I'm going to add some colour to this. But I wanted to pop it up today as part of @sandmanfemslashfans prompt 'Favorite song.'
@two-hands-toward-the-sun for you. A thank you for every wonderful Calliene fic you've written which melted my heart and utterly endeared me to this ship. With the song lyrics you said reminded you so much of them. I know how much you love to weave raven symbolism into Lucienne so I went heavy on the wings! I also managed to sneak in the calliope hummingbird which I've always wanted to use. 😅 I hope you like it. 💖
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it's got lucienne! it's got calliope! it's got calliope making a dick for herself and railing lucienne the way lucienne deserves! they're having fun they're having feelings and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <33333
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hi!! for the flower prompts, can i ask for coreopsis and lucienne/calliope? and could i ask that lucienne is the one being comforted? i feel like that's much rarer to see in fics involving her. thank you so much! <3 (and i promise i'm working on your prompt fill too--i'm a slow-ass writer and i got more requests than i expected 😅)
Okay so this is embarrassing, but yesterday I wrote a whole gault and lucienne thing before I re-read your ask and realized you had asked for calliope and lucienne LMAO. But fear not, the other story will pop up at some point for femslash weekend 😅😅😅
Enjoy the feels trip my friend, I really enjoyed writing this!
Flower Prompt Game!
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When Calliope falls to sleep one night, she cannot help the little gasp that escapes her lips as she finds herself walking through the stacks of the Library in the Dreaming.
Calliope has not been here since she was married to Oneiros thousands of years ago. He had barred her from the realm when she left him, and in turn, she was content to never dream, had preferred the dull gray sleep that kept her from dreaming of their once happy life.
She had missed dreaming dearly when she was held prisoner.
Now they are both free, and it seems her former husband has lifted his sanction on her presence. Calliope had known that imprisonment had greatly changed her former husband, had made him kinder, more open, more. As she stares at the beauty of these priceless volumes, and their infinitely high shelves, she finds herself growing emotional at the beauty and wonder of what her old paramour has built.
Perhaps one day, when they are ready to discuss their sorrow, they will walk through here to ease the pain. Perhaps they could even be friends. But for now she is content to wander by herself and refamiliarize herself with what was perhaps her favorite part of the Dreaming other than Fiddler’s Green.
Calliope is running her fingers along the spines of unpublished stories, trying to decide what she would like to read, when she suddenly hears a high pitched noise that sounds like a hiccup or a sob. As she stills her breathing to better listen for the noise, she realizes it is indeed the sound of someone crying, and trying not to be so loud. For even how soft the sound, it still echoes throughout the Library.
Calliope walks towards the direction of the crying, careful to keep her footsteps light and quiet so as not to startle the other occupant of the Library. It does not take long for the source of the noise to reveal itself.
In a large, violet armchair with a high back sits Lucienne, who is bent over a rather large book and weeping openly over it.
Calliope has never seen Lucienne cry before. They had interacted some when she was still married to Oneiros, but the other woman had always kept her at arm’s length, preferring to stay polite and cordial rather than try to win her favor or pursue a deeper relationship with her. Her coldness had stung Calliope at the time, but after the marriage fell apart, Calliope realized that Lucienne must have seen Oneiros through many a lover, and perhaps may have been avoiding a friendship with her to protect her own heart from despair when things inevitably ended.
She thinks now that she has been given the perfect opportunity to rectify the situation.
“What troubles you, my dear?” Calliope asks, making her way slowly towards the chair where Lucienne is sitting. Lucienne jerks as if struck, and when she sees Calliope, she immediately pulls out a small handkerchief from her breast pocket to wipe away her tears.
“Lady Calliope!” Lucienne exclaims in surprise as she continues to dab at her face furiously. “My apologies for having you witness something so unsightly.”
Calliope smiles and gently reaches out to still Lucienne’s hand. Up close, she can see that Lucienne is still as stunning and lovely as she remembers, even in the throes of despair. Her amber eyes are shining not just with sadness, but also awe and disbelief. She most likely was not aware that Oneiros had lifted his ban on her presence.
“It is quite all right Lucienne,” Calliope replies gently, offering what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “One should not be ashamed of their emotions. It is quite all right to cry, especially in front of others.”
“Thank you,” Lucienne says. She turns her palms to grip Calliope’s own, and Calliope is struck by warm the librarian’s hands are. “I appreciate your honesty and thoughtfulness on the matter,” Lucienne adds, a small smile beginning to peak at her own face.
“Would you be willing to tell me what has created such a response?” Calliope asks. “For how long I was married to Oneiros, I had not once seen you cry. Perhaps I could offer you some comfort, if that is something you’d desire.”
Lucienne nods eagerly and closes her eyes. A soft glow envelops the chair she is sitting in and within moments it has expanded into a sofa. Calliope accepts the invitation and sits down, only mourning a little bit that that action requires her to withdraw her hands from Lucienne’s. She misses the warmth already.
“This book,” Lucienne starts, gesturing to the volume in her lap, “is the unfinished novel of a woman whose husband murdered her in a fit of rage.”
Calliope curses under her breath. “Writing was her only escape from her way of life,” she replies, understanding dawning on her. How many women had Calliope herself influenced with the gift of creativity, a pitiful consolation for their terrible misfortune to marry men who did not appreciate them?
“That’s right,” Lucienne confirms. “Her writing is…well it is marvelous and raw and I found myself quite caught up in the story of the heroine. But then I reached the last page and it was—unfinished. I had known it would be and yet I was still not prepared. And now no one will ever be able to read and appreciate her story.”
Calliope nods sympathetically. “She did not deserve her fate, and it is only right that you mourn the loss of her talent along with her life,” she says. “May I?” she adds, reaching to take the novel from Lucienne’s lap.
Lucienne nods her assent, and they sit there peacefully for a time as Calliope begins to read.
When she reaches the unfinished pages, Calliope too, finds herself in tears.
“Thank you,” she says, turning to Lucienne and taking the other woman’s face in her hands. “For sharing this with me. It is, as you said, a great loss to the Waking that this will never be published. But now it lives on here, in your quarter, along with the stories of billions of other women whose stories have been lost. The dreamers who visit you need only read these books in sleep to be able to carry them back over to the Waking World.”
Lucienne inhales sharply and closes her eyes, her whole body trembling with emotion. When she reopens them, her eyes shine with tears once more, but there is now a new determination in them that takes Calliope’s breath away.
“I had not previously looked at it that way,” Lucienne says, “I had always believed these stories would remain lost, forevermore, with only me to appreciate them.”
Calliope smiles. “And now?” she asks.
“Now,” Lucienne says, returning a smile so radiant Calliope thinks she may go blind. “Now I feel even more invigorated to invite the dreamers to spend their time here.”
“I am glad,” Calliope says, and moments later she wakes up.
Calliope sighs as the morning light streams through her windows, feeling more rested now than she has felt in months. She brings her hands to her face, wondering if the warmth of Lucienne’s hands had carried through to the Waking World.
She sits up eventually and stretches, then moves to start getting ready to go about her day. She thinks she will visit the women’s college today, and sit in on a creative writing lecture. She could feel that it was going to be a good day for inspiration.
from right to left, top to bottom: the Architect the lich, Ahalar the elven sorceress who works for the Architect, Ryleria the genasi descendant human ranger/wizard and former princess, Hulh the human fighter and Ryleria’s bodyguard, Callienne the halfing cleric and formerly Ryleria’s bodyguard, and Zelona the elf and right hand to the former king
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no but listen. listen. i am going absolutely rabid thinking about lucienne and calliope, platonic or romantic or anywhere along the spectrum of relationships.
what comes to mind first when i think of what would draw them together is, of course, how stories are fundamental to both of them: their inspiration and their preservation.
another thing they share is their steadfastness. how lucienne refused to abandon her post for more than a century, even as the castle crumbled down around her, and i think also of how she faced down the corinthian when he confronted her; the way calliope says i am a goddess to madoc, how she says ask me again when i am free.
i just think they would be good for each other and good to each other and hhhhh i need to go lie down now
heya, i'm working on a callienne smut piece! not sure when i'll be finished, but i figure i'd post this now so things can move along more quickly once i'm done. would anyone be interested in beta reading it? it's almost 2k words right now and will probably end up somewhere between 2k and 3k.
tagging a few folks who may be interested, but please please don't feel any pressure!!
31. I love you in awe, the first time you realised it
hiii, thank you so much for the request and for being patient!! i hope you like it <3
the feeling when you give a woman a pen and she confesses her love for you. normal girl things
In hindsight, Lucienne will reflect, it couldn’t have happened in any place but her library.
It wasn’t a spectacular, radiant revelation, descending on her head like a ball of fire. It was like waking to the sunrise resting gentle hands on your windowpane.
“Lucienne, sometimes I truly believe you intend to use a quill and inkwell until the end of this age.” Laughing, Calliope leans back in her comfortable armchair and props two fingers against her lips, regarding Lucienne fondly.
“Who says I won’t?” Lucienne replies with a smile. Calliope has a laugh like music, and Lucienne doesn’t think that can simply be chalked up to her nature as a muse. If Calliope were a mortal human, Lucienne believes Calliope’s laugh would sound every bit as melodic.
Lucienne has had many thoughts in a similar vein about Calliope of late. She’s been trying not to interrogate them too much. Like how she really does have work to do, it’s late by how the Dreaming measures time, but she cannot countenance the idea of asking Calliope to take her leave. She only want to stretch this out—she seated at her desk, Calliope reclining in the armchair opposite that Lucienne arranges there specifically for the goddess’s ever-more-frequent visits—as long as she can.
Calliope says, “I learned how to write with a sharpened reed, and modern pens are a wonder. Try it. For me?”
The way Calliope’s voice forms the words for me makes Lucienne’s heart do a strange little manoeuvre in her chest. Parrying it, she snatches at the first words that come to mind, no matter how nonsensical. “I was once a raven. I have an attachment to quills.”
Calliope rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Now you are just being silly.” She stands up and approaches Lucienne’s desk. Lifting one of her elegant hands, she shapes something out of the air and places it on the wooden surface: a sleek silver pen, the finest that what today’s humans call “the twenty-first century” can offer.
“There. Now I’ve given you a gift. You would not waste a gift by letting it go dusty, I think.”
Calliope leans over the desk toward Lucienne, the rich cascade of her hair tumbling over her shoulder. She has that teasing smile dancing over her face, making her look so alive and—luminous, and with the profound depth of affection Lucienne can see in those deep brown eyes—and then, as softly and surely as the dawn over the sea, realisation comes to rest over Lucienne. Her lips were already parted to say thank you, but halfway through the shape of the words changes, and what leaves her mouth in a hoarse breath is “I love you.”
Mortification sweeps through every cell of Lucienne’s body, but she doesn’t look away. Calliope has grown very still.
“You love me?”
“Yes,” Lucienne whispers. “If that’s all right with you.”
Then another smile floods Calliope’s face, and it is so radiant, it puts the last smile to shame. She reaches out and cradles Lucienne’s cheek. “It’s all right with me,” she says, joy bubbling up in her beautiful voice, “if you allow me to love you, too.”
