Every day I come on here and go blah blah blah blahblablahbksngyiidwrrZTT DU HHNNCDVVBNffccvnnnjhn
Fool me once I kill myself on the spot
for @morgwenmicrofic | prompt : « you promised » | 380 words
Guinevere kneels on the polished oak floor, eyes fixed on the lifeless body lying before her.
"Morgana, you promised," she chokes out, her throat tight with barely-restrained sobs. "You promised you'd never hurt him. I promised you that one day I'd make Camelot safe for magic users."
"I guess I got tired of waiting," comes Morgana's response, but her triumph is whispered, her victory hollow.
"But Gwen, look," she continues, desperate, her hands cupping Guinevere's chin. "You can have all you ever wanted now. We can rule Camelot together. You can be my Queen."
"I am my own Queen," Guinevere says softly, her voice determined. "I would rather die than rule alongside you." She does not even think as her fingers clasp around the dagger hidden on the strap around her thigh, she has no time to process as the words come out her mouth unbidden.
"But I beg you, grant me one last kiss," she says, and suddenly Morgana's lips are on hers, the taste of ash and regret slipping into her mouth. Bitter tears run down her cheeks as she slides the dagger into Morgana's ribs, as she hears a surprised "oh" escape from those lips that once loved her so. She lowers Morgana's shaking body to the floor, their lips still touching, their arms locked in one last, desperate embrace.
"I used to love you," Guinevere whispers, the confession halting in the heavy silence of the throne room. "I used to think you'd make a better ruler than he ever would." Her words catch in her throat. "But I was wrong. He made himself better for me. He wanted to earn my love. You were arrogant, Morgana. What is given can also be taken away." The dagger slides out, and one last gasp echoes from Morgana's blood-stained lips.
Guinevere contemplates the two bodies pooling red on the throne room floor. Her husband, who she was too late to save. Her first love, who she never tried to save in the first place.
"The King is dead," Guinevere whispers to herself, reaching forward to gently close Arthur's eyelids. He could be sleeping, if not for the bloom of red across his stomach. She stands up, adjusting the weight of the crown atop her head.
"Long live the Queen."
Dont unfollow me I can post about something you care even less about wait
the fun thing about having a mental health crashout in your thirties is that sure yeah you're crashing out, but at the same time there's a part of you standing across the room smoking ben affleck style, going yeah yeah you're crashing out. you crashed out before you will crash out again can we wrap this up yet. and the most annoying part about it is that they're right, and that that does Not stop you from crashing out even a little. love and light on planet earth.
"I love toxic yuri" and it's just two women who hate each other, you fool, you imbecile, that is just enemies to lovers. I need you to show me two women who make each other worse in every imaginable way. I need you to show me a girl who will abuse the shit out of her friend and her friend will say thank you, I love you
Show me yuri where the world would be immensely better off if these two women never even existed.
a long distance friend is kind of a dead wife in a way
@morgwenmicrofic | you promised | gwen/morgana | <370 words
~
“God, he was so slimy. Did you see the way he was looking at me? Like I was a meal. He’s practically old enough to be my Grandfather,” Morgana shudders, holding her hair up so that Gwen can undo her lacings.
Gwen giggles, pulling one of the strings so that it tightens, instead of loosening. “Sorry,” she mumbles, and her thumb brushes warm over the skin she has exposed. Her breath hitches at the contact.
“Ahh, but you know it’s what Uther wants,”Morgana continues, unaware. “Me, married off to some horrible old friend of his, somebody else’s problem.”
“I would never let that happen,” Gwen says, fervently.
“I believe you, Gwen, but I don’t know how you could stop it.”
“I’d find a way,” she says, mouth set determinedly. “Or I’d go with you.”
“You would?” Morgana asks, turning to face her. She looks surprised, her still painted lips parted, slightly.
Gwen’s hands twist, discomfited. “Of course I would. You’re— you’re my— I couldn’t ask for a better mistress.”
“Gwen,” Morgana says kindly, her green eyes shining, “I hope that is not all I am to you. Not after all this time.”
“Of course not. Only I— I would never want to speak out of turn, or offend you. Never.”
“You could never. You’re my friend, Gwen. My best friend. I hope that you feel the same way.”
“I do.”
Morgana smiles, genial. “So when I am married off and sent to some distant place, I will bring you with me. I would miss you too much if I did not.”
“That won’t be for a long time,” Gwen reminds her.
“It better not be,” Morgana says, resolute. She turns, moving her hair out of the way again so Gwen can continue her work, “because you promised me that you would help me embarrass Arthur, and I don’t think he’s been sufficiently flummoxed yet. I wouldn’t want to leave Camelot if he still had his ego. Think of all the people who would suffer.”
“Mm,” Gwen says, distracted by the expanse of skin, the way the deep green silk looks, open at Morgana’s waist. “We can’t have that.”
making characters who never interacted in canon meet but like platonically
