#I LOVE TRAGIC LESBIANS

[juthemagicalclown]

absolutely obsessed with Isolde and Kakania. the deep mutual friendship, Isolde's absolute devotion, loyalty and blind trust, Kakania's inability to give up on her despite everything, the “touch me, hold my face, hug me, talk to me heart to heart like you used to”

[markmentomoreef]

National Holiday for JRWI enjoyers

[valleynix]

GIMME PLS 🥺🙏🙏

I WANNA READ YOUR ORIGINAL WORK

OKAY OKAY

it's under the cut (2.7k words), but fair warning it is most definitely not my best work </3 i got inspired and just finished it but haven't gone back to reread it, nor do i really have a direction for it, so i hope it makes sense LMAO

(it is pretty gay but mostly implied, and pretty angsty. warnings for blood and a little gore :-) )

my apologies for the potentially rushed writing, but:

She is drenched in her enemies’ blood.

She does not know where she is or who she is any longer, for the weight of her sword in her hand is the only thing she feels. Her fingers are cramped and tight, her wrist sore and aching, but she does not stop. She will not stop.

Her love is gone. It is their fault.

The mourning mark of her lady is smeared across her cheeks and eyes, and she wonders if it is the rain or her own shed tears that has made the mark so messy. Would it matter which it is? She supposes not.

Her black cloak blows behind her as another falls to the ground, his throat cut before he could ever think to draw his own weapon. She has done this for what feels like an eternity.

Nothing is new to her.

The man’s torch clatters against the road, his blood leaking from his neck like a river finding its course through the cracked stones. When the flames turn to embers and the blood turns to water, she continues on her path. Her unevenly cut hair sticks to her face as a gentle wind blows through this street, though she is not sure why it feels attached to her skin.

Sweat, blood, rain, tears… She does not know. She does not care to.

The weight of her sword is all she should know.

There are more up ahead, chattering away, laughing at her. Her bones ache and scream for her to stop, but she shoves the feeling down, instead choosing to focus on the way her boots and armor clank as she walks. She is making good time, but she does not know if she will find her way again.

A man and a woman hear her coming, as she has come to expect. She raises her greatsword, gifted to her the evening she swore to protect her love, and brings it down upon them. A spear is driven toward her as the man’s shoulder is cleaved straight through, the blade narrowly missing his heart. He will not live long, and his body hitting the ground seals his fate.

The spear nicks her cheek, slashing along her skin as blood now drips down her jaw. The woman comes to regret that action a moment later when she cannot lift her spear in time, and the sword severs her head from the rest of her body.

She does not bother wishing an easy rest on them as she moves forward, her sword dragging behind her, the steel blade causing sparks to fly as it scrapes against the dull stones. Her dark cloak whips behind her, stains its ends in the blood that threatens to drown her.

It won’t be long, now. This town should be the last. It will be the last.

Her curse will overtake her if she does not succeed this time. She has already failed once too many.

Her head twitches to the side, pain lancing through her skull. She pushes herself up a set of stairs, her left hand struggling to keep her standing. She must persist, must do it for her.

She will not accept another way. She cannot.

But her limbs grow heavy. When did she last eat? Sleep? Could she even call the bones and muscles that ache in her body her own?

She does not remember if this body is hers. Did she not give it up when she swore her life to her lover?

“Swear it to me,” her lady says, kneeling in the tall grass as she grasps the knight’s young face between her hands. Her long hair gently blows in the wind, a stark contrast to the paleness of her face. “You will always come back to me, won’t you?”

The knight nods, dark eyes wide and full of wonder. She takes a deep breath, raising a hand to place her fist over her heart as her jaw sets. “I swear on my dying breath, my lady. My body, my mind, my sword; they are yours to do with as you please.”

Her lady snorts and pinches her cheeks as she releases them. “Don’t be silly. I do not wish for us to grow apart when you leave.”

“When I leave?” the knight asks. She rests her hands on her thighs, clenched. “Where will I go, if I am not to remain at your side? What will I do?”

Her greatsword finds its way buried deep into the heart of a man, squelching loudly in her ears. His blood stains the front of her chest piece and what remains of the colored cloth that bears her lady’s warm colors. She is reminded of a sun setting beneath a mountain, pulling a blanket of clouds over its body as it lays to rest.

She is not deserving of these colors. Her body is no longer what it once was, when they were gifted to her.

The man falls to the tower’s floor, groaning quietly as he draws his last breaths. She continues to the cells, her head throbbing and her heart pounding in her chest.

She ignores these feelings. Her lady is near.

“You are no longer a lost puppy, sweet thing. You need not follow in my shadow.”

The knight frowns, her brows furrowing as she looks to the sword between them. “And… What of this? What does it mean?”

“Is it not a token of your loyalty?” Her lady brushes her hand along the hilt, gently tapping the deep blue stone that rests there. “I gifted it to you, after all, under the assumption you would be mine. Do my words mean nothing to you?”

“N-No!” the knight stutters out, her cheeks flushing deeply. “I mean- They’re everything to me, I… only do not know where I stand. I wish to know how… how you feel, my lady.”

“Oh? No one has dared ask me such a thing.” She giggles quietly, shifting forward to rest her forehead against the knight’s. “You should know it by now, shouldn’t you?”

A sword is jabbed at her bicep, slicing through the cloth as it finds the only spot her armor does not protect. She makes no sound as she swings her own blade over her head, cleaving the man’s arm from his shoulder, as she has done countless times before. He falls to the floor from the force of it, hissing through his teeth as his blood pools around his torso.

She slowly buries her sword into the man’s heart through his weak armor, no match for the steel that burns in her hands. Perhaps they should have anticipated her arrival, and they could have known how to stop her.

As it stands, she goes through them as if they were nothing but dirt beneath her boots.

The mourning mark of her lady drips into her eyes, heat racing up the back of her neck. It stings, but she blinks the bleariness and pain away as she walks forward, her eyes searching for her lady. She must be here. Where else could she be?

Her cheeks flush deeper as she bows her head, her hair falling into her face. It is her lady that lifts her back up, a gentle smile on her lips as she places a soft kiss between the knight’s brows. Her heart pounds painfully in her chest, and she does not understand why.

It has always been her lady that makes her feel this way. Is it not wrong of her? Are they not from two vastly different worlds, their pieces never fitting quite right?

She is a protector. That is all.

“Lost in that handsome head of yours, are you?” her lady quietly asks. Her lips find purchase on the knight’s cheek, lingering for a moment. “My father tells me you leave tomorrow. I… wish we had more time together.”

The weight of the sword now sheathed at her back is familiar as she searches the various cells in this hallway, her eyes straining against the darkness. Quiet wails sound in her ears and things shuffle within them, but she does not see her lady.

She presses on. She must be here.

Blood drips down her arm and causes her clothing to stick uncomfortably to her skin, but she pays the feeling no mind. She is so close to fulfilling her duty and her sworn promise-

To who? Does she remember her lady’s name?

It must be engraved in the locket around her neck. She reaches a hand up, shaking as she touches her neck-

It is gone.

No. No, no, no.

That was all she had left. She has nothing, and how can she? What does she look like?

“We could run away,” the knight jokes, though her lady frowns at it. “I… I’m sorry. I know this is important to your family.”

“So are you. To me, that is.”

Her heart cracks in her chest. She can’t continue like this, she can’t let her lady see how badly she has failed. She swore to protect her, to always come back, and why can’t she?

The knight shakes her head, tugging it away from her lady as she pushes herself away. “You say these things, but… I do not know how to feel.”

Her lady hums, a soft sound that feels like music she has never heard. “Do you find it strange? We can stop.”

“I don’t want us to.”

The knight does not know why she says these things. She is a protector, a warrior. She has no time for whatever one could call this feeling in her chest. Aside from that fact, she is not permitted. What would her mentor say, or the lord? She cannot have what they do.

Soft, uncalloused hands grasp her cheeks again, tugging her attention back to her lady. She frowns again, but it is out of concern, she thinks. “Would you mind if I kissed you? I have wondered of the taste of your lips on mine for some time.”

The knight does not know if her cheeks or ears can burn any hotter. Must she embarrass herself this way?

She stumbles back a few steps, her breathing erratic as she searches the darkness. She doesn’t know where she is, who she is. What has she done?

She has to find her lover. She has to-

She must. She is all the knight has left.

Her mother gone from childbirth, her father never returning from his adventures, her sister disappearing by the river. She has no one.

Tears prick her eyes as she stumbles down the hall, frantic in her search. She must have dropped it. It must be nearby, she couldn’t ever leave it without realizing.

“N-Not at all. My lady.” She swallows the lump growing in her throat, her eyes flicking between the golden hues of her lady’s. “This… is not proper, is it? Should a lord of higher standing not be your fancy?”

“A strong, kindhearted knight that has sworn her loyalty to me? I could not ask for a more wonderful thing.” Her head tilts to the side slightly, her eyes flicking down. “Are you uncomfortable? I only wish for you to feel yourself around me, but if this is too far-“

The knight stops her lady’s worried rambling with a swift kiss to her lips, awkward and weird. She has never done such a thing before, but it takes no time for her lady to take the lead, smiling as she settles into a rhythm.

Her heart pounds in her ears, whispers in her mind as she stumbles into a brighter hallway, blinking rapidly at the sudden light. Two men meet her halfway as she rushes through, her boots thundering against the stone as she bolts through the halls, using a small dagger at her thigh to get through any that wish harm upon her.

Bodies lie in her wake, lonesome as they stain the stones a deep red. She does not regret it, but the tears in her eyes certainly do not help her state.

She isn’t sure what she sees or who she’s looking at. Faces flash in her vision as she pushes forward, unable to get a full breath in, her hands reaching out to steady herself on the slick walls as her dagger clatters to the floor.

Voices shout at her, beg her to stop. She does not.

She cannot.

How could she forget what her lady looks like? Sounds like? She does not remember even a name.

She would be so disappointed. Perhaps it is deserved.

She breaks through a rusted door, staggering into the night and straight down a hill as she loses her balance and whoever was closing in on her heels. She tumbles down, her sword loosening from its strap at her chest and leaving its place around her, harshly smacking against her face. Her cloak strangles her, wraps around her throat, threatens to steal her breath-

She hits a river, sinking toward the bottom almost immediately as it rushes by her, water pounding in her ears. She tries to catch her breath, tries to push herself to the surface-

She must claw her way to the shore, the metal claws on her fingers digging into the sand as she blindly yanks herself forward. The current from the river attempts to lure her to its depths, promising her a name, a face-

She does not listen. The bones in her fingers ache and she coughs, only sucking in more water during her struggle. The muscles in her arms burn but she continues, pushing on, screaming as she pulls herself above the river’s rushing current.

The water she inhaled comes back up as she continues attempting to pull herself onto the dry sand, only accomplishing tugging half of her body onto it. The sand sticks uncomfortably to her face as she vomits what little remains of her insides, gasping in air before the next round hits her like a stone thrown at her chest.

It takes her some time to calm down, for her heart to settle and her ears to stop ringing. She ponders her death, if another her is somewhere in that river, struggling to find her way to the surface. She must be gone, now.

She weakly pushes herself onto her back, closing her eyes as she breathes deeply, attempting to calm her breathing. The tower remains across the other side of the river and voices continue to shout at her in a language she doesn’t understand, but for now, she is safe.

Her lady is still gone. She does not know where to find her, now, or where to go. Is she welcome anywhere? Will they recognize her?

It takes her some time before her limbs feel like her own and she knows she can move once more, despite the creak in her bones and the ache in her muscles. She will have to find her sword, as she refuses to let another memento of her lover’s find its way from her grasp.

The moon shines brightly as she stands, her arms shaking when she rolls onto her stomach, her armor poking into her skin. She uses what’s left of her strength to keep herself on her legs, despite the way they wobble and she staggers a few steps.

She breathes deeply, her heart settling in her chest. The voices continue to shout things she does not understand, and she supposes she never will.

Her blurry eyes search for any sign of her lady’s sword, and she thinks she sees it further down the river’s shore, stuck between two rocks. Its sheath reminds her of her lady’s colors, and she supposes that is all she has left.

As she stumbles down the sandy ground, leaning on sharp rocks and small trees for support, she promises herself one thing.

She will not give up, will not turn from this venture. Does she not deserve better?

Perhaps it is simply in her family’s blood to die for those they love. Has her time come? She would welcome it with open and willing arms, if only it would allow her to see one last time.

The knight reaches for her sword, grasping it tightly between her aching fingers as she stands once more.

She will find her lover, return what was lost to her.

She must.

[rottingmaggotgirl]

me and my lesbian pride tattoo

[colossalsquidz]

Sighhhhh. Listening to Dr. Carmilla now. I love her voice so much it’s actually so beautiful

[deckoftrickcards]

hello voltron nation i am not done with them take some self indulgent klance yuri

[bonewraith]

btw harrow made gideon promise to outlive her and return to the locked tomb if anything were to happen to her

btw gideon couldn't keep that promise because she instead kept the promise of "one flesh, one end"

btw harrow was so certain she would die before gideon but gideon just had to put a damper on those plans, like she does with all of harrow's plans

btw gideon was the first (living) person harrow bared her entire soul to, so after gideon died, harrow felt she had Nothing left

[polaris-likethestar]

death is inevitable. death is something we're all gonna face someday. death supposedly has no emotion, has no feelings, has no nothing. death isn't good nor bad, heroic nor evil, it's just something that is.

death is something that has always existed since the beginning of time. something that always will exist. it's the way of life. it's the natural order of all things.

agatha harkness made death cry.

agatha harkness made death fold.

agatha harkness made 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 feel 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦

i want you to think about that.

[sigsfigs]

never thought i would be without you

i wish you love

i wish you well

i wish you roses

while you can still smell them

[sparxdoodles]

hey you guys should check out the yuri cupid manga it's totally just laughs and hijinks I swear

[amosprinz]

“I already have a dance partner.”

[punkleos]

Awooga

[kangaruthi]

[starrylayle]

the thing about wolfstar is they no doubt love each other,, but they're not soulmates. In fact, they're the complete opposite, fate is almost begging to keep them apart. They shouldn't work. They're both two traumatised boys with familial issues, queer in the 70s and both stubborn in their mindsets. The people they've hurt the most is each other. They've lived through a war, Sirius was falsely imprisoned and Remus lived believing that, but they still managed to reconcile. Considering everything, they probably shouldn't be together -- but they do. They fight against all odds to make it work. And this is my absolute fave part of wolfstar fics.

It's also why I prefer wolfstar to prongsfoot -- despite the fact that in theory they seem like the better couple.

Because I don't like couples where the universe binds them together by fate. I like couples where the universe does its best to pit them apart, but they struggle and claw their way back together regardless. And that is the beauty of wolfstar my folks.

[rose-bunny-28]

Oh, Ty Lee. That isn't great flirting

Azula isn't much better though

[mistressofshipping]

I was just thinking that Nicky was the one thing that Agatha created. I mean: her magic, her essence, always takes and consumes, it doesn't create anything, but Nicky is the exception, he is something she created, something positive that came from her. It was the one thing she did right and Rio, the love of her life, the other good thing she ever knew, is the one that has to take it away from her. It's too much, too heart wrenching, and I think that is why Agatha is so mad at Rio: the love of her life took the only good thing she made in her life.