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femslashficlets2019-08-02 12:24 pm
veggiemom) wrote in femslashficlets2019-08-02 12:24 pm
QUEER WOMEN'S LITERATURE: 9
Title: Hislerim
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Pairing: Rhea/Catherine
Rating: T
Prompt: 8) "But on the wild nights who can call you home? Only the one who knows your name." - Jeanette Winterson, Oranges are Not the Only Fruit
Word Count: 600
Summary: Rhea summons Catherine to the Cathedral after a long battle.
Gods, how many had she cut down? Catherine had lost track after the fifteenth, or maybe the sixteenth man. A group of bandits she’d been deployed to rid of with Professor Byleth and her students. Catherine had long since gotten used to the bloodshed, to the point where it no longer bothered her or kept her awake at night (though, the fact that it no longer disturbed her mind is what kept her up, nowadays, thoughts of lost empathy).
It doesn’t bother Catherine. But it very well might bother Rhea, who has summoned Catherine to her quarters in the Cathedral immediately after Catherine had gotten done cutting all of those men down. She’s still covered in sticky, dark red blood, from her armor to her face to her blonde hair. She looks a mess, and that’s to say nothing of the smell of her. She smells of iron. Of death. She needs to bathe, to wash all that away.
But she can’t resist Lady Rhea’s call (she never could, never can).
She comes to the Cathedral as she is. Rhea, beautiful Rhea, lights up when she sees Catherine’s face, however stained with sin it may be. It’s as if she doesn’t see all of that grime on Catherine’s face, and only sees Catherine herself. Catherine almost feels ashamed to be in a holy place like this, in front of a holy woman like this, but she doesn’t shy away when Rhea approaches her.
( Those hands, she can’t resist those either, the way they touch her, caress her. )
“My Catherine,” Rhea greets pleasantly. My Catherine, Rhea says, like she always does. Hers. Yes, Catherine is hers, devoted completely to her alone. “My Catherine, I prayed for your safety on your mission, and lo and behold, you’ve returned to me. Of course, I trusted you would fare well on your own.”
Catherine smiles.
“Thank you for your prayers, Lady Rhea. Additional help from the Goddess is much appreciated out there on the frontlines,” she thanks with the slight bow of her head. When her head dips down, she feels a hand reach out to touch the side of her cheek, despite all of that blood. Catherine follows that very touch and tilts her chin back up, follows it like the ebb and flow of the ocean. She meets Rhea’s eyes, creased slightly, gentle, full of adoration. “What can I do for you, Lady Rhea?”
Catherine knows the answer before Rhea even speaks.
Rhea laughs softly, though, a twinkle of a sound, gorgeous as the bell that rings in the church. “I want for nothing from you as of the moment, Catherine. I only wished to see you,” as she says so, the hand on Catherine’s cheek pulls her in, and Catherine follows it, always follows, until their lips are pressed together.
She feels Rhea’s tongue swipe along her bottom lip, like she’s searching for Catherine’s taste amidst the gore. Would Catherine not have stained Rhea’s sacred garb, she would have caressed her in her arms, would have pulled her closer.
Rhea pulls back. She lifts her fingers to her lips, smiles thinly. Blood is on her long fingers, standing out in comparison to her pale skin.
“Lady Rhea, your hands—”
“Worry not of them, Catherine,” Rhea assures her, unbothered. “Tell me, will you join in one final prayer? For the lost souls that fell tonight.”
How strange, Catherine thinks, but fondly, and her eyes soften. How strange that you can look the way you do with the very blood of those souls on your hands.
“Of course. Let us pray, Lady Rhea.”
Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Pairing: Rhea/Catherine
Rating: T
Prompt: 8) "But on the wild nights who can call you home? Only the one who knows your name." - Jeanette Winterson, Oranges are Not the Only Fruit
Word Count: 600
Summary: Rhea summons Catherine to the Cathedral after a long battle.
Gods, how many had she cut down? Catherine had lost track after the fifteenth, or maybe the sixteenth man. A group of bandits she’d been deployed to rid of with Professor Byleth and her students. Catherine had long since gotten used to the bloodshed, to the point where it no longer bothered her or kept her awake at night (though, the fact that it no longer disturbed her mind is what kept her up, nowadays, thoughts of lost empathy).
It doesn’t bother Catherine. But it very well might bother Rhea, who has summoned Catherine to her quarters in the Cathedral immediately after Catherine had gotten done cutting all of those men down. She’s still covered in sticky, dark red blood, from her armor to her face to her blonde hair. She looks a mess, and that’s to say nothing of the smell of her. She smells of iron. Of death. She needs to bathe, to wash all that away.
But she can’t resist Lady Rhea’s call (she never could, never can).
She comes to the Cathedral as she is. Rhea, beautiful Rhea, lights up when she sees Catherine’s face, however stained with sin it may be. It’s as if she doesn’t see all of that grime on Catherine’s face, and only sees Catherine herself. Catherine almost feels ashamed to be in a holy place like this, in front of a holy woman like this, but she doesn’t shy away when Rhea approaches her.
( Those hands, she can’t resist those either, the way they touch her, caress her. )
“My Catherine,” Rhea greets pleasantly. My Catherine, Rhea says, like she always does. Hers. Yes, Catherine is hers, devoted completely to her alone. “My Catherine, I prayed for your safety on your mission, and lo and behold, you’ve returned to me. Of course, I trusted you would fare well on your own.”
Catherine smiles.
“Thank you for your prayers, Lady Rhea. Additional help from the Goddess is much appreciated out there on the frontlines,” she thanks with the slight bow of her head. When her head dips down, she feels a hand reach out to touch the side of her cheek, despite all of that blood. Catherine follows that very touch and tilts her chin back up, follows it like the ebb and flow of the ocean. She meets Rhea’s eyes, creased slightly, gentle, full of adoration. “What can I do for you, Lady Rhea?”
Catherine knows the answer before Rhea even speaks.
Rhea laughs softly, though, a twinkle of a sound, gorgeous as the bell that rings in the church. “I want for nothing from you as of the moment, Catherine. I only wished to see you,” as she says so, the hand on Catherine’s cheek pulls her in, and Catherine follows it, always follows, until their lips are pressed together.
She feels Rhea’s tongue swipe along her bottom lip, like she’s searching for Catherine’s taste amidst the gore. Would Catherine not have stained Rhea’s sacred garb, she would have caressed her in her arms, would have pulled her closer.
Rhea pulls back. She lifts her fingers to her lips, smiles thinly. Blood is on her long fingers, standing out in comparison to her pale skin.
“Lady Rhea, your hands—”
“Worry not of them, Catherine,” Rhea assures her, unbothered. “Tell me, will you join in one final prayer? For the lost souls that fell tonight.”
How strange, Catherine thinks, but fondly, and her eyes soften. How strange that you can look the way you do with the very blood of those souls on your hands.
“Of course. Let us pray, Lady Rhea.”
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