. heavy in her veins and heavier still from her heart, weighing it down to earth. saturn – 

“absolutely not.” she doesn’t mind that hand. she doesn’t mind it at all. there’s more to be consumed here, more space that’s between them still, and sappho moves closer even when the song changes to something with the same vibe, the same velvety tone. look at them, slow-dancing like the world isn’t on fire. isn’t that absolutely grand? isn’t it normal? “i want to wear something new for you, s’all.”

to saph › goddd i have juice to saph ›  DO U WANT THE JUICE OR NOT

between waking up to another woman in bed or waking up alone, sappho would always prefer the former, even if it means that the bed isn’t hers or that she has to sneak out of said woman’s apartment at the earliest hour to avoid any sort of confrontation, dialogue, or anything remotely resembling mature social interaction. people will call her avoidant for that, but is she really, when she’s already replying to the messages left and right? that’s not avoidant – it’s detail-oriented.

so, yes, sappho likes having the upper-hand. she likes knowing what’s going on.

rich’s text does not pander to any of her inclinations.

[ sms: $weetie ] why do i want jyice

sent: from one hand while trying her hardest to close the front door as quietly as possible with another. god, she smells like booze from the night before. at least there’s no throw-up scent anywhere; that’s a good sign. there’s no hangover because she didn’t have that much. maybe.

[ sms: $weetie ] juice [ sms: $weetie ] does it have vodka in it [ sms: $weetie ] because yes [ sms: $weetie ] if not, yes anyway [ sms: $weetie ] are you at home?

blckgemini‌:

gemini felt hands lift from her back which was the queue to push her body upwards until she sat up, legs dangle from the opposite side and her shoulders clearly exposed while the middle portion of her body was covered with a white towel now. “y’know absolutely no rush when it comes to the drinks. i’m currently enjoying the view right next to me.” her head turned, her chin resting on her shoulder. “inviting me out for a spa day then asking me out for a drink afterwards? now we might as well just call this our little date.” that was probably what the other was thinking too, wasn’t it? now that they were free the entire day, gemini had the freedom to do whatever and she was willing to spend a whole lot of time with sappho.

sorting through friends and enemies is a gargantuan task on its own. if the collective asked her to name who her friends and who her enemies were, there would be only a single group of them. she’s not to be led into doing a fool’s errand – she’s no idiot if she’s survived this long, but she has done her fair share of idiotic things, too. not addressing the tension between her and a long-standing friend is one of those things. then again, perhaps it’s just the loneliness, or the desperation to feel something other than constant dread and anxiety. there’s that, too. sappho surely isn’t one to turn down a girl’s affections – and god knows she’s a sucker for declarations of love and desire – but she doesn’t want to ruin what they have by delving into territory that gemini might not figuratively play in, so to speak. 

liking girls and figuring out if they like you back is a worse task than figuring out which of these contenders are her friends and which are her enemies. girls often have a tendency to exaggerate their compliments and confuse her, just like now, and sappho doesn’t want to have to deal with the embarrassment of misreading signals.

I need somebody to remember my name After all that I can do for them is done I need someone to remember me

“I suppose, but i was looking for a cheap thrill. I save my expenses for you lot.” Truth be told, Saturn splurged more on people around her and their pleasures then herself. She moves with Sappho, letting her decide where the music takes them as they sway. Her laughter is a unique melody of her own, an almost harmony to the music that played in the background. Oh how she wished she could bottle the amusement. “Is that so?” Her own arms wraps around the other’s neck, drawing them closer. Close enough that if she wanted, she could taste those ever tempting lips.  Instead of a kiss, she nips at her lips.  “I’ll bite, but only if you wear the red dress I like.” 

here’s the thing about facing down death when some age-old assholes decide when you have to put your life on the line next – it’s not hard to care; it’s just harder to figure out what to care about. it’s tempting to just care only for the things you believe will survive the next culling. the other contenders hardly fall in that category. then, however, sappho realised months into this new lifetime that she probably won’t either, and it’s her job to make sure that she looks out for herself first. that, of course, complicates things. whatever love she may have had before, and whatever semblance of it she’s forgotten, goes to show that even these things she thought were deathless can simply be erased by the whim of the bored bourgeoisie, of which she was once a part of.

outside of that capitalist heaven, it’s clear that no soul goes unpunished for being less. and here they are, standing above all the rest in physicality, in time, in money, all in exchange for a mortality rate higher than any other normal person.

it fucks you up the same way it makes sappho want to dance. they might have lost their minds. she’s sure she has, at one point – buried under mounds of corpses and drowned in rivers of blood (and that this is not in any way metaphorical should drive someone mad) – and it’s why she can laugh and dance and care this way. it’s as damning as it is a sure sign that, somehow, this thing is not one that the collective can so easily take away, much like everything else.

blckbuttercup‌:

her hand falls back to her side and she pushes herself up, groaning a bit. “my place or yours?” stretching out her limbs, she hopes that she remembered to put the ice packs back in her freezer before going out. she takes her time standing up, cracking her neck once she’s standing. “it’s not fair that we have to walk back to the apartment.”

there’s always a niggling doubt – have we done this before? have we been here yet? are you getting tired of me already? – but sappho swallows them all along with the blood and bile that threatens to expel itself from her mouth. it’s disgusting and brutal, but it is what it is, and it cannot be anything else. would they be soft – no, they’d be dead, then. it’s much better to be like this, and be alive.

what else do you get when you put two biologically-enhanced monsters in a pit of death together? (they were humans, once; sappho’s sure they can love like humans sometimes, too.)

“alright,” she relents, in her own way. she’s on all fours first before sitting up, and standing on her own two feet. it’s a slow process. part of her wishes that they could just stay lying there until much later, but they don’t own this, just as they don’t own their time. all this is borrowed. 

She mirrors her partner’s form, laying her one arm on Sappho’s shoulder as she clasps her other hand. “Whatever you say, love.” She hums along to the tune, stopping only to nip at the other’s lips. Saturn Spins her partner, ending in a dip but fakes a drop before laughing and pulling up before she can hit the floor. “I do actually. My dates like going to the club and become far too inebriated for my liking” The cheap dates with no future interactions, where Saturn wants them for a single night.”But only the special girls dance with me in the kitchen dressed only in underwear and an old hoodie.”

“sty is an exaggeration. there’s a fine line between a sty and organised chaos,” she points out smartly, like everyone knows what that means. even she doesn’t know what that means, but that doesn’t matter right now. pleasure doesn’t just have to be confined to the bedroom, or any available surface that they saw fit. the floor is good for dancing in a different way, too, and sappho smiles at saturn’s mouth on hers, even if it is only for a fleeting moment. the sudden dip catches her by surprise and her grip tightens on saturn’s hand, her other one flying up to grip at her arm, but she’s pulled back up – the rush is exhilarating, and she laughs in turn.

“The kindest, obviously.” She teases back with ease, their banter flowing easily from years of rapport. Saturn starts to clean the mess in the kitchen when Sappho snakes hands down her hips, she complies to their rhythm. She immediately misses the contact once she’s gone, but pays no mind as she continues to clear away the stray dishes. “Babe, you gotta clean more often.” She’s going to quip more when the music interrupts her train of thought. “What happened to baking?” She shakes her head, very much amused by the request, but complies anyways.

no, she’s not a princess anymore, but she’s spoiled nonetheless. some habits are hard to break, and that includes expecting someone to clean up after the mess she’d oft make. having no one to boss around had been nearly maddening at first until she realised that she had a knack for it – and, fortunately, that she had extensive skill in being right about what she said, too, at least when it came to missions. but this was no mission, and only a hobby, a past-time, something to spend her days on when she wasn’t close to death or threatened by it. “eh, it’s fine... i’ll clean when i have to.”

right now, she drifts on the edge of sleep as a sitcom plays on sappho’s tv. the girl herself is laid out on the couch beneath athena, whose head nestles comfortably into sappho’s shoulder. athena is dressed in one of sappho’s oversized sweatshirts and nothing else, and her and sappho’s legs are tangled together. the sounds and smells of saturn cooking drift over to them from the other room, and athena sighs contentedly. she isn’t certain how much time passes between her thoughts, and for once, she doesn’t much care to know, instead allowing her mind and body the chance to rest. 

it’s warmer today.

there’s a mood that’s settled between all of them – all these souls, lost and wandering and bodies hurting against each other – that can only be described as good, settled, comfortable. it won’t last long, knowing the collective, and that’s why she doesn’t fault viper for missing out because she’s been working out, or why she doesn’t feel bad for turning down an offer or two to do the same. but it’d be misguided, too, to deny themselves a chance to relax, but only to an extent.

this is that limit, and sappho sure as hell is going to enjoy every moment of it.