I think about you all the time. I think about what you’re wearing, and what you’re doing, and who you’re doing it with. I think about the friends you have, I think about what you eat before you go to work, and what shampoo you have, and what happened in your family. I think about your eyes and your mouth, and what you feel when you kill someone, I think about what you have for breakfast. I just want to know everything. Killing Eve (2018-), creator Phoebe Waller-Bridge 

@firestriker 25 mins ago⬎

what would you girls find more attractive: french or being able to slice through a man’s lower parts? (asking for a friend.)

      ⟳     ♡

– cold air

[ closed thread ] SPARRING with @blckrhea

as much as sappho likes to insist that she cares very little for rookies – the more of them die, the less competition she has to deal with – and especially for rookies of different factions, there’s still some human in there, hidden vulnerable beneath the gloves she wears on a saturday morning, sporting a throbbing headache and the remnants of a hangover, showing up to spar with rhea in the ring that’s seen its fair share of blood and sweat. rookies may as well be fertiliser with the rate they’re dropping off of the games, buried in earth (if they have that privilege), but they are sometimes needed for team missions, and sappho would rather not be one man short of a six-man mission. the useless ones are culled, and useless rookies are a burden on everyone, even after they die. 

sappho doesn’t bother to wrap her hands today. this’ll be quick enough, she hopes, and intensive. “you’re lucky i need to sweat out the alcohol,” she says upon arrival. no hellos, no greetings. 11 am is too early an hour for niceties. (arguably, every hour is too early an hour for niceties.) “are you ready?”

no, sappho does not care if her young page is ready for this. their bodies have been modified, true enough, but science cannot grant idiots experience enough to survive on their own. she zips down her jacket and steps in the ring, tying her hair up with the band that had been around her wrist. she raises her fists not to attack, but to defend. “come on,” she urges, not as a taunt but in impatience. “come at me, rookie.” 

blckxsaturn‌:

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.”

sappho smiles, always, like she knows a secret saturn doesn’t want her to keep. she doesn’t; she’d never pry like that. trust in these spaces is so rarely found, even in the negative space between bodies in the early morning. she smiles like she does, anyway, and kisses saturn again. “keep kissing me, though,” she demands with a pout, “at least until....mm...” she peeks over her shoulder, at the horrid clock on the wall, and shrugs anyway, “until we feel like going.”

Don’t Go and Tell Anyone

bombshellblck‌:

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.”

that name, though, and that recognition, is enough to indicate that this girl is just the kind of person sappho hoped she would be – the kind that’d be able to keep up. maybe. the name rings a bell that rings alone in a churchyard. no one’s around to hear it. “bombshell. you better leave as much of an impact as your name suggests, then.” she raises her eyebrow in return and downs her drink, puts the shot back down on the bar, and calls for two fireballs. “prove me right and show me you can keep up.”

– a bed in your shape.

blckxsaturn‌:

tw: thoughts of suicide

Keep reading

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.”

she nuzzles against the crook of the girl’s neck, right at her pulse and kisses the skin above it. “i want to do something new. not saying that sex with you is ever boring, it’s just...” don’t you want more? don’t you want out – of this game, all this hurt? – “me being spontaneous. fun. it’ll be fun, i think. say yes to me properly and we’ll do it – i’ll even buy you a dress, too – i mean you can use my money. i want to be surprised.” 

Don’t Go and Tell Anyone

blckrich‌:

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?

read: let me use you as a sanctuary. just for the morning, and only with a locked door.

♡ RADIOACTIVE ♡

– a bed in your shape.

[ closed thread ] DRINKING GOOD with @bombshellblck

contrary to popular belief, sappho does not have too many trysts. they’re not affairs – that’d imply that her girlfriend isn’t aware (and encouraging) of it. a hungry heart that matches an aching body would never be accepted outside blcktmpl. her desires wouldn’t be, either, but among people who knew nothing but death and pain and hurt, there’s plenty who seek the exact opposite when they’re not in mortal danger. no matter how much they’re made out as superior gods, they’re still mortal. still susceptible. still insatiable.

she heads towards the bar for more than a drink. this place is home to many of the lost. the music is sub-par, but good enough. better than the sound of death, of course, which is horribly morbid – there’s alcohol enough to drown that out. 

“give me two of what she just finished,” she calls out, taking the seat next to the woman without any invitation. her sleeves are rolled up, and when she rests her elbow on the bar, the barcode on her wrist is painfully obvious: an invitation of her own for the woman to show hers, if she has one, or to admire sappho’s if she doesn’t. she looks at the woman with clear approval, but with enough shame. “i’m so sorry that we haven’t drank together before, darling. it’s my mistake. let me make up for that.” she’s easy to smile, easy to extend the woman’s drink to her. “call me sappho, if you haven’t called me yet.”

[ closed thread ] SPA DAY with @blckgemini

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.

“two cocktails, then,” she says as affirmation and as a command. the woman massaging her says, yes, ma’am, and need only ever press a button. sappho orders for the both of them before the woman returns to her, the balls of her palms pressing over the tense muscles in her back. she bites back a moan of pure bliss. “afterwards? don’t be silly. we’re getting drinks and massages. if this really is a date, then let me treat you right, baby girl.” when she’s asked to, she sits up as well, just as exposed, just as naked. she doesn’t bother hiding the fact that her gaze is automatically drawn to gemini’s ... really, really...nice... ti – “hm.” she meets the girl’s gaze, letting the massage therapist raise her arm and roll it at the shoulder. “has anyone ever told you you have a rack that’d drive anyone crazy? because you do.”

– a pearl

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

Mitski - Remember My Name

– we’re talking about the red you can only imagine, baby.

blckxsaturn‌:

“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.

“good,” she replies, smiling along saturn’s mouth, but not quite so against it. “bold of you to assume i won’t buy a new one for the occasion.” her hands are chaste; her thoughts always to the contrary. “saturn herself, going on a proper date with me? revolutionary. i should be given a medal of valour.” 

Don’t Go and Tell Anyone

[from translation by anne carson] // expansions on sappho’s fragments

[ closed thread ] FIGHTING with @blckbuttercup

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. 

when, earlier, sappho would have raised her hands to fight, she raises one to curl at the nape of her girlfriend’s neck, massaging a little before pulling it back. it’s an apology that she hasn’t said yet. instead, she picks up the jackets they’ve discarded, wincing a little at the sharp pain that travels up from both sides. it’ll heal. this will all heal. “c’mon,” she urges, folding the jackets over one arm, and extending her hand to buttercup. “don’t be such a whiny baby. just ask if you want me to carry you there.”

– rock me like a _

blckxsaturn‌:

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.

“then stop going on cheap club dates,” she points out. it’s an obvious conclusion, and the rational one. her confidence returns in small, undulating waves, the song and the sways coaxing it back into her grin, her laugh, the way she leans in like she’s going to kiss the girl but keeps herself from doing it. control is as sexy as unabashed, unrestrained passion as well. her hands leave their posts when her arms wind around saturn’s waist instead. “a date with me, though, definitely won’t be cheap.” the song plays on. her voice turns a bit quieter, more provocative that way. “pick you up at 8 on friday?”

Don’t Go and Tell Anyone

blckxsaturn‌:

“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.”

she closes her fingers around saturn’s hand – how soft, how wonderful that they can hold each other like this, like they deserve to have this much fun! – and tugs her close, hands resting at the girl’s waist, first, before her palm finds its place at the small of her back. her feet move to the slow, soft beat, and it felt like a sunset. “we can bake later,” she says, keeping a chaste distance between their bodies, but not too far. this is no highschool dance. they’re both half-naked anyway. “have a bit of fun with me.” she smiles, still, and kisses the hand that she holds, and jokingly asks, “do you dance with a lot of other girls often, you scallywag?”

Don’t Go and Tell Anyone

blckathena‌:

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.

her attention is on the girl atop her, the one who’s wearing her sweatshirt, the one whose back she’s tracing with a lightness to her fingers, as if they aren’t all murderers here. it’s incredibly domestic; affections are communal here in no-man’s land. there’s an unspoken rule between them all, a kind of mutual trust that no harm would come to pass in spaces they make their own. (unless, of course, the collective, in all their ugliness and horror, imposes it upon them – but never in sappho’s home; no, she would not allow it.) “are you even watching?” she asks playfully. “we can just play music instead of putting the TV on, if you wanted background noise.”

take me under the blue ;