#elissastillstands

[frxstguardian]

it’s a mai/suki world and we’re just living in it

[aftercamlann]

Crave the Brush of Spring

words by @elissastillstands art by valika

Summary:  It is Ygraine who asks Nimueh to help her conceive a child born of magic, and though she knows what will come to pass, Nimueh is powerless before Ygraine's desires. Decades later, that same child rules over a Camelot haunted by its past. The kingdom is besieged from without by a powerful Morgana seeking justice, and from within by its own broken laws. Gwen and Merlin stand at Arthur's side in his bitter war against his sister, but as their secrets come to light, Gwen must grapple with her gravitation towards the woman she once served. In the face of the slow dissolution of her world, Gwen finds herself confronting what she has long tried to bury in the name of loyalty: the power of grief, the force of anger, the weight of women's love and women's hunger.

Click HERE for the story and click HERE for the art!

[gwemrys]

reading your tags on my art made my day, thank you for the kind words (and wonderful gwen content!) -elissa

ooohhhhh my goodness omg........i should be coming to YOUR inbox thanking YOU for making art this beautful and gorgeous AND SHARING IT WITH ME!!!! LITERALLY ITS MAKING MY HEART BURST i dont know if u know ive been thinking abt it nonstop kinda? U TOUCHED ANOTHER UNTAPPED BASIN OF GWENLOVE IN MY HEART.... i thought i couldnt love her more and yet!! guess the love resources in my heart just never run out which means i should be sending YOU MORE OF IT........ u genuinely deserve so much more than my tags but im glad it made u smile EVEN A FRACTION!!!! of the smile that was put on my face thanks to your godly creation........i rly. dont know how to dfdjsn express my love like a normal person but listen to me i would die for you.

ANYONE READING HERES THE MASTERPIECE IM TALKING ABT GO GIVE HER LOVE

[zaritomazlovescharlie]

My contribution to the Star Trek Femslash exchange of 2019

I tossed between art or writing, but eventually I decided to write a fic.

Person I’m gifting it to: @elissastillstands (I’m so excited to finally follow you, your blog is amazing <3

Pairing: Kira/Jadzia from DS9

Fic name: Questing

Word count: 1.6K

Rating: T

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19768942

[tincanspaceship]

@elissastillstands asked me to do 21 and 46 but I got both asks at the same time (for some reason) so I just combined them.

21-We'll figure this out.

46-Dance with me.

Words:1313 (ha very unlucky)

Rating:T

send me more milippa/mylvia prompts!

     Michael pushed open the door to the bathroom. She let an Andorian in an intricate gown stalk past her. She heard, so faintly she would have missed it had she not turned off the dripping tap, a quiet sniffle. She tapped on the only closed door.

    “Are you all right?” She stepped back, almost tripping over the rosy fabric of a scarf that had been discarded.

   “Michael? Is that you?”

   “Philippa?” Michael yanked the metal knob. The door was unlocked. It fell open a crack. A streak of fluorescent light fell on the pale blue interior. “Can I come in?”

   “Go ahead.” Michael shoved the door open and shut it as fast as she'd opened it. Philippa leant against the wall, hunched. Her suit was crumpled, her jacket carelessly piled on the floor. Thick waves of hair fell over her face. “Hey, Michael,” she whispered.

   “Philippa!” Michael bounded to her side and brushed Philippa's hair out of her eyes. They were bloodshot and puffy. Tears fell down her cheeks and spilt down to splatter across her shirt. Michael looked horrified. She instinctively pulled Philippa into a crushing embrace, allowing the other woman to rest her head on Michael’s exposed collarbone. “Why are you crying?”

   “Oh, forgive silly old me! I've just had a bad day…” she mumbled, appreciating the feel of Michael's skin against hers far too much.

   “Philippa, you can't lie to me. I've seen you fall off a thirty foot cliff. And you didn't even frown.” Michael smiled at the memory.

   “Michael, I have no problem with hugs, but I need to breathe,” Philippa chuckled, tears still trickling down her cheeks. Michael turned bright red and let go.

   “Sorry, Captain.” Philippa tried her best not to stare at Michael, unsuccessfully. Michael was and had always been beautiful, but today she was absolutely gorgeous. Philippa felt blush crawling up her cheeks. She shifted her gaze to an unspecified spot on the wall. Michael tugged at her ruby dress, straightening the V-shaped collar. “I'm assuming you don't want to stay here. We could go back to your quarters?” Philippa smiled and wiped at her eyes.

   “That sounds wonderful. I should clean myself up. I need an excuse…” Michael smirked.

   “I'll take care of that.” She slipped out of the bathroom. Philippa washed her face as best she could with her hands. Icy water numbed her fingers. She dried herself on the inside of her jacket. Michael burst back in three minutes later, holding a glass of wine, a butter knife, and a red pen.

   “Should I be scared?” Philippa joked. Michael grinned.

   “Not at all.” She dumped out half the wine into the sink. Michael carefully dismantled the pen and cracked the ink cartridge, pouring it into the remaining liquid. Philippa watched, mesmerised. The end result was a strange colour that closely resembled blood. Michael snatched up the scarf lying on the floor and began to saw at one of the tassels.

   “What are you doing?” Philippa questioned, now confused.

   “Hush. Do you have any emotional attachment to that shirt?”

   “No?”

   “Good.” Michael managed to remove one of the dangling pieces of the scarf. She dropped it in the red mixture in front of her. “Let me see your sleeve.” Philippa reluctantly held out her arm. Michael began to cut at the sleeve from the inside, rather awkwardly. She managed to make a jagged hole after what seemed like hours but, in reality, was only a few minutes. “Hold still.”

   “Whatever you say,” yawned Philippa. Michael plucked the string out of the glass and stuffed it into the pen’s tip. She assembled the rest of the pen, and, with the precision usually reserved for surgeries and works of art, she painted a scrape across Philippa's forearm. Once she was done, she leant back and admired her work. Philippa raised her arm for a better look. “Impressive. Shall we go?” She smiled.

   “Certainly.” Michael poured the glass into the sink. “Leave no evidence.” She slid the butter knife and pen into Philippa's pocket. The wine glass she washed out and left on the sill of the frosted window. They simultaneously left, Philippa clutching her wrist. “If anyone asks, you tripped and hit a table on your way down,” Michael whispered, as if their lives depended on that piece of information. Philippa stifled her laughter.

   They made it out of the gala having been stopped six times and having ignored the calls of seventeen various officers. Michael had twisted her ankle in her heels against the uneven ground towards the temporary quarters of her captain. Michael shivered at an unexpected gust of wind, almost dropping her shoes. Philippa pulled her jacket off silently and draped it across Michael's shoulders. The cool twilight air nipped at Michael's bare feet.

   “Hey, Mikey, when we get back, do you want to watch a movie? I know you definitely haven't seen some Earth classics.”

   “Only if you promise not to call me Mikey ever again,” Michael teased. They arrived at Philippa’s quarters. Philippa punched in her passcode.

   “The password’s A-N-G-E-L, if you ever get locked out.” Philippa yanked her suitcase off her bed and dug through it. “I only brought one pair of pyjamas. Do you want them or my off-duty clothes?” Michael blinked.

   “I...don't know. I should go clean up my feet, though. I don't want to get dirt everywhere.” Philippa smiled and threw a ball of fabric at Michael's face.

   “Go get changed. I'll pick a movie.” Michael slipped into the bathroom and tidied her feet with a towel. She unfolded her clothes and found a standard fleet-issue set of pyjamas that happened to be just a little bit too small. Her sleeves stopped a few centimetres from her wrists and the top of her pants didn't quite meet the hem of her shirt. She barely noticed.

   Philippa had cued a movie, having dressed herself in a shirt that proclaimed SHENZHOU and warm leggings.

   “I'm sorry they're too small, Michael. The replicators only make food. Speaking of which, ice cream?” Philippa held up a white ceramic bowl. Michael accepted the gift. Philippa curled up under a blanket. “Computer, play video.” Michael picked at her chocolate ice cream through the opening scene. Philippa had finished hers before the movie had started.

   “Philippa, you never told me what happened,” Michael said, softly. She stroked the corner of the blanket.

“I guess I didn't. It's just… you know my ex-husband. This would have been our anniversary. His family still hates me for damaging their perfect little Nikos. With my terrible lifestyle,” she spat. “I happened to mention my ex-girlfriend. And after that, now Fleet Command wants me to go through the whole system of bioluminescent alien life-forms.” She groaned. “Tomorrow.”

   “Hey, Philippa, we’ll get through this.” Michael grabbed her hand. “Dance with me.” Philippa made a face that was halfway between confused and elated.

   “What? Oh, of course.” She tried not to look at the small ribbon of stomach muscle exposed under Michael's shirt. Philippa hopped off the couch. She placed a hand on Michael's waist, slipping her thumb across her stomach. Michael guided Philippa around the room, taking care to avoid stepping on her feet. She circled the sofa before playfully shoving Philippa backwards over the arm. Having accidentally used a little too much momentum, she toppled over too. They landed, Philippa having twisted to lay on top of Michael. Neither made an attempt to move. Philippa did not protest when Michael kissed her, quick and sweet. Instead, she trailed her fingers across the ribbon of skin below her shirt.

   “Love you,” Michael mumbled. She kissed Philippa again, this time lingering for quite a lot longer. “This should make our shifts much more interesting.”

   “Hopefully.” She left a trail of kisses across Michael's collarbone. “I bet we can sneak at least a few kisses every shift.”

   “You’re on.”

[frxstguardian]

N, T, Y, Z, hold nothing back

N - Name three things you wish you saw more of in your main fandom

Well we’re already in a Zukka Renaissance, but let’s have even more.

We need more Asajj Ventress fic to make up for her terrible ending in Dark Disciple that I refuse to accept as canon. Preferably post-Order 66 team ups with Ahsoka.

I want more of Eric Bittle getting tired of being the nice one all the time. Isn’t he tired of being nice? Doesn’t he want to go apeshit?

T - Do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending

Kent Parson was raised by a poor single mother because he has to be the complete opposite of Jack Zimmermann in every single way.

Y - What are your secondhand fandoms

Tangled The Series. Love seeing my lesbian mutuals go feral over Cassandra and reblogging quality fanart when I’ve seen zero (0) episodes!

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go

I’m gonna say it... Merthur is an unhealthy relationship. Still canon tho lmao!

send me letters!

[frxstguardian]

she has all the galaxies inside her (insp)

[frxstguardian]

i love being friends with lesbian mutuals who watch a tv series that i’m considering getting into except they dislike the popularity and characterization of a minor male character in fandom so i put off starting the show bc i’m scared that i’ll end up liking him and our friendship will be broken <3