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The first time Nimona died was in the arms of her best friend, a thousand or so years before her heart stopped for the first time. Even though it sure felt like she’d suddenly, spontaneously, decided to stop living when Gloreth had leaned down and played a kiss against Nimona’s forehead as they play-fought.
Nimona had swatted at her, and Gloreth had simply cupped her cheeks and grinned.
“C’mon,” she’d said, “C’mon, Nimona. You have to learn how to kiss if you want a husband.”
And after a beat of silence and Gloreth’s hot breath against Nimona’s skin, she’d agreed. And she’d been kissed. She hadn’t kissed back, not immediately. Believe it or not, she used to be timid. Instead of kissing back, she’d let Gloreth take what she’d wanted, and Nimona had raked her hands through that golden fucking hair. Girls love each other like animals, you know.
And Gloreth, pretty fingers still against Nimona’s cheeks—Gloreth had smelled of ichor and rosemary.
Without doubt, Gloreth was the person who taught Nimona how to love. Which is a pity. Because Gloreth’s love was no good.
Nimona; Nimona's old and new loves and what she's "learned".
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Bookmark Notes:
so fucking amazing?!!
sad sad sad sad sad too
(11:14 AM 10/14/25) -
Bookmark Notes:
as a lesbian this fic just ruined my life i think
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Bookmark Notes:
fucking beautifully written wtf?? it had so much raw emotions in it?? many kudos to the author <3
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Bookmark Notes:
this is beyond incredible my fucking soul is in pieces it's poetry
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Bookmark Notes:
ANGST WITH HURT PEOPLE I RELATE TO>> EVERYTHING ELSE