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femslashficlets2015-07-03 09:54 pm
rosage) wrote in femslashficlets2015-07-03 09:54 pm
Sappho 10, 13, and 15 (Fire Emblem: Awakening)
Title: Ripple
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Awakening
Pairing: Tiki/Say'ri
Rating: PG
Prompt: Sappho #15 - stand to face me beloved
Word Count: 297
Summary: Say'ri will obey, even if the order goes against the grain.
stand to face me beloved
and open out the grace of your eyes
The gravel embeds itself in Say’ri’s knees. It’s an annoyance, if she’s honest; since the war she’s sought permanence, even in the shape of a scar, and the tiny studs in her skin will soon spring back. Besides, the mild soreness is nothing compared to what she’s used to, and she’s not aiming for numbness, not yet.
It thus burns when Tiki’s fingers touch feather-light against her chin, propping it up with no more than a suggestion. How very her. Her wingspan when transformed stretches wide, yet she flies more gracefully than a pegasus. Now Tiki’s chin tilts, and her eyes, flecked with gold from the ceremonial candles, are only slightly lidded, altogether giving off the appearance of a cat considering a toy. When she wets her lips, the light glints off her fangs, and a bead of sweat runs down Say’ri’s back.
“Milady,” she whispers, “may I ask what’s on your mind?”
Tiki taps a finger from her free hand against her chin, her long nail ending in a tip below the corner of her mouth. “You’re so still. I’m rather used to you rushing about, far less serene than you’d like anyone to believe.”
Say’ri’s cheeks warm, contrasting with the night air and the cobbles outside the temple. “I have sat vigil many long nights at my lady’s side. I know how to be as a pond, if needed.” A weak protest; Tiki seems only amused.
“I am no sleeping pond now, am I? Rise. Face me. Vigils are for another night.”
Say’ri’s joints groan more at unhinging than at kneeling, but they do so as if lifted by string, and she looks down into those eyes with hopes to discern her next order from their dancing, the ache in her knees all but forgotten.
Title: Sittin' Pretty
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Awakening
Pairing: Sully/Miriel
Rating: PG
Prompt: Sappho #13 - here now
Word Count: 461
Summary: Sully loves Miriel's neatness, but she loves disrupting it even more.
here now
tender Graces
and Muses with beautiful hair
It’s not until Sully’s muscles ache and sweat pools under her shirt that she lies back in the grass. Miriel worked her and worked her hard, but when she sat down for a break she just had to do sets of push-ups and sit-ups first, and—well, maybe she would have done the same if Miriel was watching, or maybe she wouldn’t have, but either way she’s more than done.
Miriel perches on a stump nearby holding a ledger in her lap, scratching away with a quill. Sully eyes her neat curtains of hair, hanging symmetrical as always from either side of her hat. It’s messier in battle, matted with sweat and tossed about by magic, but on a day when only her pen hand is exercised it stays in place. Sully runs a hand through her own greasy spikes and watches Miriel’s face for rare movement under the brim.
“You’re still takin’ notes?” Sully asks, rolling onto her side. Miriel can watch the clouds go by and discuss weather patterns, but Sully needs more to occupy her.
“Silence, please. I must record the data while it’s fresh.”
Sully knows by now that silence means silence, and she has enough respect for Miriel’s work not to compromise it. She’s always curious about the results when she’s the subject, anyway. She stretches out while her body complains, a good sort of burn, until Miriel sets down the quill.
“Thank you,” she says. “Your cooperation is much appreciated. I may call upon you for further testing.”
“Sure. I’ll flex for you anytime.”
Miriel raises an eyebrow. “Mere flexing is not likely to yield much information.” Sully curls up an arm as if in protest. When Miriel tilts her head to follow it, that curtain of hair moves as one drape, and Sully sits up with a grunt, pulling herself over to Miriel’s side. In one motion she pulls the hat from Miriel’s head and, for lack of anything else to do with it, puts it on her own.
“Was that necessary? It was keeping the sun from my eyes.” The sun is instead hitting Miriel’s hair, and while Sully’s not the poetic sort she thinks that a bit of it’s woven in, gold and amber threads in that sheet.
“You’re sittin’ too pretty there.” Sully’s fingers begin to muss Miriel’s hair, separating it into crooked locks and stitching a line in Miriel’s brow.
“My conclusion was that those final few exercises put you at your limit, at least with no fight-or-flight conditions in play.” So that’s why she’d kept writing after Sully was just showing off. “If that’s not the case, I’ll need to revisit my hypothesis.”
“I’m just gettin’ started,” Sully says with a grin before pulling Miriel down into the dirt.
Title: Courting Convention
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Awakening
Pairing: Sully/Miriel
Rating: PG
Prompt: Sappho #10 - not one girl I think
Word Count: 940
Summary: Preparing for a ball gives Sully a problem that only Miriel's insight can fix.
not one girl I think
who looks on the light of the sun
will ever
have wisdom
like this
Sully peeled off what felt like the hundredth dress she’d tried and tossed it onto the ottoman, breathing a sigh halfway to a groan. Contrary to what Sumia thought, taking after her brothers didn’t mean Sully wanted to wear the same tunic and breeches they would to a ball, if they’d even had a chance to go to one. The fabric was too restricting and the ornaments too stuffy, and she’d be fine with a skirt if it meant giving her legs a chance to breathe. The tops simply didn’t sit right on her bulk. She didn’t fill out the lower necklines, corsets were out of the question, and she’d look laughable in the poofy sleeves that could accommodate her broad shoulders. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she looked again through her options. They all came with too many frills, and her hair wasn’t long enough to hold all the pins and combs that Sumia’s took to so well.
The knock on the door came in three crisp, even raps. “Come in, babe,” Sully said. She didn’t turn to check if it was Miriel who entered.
“You might confirm my identity before using such names.”
“I might. Whaddya need, or are you here for an escort? I’ll be fussin’ around here for a while longer.” Too bad—Sully would like to be the one entering with Miriel on her arm.
“Maribelle called for me. She claims your vulgar tongue has made it clear that you don’t want her generosity.”
That wasn’t necessarily true, though Sully felt ready to snap again and thought it was just as well that such a strong personality wasn’t around for another go of that. “So she sent you? Are you good at this stuff?”
“It’s not my area of expertise, but I believe I have a sharp enough sense to know what fits the person and occasion—provided I’m familiar with both.”
Still busy rifling through the pile of dresses Maribelle had left behind, Sully hadn’t looked to see if Miriel was right. When she did, her mouth dropped.
“It’s not conventional,” Miriel said after it was clear that Sully’s mouth wasn’t budging, “but I believe it suits me best, both in comfort and appearance.”
And she was right, whether Sully would have guessed or not. She’d expected Miriel to enter in a gown. The breeches she wore instead were tighter than her usual loose pants, her boots sleeker, and her tunic more form-fitting, but the color scheme and feel were the same, black, gold, green, and unflappable.
“Woah,” Sully said. “You really do know your stuff.”
“A tailor advised me. I heard that you rejected their help?”
“Uh…sorta. They were stressin’ me out.” As with Maribelle, Sully hadn’t meant to chase them away, but she didn’t need them poking at her with their pins and frowns.
Crossing the room, Miriel examined the dresses, pointing out the pros and cons of each one. Sully grunted in response, her eyes too glued to Miriel’s form to consider anything she was recommending. She’d rejected menswear on the grounds that being masculine didn’t make her a man, but if Miriel wasn’t concerned with that, maybe it would be okay—though she couldn’t imagine it fitting her like that.
Still, when she thought about trying on a dozen more outfits, her shoulders slumped. “Can’t I just go as I am?” she asked. Miriel turned to look her up and down, causing Sully to bring her shoulders back up. She dipped her chin. “Okay, so I don’t really mean in my skivvies.”
“There’s technically no rule against it, but people might perceive you as slovenly or as flaunting the event’s etiquette—or, if you wore that specifically, obscene.”
“So…no different than normal.”
“True enough. It all depends whether or not you, as you would put it, ‘give a damn.’” Miriel was still examining Sully—awkward as she could be, she’d never been shy, to Sully’s delight. Miriel perched on the ottoman, which she’d already cleared of the clothing Sully had tossed on it along with a lecture about putting things away properly. “Though, that gives me an interesting idea—why not wear your armor?”
“My…armor?”
“Yes. It would limit your movement and comfort, but it seems that all of your other options would do the same.”
“Huh. You’ve got a point.” Since she hadn’t been called on to serve as a guard, Sully hadn’t thought of that, but it was so perfect and obvious that she could have kissed her (and would have, if Miriel wouldn’t have torched her for messing up her makeup while in the castle). She grinned instead, her interest in her problem lost now that she’d come up with something. “Or, we could ditch and like, go somewhere, because you look amazing in that.”
“That might be pleasant, but it’s an important event and this outfit is not meant to take roughhousing,” Miriel said smoothly, standing. She must have known that if she stayed much longer, Sully wasn’t going to let her leave looking as pristine as she entered.
“Too bad. And hey…“ Sully rubbed her neck. “Thanks. Y’know, I was wonderin’, does all this wisdom of yours really come from books?”
“Of course not. Books are records of what others have observed. Much of it comes from my own observation. Well, I’m pleased to have been of service, but if you’ll excuse me.”
Miriel bent her knees in a slight curtsy and left. After throwing on the clothes she’d entered in, Sully followed suit, jogging to collect her armor so that she could put it before Miriel’s punctuality led her to find another escort.
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Awakening
Pairing: Tiki/Say'ri
Rating: PG
Prompt: Sappho #15 - stand to face me beloved
Word Count: 297
Summary: Say'ri will obey, even if the order goes against the grain.
stand to face me beloved
and open out the grace of your eyes
The gravel embeds itself in Say’ri’s knees. It’s an annoyance, if she’s honest; since the war she’s sought permanence, even in the shape of a scar, and the tiny studs in her skin will soon spring back. Besides, the mild soreness is nothing compared to what she’s used to, and she’s not aiming for numbness, not yet.
It thus burns when Tiki’s fingers touch feather-light against her chin, propping it up with no more than a suggestion. How very her. Her wingspan when transformed stretches wide, yet she flies more gracefully than a pegasus. Now Tiki’s chin tilts, and her eyes, flecked with gold from the ceremonial candles, are only slightly lidded, altogether giving off the appearance of a cat considering a toy. When she wets her lips, the light glints off her fangs, and a bead of sweat runs down Say’ri’s back.
“Milady,” she whispers, “may I ask what’s on your mind?”
Tiki taps a finger from her free hand against her chin, her long nail ending in a tip below the corner of her mouth. “You’re so still. I’m rather used to you rushing about, far less serene than you’d like anyone to believe.”
Say’ri’s cheeks warm, contrasting with the night air and the cobbles outside the temple. “I have sat vigil many long nights at my lady’s side. I know how to be as a pond, if needed.” A weak protest; Tiki seems only amused.
“I am no sleeping pond now, am I? Rise. Face me. Vigils are for another night.”
Say’ri’s joints groan more at unhinging than at kneeling, but they do so as if lifted by string, and she looks down into those eyes with hopes to discern her next order from their dancing, the ache in her knees all but forgotten.
Title: Sittin' Pretty
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Awakening
Pairing: Sully/Miriel
Rating: PG
Prompt: Sappho #13 - here now
Word Count: 461
Summary: Sully loves Miriel's neatness, but she loves disrupting it even more.
here now
tender Graces
and Muses with beautiful hair
It’s not until Sully’s muscles ache and sweat pools under her shirt that she lies back in the grass. Miriel worked her and worked her hard, but when she sat down for a break she just had to do sets of push-ups and sit-ups first, and—well, maybe she would have done the same if Miriel was watching, or maybe she wouldn’t have, but either way she’s more than done.
Miriel perches on a stump nearby holding a ledger in her lap, scratching away with a quill. Sully eyes her neat curtains of hair, hanging symmetrical as always from either side of her hat. It’s messier in battle, matted with sweat and tossed about by magic, but on a day when only her pen hand is exercised it stays in place. Sully runs a hand through her own greasy spikes and watches Miriel’s face for rare movement under the brim.
“You’re still takin’ notes?” Sully asks, rolling onto her side. Miriel can watch the clouds go by and discuss weather patterns, but Sully needs more to occupy her.
“Silence, please. I must record the data while it’s fresh.”
Sully knows by now that silence means silence, and she has enough respect for Miriel’s work not to compromise it. She’s always curious about the results when she’s the subject, anyway. She stretches out while her body complains, a good sort of burn, until Miriel sets down the quill.
“Thank you,” she says. “Your cooperation is much appreciated. I may call upon you for further testing.”
“Sure. I’ll flex for you anytime.”
Miriel raises an eyebrow. “Mere flexing is not likely to yield much information.” Sully curls up an arm as if in protest. When Miriel tilts her head to follow it, that curtain of hair moves as one drape, and Sully sits up with a grunt, pulling herself over to Miriel’s side. In one motion she pulls the hat from Miriel’s head and, for lack of anything else to do with it, puts it on her own.
“Was that necessary? It was keeping the sun from my eyes.” The sun is instead hitting Miriel’s hair, and while Sully’s not the poetic sort she thinks that a bit of it’s woven in, gold and amber threads in that sheet.
“You’re sittin’ too pretty there.” Sully’s fingers begin to muss Miriel’s hair, separating it into crooked locks and stitching a line in Miriel’s brow.
“My conclusion was that those final few exercises put you at your limit, at least with no fight-or-flight conditions in play.” So that’s why she’d kept writing after Sully was just showing off. “If that’s not the case, I’ll need to revisit my hypothesis.”
“I’m just gettin’ started,” Sully says with a grin before pulling Miriel down into the dirt.
Title: Courting Convention
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Awakening
Pairing: Sully/Miriel
Rating: PG
Prompt: Sappho #10 - not one girl I think
Word Count: 940
Summary: Preparing for a ball gives Sully a problem that only Miriel's insight can fix.
not one girl I think
who looks on the light of the sun
will ever
have wisdom
like this
Sully peeled off what felt like the hundredth dress she’d tried and tossed it onto the ottoman, breathing a sigh halfway to a groan. Contrary to what Sumia thought, taking after her brothers didn’t mean Sully wanted to wear the same tunic and breeches they would to a ball, if they’d even had a chance to go to one. The fabric was too restricting and the ornaments too stuffy, and she’d be fine with a skirt if it meant giving her legs a chance to breathe. The tops simply didn’t sit right on her bulk. She didn’t fill out the lower necklines, corsets were out of the question, and she’d look laughable in the poofy sleeves that could accommodate her broad shoulders. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she looked again through her options. They all came with too many frills, and her hair wasn’t long enough to hold all the pins and combs that Sumia’s took to so well.
The knock on the door came in three crisp, even raps. “Come in, babe,” Sully said. She didn’t turn to check if it was Miriel who entered.
“You might confirm my identity before using such names.”
“I might. Whaddya need, or are you here for an escort? I’ll be fussin’ around here for a while longer.” Too bad—Sully would like to be the one entering with Miriel on her arm.
“Maribelle called for me. She claims your vulgar tongue has made it clear that you don’t want her generosity.”
That wasn’t necessarily true, though Sully felt ready to snap again and thought it was just as well that such a strong personality wasn’t around for another go of that. “So she sent you? Are you good at this stuff?”
“It’s not my area of expertise, but I believe I have a sharp enough sense to know what fits the person and occasion—provided I’m familiar with both.”
Still busy rifling through the pile of dresses Maribelle had left behind, Sully hadn’t looked to see if Miriel was right. When she did, her mouth dropped.
“It’s not conventional,” Miriel said after it was clear that Sully’s mouth wasn’t budging, “but I believe it suits me best, both in comfort and appearance.”
And she was right, whether Sully would have guessed or not. She’d expected Miriel to enter in a gown. The breeches she wore instead were tighter than her usual loose pants, her boots sleeker, and her tunic more form-fitting, but the color scheme and feel were the same, black, gold, green, and unflappable.
“Woah,” Sully said. “You really do know your stuff.”
“A tailor advised me. I heard that you rejected their help?”
“Uh…sorta. They were stressin’ me out.” As with Maribelle, Sully hadn’t meant to chase them away, but she didn’t need them poking at her with their pins and frowns.
Crossing the room, Miriel examined the dresses, pointing out the pros and cons of each one. Sully grunted in response, her eyes too glued to Miriel’s form to consider anything she was recommending. She’d rejected menswear on the grounds that being masculine didn’t make her a man, but if Miriel wasn’t concerned with that, maybe it would be okay—though she couldn’t imagine it fitting her like that.
Still, when she thought about trying on a dozen more outfits, her shoulders slumped. “Can’t I just go as I am?” she asked. Miriel turned to look her up and down, causing Sully to bring her shoulders back up. She dipped her chin. “Okay, so I don’t really mean in my skivvies.”
“There’s technically no rule against it, but people might perceive you as slovenly or as flaunting the event’s etiquette—or, if you wore that specifically, obscene.”
“So…no different than normal.”
“True enough. It all depends whether or not you, as you would put it, ‘give a damn.’” Miriel was still examining Sully—awkward as she could be, she’d never been shy, to Sully’s delight. Miriel perched on the ottoman, which she’d already cleared of the clothing Sully had tossed on it along with a lecture about putting things away properly. “Though, that gives me an interesting idea—why not wear your armor?”
“My…armor?”
“Yes. It would limit your movement and comfort, but it seems that all of your other options would do the same.”
“Huh. You’ve got a point.” Since she hadn’t been called on to serve as a guard, Sully hadn’t thought of that, but it was so perfect and obvious that she could have kissed her (and would have, if Miriel wouldn’t have torched her for messing up her makeup while in the castle). She grinned instead, her interest in her problem lost now that she’d come up with something. “Or, we could ditch and like, go somewhere, because you look amazing in that.”
“That might be pleasant, but it’s an important event and this outfit is not meant to take roughhousing,” Miriel said smoothly, standing. She must have known that if she stayed much longer, Sully wasn’t going to let her leave looking as pristine as she entered.
“Too bad. And hey…“ Sully rubbed her neck. “Thanks. Y’know, I was wonderin’, does all this wisdom of yours really come from books?”
“Of course not. Books are records of what others have observed. Much of it comes from my own observation. Well, I’m pleased to have been of service, but if you’ll excuse me.”
Miriel bent her knees in a slight curtsy and left. After throwing on the clothes she’d entered in, Sully followed suit, jogging to collect her armor so that she could put it before Miriel’s punctuality led her to find another escort.