#isle of lesbos

[iil-nonbinary-baby-bitch]

Wakes up in dead of night sweating and crazy eyed

Would lesbians in the the ATLA universe call themselves Kyoshins?!

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

"Lo! What queer request hath I received, to combine in pale upon but one shield, the arms of two women!"

"Herald, they doth be lesbians."

[king-nyx]

I think this is my favourite part about the ai

[jenny-wonderzone]

Girls are hot 😳

[stylecouncil]

[pyrose-the-flame]

You know what I don't think we talk about enough?

The fact that "lesbian" is originally the word for "someone from the Greek island of lesbos" like, it blows my mind, bc people still live on lesbos, there are still people who are legitimately, actually, lesbians by the original meaning of the word, who presumably have a hell of a bad time on dating apps if they are not also lesbians by the modern meaning of the word.

It's the funniest and craziest thing in the world to me

Imagine if instead of gay, homosexual men instead called themselves "Rhode Islanders" and then there was discourse about who could call themselves a Rhode Islander, and people saying that the definition of the word Rhode Islander was "non women loving non women" without ever acknowledging the literal island full of people of all genders and sexualities who had the original claim on the name, or the fact that almost none of the people who call themselves Rhode Islanders had ever ever been to Rhode Island or even knew it existed.

To be clear I'm not making some kind of statement or point here I just think this is the funniest thing in the world and no one ever even acknowledges it

[krishmiisa]

🐊🌼

[sapphire-weapon]

i've barely had time to check tumblr bc intro week at uni is keeping me busy asf but i opened the app now and THE HAIR COLOUR DISCOURSE IS STILL ONGOING??? how the hell do people think that light brown is blond. firstly most of this fandom has no media literacy and now they're nearly colourblind as well? pick a struggle omg also why would they want leon to be a blond man, let's all have some taste here

the part of me that has grandparents who fled the Holocaust gets very very uncomfortable about the insistence that Leon has to be/must be blonde against all logic, rationale, and visual evidence

and I know that that's not fair and I know that that's probably not what anyone means by it and I know that the likelier explanation is that these people are probably blonde themselves and just want their favorite character to share that trait with them

but that's where my brain goes

[sunset-a-story]

hey Vee, happy STS!!:) what is something that you haven't yet explored but plan to/really want to? be it a type of character, a trope, a setting, etc.?

Thanks for the ask, Cee! I was offline most of Sat so I'm just getting to these now. We don't have a great deal of wlw heavily featured at the moment (a few side characters/relationships) but! I do have plans for a couple of our more major OCs in what I'm working on right now. Gonna shove 'em together and see if there's chemistry. Fingers crossed!

[foxyfrennetic]

i <3 my partner (it is literally a bug irl) its soooo awesome and cool and draws very silly style pictures (incredible artist) and has a very silly style (highly fashionable). love and peace are within them and some of my favorite things in the world are both love AND peace!!!! <3 <3 <3

[facts-i-just-made-up]

where did the term “lesbian” come from

Lesbians were long thought to have been named after the isle of Lesbos, home of the poetess Sappho who wrote in praise of women. Modern studies however suggest that this is inaccurate, as most lesbians have their own individual names.

[yellowjckets]

so maddening that i can't do screenshots of netflix cause i would be having a field day w/ annie rn

[lisaquestions]

So first of all, this is a lie. "Baeddel" did not refer only to intersex people and intersex people were not even seen as a distinct category when the word was first used.

Second of all, every single person I've seen say this is someone who has clearly never been called a baeddel saying it to women who have been, often many times. People are pissed that trans women, after being called this as an insult, are claiming it again, and trying to shut that down.

Third, this was on a post talking about how transmisogynists are calling trans women baeddels, so this person is telling a trans woman that she's not allowed to describe insults used against her.

This isn't a real problem, trans women calling themselves baeddels steals nothing from intersex people, nor is reporting the fact that transmisogynists are calling us baeddels in the first place. And this word hasn't been in common use for hundreds of years anyway. It's like telling lesbians to stop calling ourselves lesbians because it refers to the Isle of Lesbos.

Anyway, just leave trans women alone, stop trying to control our every movement and police our every word. Stop calling us revived slurs and then telling us we're stealing them when we use them for any reason among ourselves. Stop sending sexual harassment as anonymous asks. Stop contorting your logic into pretzels to prove that we're the problem when you're constantly attacking us for any reason you can concoct.

Edit: To clarify I don't know if the person who wrote the comment I capped is intentionally lying, but this is a falsehood I've seen more than once, so someone is spreading it intentionally.

[h-medicinalis]

Cheerfully telling my co workers that St Valentine was also the patron saint of beekeeping, epilepsy, leprosy, the Isle of Lesbos for some reason, and The Plague

[mswyrr]

reasons i genuinely enjoy criston as a character

-deconstruction of ideas of the nobility of warfare: he was all amped up to fight! he'd trained his entire life for battle. of any man drawn into this civil war, he should have been the most able to meet that challenge... and one battle breaks him - as happens irl to so many people, not because they are "weak," but because war is inherently destructive and traumatizing. the glory is all a lie.

-the deconstruction of chivalric love. he wanted a lady to be his chaste beacon and he got... a seemingly exclusively homoromantic woman lol. so for decades he thought they had THAT, the thing his culture valorizes in stories and song, love held in check by vows and honor. but it was actually because she's just not that into you man. (i think she has love for him, but not romantic). and once her husband kicked it she was like "actually, i need to work out some issues and find out what an orgasm is, so let's fuck." a thing which he (because he buys all this shit) feels deep shame over. the rules of the system just don't work.

(not only does the lady he's devoted to not like him back the same way but he knows it and his culture has given him no tools to understand sexuality so he tries to tell himself--and HER SON, because her obvious homoromantic love for their enemy is so obvious he and HER SON have whole conversations about it!--that somehow Rhaenyra "intoxicated" her, like a siren singing Alicent to the shores of the Isle of Lesbos lol.)

(and let's not even go into all the complexities of power, class, and gender at play in what went down with Rhaenyra and him that's a whole essay itself)

-shining a light on this corrupt class hierarchy. he thought he was rising in the world but this system, at core, is all about using people up for a very small few to have ultimate power (not even all the nobles! not even all the royal family - it's a damn pyramid scheme at every level). that is IT. no matter how high he rises, that's all it ever is or will be.

no matter how high he climbs, it's a layer cake of shit. through him the story shows what becomes of believing in all the lies this society tells itself (when you're not born at the top; the Targ kids show us what believing does to people at the top: it's a pyramid scheme, through and through). and it's gorgeous. it's ugly and heartbreaking. he's not an original thinker, he just wants to achieve within what his society tells him, he works so hard at it!! he wakes up every morning trying to live up to the lies. and that makes him the perfect man through whom to dismantle how these things work: he's just trying to do what he's told is honorable and just. and it's all shit.

his whole story came together for me in his despairing speech to gwayne in the s2 finale and it hit so well for me. particularly the touch where the high born man, gwayne, cannot contradict what criston has just said and so lowers his sword and sits beside him as an equal. made me like the whole character arc in retrospect, knowing where they were headed.

i love it. he reminds me of film noir and hardboiled detective novels i've loved, where you draw out the corruption and brokenness of a system through characters who relate to it in different ways. and the most agonizing way for someone to relate to a broken system is truly *believing* in it. they keep trying desperately to love it. but it doesn't love them back.

and major credit to fabian frankel who knows the kind of character he's playing and fully commits to it - he doesn't try to make the character look cool or undercut the deeper themes. he goes with it, and that is great, "story is king" acting.

[lesbicosmos]

day 1 of @chrisginnyweek !!

day 1 prompt: flowers

summary: Three weeks before her birthday, Neil gives Ginny an early present - an anthology of Sappho's poetry fragments. One week later, she finds a poem in her locker along with two violets. She wants to believe it's Chris who keeps leaving them for her, but she doesn't even like girls...right?

notes: okay so chris and ginny both go to henley hall in this because of Plot Reasons and also who cares about canon when its one character with about two minutes of screentime and another who's literally only in deleted scenes?

also on ao3!!

the one with violets in her lap

“Hey, Ginny!” Neil called out as Ginny was about to leave the cave.

She had joined the Welton boys for a few of their secret Dead Poets Society meetings by this point and was loving it. No one at Henley Hall had ever thought of anything as unique as this, and it also gave her more chance to practise performing. Sure, performing a poem in front of a group of boys and occasionally Chris wasn’t exactly the same as performing on stage, but both helped her confidence massively. They’d just wrapped up this month’s meeting – ending with Knox reciting an original poem he’d written for the new girl he was head over heels for and receiving an overenthusiastic round of applause and cheering from Charlie followed by barely concealed laughter from everyone else. At the point Ginny was leaving, Neil and Todd were the only ones left in the cave. They were always the last two to leave.

“Yeah?”

Ginny turned around to face him, stepping closer.

“I have something for you.”

“Really?”

Neil turned behind him to get something out of his bag.

“I was going to save it to give to you for your birthday, but it’s only a few weeks so I figured why not give it to you now?”

Neil handed Ginny a brown paper bag. She reached inside, looking quizzically at Neil as she did so. She pulled out a book with an orange cover: Sappho: A New Translation.

“Todd and I found it when we went to that bookshop last week, we thought you’d like it.”

Ginny beamed up at him.

“I didn’t even know there was a new published translation!”

“Neither did we ‘til we saw it,” said Todd, who had stood up from the rock he was sitting on and was now beside Neil.

“Thank you!” Ginny lunged forward, hugging them both.

“We knew you’d like it. Now, you’d better get back before your mom notices you’re not home,” said Neil.

Ginny turned to leave the cave once again. She glanced back as she left, giving the two of them a knowing grin – they’d somehow moved even closer together in the few seconds since she turned her back. They really weren’t as subtle as they thought they were.

She ran home as fast as she could. It was nearly two in the morning when she finally got into bed, but she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she turned on her bedside lamp and began to read.

“Oh Chris, they’re so beautiful! You really should borrow the book!” Ginny enthused as she and Chris walked through the halls at school.

“I’ve never even heard of Sappho!”

“She was an Ancient Greek poet from the Isle of Lesbos, most of her works have been lost over time, only a few fragments written on papyrus rolls survived, and they’ve been translated into English,” Ginny explained.

“What did she write about?”

“Emotions mostly, like all poets. Passion, jealousy, hatred, love.” Ginny lowered her voice, whispering into Chris’s ear. “Specifically love of women. She’s the reason we have the words ‘sapphic’ and ‘lesbian’.”

Chris turned to her, smiling.

“That’s so cool! It’s all because of her?”

“Yeah! I know you’re not…like me…so maybe it doesn’t feel as significant to you but it’s so amazing to me. The fact so many women since Ancient Greece have felt the same, and it’s like those feelings and that solidarity has passed on through generations. Reading these poems, even though they’re just fragments, it’s like…I can’t even explain it. It feels timeless.”

“Wow, that’s…,” Chris began but was interrupted by the school bell.

“Oh shit,” said Ginny. “My next period’s on the other side of the school, I’d better run. See you later!”

Before Chris could say anything else, Ginny was off down the halls.

It was the following week when the mystery began. Ginny got into school that Monday morning and went to her locker like usual, but there was something inside: two violets, tied together at the stem with a small piece of pink ribbon. Ginny picked them up, looking around to see if anyone was looking at her or waiting for any reaction. No one seemed to notice her. Ginny spotted there was a tiny note attached to the ribbon. On one side, it was blank, but there was writing on the other side:

‘girls

all night long

might sing of the love between you and the bride

with violets in her lap’

Ginny recognised it as one of Sappho’s fragments immediately. But there was no other writing on the note, no hint as to who could have left the flowers in her locker. She placed the note between two pages of her chemistry textbook and tucked one of the violets into her hair.

“Pretty flower,” smiled Chris when Ginny sat down beside her in history.

“Thanks! Someone left it in my locker,” she explained, still incredulous.

“Oh? Was it like…a love confession or…?”

“No idea. If they were trying to tell me something I don’t see what they’d want me to do about it, there was no name on the note, just a line of Sappho.”

“Maybe there’ll be another tomorrow.”

“I doubt it.”

There was another in her locker on Tuesday. There was only one flower, this time, but still had a note tied to it with the same pink ribbon.

‘he seems to me equal to gods thar man

whoever he is opposite you

sits and listens close

to your sweet speaking

and lovely laughing – oh it

puts the heart in my chest on wings

for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking

is left in me’

Another Sappho poem. How did this person know about Ginny’s love for her poetry? The only people who knew were Neil, Todd and Chris and surely this was none of their doing, right? Neil and Todd went to an entirely different school so they wouldn’t have had chance to plant it before 8am. Besides, this gesture had to be romantic, and Ginny knew for a fact neither of them felt that way about her – or about anyone other than each other for that matter. Chris hadn’t seemed too enthused by Ginny’s musings about her anthology the previous week, and she didn’t even like girls, so it couldn’t have been her. Was there another Sappho enthusiast at Henley Hall? Had someone spotted her carrying the book and realised they might have a chance? That would explain the anonymity, she supposed. No one would admit they were sapphic unless they were entirely confident the other person was okay with it.

Ginny tucked the flower into her hair again and shook her head, ignoring the thought. She had exams to worry about now, she couldn’t get caught up about a potential secret admirer. She would just pin the note to the side of the mirror on her dresser and keep the violet in a glass of water, as she had yesterday. Surely, that had to be the end of it, now.

Wednesday. Two more violets. Another note.

‘stars around the beautiful moon

hide back their luminous form

whenever all full she shines

on the earth

silvery’

Still no signature or indication of the sender.

Thursday. Another flower. Another fragment.

‘i long and seek after’

Ginny didn’t even recognise the handwriting. The calligraphy was so precise.

Friday. Three violets. Another poem.

‘not one girl I think

who looks on the light of the sun

will ever

have wisdom

like this’

“So how’s the book, Gin?” Neil asked on Saturday.

She had met up with him and Charlie in town and Charlie had run off to buy ice creams on the park. Technically he was supposed to be studying with Meeks but apparently ice cream was more important than his grades.

“It’s really good! The fragmented translations are so interesting, it’s like you have to imagine what she would have written next.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing with ancient poets, we never really get all their work. It takes a bit more imagination to read.”

Charlie came running up to them, handing them ice creams and sitting beside them on the bench.

“Nice flower.” He pointed at the small purple bloom sticking out by Ginny’s ear.

“Thanks, I keep getting left them in my locker.”

Neil and Charlie looked at one another confused, then back to Ginny.

“I don’t know who’s leaving them,” Ginny anticipated their question. “But every morning this week there has been at least one violet in my locker with a note tied to it, and the note is always one of Sappho’s lines. Never signed, no indication of who left it there, just the poetry.”

“Did you tell anyone else about the book I got you?” Neil asked.

“Only Chris.”

Charlie smirked.

“It’s not her.”

“How do you know?”

“She doesn’t like girls like I do. Believe me, I really wish it was her. But I know it isn’t.”

“Are you sure?” Charlie teased.

Neil shook his head at Charlie, indicating for him to shut up. He’d been the person Ginny had confided in about Chris back when she realised she liked her as more than just a best friend. She’d had overwhelming feelings for her for so long, and every time she’d seen her that past week there’d been a part of her wondering what if it is? What if it is her? But every time the thought crossed her mind, she shook it off. She wouldn’t give herself false hope. No, that would hurt too much.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”

“I hope it doesn’t take too long, I’m running out of room on my dresser for these things,” Ginny chuckled, eating her ice cream. ‘Maybe they’ve given up, anyway,’ she thought to herself.

Monday morning. Another violet, another note.

‘my darling one’

“You still getting those?” Chris walked over to Ginny’s locker, peeking over her shoulder at the paper in her hand.

“Apparently,” Ginny said, hoping her voice didn’t give away her nerves at Chris being so close to her. “Why don’t they just sign it or something? Then I wouldn’t have to figure out who it is myself.”

“Maybe they’re waiting to surprise you. It is your birthday this weekend, after all.”

“Do you know something about it? Do you know who it is?”

Chris smiled, raising her eyebrows knowingly and miming zipping her mouth shut. Then, she turned away from the lockers and strode down the hall. Chris knowing who it was somehow made it hurt more. She was helping someone who liked Ginny, completely oblivious to the fact Ginny was head over heels in love with her.

Tuesday. More flowers. More poetry.

‘someone will remember us

I say

even in another time’

Still no signature.

Wednesday.

‘for many crowns of violets and roses

at my side you put on

and many woven garlands

made of flowers

around your soft throat’

Thursday.

‘I conversed with you in a dream

Kyprogeneia’

Friday. Five violets.

‘sweet mother, I cannot weave –

slender Aphrodite has overcome me with longing for a girl.’

“I just don’t get it,” Ginny groaned as she sat beside Chris on the bench at lunch. “Why haven’t they said anything? They just keep leaving the flowers and notes in my locker! It’s been two weeks now!”

“I don’t know, Gin. Have you noticed anyone looking at you differently? Expectantly?”

“No! That’s exactly my point: aside from the poems, they’ve not given any hints, not tried to seek me out or anything! If the goal was to tell me for my birthday, I don’t think they’re gonna reach it.”

“You never know, they might surprise you!”

Ginny turned her head to look at Chris, squinting suspiciously.

“You’re still coming over for my birthday tomorrow, right?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

“We’re not doing that much you know, just having a meal with my family.”

“I know,” Chris replied cheerily.

Ginny squinted at her more.

“You know something, and I don’t like it.”

It was true. She didn’t like it. Chris just didn’t know the exact reason why. Chris just grinned and bit her apple.

Saturday. Ginny sat at her dresser, desperately trying to figure out what to do with her hair. She groaned and dropped her head forwards onto her arms. After a few seconds, she sat up, looking at herself in the mirror. She was wearing her favourite dark purple dress with the white collar. It was almost the same shade as the violets, which were by now spread across three makeshift vases on her dresser. She also wore the small heart pendant necklace Chris had bought her for Christmas. She’d barely taken it off since she’d received it. Ginny sighed, picked up her curlers and got to work.

She’d just positioned one of the violets next to her left ear when the doorbell rang. She all but ran down the stairs, pulled the door open, and was shocked by the sight before her.

Chris stood there in her pink jumper and grey skirt, holding a bunch of violets. The flowers were tied with the same pink ribbon as the ones in her locker had been for the last two weeks – the same pink ribbon Chris now wore in her hair.

“Happy birthday, Gin.”

She held the bunch out to Ginny, and she took them, gently turning over the piece of paper that was tied there alongside them. Sure enough, there were two lines of poetry written in perfect cursive.

‘you came and I was crazy for you

and you cooled my mind that burned with longing.’

Ginny just stared up at Chris for a few seconds, who was smiling expectantly back.

“Come in, let’s go upstairs,” she said, after remembering she needed to breathe, stepping inside to let Chris in. She shut the front door behind them, shouting to her parents that Chris had arrived before dashing upstairs to her room.

“It was you,” Ginny said simply as she and Chris stepped inside her bedroom. Ginny made sure the door was closed so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

“It was me,” Chris admitted.

Ginny sat down on her bed, staring directly forward. She was confused and overjoyed at the same time. She felt the weight on the bed shift as Chris sat beside her, their thighs touching just barely.

“So you…like me?” Ginny asked, just to be sure.

Chris giggled. Ginny wanted to listen to that sound forever.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even know you felt that way about girls.”

“Neither did I until you told me you did. I’d never really considered it an option but then after you told me, I started thinking about it and, yeah. I think it’s the reason dating Chet never felt…right. I hadn’t realised I was with the wrong Danburry,” Chris explained.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried to hint at things, even before the violets and poems. It wasn’t a coincidence that I broke up with Chet only a week after you came out to me, you know?” She paused before continuing. “Also, I wasn’t entirely sure whether or not you felt the same about me. Both of us being like this didn’t necessarily mean that we also both had feelings for one another. That’s assuming…you do feel the same way?”

Ginny scoffed as if Chris had just asked her if the sky was blue.

“Of course I do! I thought I made that fairly obvious. You were the person that made me realise I liked girls in the first place – I mean, you and Audrey Hepburn, but still. I’ve been dreaming for months that you liked me back, that we could be together, but I always woke up thinking it was impossible.”

“I can assure you it is very much possible. What happened in the dreams?”

“Sometimes we’d go out to the park, sometimes you’d come over here, but every time, we’d just be sitting there, holding hands.”

Chris took Ginny’s hand in her own.

“Then you’d lean in and kiss me,” Ginny continued, really hoping the shaking she was feeling was just in her mind and not her body.

“I think we can make that happen,” she said softly, her other hand moving around them to cup Ginny’s cheek and bring their faces closer together.

When their lips met, it was so soft, but it was like an electric shock passed between them. Ginny’s eyes were closed but she swore she could see fireworks; an explosion of flush pinks and bright violets erupting in her mind, and all her senses were heightened. Chris pulled away after a couple of seconds, but Ginny held her face and pulled her back. They giggled as their noses bumped into each other, but soon settled into a rhythm, Chris’s hand moving up into Ginny’s hair. Ginny could taste the lip balm on Chris’s lips – strawberry? No – cherry. She tasted so sweet, exactly as she had in Ginny’s dreams. She knew it was cliché as soon as the thought came to her, but she didn’t care; she wanted to stay in the moment forever.

They only moved apart when both physically needed to breathe. They smiled at one another, then Ginny moved sideways, laying her head in Chris’s lap. Chris carried on messing with her hair.

“Sorry,” she giggled, “I think I messed your hair up.”

“Chris, believe me when I tell you I do not care. Mess it up all you like.”

“Want me to re-do it? I have an idea.”

Ginny nodded, sitting back up. Chris reached over to the other side of the bed and took the bunch of violets that had been discarded when they sat down.

“Ah, we might not have enough here.”

“I have them all.”

Ginny indicated towards her dresser, where the glasses stood housing every one of the violets Chris had left in her locker over the past two weeks. Some were more damaged than others, but she’d kept them alive for the most part.

“You kept them?” Chris was touched. She stood up and walked over to the dresser, reaching out to stroke one of the ten pieces of paper taped around the mirror. “And all the notes, too?”

“I think part of me had some hope that it was you who was leaving them, so I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of any.”

Chris smiled at her.

“You’re so cute.”

Chris took the hairbrush and the glasses of flowers and brought them over to Ginny’s bedside table, before sitting back on the bed. She moved her feet apart so there was space on the floor in front of her.

“You okay sitting on the floor?”

“Of course,” Ginny said, sitting down.

She tried not to think too much about the fact she was sitting in between Chris’s legs. That image had also appeared in her dreams more than a few times. But she had time to talk about those dreams later on. She relaxed immediately when Chris began gently pulling the brush through her hair.

“Your hair’s so soft,” she said.

“Thanks,” Ginny was unsure how else to reply.

When Chris didn’t say anything else for a few minutes, Ginny let herself close her eyes and zone out, the gentle tugging on her hair keeping her from falling asleep.

She pictured herself, only a few months ago, not long after she realised the truth of her feelings for Chris. She’d been at theatre rehearsals, practising a monologue on stage, and Chris had tagged along to watch her. She was the only person in the whole auditorium, and Ginny couldn’t concentrate on anything other than her. It distracted her from her lines, staring at the way one corner of Chris’s mouth moved up into a smile; the way her hair sat so perfectly behind her ear, glowing in the harsh light of the theatre; how pretty her hand looked propping her chin up as she leaned forwards onto the chair in front; the way her eyes never left Ginny’s performance. In that moment, Ginny wanted nothing more than to jump off the stage, run over to her and kiss her all over her pretty face. She’d gone home and cried that night. She hated the way she felt about her, hated that she knew nothing could ever happen between them.

Well, she thought she knew. Now she knew she was wrong. She had kissed Chris and was going to make it her mission to kiss every part of her face as soon as she could.

Ginny was broken out of her daydreaming by Chris’s silky voice.

“I think you’re done, Gin.”

Ginny stood up, brushed her dress down and walked over to the mirror. Her hair was in a beautiful up-do, several braids twisted together to form a bun on the back of her head. The violets were threaded throughout, matching her dress perfectly. She saw Chris walk up behind her in the mirror, a huge smile on her face.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

Ginny pulled Chris into a tight hug before kissing her once again, the fireworks from earlier returning and brighter than before. Chris stood on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss, and Ginny pulled her impossibly closer to deepen the kiss.

“My darling one,” Ginny muttered as they broke apart, quoting one of the Sappho lines Chris had left in her locker.

“Girl sweetvoiced,” Chris replied. “Kind of sad I didn’t get to use that one, it’s one of my favourites.”

“You can quote Sappho to me whenever you want, Chris.”

Suddenly Ginny’s mother called from downstairs.

“Girls! Dinner!”

The two instinctively jumped apart, then both laughed.

“You ready?” Chris asked, holding out her hand.

“Yeah,” Ginny replied, taking it.

But as Chris started for the door, Ginny stopped.

“Wait!”

She dashed over to the bedside table, where one flower was left in the glass. She took it and walked back over to Chris before tucking it into her hair, moving a lock behind her ear as she did so. The dark purple contrasted beautifully with her bright blonde hair.

“There. Perfect,” she whispered.

Ginny leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Chris’s nose before taking her hand once more and leaving the bedroom.

And if Chris kept leaving flowers and poems in Ginny’s locker the next week? Well, at least Ginny could be sure who they were from now, and not only because of the pink lipstick mark on one side of the paper that perfectly matched the ribbon.