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femslashficlets2015-06-22 12:43 am
rosage) wrote in femslashficlets2015-06-22 12:43 am
Entry tags:
Clash (#012 - The Five Senses)
Title: Clash
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Awakening
Pairing: Tiki/Say'ri
Rating: PG
Prompt: The Five Senses
Word Count: 427
In her dreams all she hears are screams. She feels claws scratching against stone and digging into flesh, and she smells blood. She cannot eat meat in daytime, as the way it shreds under her fangs and the heady smell are too reminiscent. Instead she bites into a crisp apple, feeling the juice dribbles a wet trail—not too thick—down her chin. Say’ri fusses with a cloth, and Tiki giggles, batting it away.
“Feeling it drip is half the fun,” she says, though the softness of the cloth is welcome. Say’ri’s cheeks redden slightly from what Tiki assumes is a memory. She holds up the apple, comparing its darker color and rubbing her thumb against the slightly waxy skin. The apples’ skins were rougher before her longest sleep, and they didn’t hold a shine.
“I suppose that if no one is nearby, it’s no cause for dismay.” Say’ri refolds the cloth and tucks it under her belt. Tiki smiles. There’ve been a few dramatic scenes, but most of Say’ri’s concessions have come quietly, little changes in their daily routine.
They’re sitting indoors, as autumn has come far enough along to give the air teeth. Tiki’s body can withstand far harsher, but she’s watched the tips of Say’ri’s ears go pink in the slightest chill and knows her companion would never complain. She would follow Tiki up the highest peak of Anri’s Way if Tiki wanted to go. Tiki would much rather guide her to a hearth and a mug of warm cider.
Tiki nibbles at the soft bit of apple around the core. It’s tarter than the one she fed Say’ri earlier in the season, though the cider she nabs from Say’ri holds just enough sweetness. Say’ri clears her throat. “If you’d like a mug, I’d be happy to supply one.”
Ever the diplomat—until the situation calls for steel. The edges of Tiki’s smile curl. She sets the mug down on the opposite side of where Say’ri’s kneeling and scoots closer, the mat rubbing against her shins. She’s been sitting with her knees spread—Say’ri used to complain when she did so—and they’re tucked together now around her fingers as she leans in close enough to feel hair tickle her shoulder. “I think I’m rather more obliged to share.”
And there is something raw about Say’ri’s mouth, which Tiki has still not learned is sensitive enough for her fangs to puncture, the metallic taste mixing with fall fruit—and she decides to put off ‘til later pondering how flesh can provide such different sensations.
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Awakening
Pairing: Tiki/Say'ri
Rating: PG
Prompt: The Five Senses
Word Count: 427
In her dreams all she hears are screams. She feels claws scratching against stone and digging into flesh, and she smells blood. She cannot eat meat in daytime, as the way it shreds under her fangs and the heady smell are too reminiscent. Instead she bites into a crisp apple, feeling the juice dribbles a wet trail—not too thick—down her chin. Say’ri fusses with a cloth, and Tiki giggles, batting it away.
“Feeling it drip is half the fun,” she says, though the softness of the cloth is welcome. Say’ri’s cheeks redden slightly from what Tiki assumes is a memory. She holds up the apple, comparing its darker color and rubbing her thumb against the slightly waxy skin. The apples’ skins were rougher before her longest sleep, and they didn’t hold a shine.
“I suppose that if no one is nearby, it’s no cause for dismay.” Say’ri refolds the cloth and tucks it under her belt. Tiki smiles. There’ve been a few dramatic scenes, but most of Say’ri’s concessions have come quietly, little changes in their daily routine.
They’re sitting indoors, as autumn has come far enough along to give the air teeth. Tiki’s body can withstand far harsher, but she’s watched the tips of Say’ri’s ears go pink in the slightest chill and knows her companion would never complain. She would follow Tiki up the highest peak of Anri’s Way if Tiki wanted to go. Tiki would much rather guide her to a hearth and a mug of warm cider.
Tiki nibbles at the soft bit of apple around the core. It’s tarter than the one she fed Say’ri earlier in the season, though the cider she nabs from Say’ri holds just enough sweetness. Say’ri clears her throat. “If you’d like a mug, I’d be happy to supply one.”
Ever the diplomat—until the situation calls for steel. The edges of Tiki’s smile curl. She sets the mug down on the opposite side of where Say’ri’s kneeling and scoots closer, the mat rubbing against her shins. She’s been sitting with her knees spread—Say’ri used to complain when she did so—and they’re tucked together now around her fingers as she leans in close enough to feel hair tickle her shoulder. “I think I’m rather more obliged to share.”
And there is something raw about Say’ri’s mouth, which Tiki has still not learned is sensitive enough for her fangs to puncture, the metallic taste mixing with fall fruit—and she decides to put off ‘til later pondering how flesh can provide such different sensations.