#sapphic sanctuary

[the-sapphic-sanctuary]

[kanangul]

After spending a childhood in isolation, Mikhail has finally been able to find freedom in academia. Pursuing the passion of their only solace; the forever gentle sound of song. Though, Mikhail has lived a life of naivety. A life shielded by the harsh faith of their church and family. Now Mikhail will discover the dark underbelly of the city of Vilyuchka — and what it means to be a composer in a city where crime and music are one in the same.

Demo: July 2024

The Garden Sanctuary is an 18+ horror, lesbian romance, and erotica interactive fiction. It takes place in a world built in Gaslamp Fantasy, with Art-Deco and 1920s influences. It is planned to be a browser-based visual novel style experience, with multiple illustrations and CGs placed throughout.

(Character bios and additional info can be found under the cut.)

CONTENT WARNING: The Garden Sanctuary is a HORROR and EROTICA interactive fiction. CWs include gore, violence, body horror, body dysmorphia, gender dysphoria, as well as internal and external transphobia, homophobia/lesbophobia, and ableism. The Garden Sanctuary also portrays critical views of the effects of CSA and incest from a personal perspective. (No on screen depictions, just the aftermaths of such events.)

MC: Mikhail Ilyushin - The Composer - They/Them

Mikhail Ilyushin was raised in one of the many churches of Vilyuchka who follow the single god of Lithos. From birth they were seen as sick, in body and mind alike. Thus they were sheltered from the rest of society in an attempt to protect their frailty from the outside world. During their time in the church they would occupy their dark upbringing with their passion for music. Mikhail had given up on the prospects of freedom. Until one day their overbearing family was contacted by a mysterious sponsor, who was somehow able to convince them to allow Mikhail to attend the University of Saint Yelena in order to pursue becoming a professional composer.

RO: Watcher Uriel - Patron of Pestilence - He/She/They

Watcher Uriel, the cursed angel forced to live on the outskirts of the city. Their very existence brings sickness. Her appearance is gruesome, no matter how hard she tries to mask her true form under a mortal glamor. In spite of the nature of their very existence, they long for only one thing: Love and affection. They are the head of a fanatic cult, obsessed with finding love for their holy angel. Nonetheless Watcher Uriel remains on the ceaseless hunt to find a soulmate. No matter the cost.

RO: Lucia Blackhart - The Violet Songstress - She/Her

Perhaps one of your only hopes of learning what the life of a composer entails. Lucia is not only a prolific melodist herself, she's also an extremely elusive detective. The catch: she only works with criminals in the Vilyuchkan Underbelly. Her allegiances are never set in stone. And while her services are invaluable, you can never fully set your trust in the Violet Songstress. Bonus Route: Because of her good natured relationship with Caim, it is possible to pursue a polyamorous route between the two of them.

RO: Caim - The Wonderland Ensemble, one of the Five Kings of the Vilyuchkan Underbelly - They/Them

Caim is a demonic being who surfaced in Vilyuchka many decades ago. Since then they have founded the Wonderland Ensemble, a ruthless crime syndicate known for its equal worship of pleasure and pain. Caim is an absolutely ruthless criminal, earning them the title of one of the Five Kings; a designation for the most dangerous and esteemed crime bosses in the Vilyuchkan Underbelly. Bonus Route: Because Caim is great friends with Lucia Blackhart, it is possible to pursue a polyamorous route between both of them.

RO: Headmaster Stelliana - Beholder of the Moon - She/Her

Headmaster Stelliana is the only companion you will meet on your journey that has the privilege of participating in regular society. She's a highly respected scholar, and lead of the academic group known as the Beholders of the Moon. Though she just poses as an intellectual elite, she holds a dark secret. Her and her fellow Beholders are apart of a cult seeking to resurrect the Old Gods. Only she and her fellow scholars know what this entails, and what fate this may bring about.

RO: ████████████ ████████████ ██████ ███ █████████

Something about this presence seems familiar. Yet foreign. I can feel my heart pounding against my ribcage. Is it fear, or is it fiery yearning that I feel? Nonetheless something inside of me burns. Threatening to sear through my sternum and breach the skin along my breast. Until we meet again.

[eternal-moss]

This could be us but I’m too much of a coward to send you a text message 😔

[pyreoflovesdesire888]

I ache for your touch, my dear.

the stillness of your mind,

the hunger of your mouth,

the taste of your skin.

I want to feel you, through my veins.

Kneel before you in the sanctuary,

Pray to you,

Submit to you, my goddess divine.

For you’re my religion,

And I am in your submission.

In a trance, so bewitching,

So captivating,

So... magnetizing.

To feel,

To love,

To touch and see.

In light,

In peace,

To be one with thee,

Amen.

— E. I. Alaric, the pyre of love's desire '23

[pollenallergie]

say it with me now, folks:

cottage core!chrissy, cottage core!chrissy, COTTAGE CORE!CHRISSY

[elizabethrobertajones]

ffxiv sapphic week 2 "vulnerability and vacation" just made me think immediately of poor Zero dealing with sunlight for the first time in a zillion years and I'm cackling about this hat having the same brim effect as her usual hat.

She is killing me with her mind for doing this to her.

Frog is empirically correct that Zero needs a vacation where she's ordered to do nothing and soak up sun for the good brain chemicals. They will kiss about it later, but for now this definitely feels more like medicine than a date :'D

[prismsanctuaryofficial]

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ Beyond the Binary 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

Today we have another from Jessica!

[vizthedatum]

My apartment rules (subject to change and I will update visitors on a case-by-case basis)

Effective February 10, 2023, at 12 AM EST:

I have apartment rules for visitors. My home is a sacred space and my sanctuary. These rules apply to every visitor, no matter who you are. People who are excluded from these rules are my landlord and any building staff. Partners and best friends are also subject to these rules. Every time. No exceptions.

You will need to collaborate with me about the approximate time you will show up at my place and the approximate time you will leave. This will need to be on my google calendar. Leeway is allowed but my time/schedule is busy, and I often have a lot of self-care needs and get caught up in entertaining guests, so you will need to abide by this. If repeated events occur where you overstay considerably longer (especially without my approval) or show up COMPLETELY unannounced, then you may not be invited back.

No surprise guests, unless pre-approved.

No pets, unfortunately - this is only because of building rules. I’m more than happy to meet your pets outside of my home.

Leave shoes near the door or on the shoe rack.

You must present an offering to me when you enter. All offerings must include a note or verbal explanation of what the offering means to you and what you think it could mean to me. The following offerings are preferred: flowers or plants - with a vase or pot - and it must have meaning, hello kitty plushies or other hello kitty paraphernalia, hello kitty bouquet of flowers, homemade food, interesting food ingredients with a handwritten recipe, my favorite wine(s), something decorative that is teal or purple that would fit well in my home, nice stationary, a handwritten story or poem (that you will have to read aloud to me), or something I will *definitely* like (if you know me). If getting an offering is not affordable, I’ll give the person money/resources to get whatever they’d like for me.

There will be a low tolerance for the following behaviors: racism, transphobia, bigotry, any form of discrimination, etc. If you personally offend me, then that’s also not great. You will get three warnings with explanations. If any further indiscretions after the third warning, you will be asked to leave immediately.

Discussion of hard topics (such as those above) is totally allowed, if done in a respectful and inquisitive manner.

You cannot call the police at my home. ACAB. The only possible reasons that you may call 911 or the authorities: I’m unconscious and you cannot revive me, someone else is having a medical crisis and needs an ambulance, my spouse shows up before Dec 29, 2023 (I have a PFA against them), or someone needs to be forcibly removed from my place and we can’t do it ourselves.

Addendum to #8: I am incredibly frightened of being involuntarily mentally institutionalized. It is one of my top ten fears in this life. If I had stayed with Jon, they would have eventually undoubtedly done this to me despite knowing how much I’m against it. With this being said, I have called in and taken family/friends/lovers to mental health institutions, and I’ve felt great shame and guilt about it. I will say this to all my friends and people in my life: Never do this to me because I’d rather do the hard work to avoid this outcome than have my power/control over my life taken away. If you do this to me, I will mask and lie my ass off. I will use all my degrees, clout, power, etc. to avoid this. And I will never ever forgive you for it. There are other ways to show support and be kind to me than to go to this extreme with me. I hope that’s clear! (Like y’all understand this trauma response and trigger, correct? All my life, people have taken away my agency or repressed me to such an extreme, over and over again, so it is very reasonable to know that I (an academic who has read and experienced way too much) will not let a fucking medically and scientifically flawed Western mental health institution dictate my life. If you’re not my therapist or psychiatrist (or a person to who I have explicitly given consent), then don’t even try to offer diagnoses or express your so-called concern or hypotheses about how I’m leading my life. Fuck all of you. And if you’re an off-duty healthcare professional who does this to me, then sorry to break it to you, but you are being so inappropriate and unprofessional. 

You are not allowed to take or investigate any medical equipment or medication/substance (recreational, prescribed, or otherwise) without my explicit approval. Exceptions include menstrual products and the like. If you don’t know, please ask.

Leave an area how you found it.

Assist with one cleaning or decorating task per visit.

If you consume a drink or some sort of meal when you are in my home, you must give me at least one constructive critique of it so I can improve it for next time. If I get it “right” - tell me how I got it right.

In conversation, I expect to be referred to as “Rose.” If you would prefer to call me “Pritika,” then you must be able to pronounce it perfectly. No other names or nicknames will be allowed UNLESS pre-approved by me. Cute endearments are totally okay but also I can veto them at any time.

Additionally, for reparations and personal life experience’s sake, I will require you to practice pronouncing and saying my given name, “Pritika,” at least five times every visit. I still relate to my given name as it is directly tied to my culture and heritage.

Physical touch is one of my primary love languages. Thus, it is highly protected. Touch needs to be negotiated every single time with me and you will need my explicit consent before touching me, no matter who you are or what we have done together. Consent may be revoked at any time. If you do not have my consent, you may not ask again unless I bring it up.

I have chronic pain conditions and may flare up when you visit - if that happens, I will need you to be okay with seeing me in pain or distress. I’ve been in pain for the majority of my life. I may also cry about stuff or have an emotional reaction to things. If you cannot be okay with it (or if I decide you’re not acting appropriately), then you will have to leave immediately.

As a follow-up to the previous rule, I do not need unsolicited advice unless you’ve been an intimate partner or close friend for at least one year. Please do not try to take care of me. You may offer support, but I may refuse or give you constraints. If I truly need help, I will ask. If I ask, please do not just go along with it unless you are truly capable of doing what I ask - if I feel that you’re uncomfortable, then you’re not being kind to yourself, and I will ask you to leave.

I am happy to offer rides to and from my place, but I will not drive under the influence of any mind-altering drug. If there is a possibility that I will be under the influence, then you will need to arrange transportation on your own.

You will need to thank me at least three separate times: when you enter my home, during the visit, and when you leave. The last “thank you” should include how you honestly felt about the visit and if there are any areas of improvement on my part (my behavior, my hosting skills, etc.).

If you have any questions about something, please ask as clearly as you can.

If you want to hang out with me but cannot abide by these rules, then we will need to meet outside of my home. 

February 10th is the chosen date because it is my parents’ marriage anniversary. I'm reclaiming their sham marriage as a marker for my own self-respect.

I’m happy to follow any of your house rules if you’d like. You will need to tell me about those! I will not assume, and I will need them in writing because my memory is terrible. I'm also neurodivergent.

I don’t care if you think this is funny or ridiculous. Or even unnecessarily explicit. If you don’t like it, then you cannot come inside my home. Period. Full stop. End of story. Is that clear? -- Some notes:

I have been alerted that my usage of the word, "offering," could have a religious connotation, and thus, to give an offering would mean to acknowledge the receiving body as a deity.

This interpretation would introduce a power dynamic between me and any visitor.

Non-consensually, I am not looking to impose power on anyone who does not ask for it. I want that to be made clear.

I am asking this because this is a standard I hold myself to (or hope to, from now on). This is how I show love. This is how I want to be shown love and care. I am asking for what I want.

I would like to be clear that my word usage was an aesthetic choice due to my own personal life experiences. Gift-giving/receiving is a common love language, and growing up, it was a common cultural practice when my family would visit others or when people visited us. I have a lot of trauma around it. I still do. I appreciate *thoughtful* acts of services, which include some sort of "offering."

If this means that people cannot visit me (for whatever reason, I will respect your boundaries), then that's ok. There are many places to meet and hang out. There are no hard feelings.

[r3starttt]

LADY OF MERCY

PAIRING: priest! abby x reader

CW: angst. religious guilt. internalized homophobia. suggestive(?

SUMMARY: you look for comfort in a sin Abby's there for you to forget.

AN: been in my drafts since september, wasn't meant to be published, was supposed to be a horny small scenario, turned out sad

DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK

TAGLIST | PERM: @twopeoplee @Kaimythically @greysontheidiot @levilvrr @sapphic-ovaries @girlkisser168 @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworlddd @1-800-fantasy @ellieswifee232 @prwttiestbunny @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @rob1nbuckl3ys @abbys-muscles @dinakisser @lott6i @imagoddess1 | ABBY: @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @aouiaa @grey-jedi12 @bruhhtsukjf @wastdstime @softlikesilk-chiffon @0court

The cathedral is hushed, a stark contrast to your first entrance. The world outside seems to have stilled, no birds or crickets dare disturb the sacred silence. Through the slender windows, perched high upon the cathedral’s walls, a faint, bluish light trickles down, casting ethereal shadows. It no longer glows with the warm orange, as it was when you last sought solace here, when your heart was heavy with unspeakable pain, when you had come in desperate search of solace—of something, anything, to cling to as your spirit threatened to break.

In this profound quiet, the only sound is the echo of Abby's sermons, her words filled with a fervent passion that stirs the souls of the faithful. Her voice is a beacon of light in this holy place, its very cadence soothing the hearts of those who gather in worship.

The congregation hangs on her every word, finding peace in the presence of this aura, a palpable warmth that wraps around with each graceful move, her every step a ritual, her voice harsh yet soothing, a balm for troubled souls.

She offers sanctuary—not just from the world, but from the weight of one’s own vows, from the burden of unspoken confessions. In her presence, the sacred space heightens every emotion, intensifies every thought, until the very air seems charged with divine energy. And you, like so many before you, had approached her in the confessional booth, trembling with the weight of your sins, searching not only for spiritual guidance but for a release from the turmoil within.

Abby had made a promise then—a vow to help you navigate the storm inside your heart. In her eyes, you saw a reflection of your own struggles, and in that moment, you knew she understood your pain.

With each stolen glance and fleeting touch, her teachings became more than spiritual lessons; they became the thread that bound your soul to hers. Days turned into weeks, and your secret meetings became more frequent, your connection deepening with every whispered word.

It was not sin that drove you to her, but a desperate need to purge the temptations that plagued your mind. She assured you that within every confession, there was salvation, within every sin, a path to redemption—and she would be there to guide you through each one, no matter the cost.

You sit in your designated pew, the one you had longed to touch when you first entered this sacred space months ago. Everyone knows that if you are not to be found, you must be here, in this place that has come to feel like your own.

You wait patiently, your eyes finding hers, watching her every move, though this time, no tears mar your face. As the voices of the congregation rise in unison, you join in, your voice mingling with theirs, but your heart is focused solely on her. They offer thanks to God, to the church, to whatever they hold dear—but you, you thank her alone.

Abby had once assured you that, in time, you would feel God’s presence, but try as you might, you could not. This was your final confession to her, the one you came here today to address.

But today’s prayers feel distant, blurred. Even her words, usually so grounding, only serve to deepen your unrest.

As the congregation disperses, people greet you warmly, recognizing the change in you. To them, you have become a living testament to Abby’s grace—a girl once lost in sin, unworthy of a second glance, now pure and forgiven, reborn in the light and drawn back from the brink by the guiding hand of Abigail Anderson herself.

Only when the cathedral is shrouded in silence, its sacred halls emptied of all but the faint whisper of past prayers, does Abby beckon you closer with a subtle gesture—an invitation to wander within the sanctified walls. Your footsteps, firm against the cold stone floor, echo in the vastness, a sound that belongs only to you and her in this solemn space.

"You seem troubled," Abby’s voice, soft yet tinged with the weight of concern, breaks the silence. It is less a question and more a gentle prod, urging you to unveil the turmoil within your soul.

"It’s you," you confess, the words heavy on your tongue. "I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t picture God." But Abby does not look at you, not yet. Her fingers move delicately over the pages of her Bible, each touch reverent and deliberate, drawing your eyes to follow her every motion.

"Did you pray?" Her gaze lifts abruptly, and your eyes instinctively meet hers, the connection sharp and undeniable. You shake your head, a hesitant motion that speaks of your internal struggle. "I couldn’t, but I tried," you admit, your voice laced with quiet desperation. She hums in acknowledgment, a sound both understanding and contemplative.

"May I know what—or who—has you so troubled?" she inquires, her tone inviting you to unburden your heart. It is then that you notice her braid, meticulously crafted as it was the first time you saw it. There is something about her hair that brings you solace, a symbol of her unwavering presence, each strand perfectly aligned, a reflection of the order she brings to the chaos within you.

Your feet move almost on their own, following Abby as she descends from the altar, her steps deliberate and purposeful, leading you to the nearest pew. With a graceful motion, she gestures to the very center of the seat, her hand inviting you to rest there. The Bible, now nestled in her lap, carries the weight of ancient wisdom, and her presence beside you feels like a fortress against the turmoil within.

“It’s still you,” you confess, the words escaping before you can stop them, heavy with unspoken fears.

Gently, Abby releases her grasp on the sacred book, placing it beside you with reverence. “Before we continue our meeting tonight,” she begins, her voice a soft murmur that seems to resonate with the very walls of the cathedral, “may I help you pray?”

Her question lingers in the air, a holy offering. You pause, taking in the serenity that surrounds you, the dim light casting long shadows that dance with a life of their own. With a slight nod, you give your consent, though your heart still flutters with uncertainty.

“Did you meditate?” she asks, her words catching you off guard as you prepare yourself for prayer. Her question is unexpected, but Abby reads the confusion in your eyes before you can voice it.

“Think of this as a guided meditation,” she continues, her tone gentle but firm, like a shepherd guiding a lost lamb. “You do not need to see God. The more you strain to find Him, the further you will feel from His embrace.”

“I will,” you murmur, the words a fragile promise as you settle into the position you’ve practiced day and night, seeking to still your mind and open your heart to whatever presence may hear your plea—be it God, if He truly exists.

“Sit upright,” she instructs, her voice carrying the calm authority that has always been your anchor. “Keep your back straight—just like that.” Her gaze meets yours, a blend of gentleness and unwavering resolve that soothes your trembling spirit. “Rest your hands in your lap or on the pew before you. Clasp them together if it brings you comfort, or let them rest open on your thighs.” As she speaks, her hands move with an elegant grace, demonstrating each position as if guiding you through a sacred ritual. You mimic her motions, albeit with a touch of hesitation, each movement drawing you deeper into the solemnity of the moment.

“It’s entirely your choice,” she reassures you, her tone as calming as a whisper of wind through the leaves, “but I suggest closing your eyes and simply breathing.” The suggestion, though simple, carries a weight that only her presence could lend it. Her fingers brush your forehead, a touch as light as a prayer, and you feel a warmth spread through you as your eyes close, yielding to her gentle guidance.

“To pray,” she begins, her voice a soft invocation, “start by addressing God with the reverence He deserves. Whether you say ‘Dear God,’ ‘Lord,’ or another name that resonates with you, is entirely personal.” Though your eyes are closed, you can still feel her presence, a warm light in the darkness of your doubt, and it brings a faint smile to your lips, a gesture she does not miss.

“Speak aloud only when in the presence of the congregation,” she advises, her words flowing like a sacred hymn. “It fosters unity and shared worship.” You fidget with the fabric of your clothing, your fingers tracing a quiet rhythm on your knees. “But for now,” she adds, sensing your inner turmoil, “a whisper will suffice.”

“Begin by offering thanks for the blessings in your life,” she suggests, her tone gentle but firm. The suggestion makes you bristle slightly; you have come here seeking solace from an absence of gratitude, not to recount it. But Abby, with her deep insight, seems to anticipate your resistance. “Perhaps, in your case, you could express gratitude for the opportunity of renewal, for the chance at a new beginning.”

“If there are wrongs you wish to confess, or forgiveness you seek, do so sincerely,” she continues, her voice soft and encouraging. Though you feel a reluctance to confess—doubting the power of such an act—her presence fills you with a sense of hope, a bridge between your skepticism and the glimmer of faith you yearn to grasp. “Reflect on the areas of your life where you seek divine guidance,” she advises.

Silently, your internal prayer begins to form, an unspoken plea for peace amidst the chaos of doubt. It feels as though Abby’s presence alone is guiding you, her words not merely instructions, but a lifeline to something greater.

“Consider your personal concerns, requests for guidance, or prayers for others,” she says, her tone both firm and compassionate. “Be specific and honest in your petition.” You ponder the notion of purity in prayer, questioning whether your thoughts are pure enough to be heard by the divine.

“Some people prefer to make the sign of the cross at this point. Are you familiar with it?” she inquires gently. You shake your head, a wave of fogginess sweeping over your mind. The faint scent of pine from her presence mingles with the soft cadence of her voice, enveloping you in a cocoon of tranquility. “Look at me,” Abby instructs, her gaze a beacon of comfort amidst the sacred space.

Surrounded by the symbols of faith, Abby leans closer. Her fingers hover over your forehead, and you instinctively open your eyes to find her nearer than you expected. “This gesture symbolizes God the Father and is the first step of the sign,” she explains as her hand traces a delicate path down the center of your body, her fingers barely grazing your lips and chin before resting above your heart. “This represents God the Son, signifying the connection between the divine and humanity.”

Her touch, feather-light, continues to your left shoulder, resting there with gentle insistence. “This symbolizes the Holy Spirit, extending divine guidance from within.”

“And now, your right shoulder,” she instructs, her movements precise and fluid as she completes the sign of the cross. Her smile, a blend of tenderness and pride, illuminates her face, drawing your attention to the constellation of freckles on her cheeks. “This completes the cross, symbolizing the fullness of the Trinity and the direction of divine grace.”

With a soft, graceful motion, she guides your hand back to your side. “Conclude your prayer with an affirmation of faith, a reaffirmation of trust in the divine will. Many say ‘Amen,’ or ‘May it be Your will.’” Her demeanor remains as poised and comforting as ever, embodying both grace and strength as she leads you through spiritual communion once again.

The stained glass windows of the cathedral bathe the stillness in hues of quiet reverence, casting shadows that dance across the cold stone floor. The air feels heavy, thick with unspoken words and sacred promises, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as Abby shifts beside you. The wood beneath her creaks, a sound that reverberates through the silence, grounding you in this present moment, though your mind spirals elsewhere—toward a fear no prayer could ever soothe.

Your lips falter, struggling to utter the word 'Amen,' as your eyes open, desperate for an anchor to reality. The question you’ve carried for too long gnaws at your soul, compelling you to turn, your neck aching as your gaze finds her. "Abby?" you whisper, the word barely more than a breath, uncertain whether you should dare voice the thought that rises like a forbidden prayer.

Her eyes meet yours, calm but curious. “Yes?”

You hesitate, but the weight of your heart presses the words out. “If you weren’t a priest…” You swallow hard, feeling the gravity of the inquiry take hold. “Would you have fallen in love with me?”

For a moment, the world stills, the cathedral’s ancient silence deepening as if the very stones are waiting for her reply. Abby’s face tightens, a fleeting shadow flickering across her expression. Her fingers twitch in her lap, the only sign of the turmoil beneath the surface. She inhales slowly, her voice calm but fragile when she finally speaks. "God suffices me," she answers, each word tinged with a rawness that betrays her composed exterior.

Her eyes, however, tell a different story—a flicker of vulnerability, a glimpse into a world of feelings she cannot confess. The answer lands heavily on your chest, and though you anticipated it, the ache it leaves behind is undeniable. You exhale shakily, your fingers fidgeting in your lap as your thoughts unravel, pulling you deeper into the void of unspoken desires.

“Have you never longed to love, or be loved?” The question slips out before you can stop it, laced with the pain and confusion that has haunted you since the day you met her.

Abby’s posture stiffens, her gaze turning inward as if searching for a truth she cannot find. Her fingers trace the edges of her Bible, restless and seeking solace in its familiar weight. But no sermon can ease the tension between you. The silence that follows is thick, filled with everything that remains unsaid.

You rest your head in her lap, an act of surrender and silent plea, your heart laid bare before her. Abby’s hand, tentative but deliberate, finds its way to your hair, her fingers threading through it in a gesture that feels as intimate as it is forbidden. "We cannot," she whispers, her voice trembling, laced with the weight of emotions she dares not speak aloud. "This is... beyond us."

Yet even as she speaks, her touch lingers—her thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek. Her gaze meets yours, and in that fleeting exchange, there is a silent acknowledgment, a love neither of you can voice but both feel deeply. Kneeling before her, you feel both comforted and cursed by her nearness, the warmth of her hand a bittersweet reminder of everything you can never have.

Her hand cradles your face, her thumb tracing soft circles over your skin, her eyes heavy with the burden of her vows. There is a quiet sorrow in every movement—a resignation that cuts deeper than any spoken words. "We are bound to something greater," she whispers, her voice wavering, as though she is trying to convince herself as much as you.

But the tremor in her voice, the way her fingers graze the curve of your lips, tells you more than words ever could. The silence between you feels sacred, as though the cathedral itself is listening, waiting for your next confession.

The plea falls from your lips, fragile and desperate. “Absolve me of my sins,” you whisper, seeking not forgiveness, but her—only her.

Abby exhales slowly, her touch still tender but now laden with sorrow. “You seek absolution,” she murmurs, her voice thick with compassion and an unspoken ache. You lift your head, your eyes searching hers, though you already know the answer she cannot give. Her gaze softens, weighed down by her sacred vows and the love she feels but can never express.

Her fingers trace the lines of your lips, intimate and agonizing. "I cannot," she whispers, the strain in her voice unmistakable. “I cannot absolve what was never meant to be sin.”

Yet her touch lingers, heavy with a love that transcends words—untouchable, private, and entirely yours. “Only seek the strength to bear it.”

[the-sapphic-sanctuary]

After the great Catgirl vs. Doggirl war of 2017.

[aangarchy]

Netflix atla live action review ep 4-6

So, they completely ruined Bumi. Spoiler warning.

The more episodes pass by the more confused i get with the choices that were made. I wrote down commentary for the episodes and the thing that i wrote down the most was "why does this happen?". The writing is incredibly confusing and messy, feels too rushed in some spaces and too slow in others. There's just... so much going on and so little at the same time. They brought in elements that in the OG don't get introduced until later in s1, s2, the comics, or even the legend of Korra. The reason these things get introduced so early here is not clear at all, because they don't serve any purpose other than to be an obstacle to Aang, Sokka and Katara on their way to the North.

Mai and Ty Lee are.. there. They get introduced earlier but they don't serve any purpose at the moment other than stand around, watch Azula train, ask questions so that Azula can give us the answers the viewer needs. My guess is they only got introduced for the audience who watched the OG to go "oh we know them!". We get the secret tunnel story earlier too, but it has absolutely nothing to do with love. Somehow "love is brightest in the dark" now correlates to the badgermoles being able to sense a human's emotion. It's a waste of a storyline, doesn't teach us anything about love, gives us Omashu lore which is useless bc neither Sokka nor Katara actually use love to escape the tunnels. Also Oma and Shu are lesbians now, but you only know that bc they changed Shu's pronouns. Wow, so progressive! We have lesbians in the story now! Boy do i feel represented as a sapphic!

We get Koh early on as well, but his entire gig got changed. Now suddenly he doesn't steal faces but he "feeds", and hunts using the fog of lost souls (which is tlok lore mind you) as a tool to trap humans. We introduce the mother of faces (comic book lore!), or rather pendant of her that Koh owns. There's no reason for her to exist in this story though other than to be an easter egg to everyone who read the search (Not even the majority of the fandom!) and to offer a solution to this problem we've created, which is Koh capturing our friends in order to eat them and us not being able to convince him into letting them go. There's no feeling of dread in the Koh scenes at all because the whole problem of not showing emotion is just not a thing now. No suspense, no fear, just a weird cgi clown face worm. The worm doesn't even menacingly circle around Aang to invoke a feeling of being surrounded, it just sits there. I also just don't understand why Koh is here already bc now who is going to give us information about Tui and La?

This decision also creates a problem that Hei Bai's story just isn't about Hei Bai anymore. We get fed a few lines from a talking fox about how the forest spirit got hurt, but there's really no solution? Aang buries a pinecone in front of the statue and tells him not to give up hope but he didn't even really need to do that, because Hei Bai wasn't the one kidnapping villagers! It was Koh. Why did we appease Hei Bai if Koh was the real villain? Hei Bai/Koh's story leads us to Roku, but Roku is completely useless. All he does is undermine Kyoshi's advice to Aang, tell Aang about the mother of faces pendant so he can appease Koh, and then we leave. I knew in advance Roku wasn't going to warn Aang about the comet here bc Albert Kim already told us working with a deadline like that with child actors is just impossible. But with Roku suddenly not being Aang's main Avatar guide he just gets nothing to do. There's no suspense in this part of the story either, bc the time limit of the winter solstice isn't a thing here at all. Aang also ends up flying over Fire Nation borders without issue, and gets led right into the sanctuary without the puzzle of figuring out how to open the door, and without the problem of Zhao's soldiers waiting for him when he comes out. It creates this issue of there not being any excitement, at least for me. I genuinely am getting a bit bored with the show, which was never an issue with the OG for me. There's a reason all of this extra material didn't get introduced until later on. There's too many characters and they all get too little time to really do anything useful, they're not fleshed out, the stories aren't thought through and it ends up getting very confusing and boring. I'm genuinely curious for the perspective of people who have never watched the OG cartoon, bc i wonder if they're even able to follow along without prior knowledge of this universe.

Bumi is just... not Bumi. They completely changed his character to be this bitter old senile man that resents Aang for abandoning the world. This doesn't make any sense because in this version of the story Bumi shouldn't know that Aang is the Avatar at all, because Aang was told right before he disappeared! So why does Bumi immediately know that Aang is the Avatar, and why does Aang immediately recognize him? Also the original point of Bumi's tests is to get Aang to approach fights and puzzles from a different angle, so he can learn versatility as the Avatar. But here the tests are just happening because Bumi is mad at Aang for leaving and wants to get back at him for being gone so long. He says some lines about Aang having to learn to make hard choices and you can't rely on your friends, but Aang ends up proving him wrong in the end! What is even the point of Bumi's part in the story now, except for him just being another obstacle on the way to the North Pole?

There's a lot of instances where I feel like the bond between characters gets completely lost. We barely spend any time with the side characters like the mechanist, Teo, Jet and the freedom fighters, and the people in the spirit village. It makes some scenes feel very out of place. These storylines all happen at once, and they don't get their individual moments to shine. We have no room to feel betrayed by Jet or Sai, because we barely got to know them to begin with. Jet and Sai only spend time with One member of the gaang each, but when their betrayals come to light the rest of the group acts devastated, as if it was their dear friend. Sokka also gets really mad about the Jet thing, but he only met Jet once when he smuggled them into Omashu, and Jet didn't even tell Sokka his name. He said it afterwards when Katara met him again. It makes absolutely no sense why Sokka is yelling at Katara for trusting Jet only bc she finds him attractive, when Sokka wasn't even there during all of that!

The sense of family between the gaang that we get from the original also just doesn't happen here. Especially because these characters so far have spent more time apart than together. Aang constantly gets separated from Sokka and Katara, leaving no room for them to bond. We get Katara and Sokka bonding, but they shouldn't need those types of scenes because they're already siblings (which isn't very clear in the show either btw!). I ended up forgetting that Sokka and Katara were trapped by Koh, bc we spend so much time away from them (a whole episode, which is now an hour!).

I have little to no criticism for the Blue Spirit story. Want to guess why that is? Bc they left it pretty much untouched. We even get a little bit of an extra scene, with Zuko and Aang talking while Zuko recovers after getting hurt during the escape. I liked this choice, especially bc it highlights how conflicted Zuko is.

This is where we get Zuko's backstory. I have one question here: why did they make Ozai more sensible and less ruthless? Was that a Daniel Dae Kim decision? Bc it feels like a Daniel Dae Kim thing to do. They're very on the nose with the way Ozai is abusing Zuko and Azula, but then they turn around and make this man visit Zuko after he burned him and praise Zuko about finding the Avatar. I understand that they did this to show how Ozai uses Zuko's accomplishments in order to push Azula, but even if it were to do that: the original Ozai would NEVER. The problem here as well is that they don't let the viewers draw any conclusions themselves anymore. They're holding the viewer's hand through the whole thing, leaving no room for nuance or doubt.

I just finished episode 7 and 8 and I have Things To Say. None of which are good. Writing it down is challenging so it might take a day or two.

[alexusonfire]

Tincture Tantrums

Jane Murdstone x Reader

Jane is a frequent migraine sufferer, only this time she has a bit of help.

A/n: Something about healing with herbs just screams Sapphic to me, and I can never get enough. This is slight AU (?), as she doesn't live with her brother and is instead on her own. Also, if you couldn't tell, I am ill once again, and in order to cope here's a good old sick fic with the babyest grumpiest patient in England. 😉

You hadn't heard from Jane yet today, which was rather odd considering she usually made her way to you for breakfast. At first you'd simply passed it off as her being busy, but when supper rolled around with still no sighting of her, you felt something wasn't right. You wrapped yourself in the cloak Jane had gifted you for your birthday last year and headed off towards her house, hoping she had been merely caught up in another one of her sewing projects (she would often lose track of time when she was concentrating on perfecting her needlework, a trait you'd come to find both slightly annoying and incredibly endearing).

Jane's home was a quaint little cottage on the edge of town, she originally picking it for her own privacy and "space from the blithering idiots you call townspeople."; little did she know at the time, it would also serve as a wonderful sanctuary of privacy for the two of you, freeing you to spend the night as lovers without raising any neighbors' suspicions.

You knocked once, twice. Waited. Knocked once more.

"Jane?"

There was a lit candle in the kitchen window, signaling that Jane had indeed been up early that morning at some point. Seeing the flame still flickering made your stomach clench unpleasantly; once Jane completed her morning routines, she would snuff the flame, constantly worried about it being knocked over onto the wood floor and causing troubles.

"Jane, I'm coming in."

The cottage was deadly silent, save for the wind whistling through the rooftop. You scanned the various rooms searching for any sign of her, more troubled to see everything was still in place from your clean up the prior evening. Treading carefully towards the back of the house, you noticed her bedroom door slightly ajar, not a shred of light coming from the other side of it.

"Jane?"

Your whisper carried into the dark room, hoping aganst all hope she'd call back to you.

"Who's there?"

"Leave me."

Nearly startled by the raspy voice, you fumbled your way into the room, being careful not to make too much noise. Worry creased your forehead when you finally saw her, still in bed and huddled under the thick covers.

A groan sounded from the darkness, followed by a hoarse command.

You shook your head, despite knowing she likely couldn't see you, and made your way over to her bedside. Gingerly you placed your hand in hers, slightly surprised when she didn't immediately snatch it back.

"Y/n?"

A small smile crept on your cheeks at her immediate recognition of you; as she'd always told you, it was like your hands were made for one another, slotting into the dips and crevices perfectly.

"Yes Janey, it's me. Are you ill? Can you tell me what's wrong?"

It took a few moments, Jane's deep breathing and small whimpers not easing the crease in your brow. You rubbed your thumb along hers, attempting to bring her some small comfort while she gathered her thoughts.

"Head pains."

She moaned again, her free hand shooting up to cover her eyes. Wanting to help, you attempted to slip away from her in order to gather the necessary items; the vice grip on your hand, however, told you she had other plans.

"Janey I know how to help, you must let me."

"No, I'm fine, just... just stay here."

You huffed affectionately and squeezed her hand, then stood over her to kiss her forehead.

"I'll be right back, I promise."

If you didn't know better, you'd say the next sound that escaped Jane was very nearly a whine. Fortunately for you this wasn't the first time you'd dealt with Jane under the weather; she could be a notoriously difficult patient (according to every local doctor in the area), and would often reject any sort of help as "fluffing" and "unnecessary". Also fortunately for you, Jane seemed less inclined to tell you off, sometimes even displaying small fractions of neediness you didn't dare point out to her, but cherished nonetheless.

Getting right into it, you started by setting a pot of water on the stove and gathering some willow bark from the pantry, chopping it up into smaller pieces as the water boiled beside you. Fond memories of your Aunt Millie teaching you to cure various ailments with tinctures and herbs came to mind, long evenings filled with laughter spent in a kitchen similar to this one. You hummed quietly to yourself as you gathered the rest of your supplies, blowing out the still-lit candle before moving to place the bark in the pot to steep while you soaked a cold cloth in rosemary oil. A creak of floorboard sounded behind you, your heart stopping in your chest as you spun around.

"Jane! What on earth are you doing? Back to bed, come on-"

Jane waved her hand, shooing you away as you tried to turn her around. You tut as you took in her appearance, still dressed in her nightgown with a dishevelled braid slung over her shoulder.

"As I said I am... fine... I'll just... sit here for a moment-"

She stumbled into you, wincing as the light caught her eyes. You groaned and clutched her by the waist, using every ounce of strength to get her back into bed without causing her further pains.

"This is not up for discussion or debate Jane. I'm taking care of you and you will deal with it, now let's go."

Jane grumbled, but appeared to acquiesce as she let you lead her back into the darkened room. You helped her lay back down, every moan and sign of pain making your heart clench. Despite her being prone to stubborness, you really did hate to see her like this.

Once you had her tucked back into bed she grabbed for your hand again, though this time you were quick and caught her wrist, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles before pushing back.

"Give me two minutes, my love."

More grumbling, a small whine. You had to stop yourself from chuckling when you pictured the pout she was surely sporting now, a sight only you had ever been lucky enough to be graced with. Returing to the kitchen, you strained the bark tea into a cup, then gathered up the cold cloth and some fresh basil leaves. Careful not to bump into anything once in the bedroom, you set down your items on her nightstand, then tucked some loose strands of her hair behind her ear.

"Janey love, I've brought some things that will help. Are you able to hold a cup right now?"

"Of... course I can, silly girl, hand it to me."

Jane's harsh words held no malice, and you simply shrugged it off as you waited for her to straighten herself up before placing the cup in her hands. In the outlines of the dark, you could see her struggle to lift it to her lips, and her wobbly grasp had you worried about her spilling the hot beverage. Silently, you reached out and held Jane's hand in your own, steadying her enough that she was able to drink. After a few gulps she pushed her hand back towards you, a clear sign she was finished. Next you placed a few small green leaves in her open palm, which Jane brought up to her nose to sniff curiously, the action causing her cheeks to wince in pain.

"Basil?"

"It's been used for centuries as pain relief. I chew on it sometimes when my joints are hurting, though I will admit this is my first experience using it for head pains. I thought it couldn't hurt."

Jane simply hummed and silently chewed, the strong taste that coated her tongue a welcome distraction from the pain. As she swallowed she felt a cool cloth that smelled faintly of rosemary cover her forehead and eyes, and she let out a rather loud sigh at the instant relief soothing her temples.

"You should try and sleep Jane, it does help."

"I'll... try. No promises."

It was the best you could ask for. As you gathered everything back up you were surprised to see Jane's hand shoot up, blindly searching for you in the dark.

"Jane what-"

"You'll stay, won't you?"

You detected a small note of fear, dare you even say panic, in her voice, and before you knew it you were slowly crawling into the bed beside her. You tucked yourself into her shoulder, careful not to jostle her too much, and smiled when she clung to you, her free hand once again linking itself in yours.

"Of course I will Janey. Always."

Silence cloaked the room, and you thought she'd finally fallen back asleep by the even motions of her chest. Just as your eyes began to feel heavy, a small whisper sounded in your ear.

"Thank you, sweeting."

Knowing the true meaning behind her words, you twisted your head slightly to place a kiss on her half-exposed collarbone.

"I love you too, Jane."

--

@weemssapphic 🖤

[introverted-author]

say that i'm a rainbow. || Cross-posted on AO3 (introvertedauthor07)

Karen Wheeler walks in on Nancy and Robin. Panic ensues. (Title from Rainbow by Dodie; inspired by @lavenderstobins post)

Written for Lesbian Day of Visibility 2024; sapphic love is beautiful and don't let anyone tell you otherwise <3

TW: panic attacks, internalised homophobia, discussions of period-typical homophobia (Karen is supportive though)

Word count: 1637

Robin let out a startled gasp as Nancy pushed her down onto the mattress.

The two had been simply talking, Robin cross-legged in the middle of Nancy’s bed while Nancy herself sat at the foot, legs sprawled out in front of her. It had been innocent chatter about what assignments and tests were coming up at school, and ‘oh my gosh did you hear about Steve totally blowing it with this girl at Family Video last Sunday?’

Nancy wasn’t sure what had changed her mood so suddenly, like a light switch had been flicked in her body. Maybe it wasn’t just one thing. Maybe it was the way that Robin had a strand of hair twirled around her pointer finger, with an infuriatingly innocent smile. Maybe it was the husky tone of her voice, more accentuated than usual that sparked desire in Nancy’s body. Or maybe it was simply that after a long week of hiding their relationship in public, the two were finally alone in the safety of Nancy’s room.

Whatever it was didn’t change the fact that Nancy was now straddling Robin’s hips, leaning down and letting her hair provide a natural curtain around their faces as she captured the auburn in a kiss.

In this room, there was safety. There was comfort. Here they were safe from the world, and here they could be together.

Nancy didn’t let up as she kissed Robin breathless, unable to stop, unable to slow down. Because these moments were precious and she didn’t want to waste a single millisecond.

Nancy was so caught up in bliss that she hadn’t realised that she had left the door unlocked. She was so caught up in bliss that she didn’t hear the knob turn. It wasn’t until the intruder spoke that Nancy realised that their sanctuary had been invaded.

“Nancy-” Karen Wheeler froze when she saw the scene before her. Nancy felt like someone had hit pause on a tape. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. All she could do was meet her mother’s stunned gaze with an expression of sheer terror. All was still for moments that felt like centuries, seconds that felt like years.

Robin was the one to hit play, jolting upright and mumbling what sounded like utter nonsense to Nancy’s petrified brain. Robin bolted out the door, stumbling past Karen and very nearly losing her balance before continuing her terror-fueled flight.

Nancy remained frozen in place, somehow managing to pull herself up so she was kneeling where Robin had just been. She felt ice rush down her spine as she once more met her mother’s gaze, her heart racing and her whole body trembling.

“Nancy?” Karen ventured, walking over to sit on the edge of her daughter’s bed. “What’s going on?”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Robin bolted.

It’s what she did, it’s what she always did. Robin Buckley was a runner. It was a constant fact of her life. Another constant fact of her life was that she always, always fucked up. And when Robin fucked up, she always fucked up spectacularly, in the way that was going to cause the most collateral damage. And this time, the damage she had dealt wasn’t only going to affect her.

Robin was barely aware of where her feet were taking her. Oxygen was a thing of the past, tears becoming the new trend, and her mind, oh god her mind, just wouldn’t stop. She kept seeing the same image, the look on Karen’s face - the shock, the horror, the hatred. The same look that haunted Robin’s worst nightmares.

And Nancy. Nancy. What would happen to her now? What if Karen disowned her, what if the truth got out to the entire town, what if, what if, what if-

Robin tripped down the last step on the stairs leading to the basement, resulting in her collapsing on the carpeted ground in a sobbing, breathless, panicked heap.

There was a flash of movement in the corner of Robin’s eye and seconds later El and Mike appeared in her field of vision, both wearing matching expressions of concern.

“Robin, are you okay?” Mike asked, clearly out of his depth. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Robin just gasped for air, panic tearing her lungs into ribbons. She couldn’t respond, couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she needed to breathe-

Amidst her panic she was barely aware of the fact that after a quick hushed discussion between the two teenagers Mike was swerving around Robin and heading up the stairs, closing the basement door behind him and leaving Robin in the sole presence of El.

“Can you take a deep breath, Robin?” El prompted. “In… and out. In… and out.”

Robin tried her hardest to follow El’s example but she just couldn’t stop herself from continually falling back into the battleground of her mind, El’s voice like a vague whisper among the bloodshed.

Robin was barely aware of El taking her hand and placing it on her stomach, continuing to demonstrate the breathing and hoping that the sensory input would help Robin’s own breath to catch on. And surely enough, in a few minutes Robin had calmed somewhat, her breathing still hiccupy but not as ragged and rapid. El released Robin’s hand but not before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“T-thank you…” Robin managed to stutter out, her head spinning slightly from the lack of air.

El simply nodded, offering her a reassuring smile before saying, “Robin… what happened?”

Robin let out a sob at the question. “Mrs Wheeler she-she walked in on us, and she had this look of just disgust and I couldn’t help but think ‘oh my god we’re dead’, we’re so dead because even if she doesn’t do it herself, all of Hawkins will find out in a matter of hours and I know far too many conservatives in this shithole who would happily slide a knife between our ribs-”

“Robin.”

Robin didn’t hear El’s voice, stuck in that battleground again, the panic once more setting into her very bones as she continued to ramble and catastrophize.

“- so I guess that means we’ll have to run, and I mean Nancy can drive, but how are we going to afford things like a house and food and petrol, I mean where are we going to sleep and how will we sustain ourselves and-”

“Robin.”

“- so I guess we’re doomed to die anyway and maybe this is just God’s way of saying ‘hey, you know being gay is like a heinous sin’, and I mean I’m practically a monster, and I don’t know why I don’t just-”

“Robin.”

El grasped Robin’s hand in hers, squeezing reassuringly and finally managing to get the panicking girl to trail into silence. Tears still fell down Robin’s face, hiccuping breaths still all she was capable of doing. But El’s hand was like an anchor, increasing in power tenfold as the young girl took Robin’s left hand too.

“You are not a monster.”

Robin let a sob slip out, squeezing El’s hands as if they were her lifeline - and in a way, they were.

“You’re going to be okay,” El continued. “Me and the party won’t let anything happen to you or to Nancy. I promise. And friends don’t lie.”

“Promise?” sniffled Robin.

“Promise.”

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

“Nancy? What's going on?”

Nancy was still frozen in shock and apprehension, opening and closing her mouth but unable to conjure any sound.

“Nance… come sit here,” Karen motioned to the spot next to her on the edge of the bed. Nancy moved in a trance, barely aware of her movements until she was sitting there, beside her mother with utter terror coursing through her veins. After a few seconds, she realised that tears were silently trailing down her cheeks.

“Nancy, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Nancy took a shaky breath, opened her mouth and forced words to come forth. “Robin-Robin’s my girlfriend. We’re dating. We have been for almost three months now, and I didn’t tell you because I was terrified of - well, this - and not even our friends know, not even Steve and I just- I-I-”

Nancy covered her mouth with one hand as she sobbed again, desperately trying to get herself back under some semblance of control. All was silent as Karen processed what Nancy had just said, as she formulated a response - a response that Nancy awaited with anxious trepidation.

It felt like decades before Karen finally spoke. “Nancy, just answer this, because this is all I care about - all I will ever care about. Are you happy?”

Nancy didn’t even have to think about her answer, nodding as soon as the words were out of her mother’s mouth. “I’ve never been happier.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” Karen said, reaching forward and wiping her daughter’s tears before opening her arms in invitation. Nancy let out a sob of relief as she felt her mother’s arms wrap around her, comforting, accepting.

Nancy didn’t know how long they sat there on the end of Nancy’s bed, Nancy sobbing tears of relief and thankfulness as her mother held her. The embrace was a silent promise: nothing could come between them and nothing could ever change that.

Nancy knew that this was only the first step. That there were so many other people in her and Robin’s lives that she wanted to share their love with. And it would be difficult, and she knew that it wouldn’t always go this well. But this was the first step and Nancy was so glad that she had been forced to take it because she didn’t know if she could’ve done it on her own.

Her mother’s arms reminded her of one truth. Despite everything, she was loved.

[queervocasongtourn]

Queer Vocaloid Song Tournament: Side A, Round 1

Please listen to all songs before voting!

God Mistook My Gender by SLAVE.V-V-R feat. Xin Hua

VS

Piercing the Viscera (SLAVE.V-V-R feat. GUMI, Kasane Teto)

Propaganda under the cut!

GOD MISTOOK MY GENDER

(No propaganda was submitted for this song)

PIERCING THE VISCERA

"IT'S SO GOOD THEIR VOICES GO SO WELL TOGETHER EMO LESBIANS IN AN ADAM AND EVE-ESQUE STORY FINDING SOLACE AND REFUGE IN THE LOVE THEY HAVE FOR EACH OTHER IT DRIVES ME CRAZY!!!!!

"The song is like a post-apocalyptic lesbian version of the story of Adam and Eve!! It's so beautiful and slave.v-v-r's tuning makes them feel desperate and sentimental. It doesn't get nearly as much recognition as it deserves, only having under 100k views."

"Oh this song. It’s very gay. The best way I can describe it is if Adam and Eve were sapphic and got cast out for being together but they ended up finding their own paradise on earth instead. The lyrics are also overtly saying this is a love story: “I want to secure it with a needle, so this love won’t fall”; ”With our viscera, with all our bodies, we were in love”; “The nameless sin doubted our love, the pouring rain wetted our love, yet we were still alive”."

"It's about emo lesbians declaring their undying devotion to each other as they find sanctuary in their love even if the world falls apart around them. Also it fucking bops"

"emo lesbians…., or something"

[bading-in-the-gardens]

I want to hold a girl in my arms & just breathe with her. I want to feel the rest of the world slip from my mind as I card my fingers through her hair. I want to press soft, lingering kisses to the top of her head and to any part of her my lips can reach as we lay together in our shared sanctuary.

I have 99 problems, and not being cuddled is one of em.... - Nowë

This post was made for the sapphics only. MDNI

[numinous-scribe]

Jazz/Kor'i Mer AU please? 🥺

Hehehehehe

So I won't be able to immediately get to this fic to post it on time, but it is for the dpxdc sapphic week event.

But the premise is that Jazz works at a sanctuary for rehabilitating marine based supernatural/mythical creatures while also studying on the side the behaviors and psychology of said creatures for her thesis (imagine that her parents believe certain species, like mermaids and sirens, due to the nature in which some of them are created in, are nothing more than evil ghosts masquerading as something pretty. So her research is not only something born from natural curiosity, but to spite her parents.)

She works with Dick, who would be a selkie, and he works as a physical therapist. And Gar, who is a shifter and he helps with socialization and is a licensed ESA, funnily enough. Kinda like how rescue sanctuaries will have companion dogs for the nervous animals and what not.

Anyway, one of Jazz's jobs is to check the surrounding beach area for poachers traps, and there is where she'll meet Kor'i who was already injured from a previous poaching attempt and is none too pleased at being caught up in a different snare.

From there it's a whole lot of trust building, lore building, and budding romance. But wait, is that a tragedy on the horizon?

My biggest inspos for this story so far is the song "Mermaid" by Skott, and the book "The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea" by Maggie Tokuda-Hall (very good sapphic book, 10/10 recommend btw).

WIP Tag Game List