#pride month femslash requests

[imakemywings]

For the femslash writing, a Meladriel would spark so much joy 💛

Alright, this will be the last fill for the month (and a day late whoopsie)

I think the power plays Galadriel pushes these two into make for such an interesting dynamic. This fulfills the "euphoria" square of FotF's Pride month bingo (I think).

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Pairing: Galadriel x Melian

Length: 3k

Summary: Galadriel is determined to show Melian she is capable of more than Melian believes. Melian wonders if her pupil grasps her lessons.

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

The Patience of the Oak

The resistance of Melian’s mind was as the howling of the winds storming the Helcaraxë. Galadriel wobbled upon a hair’s breadth of solidity beneath her feet, as though she were up in the flexible treetops amid the crack of thunder, or balanced upon some high-flung crossbeam of a ship at sea. If she did not keep her balance, she would fall. If she did not keep her focus, she would be lost, swept out into the ether of those winds.

Still, she pushed forward.

That she could do so at all was a riot of triumph; half of her had expected to get nowhere at all, and while the force of Melian send her skidding backwards, it did not drive her out entirely.

In the physical world, she was only most distantly aware of her fingers clenched around the edge of the table, of her toes digging into the floor until the joints ached. There was no space in her consciousness for the physical now; there was only the vastness of Melian’s mind and the determination of Galadriel’s spirit to know it.

In her own strength, in her conviction, Galadriel had confidence; Melian believed her feebler and more delicate than she was in truth, but Galadriel could show her her error.

The wind blew harder, a silent roar in the blackness through which Galadriel could feel the shine of light from those things she wished to know, those repositories of Melian’s knowledge and power. She stretched herself out towards them, reaching, reaching, reaching, and with another extension of herself, tried to ward off that part of her mind so keen to liken this experience to the terror of a blizzard (She, unlike her sentimental siblings and cousins, would not fall prey to dwelling on the death of Elenwë, lost in just such a storm). The more she allowed those thoughts to enter her mind, the greater risk they would sink their roots in, reshaping this experience into that one, and Galadriel did not want the dual struggle of fighting to reach her goal and not to be overwhelmed by her own past.

There, just ahead of her, a softly glowing center of thought; Galadriel, so near to her goal, surged forward with renewed energy in spite of the flagging of her strength; she did not mean to take yet, only to touch, to show Melian she could—

      That’s enough, I think. Melian’s voice sounded faintly amused and not altogether unannoyed, as one whose pet is both bothersome yet entertaining. Like a flick of her fingers, Melian snapped Galadriel out of her mind, flinging her fully back into the physical realm, and Galadriel staggered away from the table, stumbling over her feet until she landed hard on her seat, sucking in air like a winded horse.

The smoothness of the wood on the table did not allow Galadriel to do much damage to her hands, but her fingers ached from gripping it, and deprived now of the ecstasy of struggle and success, the full measure of her exhaustion came upon her, and she slumped down to the floor, hair strewn about her, and slept.

***

In the garden, Melian waited. Galadriel had felt her call earlier in the day, but forced herself not to rush. With care she dressed and arranged her hair in a neutral style and sipped weak wine as she reassured herself no damage had been done. Standing now upon the threshold of the eastern Jewel Garden, characterized by riotous bursts of a rainbow of fruits and flowers, she smoothed her skirts and lived in the final moments before having to face up to the queen’s displeasure. In her mind, she rehearsed the many words she had prepared for this meeting, but when she came near and met Melian’s night-dark eyes, those thoughts ran wild and she fought desperately to rein them back in.

“So, my pupil—”

Galadriel did not mean to interrupt, but the amok words burst through her teeth before she could swallow them.

“You underestimate my strength!”

Melian fell silent, those dark eyes sweeping up and down from the thrust of Galadriel’s chin to where her toes dug into the grass. She set aside the pomegranate she had been picking over when Galadriel arrived (Melian did not need to eat, but playing with the food of the Elves seemed to entertain her; she would leave the seeds out for someone or something else to claim.) Galadriel held open the curtains of her mind, inviting Melian inward, to show how little she had to hide from her teacher.

Melian wore the form of the Elves, as was her pleasure, and on that day gleamed in carnation yellow, her sleek black hair drawn away from her face with crisp white deer-bone clasps, a gift of the king.

“It is a particular kind of pride, to receive a gift and demand only more,” the queen remarked, and Galadriel drew in a painfully sharp breath. Now in the moment, now with Melian’s low, musical voice picking apart the flaws in her, the shortcomings in her behavior, it seemed foolish to tell herself her tutelage with Melian was not potentially on the line. But she could not now contemplate being exiled from Melian’s presence, or she would falter.

“I respect the extent of my teacher’s knowledge,” said Galadriel, lowering her head. “Had I no curiosity in it, we would never have begun this. Is it not natural I should wish for more?”

“That for which you wish and that of which you are capable do not always resonate,” said Melian. “As we have discussed before.”

Galadriel looked up without thinking, to fix Melian with an expression of helpless desire.

“And still I protest,” she said, straining to keep her voice even. “I am capable of more than my teacher believes.”

“Young you are still, and—”

“I am not a child!” Galadriel insisted urgently. “Horrors have I seen as well, teacher, and much did I overcome to make it to your doorstep. I am strong enough for what you may impart!” When Melian did not immediately respond, Galadriel could not restrain herself from adding: “Much more do you show Lúthien. Is it because I am no daughter of yours that I am not worth  more?”

 “You are not like Lúthien,” said Melian. “She who bears my blood is no Elf, though she may in face and body resemble her father. She is unique, and better able to grasp my knowledge and my power.”

“You have not faith in me,” Galadriel concluded, casting her eyes down unto the ground in tense despair.

“Had I not faith in you, we would not stand here now,” said Melian, rising to her full and considerable height. Again, Galadriel lowered her head. “Still I once more counsel you to restraint. Lúthien, besides being my daughter, has many more years to her name than you. She has had more time to learn and to develop her patience. Yet as I have said, your potential is strong. But you will squander it and turn to cruder, lesser matters than you might if you do not exercise care.”

Melian drifted around her, pale feet sliding noiselessly through the grass, her fingers brushing over the boughs and flowers that surrounded them.

“I feel your hunger, daughter of Eärwen,” she murmured. “Never do I touch your mind but I feel it. Already you have shown greater restraint than others may have. Yet I would look for more.” Even behind her, out of sight, Galadriel could picture, could feel Melian so clearly it was as if she looked upon her. “Those most eager warrant the most caution.”

Galadriel held her tongue and remained still until Melian came back into her sight. The queen did not touch her; never had Galadriel seen her touch another but the king or the princess, and those rare times when she laid her hands on Galadriel for a lesson.

There was more that Melian could have said, that she must know, but she did not, and Galadriel was relieved.

“What is it you desire from me, child?” Melian asked, and Galadriel seemed to feel her words as much as hear them. Her eyes darted up to Melian’s oval-shaped face, divine in her beauty, distant even in her nearness. “My power? Or something more tangible?”

Galadriel’s legs felt weak. The beat of her blood was too loud in her ears.

“I…desire…whatever my teacher would give me,” she said, speaking with markedly slow deliberation.

“You ask for things you do not understand,” Melian said.

“I know my strength,” Galadriel insisted, meeting Melian’s gaze directly. Melian held it, tilting her head slightly, observing, observing. Then she turned away.

“Your inability to admit or recognize your limitations tells me I have been right to maintain the pace we are at,” said the queen, and Galadriel’s gut turned to ice. “You have not yet the maturity for more.” She made to walk away, and Galadriel should have been grateful that Melian was not going to punish her for the invasion of her mind—though she knew now she had gotten as far as she had only because it had amused Melian to see how far she could push against the queen’s half-hearted resistance—but all that consumed her mind was the intolerableness of Melian’s dismissal.

In desperation, she threw up her hands and a bubble of silence ensconced them both; within the bulb of Galadriel’s power the birds hung still in the air, the beetles froze midflight; the wind did not sway the leaves. Slowly, Melian turned back to her.

“I am more capable than you acknowledge,” Galadriel said, straining to speak with so much of her focused on maintaining her spell. “I am a princess of the Noldor, a Calaquendi of the Blessed Realm, a daughter of the houses of Finwë and of Olwë. I have gazed upon the light of the Trees and I have sat at the foot of Manwë and Elbereth Gilthoniel. I have crossed the Helcaraxë. I have fought the forces of Morgoth Bauglir. I am not a child, nor an ignorant. I am not careless, nor incapable.”

Melian made a turn of the extent of Galadriel’s spell while she sweated to keep it up. The queen touched the birds, the bugs where they dangled midair, aware or unaware of their imprisonment.

“Remarkable,” she said, and through the burning of Galadriel’s straining body, she almost smiled.

Melian waved her hand and Galadriel’s spell burst apart, returning the denizens of Doriath to their freedom. Galadriel panted and bent forward, her face hot with exertion.

“You would do better not to trap things so idly,” the queen remarked lightly. Her eyes flashed over to Galadriel’s face. “It has never been your power I doubted, my pupil.” Melian came to her then, and she smelled even at a distance of the onset of rain, so that to breath her in was as if to stand amidst a gathering storm.

Melian reached out, and with her fingertips, she touched Galadriel’s face, tilting it up towards her. A spidery hand crept over her cheek, her nose, her mouth.

“What a fascinating spirit yours is,” she murmured, and as nearly always, her expression was inscrutable. Galadriel did not dare reach out to Melian’s mind now, but she made a slight opening of her own. “Is this truly what you desire?”

“Yes,” Galadriel breathed. “Greatly have I desired this.” It was no good to lie to Melian now; even if she had kept her mind closed, it seemed she had made herself too plain. Lying to herself was a far simpler task than lying to Melian.

“Very well, then. Let us explore.” Melian leaned in, and Galadriel felt the prickle of electricity along her arms and down her back before Melian’s lips touched hers.

The wind was back, but this time it drew Galadriel in rather than pushed her out; she was wrapped up in the maelstrom, that electricity surging through her until her nerves were alight and her lungs breathless. The queen’s mouth was cool and wet against hers, and despite Galadriel’s height, she had to push up on her toes to seek a deeper kiss. All around her was the presence of Melian and that crisp-rain smell filled up her senses; she curled her hands at her sides to stop herself from grabbing at the queen for stability as the presence of Melian bore down on her.

And then she swooned.

***

When Galadriel opened her eyes, she saw the layered canopy of Doriath undulating in the wind above her, and amidst the green, Melian’s face, from below. Immediately she moved to sit up, but she felt drained, not unlike her weariness of the day before, and Melian placed a hand on her forehead to hold her in place.

“Take a moment, Arwen,” she said. She looked down, and smiled, and Galadriel stilled. “I did warn you.”

Galadriel’s eyes fluttered shut in chagrin, but only for a moment, as she did not wish to deprive herself much of the sight of Melian looking on her with such fondness.

“Elwë fainted in the beginning as well,” Melian reflected. “Before we had learned how to be with each other.” This made Galadriel only more determined to prove that she too, could learn to be with a Maia. She wondered how long it had taken Melian to learn to moderate her strength with an Elf. “Shall I take you back to your rooms?”

“No,” Galadriel managed. Her mind felt fuzzy as if from a long sleep, or too much wine. She could not tell if Melian was still in her thoughts or not. “I wish to…remain.”

Melian hummed an agreement and stroked a hand through Galadriel’s golden hair.

“But you should rest,” said the queen. “And do not rush.” Despite her will—or perhaps in service of another desire—Galadriel’s eyes slid shut and her mind focused the more on the touch of Melian’s hand.

“I am capable,” she insisted quietly. “I can learn whatever lessons you would teach me, Your Grace. I will make myself learn them.”

“This I know,” said Melian. “I would not have taken it upon myself to teach you if I did not believe in your abilities. Yet you are young—no child, by the measure of Elves, I know—but young still, and impatient. You would rush headlong from one thing to another without truly understanding either. And I would see you cultivated with more care. Do you not trust me as your teacher, Arwen?”

Now Galadriel needed to pause and consider, for Melian made valid argument: She believed in Galadriel’s ability to learn, and so had taken Galadriel as her student. But why had Galadriel taken Melian as her teacher if she did not believe in Melian’s ability to teach?

Ah, Melian called again on her pride—daring Galadriel to say she believed that she knew better than Melian the pace and scope by which her lessons ought to progress.

A part of her wished to groan; the better part was more concerned with the presence of her head in Melian’s lap, and the queen’s graceful hand on her head. She could almost forget she had come here for a scolding.

“I am tired,” she murmured. “I trust you, teacher.”

“After your expenditures the last forty-eight hours, I am not surprised,” Melian said, again sound amused in spite of Galadriel’s rather inappropriate behavior.

“I wish only that you should know I may understand you.” Melian hummed something neither fully agreement nor disagreement and stroked Galadriel’s hair again.

“In stillness, one may come to know the forest,” she remarked after a long silence. “But without patience and quietude, much will go unobserved and unknown. My lessons for you are not only in the realm of magic and of wills.”

If she were less worn out, Galadriel might have found it in herself to be embarrassed to realize Melian had been trying to temper her impatience from the start.

“Forgive me, teacher,” she said without opening her eyes. “There is much you know that I wish to know also.”

“And much you will know, in time,” Melian said. “A sapling cannot know the truths of the oak without the will of time.”

Now Galadriel made a soft noise not quite a groan and turned her face more to Melian’s lap, which she supposed was hardly more improper than her presence there already, which Melian had created herself.

“You need not drive yourself so hard,” Melian said gently, her nails scraping lightly over Galadriel’s scalp. “Forget not the value in rest, and slow progress. As long as I stand, you will be safe here. Accept this gift I give, and the time which it grants.” Galadriel relaxed her shoulders and breathed in the sharp rain-scent of Melian.

“Shall I sing to you, dear?” the queen asked.

Galadriel mumbled her agreement, and Melian smiled. Carding her fingers through Galadriel’s hair, she set to warbling a tune about the wind whistling through the treetops and a robin looking for shelter. In the clear ringing of Melian’s voice, Galadriel could understand how one might forsake Eldamar to linger a little while more in the reach of her song. It seemed to soothe away Galadriel’s fears and anxieties, and yet to open her to wonders of the world ‘til then unknown to her. While Melian’s voice washed over her, she seemed to sink into new communion with the woods around them, as if through Melian those other things reached out to her: the moles in their burrows and the squirrels in their trees and the moss creeping over the rocks and the worms tunneling underneath. Melian was a part of it, and it was a part of her, and she drew Galadriel into this world which she otherwise touched only through a veil.

Yet it did not alleviate her exhaustion, and to the sound of Melian’s singing, with the queen’s thigh beneath her head and her hand in her hair, Galadriel slept.

[lee-bella]

HP Fest Schedule: June 13 - July 2

Another fortnight; another fortnight (and some) worth of HP fest dates, this time from June 13 to July 2.

The calendar for the second half of 2023 is starting to fill up. Check out 2023 HP Fest Schedule for more fest dates.

The next HP Fest News Round-up will be up on Potterfests (DW and LJ) on June 20 (tomorrow!). Ta-ta!

June 13

Black Brothers Fest (DW): Tagset nominations open.

June 14

Harry James Potter Week 2023: Prompt lists posted.

June 15

R/S Big Bang 2023: Author sign-up closes.

Wolfstar First Date Challenge: AO3 collection closes.

Drarry Disability Fest: Claiming ends.

Drarry Let's Play 2023 (gaming): Prompting closes. Claiming opens.

Lights Camera Drarry 2023 (film, theatre, tv show inspired): Creators revealed.

Liquid Luck Roll the Dice Challenge: First day to request prompts.

June 16

H/D Career Fair 2023 (Tumblr): Prompting opens.

June 17

Drarry Disability Fest:  Works due.

HP Bodice Ripper Fest (Drarry, HP femslash; romance tropes): Last day to claim.

HP Halloween Fest: Prompting opens.

June 18

It's a Slytherin Soiree (Slytherin centric): Sign-up ends. Entries due.

Harry/Draco Mpreg Fest: Reveals.

Dramione Month: Daily prompt suggestion form closes.

June 20

HP Fruit Fest: Last day to sign up and post.

Dramione Month: Daily prompt voting begins.

June 21

It's a Slytherin Soiree (Slytherin centric): Stories reveal begins.

Game of Drarry Basilisks and Staircases: Last day to sign-up?

The Department of Missed Stories (rare tags/tropes): Last day to sign up.

June 22

HP Law of Attraction Fest (lightning era students; exchange): Check-in.

Game of Drarry Basilisks and Staircases: Last day to receive new prompt.

June 23

HP Cest Fest 2023: Claiming ends.

Bellatrix Fest 2023: Prompting closes.

June 24

Kill Your Darlings 2023 (major character death): Prompting ends.

Snarry AUctoberfest (alternate universe): Prompting ends.

Bellatrix Fest 2023: Claiming opens.

June 25

HP Cest Fest 2023: Works due.

Slither In Fest 2023 (bottom Tom|Voldemort): Last day to sign-up, claim and post.

Black Brothers Fest (DW): Prompting opens.

June 26

HP Pride Extravaganza: Challenge begins.

June 29

Nott in the Cards (Theodore Nott; tarot cards): Writer claiming ends.

Game of Drarry Basilisks and Staircases: Last day to submit for points.

Forbidden Fruit Fest (pseudo-incest): Sign-up ends.

June 30

Nott in the Cards (Theodore Nott; tarot cards): Works due.

Forbidden Fruit Fest (pseudo-incest): Works due.

Tales as Old as Time Fest (Disney songs): Claiming ends.

HP Poetry Fest: Last day for open submission.

Daddymort Festival (Tom|Voldemort, Harry; one of them is the father, bio, adopted, sugar etc.): Works due.

HP Halloween Fest: Prompting closes.

HP Summertime Prompt Challenge: Challenge ends.

Dreomione Fest 2023 (Draco/Theodore/Hermione): Claiming ends?

H/D Career Fair 2023 (Tumblr): Last day to prompt.

July 1

Nott in the Cards (Theodore Nott; tarot cards): Posting begins.

Drarry Disability Fest: Posting begins.

HP Pride Fest 2023: Author reveals.

The Department of Missed Stories (rare tags/tropes): Works due.

Kill Your Darlings 2023 (major character death): Claiming begins.

Prongsfoot Fest 2023 (James/Sirius): Prompting opens.

H/D Wireless (music-inspired): Posting begins.

Daddymort Festival (Tom|Voldemort, Harry; one of them is the father, bio, adopted, sugar etc.): Stories revealed

Snarry AUctoberfest (alternate universe): Claiming opens.

Sirius Black Fest 2023: Prompting opens.

HP Halloween Fest: Claiming opens.

Sugarfest: A Sugar Daddy Harry Fest: Prompting opens.

Liquid Luck Roll the Dice Challenge: AO3 collection opens.

Dreomione Fest 2023 (Draco/Theodore/Hermione): Submissions due.

H/D Career Fair 2023 (Tumblr): Claiming begins.

Black Brothers Fest (DW): Claiming opens.

July 2

Buck Moon 2023 (Remus/Sirius): AO3 collection revealed.

HP Cest Fest 2023: Anon posting begins.

HP Pride Extravaganza: Last day of challenge.

[arcandoria]

PRIDE MONTH - DAY 1: Judy Alvarez, Cyberpunk 2077

for @ronqueesha and @mistymymoon my kofi

[spellcasterlight]

Do you know any updated naruto event blogs? I want to participate in something, but i can’t find calendars and events or who’s hosting what.

Hi there Yummy Yellow-eyed Penguin Anon! 😊

You know me; I'm a sucker for an event! 😂

Okay, so I think @narutoandborutoevents is starting to collect a whole bunch of events in one place.

But I have also just made a list of events that I know off to help out. I've split the list into three categories:

Naruto only events, any fandom events & any fandom bingo cards (I like the bingo cards because there isn't a timeframe. You can just complete them in whatever time you need rather than the usual week, month etc. that other events have so they are very casual and unrushed.

I have also put ** beside events that are smut related in nature so you can avoid them if need be.

I'll put my list under the cut because of length.

Thanks for the ask, and happy writing! ✨

Ao3 ✨ |Story Request Bingo Cards 📖 | WIP Game Always Open ✒️| Hot Chocolate ☕

Naruto only events

@team-gai-week @naruto-smut-monday** @kakashi-week @narutoccw2022 @tentenappreciation @yamanaka-week @asuma-week @polyam-naruto @kisames-corner @shikasaku-week @kunoichi-central @narutosecretsanta @rock-lee-week @ino-week @kakashimultishipextravaganza @sasori-mini-bang @konoha-pride @naruinoweek @inoshikachoweek @narutodilfweek** @narutoocshipweek @narutoocevent @iruka-week @narutorarepairweek @multisasori @narutorarepairjune @harunosakuraweek

Any fandom events

@domaystic @agonyapril2022 @whumpers-monthly @summer-of-whump @polyshipweek @tat-monthly-challenge @kinkuary** @comfortember @flufftober @femslash-friday-prompts @whumptober2021 @flashfictionfriday @febwhump @tropetember @sicktember @augustwritingchallenge @femslashfeb

Any fandom bingo cards

@anyfandomdarkbingo @badbitchesbingo @taylorswiftbingo @anyfandomfluffbingo @anyfandomkinkbingo** @lgbtqbingo @anyfandomangstbingo @anyfandomgoesbingo @kinky-things-happen** @badthingshappenbingo

[purpleyin]

I don't think I wrote so much in 2021 but as usual I still managed a good amount of art.

I made: 176 moodboards, 57 banners, 42 icons, 1 fanvid, 3 fic/fanmix covers, 2 fanmixes and 2 other graphics. 82% fandom specific, 12% multifandom, and 6% non-fandom.

New fandoms I created graphics for this year: The Hunger Games, Back to the Future, The Haunting of Bly Manor, Grishaverse, Deadpool, Sanctuary, 13 Reasons Why, DCEU, Community, Smallville, Prodigal Son, Mass Effect, Dragon Age games, SCP Foundation, Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist, Leverage, Masters of Sex.

Around 13% were Pride related. 9% were holidays/season related - mainly Christmas, Hanukkah, New Year’s and fall aesthetics, with a couple Halloween ones too.

15 WIP moodboards finished! 7% of graphics were made for a request and another 70% were made for events.

Out of the fandom content, rough stats are: 18% m/f ships,  6% m/m slash, 19% f/f slash, 10% polyam, and 47% gen.

Art resolutions for 2022:

Focus more on things made on a whim/no deadline/for me.

Don’t sign up for more than 3 wipbigbang art slots this year!

Make more banners, because I have lots of set ideas and plenty in progress it would be good to finish.

Finish more fanmixes as I have plenty in progress too.

Aim to post something for Femslash Friday every week, with more making ahead of time and scheduling because I definitely don’t have time every Friday. 

Set realistic goals for month long events like Femslash Feb, Multiamory March, Pride etc. My brain always says 1 per day would be great, but honestly it isn’t a good goal, it’s too much pressure even if it’s a stretch goal.

[sstwins]

Femslash Feb Day 2 - Pride - Courtly Jester/Apple White

back on my 200 word squeak

for some reason i stuggle writing things longer than that, though it’s easier when it’s in a scene

im hoping to get to some longer fics before the month is over!

This was an anon request!

Brief Summary: Courtly finds herself innately pulled to Apple White’s power.

Word Count: 262

I’m still accepting ships for femslash feb!!! Send me your fave fem pairs and I’ll write you a fic sometime this month!!

Courtly Jester had always imagined herself to be a ruler in her own right. First vice-principal of Wonderland High, then one day… Queen? One could only hope. Anything would be better than that worthless Lizzie Hearts being in charge. Unfortunately, all ambition came at a price. Wonderland didn’t like you to rise above your station. So she was banished to Ever After High, the playing ground for princesses. What place could a lowly jester have here, other than to do silly little tricks to keep them all amused. It was soul crushing.

But like it or not, Courtly did as she was told. She played along, went to her second-rate classes (though she did sneak into Princessology on the side). And there, she met someone who was altogether… different.

There was something almost charming about Apple White that Courtly had never expected to see in a future queen. She had a real hard edge, like she wasn’t afraid to be bad in the pursuit of her own power and future. It was captivating. Courtly found herself drawn into that thirst to have everything be just right. Apple didn’t want to be a queen just to be a queen. She wanted to rule. It was very different from Lizzie. And Courtly had to admit, there was some innate pull to pleasing a princess like that. It was only fair for a jester. So she’d swallow her pride and perform for Apple, in the hopes that one day the princess would take a liking to her. Then, who knows where their story might go?

[sweeterthankarma]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Carmilla (Web Series) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Laura Hollis/Carmilla Karnstein Characters: Laura Hollis, Carmilla Karnstein Additional Tags: set sometime in season 2, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dirty Talk, Finger Sucking, Teasing Series: Part 30 of Pride Month Prompts 2020 Summary:

Laura sucks in another breath and finds the strength to form a coherent sentence, gasping out, “how are you so charismatic even when you’re fucking my brains out?” “Oh, is that what I’m doing?” Carmilla replies, voice lilting up, tone thick and teasing. “I wasn’t sure.”

Happy Pride Month! I've reached the end of my first ever month-long fic challenge, where I wrote and posted LGBTQ+ fics for thirty days, all inspired by the prompts listed here. These fics were anywhere from 100-1,500 words, were for different fandoms, ships and characters, and all stand alone. This was indeed a challenge for me but it was a lot of fun and this certainly won't be my last fic challenge! I'll definitely do more in the future and if anyone has any requests for what they'd like to see me try (Femslash February, Kinktober, 30 days of a specific fandom, etc.), feel free to send them by way! Let me know in the comments what your favorite fic/ship out of this challenge was, and thanks to everyone who read every day!

Day 30 Prompt: Charismatic.

Title comes from the song "Lovesick" by Banks.

[quakeriders]

“I hope they look worse.” | malide

femslash february 2020 - drabble #01 - request more

Elide was sipping on her tea when she heard it. A scraping sound accompanied by a low groan. For a moment, a spike of fear went down her spine, but then the sound of keys being slid into the lock made her relax.

Only that the door didn’t open at once. No, instead Elide listened to the struggle for a few more moments before finally realizing what was going on and setting down her mug. With a heavy sigh she went to the door and opened it, already knowing what was awaiting her on the other side.

Sure enough, Manon Blackbeak was leaning against the doorframe, a set of keys dangling from her hands. The sight of her girlfriend wasn’t what surprised Elide, nor was it the split and bloody knuckles. No, it was the bruised eye, that would no doubt turn black and then blue in a few hours and cut above her cheekbone that made Elide’s heart stop and then restart at a faster pace.

“Again?” She asked, pursing her lips.

Manon gave her a crooked smile, shifting so that more of her weight was supported by the doorframe. And then, she said, “I wasn’t the one who started it.”

Shaking her head, Elide reached for her, wrapping an arm around Manon’s waist. “One of these days I’m just going to let you sleep outside.”

A slight huff of amusement was the only answer she got.

It didn’t take long for Elide to get Manon seated at the kitchen table and spread their first aid kit out before them. Manon didn’t get into fights often - well, she did, but she usually didn’t get out of one looking this bad - but Elide had learned to patch her up quite well over the past few months.

She cleaned the cuts on Manon’s face with antiseptic, grimacing as her reckless girlfriend hissed in pain. Good, maybe that would teach her a lesson.

Elide avoided looking into her eyes, trying to sound cold and disapproving. “Where else are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. It’s just the face that’s bruised.” Manon replied, making to wave her hand dismissively but cringing at the sight of her split knuckles. Their eyes met, dark brown and golden. A spark of anger coursed through Elide at the sight of the pain dimmed eyes. “And my pride.”

“How about the other person?” Elide asked, voice getting rough. “I hope they look worse.”

“You know he does, babe.”

Manon’s grin was infectious. Elide couldn’t help it. Even as she wanted to chide her for being reckless and getting herself injured, a spark of pride flared in her chest.

“Good.” She muttered, smiling back and finishing up with her cheek.

Before she went on to fix up her knuckles, Elide leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Manon’s cheek. Then, because her girlfriend was a badass who won every fight she got into, she pressed another one to her lips.

She meant for it to be a short peck on the lips, but as soon as their lips met, Elide was hooked. She moved her lips slowly against Manon’s, relishing in the feel and smell of it. She would never get tired of kissing her, it always felt like coming home, like finding a shelter in a storm.

Manon groaned, the sound coming from low in her throat and Elide felt an arm wrap around her back, pulling her closer. Their tongues met and Elide wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to stop kissing Manon, but then she felt fingers tighten at the nape of her neck. Then, Manon winced in pain. It was an unfortunate reminder of the split knuckles.

“Next time,” Elide said after breaking away from the kiss, still breathless, but eyes once again hard. She watched as Manon licked her lips. “you take me with you.”

“I will.” Her girlfriend replied, grinning.

--

(no) taglist send me an ask if you wanna be tagged in the upcoming drabbles.

[teentitansseasonfive]

Hi everyone! Though this year isn’t quite over yet, I’ve already started planning for events (of sorts) I’d like to do on this blog for next year.

The schedule listed under the cut is tentative, so if you all have any major concerns about the timing of certain events, let me know and I can try and shuffle things around.

2021 (Tentative) Schedule:

January - Nothing planned. Will open up requests for Femslash February/Slash March drawings.

February - Femslash (F/F) February. Up to 28 different Honorary Titan-based F/F ship drawings (drawn by myself) will be posted throughout the month.. I won’t be following the offical Femslash February prompts, though. 

Like mentioned, requests for this will be open in January. I will also reblog any Honorary Titan-based F/F ship art created during this month directly to the blog instead of adding it to the queue, so if you all are participating in Femslash February and want to tag me in your Honorary Titan-based art/send it to me in a message feel free to do so.

March - Nothing planned. Will post the voting form for Honorary Titan Appreciation Week 2021 during this month.

April - Nothing planned. Will post the offical prompt list for Honorary Titan Appreciation Week 2021 early in the month.

May - Honorary Titan Appreciation Week 2021. The offical date will be announced after it gets voted on in March, but it will be in one of the last 3 weeks of May for sure.

June - Pride month celebration? Ideally I’d like to do something for Pride month in June like I did in 2019, but I don’t know exactly what I’d like to do yet. Suggestions welcome.

July - Nothing planned. 

August - Nothing planned. 

September - Nothing planned. Will post the prompt list for Honoraryween early in the month.

October - Honoraryween. Essentially, Honoraryween is one of those October art challenges, but centered around the Honorary Titans and that I’ve made my own prompt list for. A different Honorary Titan-based drawing based on the day’s prompt (drawn by myself) would be posted each day throughout the month.

Like mentioned, I will be posting the prompt list in September, so you all are welcome to participate as well if you wish. If you do, make sure to tag me in your art/send it to me in a message to make sure I see it.

The sign-ups for the Honorary Titan Gift Exchange 2021 will also go out early in the month.

November - Nothing planned. Preparation for the Honorary Titan Gift Exchange 2021.

December - Honorary Titan Gift Exchange 2021.

[theclaravoyant]

pride month edit suggestions

i had a lot of fun doing my femslash feb edit-a-day series but i did fall a bit behind for a while there so i’m getting the ball rolling on pride month early... and since the ladies had their turn i’m going to be focusing on canon lgbtq+ male and nonbinary characters. i am currently taking suggestions/requests!

but please note: - characters from shows/movies/media i am familiar with will be prioritised, but there’s no rule against suggesting ones i’m not/might not be familiar with! - human characters will be prioritised, but there’s no rule against others either - depending on the number and variety of characters i end up with on the list, multiple characters from the same franchise may or may not make the list

so, if you have any ideas send them my way! current list includes but is not limited to: dean craig pelton (community), syd (one day at a time), captain raymond holt (brooklyn 99)

[imakemywings]

For the femslash requests: Mithrellas x Nimrodel with one carrying the other in her arms

Hi anon!! I actually had to do some research to remind myself who these characters are exactly but then I got a bit carried away so...here's all this.

Here's also a fun version of the song of Nimrodel, which Legolas sings for the Fellowship in FotR!

Summary: Mithrellas would follow Nimrodel anywhere--even across the Sundering Seas--but fate has other things in store.

Length: 4.8k

This fills the "F/F," "history," and "ace/aro" squares on Fellowship of the Fics' Pride Month bingo.

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

Where She Wanders None Can Tell

Long ago had Mithrellas made her choice. When Nimrodel had come among them speaking words that sparked like fire and pushed like river currents, Mithrellas reoriented towards her, and with her went her cousin Almmir and her brother Enelion, and for many years they followed Nimrodel. Now Almmir lay beneath one of the elms from which she took her name, and Enelion was departed to live among the sedentary, settled Elves of Lothlorien, but not before a terrible parting quarrel with Mithrellas.

(Traitor, Mithrellas had accused in her fey temper, You abandon everything we have stood for!)

Yet the hour was come when proud Nimrodel’s resistance to King Amroth’s proposal at last expired; Mithrellas had stood by the eaves of Fangorn Forest while the pair plighted their troth and Nimrodel agreed to follow him west, and over the Sundering Seas.

And Mithrellas was to go with her.  

Once, Nimrodel, full-throated and straight-backed, had decried the very notion of village-building, and chastised with fire and brimstone these newcome Elves from the west who ate up land and stirred up trouble. She disdained the settlement of Lothlorien and refused to speak other Elvish tongues. Now, she had confessed lowly to Mithrellas, tucked against the bole of a tree in the twilight, it seemed all other paths had been closed to them. A balrog sundered Moria to pieces, and there were whispers of a shadow growing in the Greenwood, and Fangorn whence they fled from Lorien had closed itself to them. Moreover, Amroth whom she loved meant to leave these lands for good.

Who will rule in Lorien after him? Nimrodel asked. For doubtless there would be a new lord, and she did not believe it would be anyone as trustworthy.

Mithrellas meant to tell her to fight. She meant to echo some of Nimrodel’s own stirring words and infectious passions. But Mithrellas had no gift of tongue, and before Nimrodel in particular she faltered, and so she said nothing, and Nimrodel kept her own counsel.

Still Mithrellas was silent as to her thoughts while they assembled themselves for the journey westward. Amroth and Nimrodel meant to leave immediately with Amroth’s small company of staff and what of the remnants of Nimrodel’s band that would follow her so far.

On the morning of their final preparations, Mithrellas combed out Nimrodel’s glossy black hair, and tied it up in a braid that hung to her ankles. Accustomed to traveling afoot, they had been prepared to leave much behind to hasten the journey west, but Amroth had supplied mounts, and Nimrodel’s followers found them more than adequate to carry everything. They were, after all, nomads.

“You keep quiet counsel,” Nimrodel observed as Mithrellas carefully arranged a few sacks of food onto one of the saddles. The sunlight gleamed off her hair and Mithrellas wondered if they ought to produce the summer hoods, to keep them from taking too much sun on such a long, exposed ride.

“Nothing have I to add,” Mithrellas replied, tightening a strap.

“Nothing? Or disapproval?” Nimrodel speculated. Mithrellas’ hands slowed, then stopped.

“I go whence my lady goes,” she said at last, staring at the horse’s flank. “There is naught in it for me to approve or disapprove.”

“Mithrellas has no opinion on this journey?”

“Mithrellas has chores to be done,” answered she. Now she looked at Nimrodel. “And what counsel she has, she has given.”

“As I have spoken, none are obliged to make this journey with me,” Nimrodel said. “Doubtless Enelion would welcome you into his home, if your preference was to remain.”

“It is not,” said Mithrellas. “Not in absence of my lady.”

Long Nimrodel regarded her, the brightness of the sun only just reaching the edges of her loam-dark eyes. At last she said: “Nothing have I done to warrant such loyalty, yet all the same, I will be glad with your presence. These are troubled times, and yours is a soothing companionship.” For a moment, Mithrellas thought that Nimrodel meant to touch her, and she held her breath, but at length the lady only nodded and departed to preparations of her own.

***

The sun shone invitingly on their traveling band through all the start of their journey, so that even Mithrellas felt inclined to tentative optimism. Nimrodel rode at the head with Amroth, and Mithrellas in the back with another to ensure none fell behind. Nimrodel sat her saddle with a back as straight as an oak, but Mithrellas caught the little twitches of her head each time she knew Nimrodel wished to look back, but dared not give the impression of second-guessing her choice. Occasionally, the sound of Amroth’s voice reached back, borne on the wind, doubtless reassuring Nimrodel that she had made the right decision.

Mithrellas occasionally was obligated to glance back to make sure they had dropped nothing, and she tried to draw in these last looks at their homeland for the sake of Nimrodel.

At night they rested the horses and Nimrodel’s remaining people sat alongside Amroth’s and together they ate, and on one upbeat night, traded folk songs one after another.

But the foreboding of Mithrellas and Nimrodel was proven not all amiss when they reached the White Mountains. Knowing the danger of the path, the Elves had girded themselves to contend with those beings which inhabited the mountains, including goblins, giants who took none too kindly to trespass, and remnants of Morgoth’s creatures which gathered in hazardous places where Elves and Men seldom lingered.

What proved most treacherous after all, though, was the weather.

Even at this gentler time of year, for which reason Amroth had urged Nimrodel to accept now rather than wait until the year waned, the mountains were formidable, and the weather like to change on a whim.

Halfway through their first day into the pass, rain began to lash the company, and it did not let up until they were near to elevation, at which point the rain dissolved into a seemingly impenetrable fog. Landslides, rockfalls, and bolting horses contributed to the chaos, until Mithrellas and Nimrodel had only three other Elves alongside them, and had lost sight of Amroth and his men entirely.

“We must carry on!” Nimrodel insisted, her voice echoing against the rock. She bled from a gash across her right cheek and ear where a fragment of stone had struck her. “Amroth will wait for us on the other side, if needs be!”

By the time they reached the downside of the mountains, Mithrellas and Nimrodel were alone.

The mountain reclined into forest, where fog once more enveloped them amidst the thick foliage of that ancient wood. There was no path on which to walk, nor was either woman familiar with this place, and the horses and Silvan had committed acts of mutual abandonment so that Mithrellas and Nimrodel were on foot and bare of their provisions.

All her life Mithrellas had spent in the loving if occasionally stern embrace of the trees, and yet to stand there in that forest made her skin crawl as if she were a rabbit under the shadow of an owl.

Nimrodel looked about them in bewilderment, seeing no sign of Amroth, nor of the others of the company, nor of their mounts, and Mithrellas suspected her iron-willed lady was close to a breaking point.

“We must carry on!” Mithrellas echoed. “Amroth will await you beyond this foul wood!” It was not like her to cast such aspersions on a plant of any kind, but such were her nerves at that time.

Nimrodel spoke not, but they moved forward through the wood, taking turns at the lead. Mithrellas refused to look back; she did not want to see how deep into the forest they had gone, and she wished to give Nimrodel the reassurance of thinking that Mithrellas was certain of their course.

It was only when she paused in her blundering forward that she realized she could no longer hear Nimrodel’s steps behind her.

“My lady?” She turned back. “My lady?” It was possible Nimrodel had stepped into the foliage only for a moment, but unusual not to ask for a halt. When no answer came, Mithrellas tried again, panic beginning to swell her throat. “My lady, are you there? Please, answer me!”

There was only the wind in the trees, and the dying screech of some small animal—a rabbit, perhaps.

“My lady!” Mithrellas began to run back the way they had come, and she had gone but a few yards when she spied Nimrodel prone on the ground. “My lady!”

Nimrodel did not stir when Mithrellas rolled her over, nor did she wake when Mithrellas pinched her cheeks.

“Never fear, my lady,” she panted, dragging Nimrodel upright to scoop her into her arms. “I will see us through.” Nimrodel had led long enough—let it be Mithrellas now who was the pillar on which to lean.

Mithrellas had feared days of travel, but the woods came to an end by the close of day—or nearabout as Mithrellas could tell under such cloud cover—and not in all those hours did it cease to torment them. Every sound was an alarm; her face was stung with nettles; the howl of wolves chased at their heels; and the fog, the fog which covered all, which netted them up like flies in a web; which denied Mithrellas any sense of direction so that they were stumbling out of the eaves of the forest before she even knew it was over.

Heavily it seemed she felt Nimrodel’s weight as she staggered with relief through the thinning underbrush.

“Done,” she gasped. “That’s done!” Yet when she looked down to give Nimrodel a smile, her arms were empty, and the weight was gone. Eyes flying open, mouth agape, Mithrellas whipped about.

“My lady?” she cried, the register of her voice leaping to a hysterical squeal. “My lady!” She ran in circles around the edge of the forest, thoroughly convincing herself she could have dropped Nimrodel and somehow not noticed. “My lady!”

The trees loomed dark and jagged out of the obliterating fog, and Mithrellas panted like a trapped animal.

But she had made her choice long ago.

Back into the forest she went, beating through the foliage, looking for some evidence which did not exist.

“My lady!” she wailed. “My lady! Nimrodel!”

***

Two years Mithrellas spent in the forest in Dor-en-Ernil, trying to bury a fact she had known in her heart from the first moment she stepped back into the woods: there would be no sign of Nimrodel’s fate. Yet for the sake of one beloved, one may convince oneself of many things. At times, Mithrellas felt certain even that she had entered the forest alone, that Nimrodel must have remained behind in the mountains, and she ranged about there as well, but found no trace of Nimrodel, nor of Amroth, nor any of the others who had been with them.

When Imrazôr the Númenórean of Gondor found her with his hunting band, she could have mapped every inch of that forest, and could have believed herself the last person on earth, and had no will left for fighting. Everything of herself she had emptied into her quest for Nimrodel; there was nothing left, it seemed, of Mithrellas.

Imrazȏr, enraptured at once, promised her wealth and family and honor as a noble lady of Gondor, but all that Mithrellas heard was: rest. A place she might close her eyes, someone else to look after her, a forced end to the torment of her vain search.

So, wearily, Mithrellas plighted troth with Imrazȏr, and took the cloak he offered her from his own back, and as she turned away from the woods, she drew up the hood, and wept rather than look back.

***

Elves did not wed with Men, and Mithrellas was an oddity in Belfalas, the only one of her kind there, and Men even less familiar with Silvan Elves than with other Elven kindreds. They gaped at the geometric patterns inked beneath her eyes and on her chin, and many openly suspected she had ensorcelled their lord with Elven magics (to what this referred, Mithrellas could not possibly have guessed). Imrazȏr told her the fate of King Amroth of Lorien, and then—perhaps wishing to make a show of sympathy to his Elven wife for her drowned kindred—renamed the high hill on which his castle sat Dol Amroth. It seemed to Mithrellas that she slept now upon two graves.

(She thought better of Amroth, though: she too, would have thrown herself into the sea rather than be carried away from Nimrodel.)

Imrazȏr her husband treated her kindly enough, if he was dismissive of her thoughts, as he was dismissive of the thoughts of all women, and Mithrellas forgot that there had been a time she would not have tolerated being talked down to by men many hundreds of years her junior.

The Men of Belfalas laughed when they learned Mithrellas could not read nor write, and made many japes about the supposed superiority of Elfinesse, though one woman gently offered to write to any of Mithrellas’ family, if they would be able to read the letter. She thought of Enelion far off in Lothlorien, and of the differences she might cite between herself and Elves of the Sindar, Noldor, or other cultures, and declined the offer.

Traitor, she thought. Traitor, traitor, traitor.

A son she bore Imrazȏr, for it was expected: Galador, who was called the first prince of Dol Amroth. Imrazȏr was delighted with the boy, particularly as he had been concerned, Mithrellas knew, over the fertility of a union such as theirs, when she had not beget a child within the first year of their marriage. A hefty part of his attention was thus diverted to the boy, and he asked less after Mithrellas, and that was not entirely displeasing to her.

What would Nimrodel think of her now, as she sat in her hard-seated throne beside Imrazȏr, ruling over a court of Men, birthing Mannish children, keeping behind the cold walls of Dol Amroth as she was bidden?

Imrazȏr had seen her dirty and wild in the woods, and believed she was a broken thing which he could fix. What he misunderstood was that Mithrellas had no desire to be fixed. In her brokenness, life was made bearable: if she felt not the joy of her child’s love, nor the tenderness of friendship with the Men of Belfalas, nor the satisfaction of tasks well done, neither did she feel grief for Nimrodel or her lost people, which it seemed must consume her if she permitted it to exist at all. Perhaps to live in a city of stone, one must become stone, and so Mithrellas resisted the return of any feeling beyond the detached indifference which had carried her through the last several years.

On a time Imrazȏr gifted her a beautiful rowan horse on their anniversary, one which she knew by then must have cost a fortune, and took her riding out in the fields beyond the city walls, though the hill of Dol Amroth was always visible wherever they roamed.

He told her that he loved her, and called her “wife,” and praised her work in decorating the castle, though he chided her for allowing Galador to run too wild and grew cross here and there with her seemingly perpetual dolor. A-times he even managed to lighten her melancholy with his words or his songs, and Mithrellas told herself that this—that Dol Amroth, that Gondor, that Imrazôr—was her future, and so she became pregnant a second time.

***

Galador played in the yards and the streets like other mortal boys. When he played pretend, he named the kings of Númenor and the heroes of the houses of Hador, Bëor, and Haleth. When he spoke of the future, it was of ruling Dol Amroth and already other children deferred to him as the son of Imrazôr. He grew so quickly to Mithrellas’ eye—already he seemed halfway to adolescence, and yet it had been only a handful of years ago that she had produced him.

He was not interested in learning the names of plants or the histories of the Elves, for the Men of Dol Amroth boasted that the Age of Men was come, and the time of the Elves was past, and plant-lore was wise-women’s work, and Galador had little interest at that age in being a healer of any kind.

When Mithrellas took him out, he liked to race along the beach and wrestle in the mud, and sometimes that brought a smile to her face, but Imrazȏr did not think it appropriate for a young boy to spend too much time with his mother, nor was it thought proper for the princess of Dol Amroth to romp with a child; and Mithrellas often had other chores about the castle of which to take care. (These moments necessitated particular attention to her detachment, for they often came close to the tasks she had managed for her people before, in which she had once taken pride.)

There was the same fuss at Mithrellas’ second birth as there had been at the first, and it sobered her then as before to be reminded how fraught an endeavor it was for mortal women. Imrazȏr seemed relieved to find both mother and baby alive at the end of it.

Nevertheless, Mithrellas perceived that he was disappointed to have a baby girl, rather than another boy (She understood that in Gondor, as among some other peoples, only a male child could inherit land and titles by law, and so there was a preference for boy children). He offered to let her chose the name, but she accepted his suggestion of “Gilmith” as she knew she could not give the child an Elvish name. “Gilmith” recalled some ancestors of Imrazȏr whose story Mithrellas had not bothered to listen to, and when she looked at the child asleep in its cradle, she could not attach the name to the baby. “Gilmith” meant nothing to her. Gilmith did not belong to her.

“When you are well,” said Imrazȏr, “we must make plans to journey to Minas Tirith. It is time Galador saw the capitol.”

Mithrellas had heard from their guests and those of Dol Amroth who had been that Minas Tirith dwarfed Dol Amroth in size and towered as a mountain above the plains. She said nothing, and a nursemaid—not the same who had nursed Galador—arrived to take the babe away. Mithrellas had held her only once.

Mortal women needed time to recover from a birth, but two days gone Mithrellas had regained her strength, and with it, a budding restiveness she could not ignore. One night not a week from Gilmith’s birth, Mithrellas dressed herself and led her horse from the royal stables, bidding the stableboys quiet with a gesture. It was not that Imrazȏr forbade her from leaving Dol Amroth—it was only that he disliked her to go alone, and he would not approve of going so soon after childbirth, and he would tell her to put it off until the weather was better—which would not be so until fall was ended and winter come and gone and spring good and settled once more by his estimation, though the climate at seaside Dol Amroth was quite mild in Mithrellas’ opinion.

So Mithrellas told no one, and left under cover of darkness, and rode out to the edge of Dor-en-Ernil, out to the woods at the foot of the White Mountains. There her horse would go no further, so Mithrellas left it to return home or not, as it chose.

Into the wood she went. The years had not left it much changed, and Mithrellas’ old familiarity with it returned at once.

She walked.

Mithrellas was Elf-kind, and not given to the enfeeblement and world-weariness she had observed in Men, nor was she easily prey to exhaustion, but there was a frayed feeling about her which she had long felt, and it came upon her keenly then, and seemed to increase moment by moment. Her heart throbbed so sharply in her breast it was as if she had taken a blow to the sternum, and a fear began to overtake her that death was at her door. Elves did not die of age, but she had heard they might perish of sorrow, though she had never seen it herself. Perhaps that which she had kept so long at bay had come for her at last.

“I should not have left you behind,” Mithrellas said, pressing forward. It was not until she first stumbled that she became truly aware of how tired and clumsy she had become, but still she went on. The pain in her breast increased, and she felt choked as if there were a hand at her throat. After what seemed like hours of walking, she stumbled for the last time, and hit the ground in a small grassy knoll on her hands and knees.

The forest, which had seemed before to wield such malice, wrapped around her like a cloak. Overhead, the call of birds she had never heard in the city, and rustling through the underbrush little creatures that would be chased out of castle halls. The smell of the fallen leaves and animal trails and flower perfumes surrounded her.

“My lady,” she murmured. “I forgot…I forgot my place.” It was with Nimrodel, it was always with Nimrodel. Had she not decided that centuries past? What had possessed her to take the hand of some Man of a far-off land she knew not? What a coward she was!

Mithrellas sank down into the thick grass. It poked at her face and neck, and she pressed her face into the crisp scent of it.

“Nimrodel,” she whispered to the blades. “Nimrodel, Nimrodel…” What life had she been living in Gondor? Her life she had left behind in the east—with Nimrodel, with their people, with their land. She had gone with Imrazȏr because she was weary—but now it seemed no rest she had found in Gondor, only a different sort of weariness, and the grief from which she had tried to flee still lurking underneath.

A tremor wracked her body, and again the pain in her heart, and Mithrellas closed her eyes, and did not expect to open them again.

It would be good to die in the forest.

***

It was the sound that woke her. An almost halting kind of tune, as if sung by one hesitant, and when the nature of it was clear to her, Mithrellas wept profusely.

“Why do you weep?” asked Nimrodel, ceasing her song.

“For you must be dead, as I am,” Mithrellas answered. “Else I would not hear you here.”

Nimrodel’s arms tightened about her, pulling Mithrellas closer against her.

“Nay, not dead,” said Nimrodel. “For I think then I would not see you as I do now, nor feel your flesh against my flesh. Open your eyes, Mithrellas, and see.”

So Mithrellas opened her eyes, and loath as she was to part from Nimrodel’s embrace, she sat upright immediately, to gaze in wonderment upon the face of her lady. Recognition flooded through her at the sight of Nimrodel’s dark, dark eyes, with their lovely doe-eyed shape, and the tattoos at her throat and forehead which Mithrellas could and had sketched from memory, and her noble black brow.

“My lady!” she gasped, and reached out as if to touch Nimrodel’s face, but drew back before making contact. Nimrodel caught her pale hands and pressed them to her cheeks.

“My Mithrellas,” she said.

“My lady,” said Mithrellas again, and wept. Abruptly, as if remembering, she stopped and said: “Amroth is dead.”

Nimrodel looked sad, but not surprised.

“It has been a long while, hasn’t it?” she said softly. “I feel much has changed.”

“I betrayed your teachings,” Mithrellas blurted out in confession. “I lived in a stone city. I espoused a Man and bore him children. My son will be a prince of Gondor.” Her face crumpled, and the tears resumed. “I would that I had destroyed myself,” she said. “Better to have done it that way, than to live without you and the rest. Better to die than to have betrayed myself.”

Nimrodel studied the ground, still holding Mithrellas’ hands. Then she turned her gaze again on Mithrellas and said: “You are here, now. And I am glad.” She drew Mithrellas into a hug and held her there. “I hear your grief,” she murmured, “and for that I sorrow. I did not mean to leave you so long and lost.”

“I left you,” Mithrellas sobbed, her voice breaking. “I failed you. To you I committed myself and then I failed you. I—you were—you were in my arms! And we were free! But it wasn’t true.”  

“It is true now,” said Nimrodel, holding Mithrellas tighter. “And were I dead I would not have you sit at my grave forevermore. Rather I would have you love the flowers and the trees that would grow there. I would not see you destroyed for my sake.”

“I would never leave you again,” said Mithrellas. “I will never.”

“Such promises may prove difficult to hold in Middle-earth,” said Nimrodel, drawing back to look into Mithrellas’ face.

“Still I swear it,” said Mithrellas fiercely through her tears. “My loyalty has been yours since first I heard you speak, my lady. And though I have ignored it these past years, I have not forgotten it.”

“Ah, Mithrellas,” said Nimrodel softly, wiping at the tears on Mithrellas’ cheeks. “Your affection sustains me. I am glad ‘tis you, among all the rest, to find me here.” Mithrellas held back more tears, for she wished to see clearly, to drink in the sight of that much-beloved and long-missed face. When Mithrellas’ cheeks were mostly dry, Nimrodel rose to her feet and offered Mithrellas a hand. “Will you wander with me again, Mithrellas? Even in my slumber I have missed my companion.”

Mithrellas shifted onto her knees and grasped Nimrodel’s hand, bowing her head over it.

“I will go anywhere my lady commands,” she said.

“Your lady offers no commands,” said Nimrodel. “But Nimrodel asks a question of you.” Mithrellas tipped her chin up to gaze up at Nimrodel.

“I will go,” she said. “I will go gladly.”

“Then rise,” said Nimrodel, and Mithrellas did so. Then Nimrodel drew her nearer with a hand at her waist, and pressed her forehead to Mithrellas’. “If you chose to go, you would go with my love,” she said.

Mithrellas trembled, but spoke with breathless surety. “Having it, I could not imagine leaving, my—.” And then suddenly, Nimrodel’s name seemed far too intimate to speak aloud, and Mithrellas blushed.

“And if you stay, will I have your love?” Nimrodel asked. Her breath was warm on Mithrellas’ chin.

“My—. You have always had my love,” Mithrellas answered.

“And yet you would not counsel me against Amroth, not once I had decided.”

“What kind of love would intervene in the happiness of its object?”

Nimrodel observed her and then said: “You are a rare kind I think, Mithrellas. Again I feel I have been unjustly fortunate in your acquaintance. May I kiss you now?”

Mithrellas’ shock was difficult to put to words, but she had barely finished nodding assent when Nimrodel’s lips pressed over hers, and then Mithrellas felt she nearly swooned. When they parted, Nimrodel’s arms were tight around her, and Nimrodel was smiling.

“I have seen now how to effectively disarm the formidable Mithrellas!” she said.

“Not so formidable,” Mithrellas answered feebly, light-headed. “Not where—not where you are concerned.”

“Will you not call me by name, Mithrellas?” Mithrellas flushed again and looked askance. Nimrodel sobered again—they had never been much given to mirth, these two, and the recent years had added none to it—but she took Mithrellas’ hand and made to lead her further on, perhaps back over the mountains, or perhaps off to some new place. “Will you abide with me at least, then?”

Mithrellas gripped Nimrodel’s hand tightly, and locked her gaze with her companion’s.

“I will, Nimrodel,” she said.

***

Of Nimrodel, it is sung that she became separated from Amroth during their journey west, and fell into a long sleep, and came no more into the histories of the Elves but for the song and the river which to this day bear her name.

Of Mithrellas, it is said only that she disappeared after the birth of her second child, and never again returned to the realms of Men, though her strain of Elvish blood lingered long in the princes of Dol Amroth.

Where they wander now, none can tell, but where they go, they go together.

Nimrodel left and Mithrellas right from this picrew

[lee-bella]

HP Fest Schedule: June 1 - June 17

Lots of HP fests are starting this month. Here's a list of start dates and end dates for current and upcoming HP fests from June 1 - June 17. For more dates, I got a 2023 HP Fest Schedule up on Google Docs. Cheers!

June 1

Harry Potter Fest (Taylor's Version): Claiming & sign-up ends.

Unleashed Fest (Drarry, rare pairs; animals): Claiming opens.

Rare Pair Shorts Summer Wishlist: Grant a wish begins.

The Three Broomsticks Pride Fest: Posting begins.

HP Pride Fest 2023:  Fic reveal begins.

Drarry Let's Play 2023 (gaming): Prompting opens.

Kill Your Darlings 2023 (major character death): Prompting opens.

Out of the Cupboard 2023: Challenge begins.

Nott-Your-Usual Flavors Fest: Claiming opens.

HP Summertime Prompt Challenge: Challenge begins.

Sugarfest: A Sugar Daddy Harry Fest: Sign-up opens.

June 2

Bellatrix Fest 2023: Prompting opens.

June 3

Buck Moon 2023 (Remus/Sirius): AO3 collection opens for submission.

Draco's Den presents: Denopoly: First roll.

HP Soulmates Fest (Tumblr): Claiming opens.

HP Queer Villains Fanworks Fest: Posting begins.

HP Het Mini Fest: Self-posting ends.

June 5

Microfic May 2023: AO3 collection closes.

HP Wedding Fest: Posting begins.

June 7

HP Flowers Spring Round: Masterlist posted.

June 9

Nott-Your-Usual Flavors Fest: Claiming closes.

June 10

HP Saffics Summer Exchange (Discord members only): Matching done.

Harry Potter Fest (Taylor's Version): Works due.

Wolfstar Bingo 2023 (Discord members only): Sign-up ends.

Snarry AUctoberfest (alternate universe): Prompting opens.

June 11

Harry Potter Fest (Taylor's Version): Works revealed.

Wolfstar Bingo 2023 (Discord members only): Fills begin.

H/D Wireless (music-inspired): Works due.

June 15

R/S Big Bang 2023: Author sign-up closes.

Wolfstar First Date Challenge: AO3 collection closes.

Drarry Disability Fest: Claiming ends.

Drarry Let's Play 2023 (gaming): Prompting closes. Claiming opens.

Lights Camera Drarry 2023 (film, theatre, tv show inspired): Creators revealed.

Liquid Luck Roll the Dice Challenge: First day to request prompts.

June 17

Drarry Disability Fest:  Works due.

HP Bodice Ripper Fest (Drarry, HP femslash; romance tropes): Last day to claim.

HP Halloween Fest: Prompting opens.

[ft-dads-au]

Come Into Bloom

Femslash Fairies 2020 Prompt: Flower Shop Pairing: Erza x Mirajane A Collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​ AO3 | FF.Net September 25, 2021

“It’s getting pretty crowded out there,” Sherry commented to Erza as she looked out the shop window.

“Hopefully, that will be good for us,” Erza mumbled as she worked on another corsage, this one a pretty combination of lavender and pink flowers.

They were right in the middle of Fantasia, the biggest flower holiday of the year. Unlike Valentine’s Day, which was mostly targeted at lovers, Fantasia was meant for everyone. It was just as likely for a father to give a token to his children, as to his partner, or even his own parents.

Erza had already made Natsu's order that morning, a beautiful flower crown for Hana, as well as a large bouquet for Gray. Atlas, Aki and the twins were getting some flower-shaped cookies that Mira and Elfman had baked and decorated for the boys the previous night as they were a little too young to appreciate flowers.

“Isn’t it about time for Mira to get here?” Sherry asked her employer, smiling as Erza’s hands immediately went to her hair.

“Oh yes, you’re right,” Erza looked back down at her work table not wanting to give away her agitation.

“It’s so nice that you two make a habit of having lunch together every Saturday,” Sherry enthused, with hearts in her eyes. “Are you getting her something for Fantasia?”

“I uhm, hadn’t thought about it,” Erza lied, not wanting to admit that she had spent hours trying to devise the perfect bouquet of flowers. One that would let Mira know once and for all how she felt about her, but with all the orders she needed to fill plus walk-ins, there had been no time. It was only her and Sherry, and she couldn’t afford to hire more employees.

She’d started working at Rose of Yūen during her college days, and once she’d graduated, she’d bought it from the elderly couple who had owned it. It was her pride and joy, but it also took up a lot of her time, the rest of which was usually claimed by her brother and niece and nephew.

Which is how she had ended up pining for the same woman for years and finding multiple excuses to do nothing about it.

The tinkling of the shop’s door alerted them to a visitor, and Sherry went to help their customer, knowing that Erza was about to go on her lunch break. Erza smiled, remembering the special order she had hidden in her office cooler. Ren Akatsuki, Sherry’s husband, would be by to pick it up as soon as Sherry went on her own break.

That was one of the things she loved about having the shop. Most of the time, she got to see the best in people. The shy teenage boy anxiously looking for a corsage for his first date, the elderly couples that were still madly in love with each other even after a lifetime together and everything in between.

There was Rogue Eucliffe who special ordered flowers from Edolas, to give his husband a taste of his home country. And Alzack Connell, who bought flowers for both his wife and daughter at least once a month and would probably stop in today.

Even couples who were rekindling a love thought lost long ago. Silver Fullbuster and Gildarts Clive were probably some of her favorite customers, always coming in full of boisterous insults towards the other, yet the love in their eyes was unmistakable.

In fact, it seemed like everyone around her was either in love or starting a relationship. Even her brother, who had unexpectedly become a widower last year, had already found someone. While Erza remained forever alone.

She was done with that though, after spending the last eight years building up her business and helping Natsu get back on his feet, it was time to do something for herself. To stop pining for her best friend and try her own hand at love. If she didn’t do something soon someone was likely to whisk Mira off her feet, and she’d have no one to blame but herself.

It was while she was lost in these thoughts that Erza felt a soft tap on her shoulder. She looked up to see Mira smiling at her, “You always get so lost in your flowers. I’m gonna go set these up in your office, okay?”

Mira moved towards the office without waiting for Erza's approval, a bag of food from Fairy Tail in each hand. When she noticed Erza wasn’t following, she called behind her, “Hurry up, I brought you a surprise, but if you make me wait too long, I’ll eat it myself!”

Erza put her tools down and scrambled, knowing there was a good chance the surprise was strawberry cake, and she wasn’t about to give that up.

Her office wasn’t very large, but there was enough room for her desk and chair, a watercooler and a small round table with two plastic chairs. Mira had already set out the food, rolling her eyes when Erza’s eyes were already on the two slices of cake that were visible inside a clear plastic container. “How you don’t weigh 300 pounds, I’ll never know,” Mira giggled.

Erza ignored the comment, digging into the chicken pot pie Mira had brought. “Mhmm, this is really good!” she complimented, closing her eyes to savor all the different flavors.

“Yeah, I remembered it was your favorite. I changed the recipe up a little, made it lighter, and the crust a little flakier.”

“Whatever you did, it’s amazing!”

“You really are as bad as Natsu, just as messy too,” Mira laughed fondly, grabbing a napkin from the bag and handing it to Erza, who had sauce dripping down her chin, before taking a bite from her own dish.

“Have you been very busy today with Fantasia?” Mira asked curiously.

“Yeah, a lot of walk-ins, lots of special requests too,” Erza replied, continuing to eat, “What about you guys?”

“It’s still a little early for the drinking crowd, but the restaurant was pretty busy, they had Natsu subbing in for a waiter that called in sick, at least until the bar needs him back. That was uhm, interesting,” Mira’s eyes twinkled with mirth, “Good thing he’s an excellent bartender.”

She leaned forward in her chair, curious as always, “What kinds of special requests?”

“Well, different flowers can mean different things, it’s almost like a language all its own. Like those flowers that Rogue gets for Sting? Those mean everlasting love.”

“Why am I not surprised? Those two are sickening,” Mira snorted, “Is there one that means I really kind of just like you as a friend?”

“Well, there’s yellow roses, they’re not associated with romance. Oh, and alstroemeria,” Erza recited, clarifying when she saw Mira’s blank expression,” It’s a type of lily.”

She got up and opened one of her desk drawers, grabbing a book and bringing it back to the table. She looked through it until she found a picture of the flower she had mentioned and showed it to Mira.

It was a beautiful flower that came in a variety of bright colors, with center petals that had contrasting stripes. Mira studied the picture, and it’s given description curiously, but her attention was soon drawn by other flowers on the page.

"Wow, I never knew that there was so much symbolism behind flowers," she mused as she turned the page, "It’s a lot more complicated than I’d thought.” She looked up at Erza, a devious smirk on her lips and a twinkle of mischief in her eyes that Erza found really adorable, but also a tad bit troubling. “Hey, are there any flowers that have an offensive meaning?”

Erza snorted, immediately thinking about the first time Gildarts had come to her shop with a similar question, “Look up yellow carnations.”

“Disappointment and rejection? Ouch!” Mira giggled, and the sound translated into butterflies in Erza’s stomach. “So, do you know all of these by heart?”

“I know most of them, but there are so many variations, and each color often has its own meaning-”

Before Erza had the chance to get lost in the passion she had for her job, she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Erza, I’m sorry to disrupt your lunch, but do you think you could come out here for a few minutes? There are several customers and another special order,” Sherry looked apologetic.

While slightly disappointed, Erza didn’t mind too much, she’d already known it was probably going to be a busy day.

“I’m sorry, I’ll try to hurry,” Erza apologized to Mira, wiping her face with the napkin before getting up from the table and rushing out the door, a smile already on her face.

Mira continued eating, grabbing the book Erza had left on the table and flipping through its pages, the beginnings of an idea blooming in her mind.

Erza never returned to finish her lunch, and eventually, Mira had to go back to work, so she cleaned up, putting Erza’s food in her small fridge and leaving both pieces of cake for her to eat later.

Mira hurried to the door waving goodbye to both Sherry and Erza on her way out.

0-0

It had been a long day, both Erza and Sherry had been going nonstop, although Erza insisted Sherry take her break if only so she could get Ren his flowers.

They had sold out of everything in the refrigerators and had to scramble to replenish them. Erza felt like she had seen just about everyone in town. Loke came in to get corsages and flower crowns for his daughters, and a small bouquet for Lucy.

Silver and Gildarts had come in with Rogue and the kids, along with an order from Gray for Natsu. Lyon had surprised both her and Sherry by coming in to get something for Chelia. That had probably been her favorite moment of the day, watching the usually stoic Lyon acting nervous and awkward as he tried to find something special for the daughter he’d just discovered he had.

Almost as lovely as watching Sherry help him pick something Chelia would like. Alzack, Macao, Warren, Cana, Juvia, the list went on and on. About the only person she hadn’t seen was Sting.

Almost as if on cue, Sting raced in, hair disheveled, breathing in gasps and eyeing her worriedly, “Am I too late?”

“You’re fine,” Erza assured him, “We don’t close for another hour.”

“Oh, good. Rogue has the car, and I had to run here from the hospital.”

“The hospital?” Erza’s eyes widened in disbelief, “You’re an idiot, you should have taken a taxi or something.”

“No, there’s a ton of traffic, they’re starting to close off the streets for tonight’s events.”

“I see,” She went into her office returning with a folding chair and a cup of water. ”Sit.”

“Now, what nauseatingly romantic thing are you wanting this time?” she teased.

“Well, Rogue’s playing his first gig tonight since forever,” Sting’s eyes blazed with pride, “So here’s what I was thinking.”

And as he began telling her what he wanted, she wasn’t disappointed. They chatted as she worked on Rogue’s flowers, and when the phone rang, Sherry answered it.

“Alright, I’ll give her your order, thanks!” Sherry spoke into the phone, “What’s that? Oh, yeah, got it! Don’t forget Hana’s flower crown, okay. No, he already paid for that as well as Gray’s arrangement. Thanks, Mira!”

“What do you think?” Erza showed Sting her finished arrangement, and his wide grin made her smile wistfully. She handed the flowers over and reminded Sherry to give him the frequent customer/family discount.

“Are you going to meet with us later?” Sting peered at her from behind the enormous bouquet, which Erza already knew Rogue was going to have a hard time moving around with. Hopefully, they’d thought to bring the stroller.

“I’m not sure yet, I have to go to Fairy Tail to drop off Natsu’s stuff, I’ll decide then.”

“Does that mean you’ll decide when you know whether Mira is going?” Sting regarded her with a knowing grin. “Seriously, Erza, are you ever going to do something? Your brother has discovered a whole new sexuality in the time it’s taken you to make a move.”

“Go away, Sting,” Erza muttered in annoyance but mostly because she knew he was right.

“Well, I hope you come,” Sting entreated, “it will be fun to have everyone together.” He struggled to balance the flowers in one arm as he paid for them and then left, nearly missing the door and walking into the wall because of the obstructed view.

Erza shook her head as she watched him leave, reminded of how similar he sometimes was to her brother. Filled with enthusiasm and energy, a bit silly, but with a good heart. They were also amazingly devoted partners, which was reflected in their grand romantic gestures.

How she’d wanted to do something special for Mira, she thought sadly. Maybe there was still time! But before she could give it any real thought, Sherry had given her the order she’d taken over the phone. It was for Mirajane Strauss.

Erza read the names of the flowers listed on the order again: red tulips, red roses, gardenias, and amaryllis. She scrunched up her face in distaste at the combination.

“You’re sure these are the flowers she wanted?” she challenged.

“Yep, she was especially adamant about the red tulips,” Sherry informed her.

Red tulips, red roses, gardenias, and amaryllis. Four species of flowers that looked so vastly different from each other that Erza wasn’t even sure she could combine them into an arrangement that would actually be aesthetically pleasing. But it was for Mira, so she was going to give it her absolute best.

It was for Mira.

Wait a second… Erza listed the order in her head once again with growing anxiety. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Mira had requested these flowers after she’d been looking in that book Erza had shown her during lunch break. They all referred to deep love, affection, and attraction. It was a love confession hastily pieced together in flower meanings.

Shit! Erza’s heart pounded in her chest, the fear that she might have waited too long making her feel light-headed. Who were these flowers for? Erza wracked her brain to think of anyone Mira might have mentioned recently. Mira worked at Fairy Tail, she got hit on constantly, but she usually just laughed it off.

They’d both dated people casually over the years, but it never lasted long, and they always returned to their comfortable camaraderie, laughing at how there was no one out there for them. Although in Erza’s case, what she really meant was there’s no one out there for me but you.

She reviewed the meanings in her head.

Red tulips - a declaration of love, perfect love

Red roses - the most classic of all expressions of love, a child could tell you what it meant.

Gardenias- a symbol of purity and sweetness

Amaryllis - splendid beauty

Every one of these flowers was like a stab to her heart.

“Did uhm, did she say she was picking these up herself?”

“No, she asked that you bring it to Fairy Tail along with Natsu’s stuff,” Sherry answered moving towards the back of the shop, where they kept overstock and orders they didn’t want to be mixed in with sale items, “I’m going to get his things from the back now.”

“Ah, okay, thank you,” Erza muttered, gripping the edges of the table tightly.

“Are you okay?” Sherry hovered over her in concern.

“I’m fine, just a little tired,” Erza smiled weakly.

“Do you want me to take over?”

“No!” Erza replied quickly, “It’s for Mira, I should be the one to do it.”

Sherry didn’t look convinced by her assurances, but she went into Erza’s office, returning with a glass of water and the box containing the cakes Mira had left for her. “Here, eat something, you never even finished your lunch. I’ll go pick the flowers, and you can arrange them, alright?”

Erza nodded gratefully, sitting down on the chair she had brought out for Sting. She opened the container, eating her cake but for once, finding no joy in it. She still managed to eat both pieces by the time Sherry came back, arms laden with the requested flowers.

“I’m going to lock the door. Otherwise, we’ll never be able to leave,” Sherry called over her shoulder.

Erza didn’t answer, already busy with the flowers on her work table. Well, there was nothing she could do; if Mira had given her heart to another, then she would just have to accept it. Mira deserved all the happiness in the world. They would still be friends and aunts to Natsu’s children.

She would make Mira the most beautiful bouquet that could possibly be made with these flowers, and she would even add her own well wishes to it.

“Sherry? Can you get me some red peonies, please?”

“Just a minute, I’m getting Natsu’s order.”

Erza arranged and rearranged, not satisfied with her efforts. She jumped when Sherry arrived with the flowers she’s asked for.

“More red?” Sherry wrinkled her nose in distaste, “Are you sure that’s what you want? That bouquet does not exactly scream love.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what it’s screaming,” Erza disagreed, showing her the piece of paper that she’d scribbled the order on. “The red peonies are to wish her luck.”

“Oh! Oh,” Sherry frowned, realizing what Erza was saying. She was about to say something else when there was a tapping on the door. A quick peek showed Ren and Chelia waiting for her outside.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Sherry asked in a soft voice, “I can ask them to come back later.”

“Nonsense, go have fun with your family, I’ll see you on Monday!”

Sherry didn’t look convinced, but she gave Erza a hug, letting herself out and locking the door from the outside.

With no one left to act tough for, Erza let her tears flow as she continued to work, arranging and rearranging once again until she was satisfied.

0-0

Mira stood next to Natsu, both trying to stay on top of all the customers that had flooded the bar. She was growing increasingly nervous the closer it got to the end of her shift, knowing Erza would show up any minute. She’d bungled up more orders than she could count, having to resort to shameless flirting to keep from getting in trouble. Noticing her state, Natsu took pity on her, asking her to prep fruit for him while he handled the drink orders.

“It’s gonna be fine,” he assured her with one of his smiles, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze before moving on to a customer that was calling for his attention.

For most people, being handed a knife while they were in turmoil was a terrible idea, but for Mira, who had a knife in hand as often as not, it was fine. The repetitive action of cutting the lemons, limes, and oranges needed for drink garnishes was relaxing.

When she’d arrived back at work from her interrupted lunch with Erza, she had been excited about her idea. She’d written down the names of a bunch of flowers and their meanings, trying to construct a love confession in a language Erza would be sure to understand.

A few hours later, she had been wavering, scared that maybe she’d been reading the signals wrong all these years. If she went through with her plan, she would only be exposing herself to heartbreak and ruining the beautiful friendship she and Erza had worked so hard to sustain over the years.

There had always been so many reasons for Mira not to start anything. At first, it had been because they hadn’t exactly hit it off in the beginning. Then, when that had changed, it was because she was trying to sort out the mess Elfman had gotten himself into, especially after it had caused Lisanna to run away in fear. To Edolas, where she was followed by Natsu, and about two years later, they got married.

It had felt awkward to ask Erza out once they were linked by family, so Mira had dated others instead, trying to distance herself from the love and attraction she felt for Erza. None of them had worked out. Her heart just hadn’t been in them, and when the years hadn’t worn down her feelings one bit, she’d begun to think maybe it was time to take a chance.

But then Lisanna had died, and Mira had been grieving and trying to be there for Natsu, who was clearly falling apart. It was a new excuse but one that felt valid. After all, if she acted now and things didn’t work out between them, it would affect Hana and Atlas, which wasn’t fair to them. The last thing they needed was for their aunts, who each fulfilled a part of a female role model they missed so deeply, to be the cause of uncomfortable tensions.

Sharing babysitting duties with Erza and helping raise the kids had been fun, bringing them even closer together, but also filling Mira’s head with visions of what it might be like if the kids they were taking care of were theirs instead.

But it had been watching Natsu find love again with Gray that had truly sparked her to want to make her own move. If Gray, who had just come out of what was arguably the worst relationship ever, was willing to take a chance on a Dragneel, then why not her? And if Natsu, whose whole life had been turned upside down when he lost his wife granted himself another shot at love, then why shouldn’t she?

It felt right. Maybe that was just Mira's inner hopeless romantic speaking, but it spoke loud and clear, and she was done ignoring it. Besides, they had both turned thirty that year. Not that Mira felt old or anything, but she sure as hell wasn’t getting any younger either. She’d been looking forward to starting a family of her own for so long now. All she needed was someone amazing to start it with.

And Erza was amazing. She was smart, beautiful, and kind, and she had this awkward vulnerability that was incredibly endearing. Which was not to say that Mira wasn’t aware of her faults, like her stubbornness, and her fiery temper.

Mira knew that Erza wasn’t perfect, she was just perfect for her.

It had been Natsu who had encouraged her to make the call, telling her she would never know if she didn’t try, and Fantasia was a perfect occasion. He’d looked over the flowers she had jotted down, making his own suggestions.

“Here, do these. There’s no way she could mistake it,” Natsu assured her.

“How can you be so sure?” Mira asked, eyebrow raised in question.

“Because they all clash horribly in a mess of red that no sane person would ever like,” Natsu’s eyes crinkled with merriment.

Mira stared at him in disbelief and then began to laugh, “Is that what you did with Gray?”

“No, we were just honest with each other, but you two suck at that so gaudy bouquet it is!”

Mira had swatted at him playfully, but she had to admit he was right, she and Erza never seemed to be able to tell each other how they felt about each other, always tiptoeing around anything that might upset the balance they had achieved.

So she had made the call, relieved to hear Sherry’s cheerful voice answer the phone and now there was nothing left to do except wait.

Mira had sliced enough fruit to keep the night shift bartenders going through their entire shift, and still, Erza hadn’t arrived. She could see Makarov and Porlyusica already waiting outside with Atlas, Hana, and Wendy. Had she been held up at the shop?

A few minutes later, there was an unmistakable flash of scarlet, and she could see Erza talking to her foster parents, arms full of packages, with both kids latching on to her excitedly.

“You ready to go?” Natsu asked, signaling the end of their shift.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Mira sighed, the natural confidence she usually exuded escaping her for once.

Natsu snickered and grabbed her hand, pulling her behind him as he weaved his way out of the crowded bar and to their waiting family. They were the last to arrive, and Mira was pleased to see that Gray had joined them, even if he was wearing a cap and large sunglasses. Elfman had made it too. Natsu let go of her hand, heading to Erza and asking for his purchases.

Once Erza had finished helping Natsu, she turned towards Mira. “I brought your order too, even added a touch of red peonies for luck,” she chirped with a fake cheerfulness that confused Mira, as she accepted the bouquet she had ordered.

She examined the flowers in her hand and immediately saw what Natsu had meant. As much as Erza had obviously tried to make the flowers she had requested look as appealing as possible, it was a cacophony of contrasting reds, loud and garish. Those flowers had no business being together. And apparently, Erza had felt the need to add her own touch to the mix, yet another red flower.

What the heck? Red peonies for luck? What did she need luck for?

Erza refused to meet her eyes, and if it hadn’t been for that odd phrase, Mira would have expected some yellow carnations in her future. When she looked at her more closely, Mira saw that Erza’s eyes were puffy as if she’d been crying recently.

Did something happen?

“Luck?” Mira blinked owlishly, trying to understand what was going through Erza’s mind.

“Yes, for you. So that you get the answer you want from whoever you give those to,” Erza managed an awkward smile that tore at Mira’s heart as she finally put two and two together.

“Whoever I give them to?” A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. The hilarity of the situation too much for her to handle. Here she’d thought she’d been as brazen as could be, and all she’d accomplished was to make Erza think they were for someone else.

Erza didn’t seem to know how to react to Mira’s outburst. She peered at her before once again looking down.

“They’re for you, you dummy,” Mira wiped her eyes, trying to ignore the fact that everyone in their group was staring at them with either curious eyes or knowing smiles.

“F-for me?” Erza stammered, her face turning as bright red as her hair once she realized her mistake. A tentative smile crossed her lips.

“Yes, for you,” Mira repeated, handing the bouquet over to Erza with a grin, waiting for her to say something.

“Did your added luck work in my favor?” Mira teased when Erza remained silent, although truth be told, she was starting to feel nervous.

Tears shimmered in Erza’s eyes as she nodded happily, taking out one last item from the bag she had brought from the store and handing it to Mira. It was the most beautiful bouquet Mira had ever seen, and she didn’t have to know anything about flowers to understand that Erza had poured all of herself into it.

They stared at each other, frozen in place by all the years they had spent hoping for this moment, imagining it in hundreds of different ways. Both desperate to take the next step but also terrified of what it would mean.

“Just kiss already,” Hana’s voice startled both of them out of their reverie, followed by the well-meaning laughs of their family and closest friends. She might have been only eight years old, but she’d managed to say what they had all been thinking.

So Erza and Mira did, neither one sure of who took the first step towards the other, or who’s lips pressed against who’s first. All they knew was that as awkward as the moment was, it was also perfect.

They were soon surrounded by the loud congratulations and, in some cases, happy tears of their family. Even though they were out in public, the promise of what was to come enough to make them both smile radiantly.

For the rest of the evening, they enjoyed the festivities with the others, walking hand in hand through the streets of Magnolia. They fed each other snacks from the many food carts that had gathered around the city center, watched Phantom Lord's live performance, slow dancing to some of their songs, and topping off the evening with soft kisses underneath the fireworks.

It was a beautiful evening, filled with more than they could’ve hoped for, but they both couldn't help but look forward to the moment when they were finally alone and could express their feelings more privately.

@femslashfairies​

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

Since I’ve done stuff for the past two years for Pride Month, but am not this year, I’m just going to quietly shout out my old Tales of Arcadia Pride Month Ficlets series, which I did by request two years ago.  I also have copious amounts of femslash on my ao3 too

-someone who’d like to do something Big for Pride this year but legit just doesn’t have the energy :(

[yu-ri-oh]

SAVE THE DATE!

Mod Princess here! After a very busy month of May, I’ve finally gotten some free time. I figured since this blog hasn’t had any interactive events in a while, I’d celebrate by opening femslash graphic requests for the month of June! What better than to use both Pride Month and the month most popular for weddings as an excuse to make f/f content, after all?

From June 1-June 30, simply send @yu-ri-oh an ask detailing a graphic request (i e what kind of graphic you want, characters/ships, if you want it to be themed) and I will make it for you!

GUIDELINES:

While this event is Pride Month and June Bride themed, you can request whatever you want. The event themes are simply there as inspiration if you want to request but don’t know what you want.

I will do basically anything, from pride icons and bride edits to fake screenshots and blog headers! Examples of my graphic work can be seen on the blog itself in both desktop and mobile, but you can see further examples of what I can do here.

Please keep it on topic! Content related to LGBT+ women headcanons and/or F/F ships only. This is a femslash blog, after all. That being said, trans girl and nblw content regardless of how the character presents in canon is acceptable! 

If you want a ship with an underage character that involves an age gap bigger than 3 years, please keep the prompt something that can be interpreted as platonic. Further information on this topic and the blog’s stance on it can be found here.

As a general note: if you request a bride/wedding edit for a character/ship, I will more likely than not be using Aikatsu or THE iDOLM@STER as my bases for it because that is what I am most familiar with. If you would like a bride edit that uses a base from elsewhere, feel free to tell me in your request!

Above all else, have fun and happy shipping!

[huntypastellance]

The whole history of the VLD month discourse as explained by Lord Pastel Lance

(requested by a beloved disciple, We apologize for the lateness of this post)

Also, this has nothing to do with wlwvoltron, which is just an anti blog, not a ship month blog.

Right, so the entire VLD ship month discourse stemmed from one thing: the Studio Mir incident with Klance14.

Timeline of events:

> Klance14 happens

> Klancer antis create a blog to apologize to Studio Mir, named after Klance14.

> Klancer antis create the Klance Positivity Month (antis only) to boost the tarnished reputation of the Klancedom for June (nearly nobody joins & KPM is just blehhhh as a result).

> People get mad because KPM was created during Pride Month & because Klance was already the most popular ship in the fandom & didn’t need MORE positivity. Plus, there were already previous Klance events for it, which added up to about 2 months worth of Klance in total for 2017.

> Sheith fans create Sheith Month for August. People whine about it a little because ship events are usually a week long, not a month long. (It was created to celebrate the anniversary of Josh Keaton naming the ship & Chris Palmer drawing the “Shiro loves you, baby. He is looking at Keith” art, so at least the creation of it made SOME sense.)

> Antis get pissy over it & post the Sheith Month Calendar everywhere to make fun of it & deride it. They create vld-wlw-month to block it, claiming that they created it solely to promote wlw*, despite one of the prompts being Broganes. That prompt was later changed because of anon complaints, with the mod insisting that she only added Broganes because a friend really liked it.

- That makes zero sense as a prompt, Broganes is extremely limiting & only refers to Shiro & Keith.

- If you wanted to write about wlw sisters, why didn’t you just make the prompt “Sisters” so that Lance & his siblings & the Holts could be included as well?

- That edit job you did on the calendar was so bad that you can still see where the B in Broganes was.

> Shaladins create a fully inclusive voltronwlwmonth so that people can draw genderbends, klancebians, wlw shaladins, wlw pallura, etc.

> The mod of vld-wlw-month slanders voltronwlwmonth & gets her anti friends to condemn it & make up lies about it, calling it a bad month run by a cis straight girl. (The mod of voltronwlwmonth is none of these.) voltronwlwmonth is spammed with anon hate as a result.

> Antis are mad that the mod of voltronwlwmonth doesn’t back down & delete, so they create mlm-month-of-voltron for September. Which is really REALLY fucking stupid because Slash month is basically EVERY month on this blue hellsite, that’s why Femslash Febuary exists.

*Reminder that these antis were the ones calling Bex, an out & open lesbian who plays a lesbian character on TV & supports the LGBTQ+ community, things like a “d-ke”, “hairy lesbian”, “snake” & “homophobic” after she called them out over the Klance14 incident, the “power bottom”** Shoe incident on Josh Keaton’s instagram & the jackass anon who demanded that she apologize & grovel to them after the guidebook’s official canon ages, AS DETERMINED BY THE WRITERS OF VLD & NOT A THIRD PARTY TOY FACTORY, came out (which made Sheith the only true adult x adult ship & Klance a minor x adult ship, but antis don’t care about that ofc).

^Seriously, just search the tags on tumblr, yourself. Just looking at all those posts makes Us physically ill.

**Not ONLY is this stupid, but it’s clear that these so-called wlw antis don’t know shit about how gay sex works. Only mlm can power bottom? Saying the phrase “power bottom” is fetishizing them? That’s like saying the word “bear” fetishizes mlm when it is an category that they themselves use with each other. A dude can power bottom in a relationship with a woman. A woman can power bottom with another woman, too. Pegging. Strap-ons. Double-ended dildos. 

It’s your own fault for desexualizing lgtbq+ relationships to just handholding & cheek kisses (& if the characters are gay women, ranting about how much they hate dick & love being gay). <- aka all the fanfic submissions for vld-wlw-month

Some of you people are ADULTS. And yet your lgtbq+ & STRAIGHT sex education is utterly abysmal. GOOGLE IS YOUR FRIEND. USE IT.