Femslash February 2021: "Buttercup"
Day 3. I had no idea that a buttercup was a flower until I already wrote this and that's my fault. Thankfully I've got my girls from one of my Shadowrun games who spend most of their time being fluffy and adorable that it didn't matter. Straight from the Los Angeles Sprawl in 2081, these two are from a series of short stories and a side game of Shadowrun I run.
Content Warning(s): None!
Hannah crawled onto the bed where Alma laid, settling with her legs on both sides of Alma’s thighs. She leaned back and began taking off her jacket and tank top. Alma let out a groan comparable to a can of compressed air being fired as Hannah sat back.
“Hannaaaahh. We just ate!”
“I know. I’m not sitting on your stomach.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you want me to be shittier?”
“Can we stop talking about shit?”
Hannah leaned forward and put mock pressure on Alma’s stomach before tossing her tank top and jacket off of the bed. She then took off her sports bra and stretched it out so it had enough spring to be fired in Alma’s face.
With a groan of exasperation, Alma reached up and grabbed Hannah’s wrists, and flipped her onto her back. Alma mimed Hannah’s position but laid across Hannah fully, her purple-pink ombre hair framing both of their faces as Hannah let out a maniacal laugh of utter glee. She tried to lift her hands. Once. Twice. Alma was stronger, it was no use but she still liked to make Alma work for it.
“Shit, buttercup.” Hannah said. “You got me again.”
“I just want to enter a food coma, you little bitch.”
Hannah smiled and leaned up to give Alma a quick kiss. Alma twisted her head to avoid it, but Hannah’s persistence meant that she was able to land one on Alma’s cheek with an exaggerated ‘mwah!’
“Are you fucking done yet?” Alma asked.
“Yeah. For now. As if you don’t like being on top. Are we gonna cuddle or are you gonna play lil’ miss tough street sam even when I got my tits out?”
“Your tits aren’t big enough for that to mean anything.”
Hannah let out a bark of a laugh, “Bitch!”
“Yup. No funny business. Okay?”
“Ooookay! Lemme go already.”
Alma released Hannah’s wrists, rolling over to lay on her back. Hannah immediately sidled up against her, arms wrapping around Alma’s torso with her head nuzzling into Alma’s shoulder.
“... and they call me Princess,” Alma complained. “You’re the brat.”
“I am a brat,” Hannah affirmed.
“Ugh, at least you know it. Comfortable?”
“On you? Hell yeah. You’re warm and soft and wonderful as you always are.”
“You make it impossible to be angry at you.”
“I know,” Hannah said. She nuzzled more pointedly against Alma’s shoulder with a wide, satisfied smile.
“Next time I’m kicking you out on the couch.”
“Oh, sure you are. Totally heartless. As if you don’t love me.”
“Just because I love you doesn’t mean I won’t teach you a lesson.”
“Mmhm. With an impending food coma? I know when to push my luck.”
“Incorrigible,” Alma said with a heavy sigh.
“Get some rest,” Hannah said with a gentle pat to Alma’s side. “I love you.”
Alma grumbled for a few moments and got comfortable. After a few moments, she mumbled ‘I love you, too’ as her eyes became heavy and she drifted to sleep. Another job well done. Another pizza consumed. Another night with the gremlin girlfriend.
Life was good.
Femslash February 2021: "Pride"
Day 2. A nice little tale of two of my favs - both from the same Witcher TRPG campaign. Siota is the butchy elven doctor who tries to take care of her pipsqueak noble princess of a girlfriend, Lothlan, whose moodier than a mood ring.
Content Warning(s): Mentions of starvation.
Her parent’s scheme was to foster an alliance of some sort with Filavandrel aen Fidhail. The Feleaorns of the White Ships were once close friends. Now the leader of the Free Elves, they were in much the same boat as Mualann. They all had hunger and prejudice as their constant allies and the disdain of Aedirn to remind them. Lothlan’s gift - such as it was - were visions that took her mind elsewhere and wracked her body with seizure. It was a gift that her parents hoped to offer to Filavandrel in exchange for some more worthwhile protection; some advantage against the Aedirnians who would sooner tar and feather them than share their cereals.
The visions which plagued her typically would involve fully-stocked glades swollen with fruit and rife with game. Until they learned how to farm - something that her mother desired - it was the equivalent of a gift from the gods. Lothlan knew it was as much; she had seen the Queen of the Fields in the eyes of every woodland beast and between the trees during her walks.
She was on one such walk. Time to herself before she traveled to the “Free Elves” and attempted to broker something more long-lasting than an acknowledgment that Elven society had to evolve. Action, rather than musings and idle wonderings. Lothlan had to wonder if it would be enough, or if they were truly a species destined to die. She knew that anything was possible in this world; rich in resources and succor for growth as it was. The question was simply if the Elven people would choose to adapt or not.
Her boyish doctor followed behind her as Lothlan walked through the dry gardens of Mualann’s keep. The ginger-haired woman had been a companion in suffering due to Lothlan’s afflictions as much as a comfort; she was not just a doctor but something more intimate which no one else knew. Lothlan heard Siota’s footfalls hasten as it became clear that no other was present.
Siota’s warm, pale hand intertwined with Lothlan’s sunkissed, skinny appendage. Siota’s years as a doctor and an archer left her skin calloused and rough. Rough-hewn but entirely a woman despite cropped hair and not a touch of powder on her nose. It suited Lothlan just fine; fancy dresses and make-up were her passion. She took pleasure in watching Siota fumble with it when requested, but not much else. The bareness of her face spoke to a bareness of deceit. She was the new generation of Aen Seidhe; an Elf without royal connection, an Elf who has lived roughly and worked hard for every morsel. Lothlan knew as much, she could see the future in small fits. Even without it, she was as cunning as a fox. She knew the future of the Elven world was in the force of something like the Scoia’tael; an organized paramilitary force that was disconnected from the hamlets and city-states of non-humans.
Ironically, it was a sentiment that she and Siota could not agree upon. Her fare doctor’s views were, to Lothlan, as soft as her hair after a thorough wash. She did not wish to see any lives lost regardless of the source. She was a doctor, after all. Taught by the family physician, point of fact.
Lothlan squeezed her lover’s hand gently as leaves underfoot crunched loudly. Her heart ached suddenly, wondering how often they could take walks like this if only one of them was not born a woman. Or, more impossibly, the world became very accepting of a great many peculiar things. Such as two women of different worlds, different values, and different social castes hand-in-hand in a garden as much as they were in Lothlan’s bed chambers.
“I think this little journey will bring us nothing but regret,” she said finally, breaking the silence.
“Why would you say that?” Siota asked.
“No one over two hundred years wishes to learn how to farm. None of them wish to learn how to fight back at the dh’oine. How can I do anything when I’m instructed to abide by rules of empty platitudes?”
Siota stopped, a frown coloring her freckled face. Lothlan’s arm extended fully before she stopped as well. Turning back to look at Siota through a veil of curls, she continued.
“You think I can somehow convince a more long-standing agreement between us? Truly?”
Siota nodded. “It troubles me that you do not, my love.”
Lothlan’s brows raised in surprise and she closed the distance between the two. A playful smile appeared on her face and she moved both of her arms to wrap around Siota, her fingers intertwining with one another sloppy in the small of Siota’s back.
“I suppose you’re to give me honeyed words of encouragement when you dare not even spend a full evening in my bed chambers.”
Siota’s face fell, however briefly, but she leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on Lothlan’s forehead.
“We’ll make it through another winter because of your verbal ability, not whatever Scoia’tael friends you have.”
With a pout, Lothlan wordlessly pleaded for more than just a forehead kiss. She pushed herself onto the tips of her toes and waited for Siota’s warm, rosy lips to meet her own. Lothlan pushed back, wanting more. She always wanted more. Siota indulged. She always indulged.
They kissed tenderly in the garden, the heat from the kiss growing as each second passed by. After nearly a full minute, Siota pulled back and glanced around to ensure they were alone and Lothlan leaned in to rest her head against Siota’s chest.
“It means something to you. I would be a fool not to try, no matter the odds.”
“It isn’t like you to give up,” Siota said with a growing smile.
“It will make you proud, won’t it?”
“It will make all of us proud, but if my word is the one you care about the most...”
Lothlan sighed, stamping one foot on the stonework floor.
“It does,” she affirmed. “Do not even pretend as if it doesn’t.”
“I suppose it would make me proud if you put your almost mystical word artistry into this, yes.”
“Then I suppose that’s settled,” Lothlan said drearily. “I’ll be the dutiful daughter. Will you ever stop trying to rip out the best in me?”
“No,” Siota said. “I won’t.”
Femslash February 2021: "Red"
Day 1! Cross-posting all my FF2021 shit across all my social media platforms, because why not? As always, I don't write for "fandoms" and all of my stuff is usually based on my tabletop NPCs or characters - all of which are original. This one involves an ol' Polish kindred goth and her young, eager-to-serve ghoul.
Content Warning(s): Blood drinking
Her long, skinny fingers tripped over one another as she played her original composition - The Midnight’s Cry - on the piano. No one but an expert would notice her mistake but it was enough for her to acknowledge the gnawing rage of the Beast at the back of her thoughts. The Beast that was always at the back of all kindred’s thoughts. She laid her ashen white fingers against the keys and waited. It would do no good to take a deep breath. She had to center herself, focus, ten times harder than any living mortal.
A light, pleasant clapping came from her doorway. Daniella - Oliwia’s ghoul. She must have assumed that was the end of the song. Somehow the praise was enough to raise Oliwia’s spirits. She lifted the piano key cover and lowered it over them, finished playing for the night. Daniella took it as a sign to walk into the room and start speaking.
“I purchased everything you needed and delivered those letters. Everything should be ready for the soiree this weekend.”
“Thank you, Daniella,” Oliwia said slowly and deliberately. Her heavy Polish accent and the fact that English was very much a newly-learned language meant that it pinched like an ill-fitting pair of heels and much like with her piano playing, Oliwia couldn’t stand a mistake no matter how small or unnoticeable.
“I apologize for having you run to and fro during the hours I am awake, but I do appreciate your dedication.”
“Anytime you need it,” Daniella said quickly.
“Be careful what you wish for. I always have more for you to accomplish.”
“... and I’m happy to do it.”
“So long as you do not disregard your coursework and studies, I see no reason not to give them to you.”
“Always. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t,” Oliwia said.
“Is there anything else I can do for you before you rest, then?”
Oliwia smiled fully; it was thin-lipped, her square jaw and high cheekbones all the more resembling a malnourished supermodel in heavy gothic makeup than a violent creature of the night.
“It is that time of the month, is it not?”
Daniella didn’t answer. She looked bashful instead, towards the ground. Her cheeks grew a shade of darker brown out of embarrassment.
“The week of. I didn’t want to-...”
“You have been feeling it?” Oliwia asked.
“Yes,” Daniella said in an excited huff. Her heartbeat was hammering in her chest. Oliwia could hear it. She was simultaneously turned on, hungry, and nervous. It was a raucous cocktail of emotions that almost made her want to go feral. It was the tempestuous call of Oliwia’s vitae, and the thought of getting more.
The cold, dead flesh of Oliwia’s hand cupped Daniella’s cheek, the pointed and black lacquered nail gently dragging beside Daniella’s lip.
“My sweet girl. With all you do for me, why do you not ask if it tortures you so?”
Daniella couldn’t think of an answer to her domitor. She simply stood, enjoying the icy touch of her benefactor and her beautiful amber eyes staring right back at her as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. This powerful, gorgeous woman that chose her.
Oliwia frowned, her hand drawing away from Daniella’s face. Instead she took her ghouls hand and brought her over to an elaborately decorated black sofa with plump cushions. Oliwia swept her skirt from underneath herself and sat down, drawing Daniella in as she did. Daniella sat awkwardly, like a wounded animal offered succor who was too afraid to partake in such generosity.
“Sit. Be comfortable.”
The order from Oliwia was a siren’s song and Daniella untensed almost immediately. Oliwia moved both of her hands to her lap, still staring directly at Daniella. She looked not unlike a porcelain doll; unmoving, unbreathing, with no need to blink or gesture beyond speaking. A true picture of undeath in all of its uncanny habits or lack thereof.
“I know a hunger far more demanding and consequential than yours, my sweet Daniella. You were resolute to not beg for it and for that I seek to reward you. I have grown very fond of you as my assistant and I hope to see you continue such work as you succeed during the waking hours. Let me reinvigorate you so that you do not suffer during the sunlight, and to show my appreciation for your hardwork… and affection.”
Oliwia raised one hand and brought it back to Daniella’s face. Daniella looked like a deer in headlights. Oliwia leaned in close and craned her neck to press her icy lips to Daniella’s. It tasted like death in every way that it could; it tasted better than any kiss she had ever had before. The gentleness of it was almost threatened by Daniella’s mortal urges, her own hands moving to rest on Oliwia’s clothes, one boldly placed upon her breast.
“No,” Oliwia whispered gently as she removed Daniella’s hand. She offered no explanation, but such a simple word seemed only boundary-setting than chastising as Oliwia pressed her lips against Daniella’s again. After nearly a minute, she pulled away with a calm smile.
Daniella’s lips were stained with the same dark, black lipstick that Oliwia always wore. Oliwia lifted her hand and wiped it away from Daniella’s lips, ever the doting domitor to a ghoul so dutiful.
“Madam Oliwia-...” Daniella attempted to start. The intimacy of such an act, the closeness of it after yearning for Oliwia for almost a year was intoxicating. She was lightheaded, out of breath, drunk on the taste of Oliwia’s lipstick the gentleness from someone so powerful, that could drain her dry of blood within a minute.
Oliwia said. She held out her bare, pale forearm towards Daniella and dragged her nail against the skin above her radial artery until it broke the flesh and then the vein itself. Daniella watched, practically entranced, knowing full-well what this meant. Thick, dark red vitae globbed out. Daniella could almost smell it in the air.
Sweeter than any wine. More filling than a banquet feast.
“Drink,” Oliwia said.
Oliwia’s pale wrist now had an inch-long trail of bright crimson vitae on it. It took only a moment for Daniella to throw herself upon it, both hands grasping Oliwia’s thin arm as she sucked as much up as was offered, moaning and practically writhing in place as she did so. Oliwia lowered her head down and kissed the top of Daniella’s thick, brown curly hair and swept it aside and over the other shoulder.
Daniella would become nigh-drunk off of the empowering vitae. It would keep her ageless for another month. Stronger. Healthier. Perhaps most importantly to Oliwia: beside her domitor whenever she desired.