#clarines is his realm

[sabraeal]

Prompt: Obi and Shirayuki stumble across a village where the people speak in riddles and shed their clothing from dark until dawn in a trance-like state. Shirayuki has to figure out what is going on because now Obi is running around naked with them

Lyrias has not brought tribute for months.

“Is that odd?” Shirayuki asks when they stop at mid-day, lettingEpona rest. She wanders some steps off before she speaks, splashing her facewith the cool water from the pool. Although her stout-hearted mare has come totolerate Zen and much of his entourage, she has never quite warmed to Obi. Evennow she shies in the clearing, feeling his presence.

Obi, tucked firmly into a willow’s shade, replies, “What doyou think?”

She ducks her head, flushing. His tone is as conversationalas it usually is, but it is hard not to imagine impatience coloring his words,to hear clipped edges in his accent. She thinks to apologize, to explain howeasy it is to forget, but she knowsthat he would like that even less.

“I doubt Izana would suffer disrespect from his tenants,”she says instead. “He is fair, but not merciful.”

He turns one of his wicked blades in his hand, long fingersdeftly moving in a way that had she tried, would have resulted in significantlyfewer digits. “Few of his kind are.”

“Even fewer I would call fair,” she says with some measureof censure, “save of face.”

He grins at that. “True enough, Miss.”

The days grow shorter and colder as they wind their waynorth. They follow good practice at Shirayuki’s insistence and keep the riverto the west of them. Obi doesn’t protest so much a whine, mouth set in a petulant pout, calling it a useless human superstition. It’sserved her well all these years and she sees no reason to abandon it. Itclearly makes him restless, edgy, but since Tanbarun that has been the rulerather than the exception. She doesn’t precisely disregard him, but she’slearned often enough to take a sidhe’s word with a grain of salt.

One noon she comes to rest by the river’s side, and when shedraws Epona to drink, it is frozen.

“Is that –?” She stops herself, takes a moment to rephrase.“This isn’t normal.”

“No, Miss,” he says, closer than she expects and worryinglyserious. “It isn’t.”

They come to the village late in the evening, the sunalready setting behind the trees. Frost sets the brown grass white, and as theywalk toward the light, it’s as if Shirayuki is walking on glass for the way ittinkles beneath her. She might as well have bells on.

Obi, of course, makes no sound.

He’s tense, his shoulders a hard, forbidding line besidehers. His muddled magic buzzes in her ear, rattling with agitation like teeth in a skull. Folk take one look at the both of them – two hooded figures, onedark, one light – and close their doors. A mother catches the gold glint of Obi’sgaze and hurries her children inside, mouth a worried line.

They act as if heis the threat, but Shirayuki feels something deeper, something darker press against her skin here. Thedanger here does not come from without, but within.

“Mistress!” calls out a sandy-haired boy, breaking throughthe thinning crowd. “Your cloak is Cunning green, is it not?”

She’s surprised he can pick out the hue in the dying light. “Yes.I am kept by the court of Clarines.”

His eyes grow wide. “Come with me then, lady. There’s othersyou should talk to.”

The boy’s name is Kirito, and his uncle is the Cunning Manof this village.

“One of them, at least,” he explains eagerly. “He has a fewstudents under him here.”

A few turns out tobe an understatement; there’s no less than ten students that make up hispractice. Shirayuki’s never seen such a thing, not even when she lived closerto the city.

“He’s gone missing,” says his most senior apprentice, Suzu.He’s a handful of years older than her, with hooded eyes that give him analmost laconic air even as he imparts this dire news. “A month ago, I’d reckon.We’ve been trying to hold things together since then.”

“It’s like trying to build a house with balsa and bootlace,”one of the others volunteers, a girl Obi’s age that calls herself Yuzuri. “It’sjust not enough, not to keep up with as much as it’s spreading.”

“And there’s no physical reason for it?” Shirayuki asks,gaze sweeping around the sickroom. Three dozen able-bodied men and women lay onits floor, packed side-to-side, making no sound save for the harsh noise oftheir breath. “No grain left to wet, or rot in the well?”

Suzu shakes his head. “No, they just drop right in thefields like this, and only rise when the sun sets. If we get one to talk, it’sall in riddle and questions.”

“Riddles and questions?” Shirayuki stares at the endlessfield of patients. She does not need to turn to know how Obi is looking at her. “Do you mind if I try something?”

Shirayuki kneels at a patient’s side, trying hard not totouch. She doubts its communicable, but there’s no need to risk exposure.

“Tell me,” she says, voice level and stern, “what happenedto you.”

The man merely stares at the beams of the ceiling, unseeing.She notes that his pupils are blown; it is almost certainly a trance of somemeasure.

“Sir,” she begins again, “what has happened?”

“What is it you wish you could divine, cunning-child?” heasks, voice sing-song and cruel. “Do you wish to dance the mummer’s steps? Can you keep up, cunning-child?”

Her gaze flicks to Obi; seeing the way the muscle in his jawjumps. So it is as she thought.

Ah, how cursed it can be to be right.

“Do you –” Shirayuki hesitates, mulling the words around inher mouth. “You know what this is.”

Obi leans back against the sill of the window. Yuzuri foundthem a room to sleep in for the night, though it only had one proper bed. Whenhe’d balked at sharing, she’d found Obi a straw-stuffed mat to roll out on thefloor. Even now he eyed it warily; she doubted he’d do much but pretend tosleep until he could sneak out to the roof.

“I think we both do,” His gaze slants toward her. His eyesglow oddly in the moonlight, and his magic feels different tonight, thicker.The thousand layers jitter against each other, like dissonant chimes in thewind.

“Geasa.” It sits heavily between them. He must have knownshe suspected, even if they had never spoken of it. “Like yours.”

His mouth splits in a knife slash of a smile. “No, Miss,” hesays, amused, “not like mine. But a geas nonetheless.”

“Do you know what it is?”

His eyebrows lift in a mild sort of surprise. “Besides tolay abed all day and dance naked in the moon’s light?”

She flushes. Of course he would latch onto that part. “I mean its purpose. Or it’smaker?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss, but I’m no help withsuch things.” His mouth cocks at a corner. “I’m not like you, Miss. I’m afraid I’m just cursed.”

Shirayuki wakes when the moon is high, light spilling through the windows as if it’s day. Something sits wrong in her belly, makes her wake nervous and full of dread, her hands shaking where they fist in the coverlet. She wants to tell herself it’s merely her imagination, merely the remnants of a dream, but she knows better now, now that she’s been beneath the mounds and felt the kiss of eternal summer –

She rolls over to see that Obi’s mat is bare.

That should not set her heart pounding in her chest. There are a thousand reasons he may not be in bed – namely because she does not believe he sleeps unless it might cause her some small inconvenience – but his absence makes the pit in her belly clench. Something is wrong, she can feel it; more than just the wrongness the geas has laid over the village. Something is wrong with him.

The scent of his magic still lingers in the room, metallic and heavy. She doesn’t know how he bears so many geasa; whenever she brushes against them it is as if she is being weighed down with a hundred heavy chains, all hungry to squeeze the life from her. Even still they are layered delicately, like a house of cards, all purposeful, and if another were to be added on by a less deft hand –

She needs to find him.

She does not have to go far.

For a man who is usually so stealthy, his trail is easy to follow. She finds a glove just outside their door, and then another, a boot at the door…

It keeps going until she finds his belt in a bed of pansies, a few steps further his shirt –

“Obi!” she shrieks, rushing to him. His hands are already at the waist of his trousers. She’s too late to stop him, but just in time to see him pull just so at the closures so that the buttons spring free at once.

He was not joking all those months ago when he said small clothes ruined the line of his trouser.

“O-oh,” she gasps, desperate to look anywhere else. She had not – oh my –

He slides his hands under the material, working it down over his hips, and –

“Obi!” She grasps at his wrists, tries to pull his hands away, but his arms are steel. So is the rest of him, she notices, pressed so close to him. How had she never noticed this all the times she had stitched him back together?

“Obi, please, stop!” she begs, breathless. The movements of his arms drag her against him, and she feels it press into her belly – “What are you doing?”

Well, that was foolish.

“My lady,” he growls, his hands closing on her own wrists, holding them behind his back. One eyebrow arches, and his mouth cants in such a familiar way. “What would you like me to be doing?”

She tries to make words, but they fail her with him so close, with the scent of him – not his geasa, but him – filling her nose. “I –”

He bends, and she has no time to react before his mouth seals over hers, before heat thunders through her veins to throb between her legs. This is not – she does not – she has never –

Her hands curl against the muscles of his back; he is so strong, so much stronger than her, and she is helpless when his tongue swipes over the inside of her mouth, when it slides so tauntingly over her own. She can taste his magic on her tongue; copper and pine for before, the honeyed taste of Izana’s bonds, and – and –

A bitter bite of cold.

She pulls back. He lets her.

“Obi?” she says against his lips, her eyes only just open, meeting the dark sliver of his own gaze.

“Miss,” he rumbles, and she feels it through her palms, feels it where his hands rest on either side of her hips.

And then she feels cold all down her front and –

His pants drop into the grass. She valiantly refrains from looking at – at what is now so very hard to miss.

With one last grin, he lurches past her, going to join the other revelers, and she – she watches him leave. She’s only human.

The chill still lingers on her tongue. Time to fix this.

[traditional-with-a-twist]

xxiii. Beauty and Her Beast

<<Previous || first arc || AO3 || Next>>

A man can save a sinking ship if he bails fast enough.

Lord Haruka had suspected cracks in the hull of the Clarines estate ever since the reigning prince had showed faulty judgment that morning after his brother’s funeral. 

Haruka had done his best since then to remain a bulwark for their young ruler: shouldering the burdens of his absence, duly performing any service as requested, maintaining some semblance of normalcy despite the tumult that rocked the people’s nerves and the wild rumors infesting the court.

A lesser man would have let some details slip in grappling with the crushing overload of guiding the country to post-war recovery while orchestrating a state ceremony on a scale usually reserved for centennial events, but Haruka knew his duty and executed it relentlessly.

Work, he had long since concluded, was the only remedy when fate denied you a more pleasing order of events. It was useless to struggle or complain when circumstances refused you alternatives.

...

In one matter alone he had been remiss, and for this Haruka reproached himself bitterly: He had neglected the supervision of the intended second princess.

Now she neglected her duties in turn.

It was enough that she had failed to report during the last week of Izana’s absence -- he had assigned her more than sufficient responsibilities to busy herself independently if she so chose -- but to miss their appointed rehearsal the day before the ceremony was unconscionable.

She had no respect for the customs of their country. She was not fit for office.

It was time that the first prince knew of her indiscretions.

...

Haruka was fully prepared to confess his own culpability in the matter. 

He had never approved of her presence in the castle, would have been glad to see her depart. Her steady rise in good graces and influence had done nothing to improve his opinion of her.

He had allowed this personal bias to cloud his professional judgement: permitting her absences to create distance between them when he should have insisted on her proximity.

Now the situation had gotten out of hand, and they both must answer for it.

Otherwise the trickle of indiscretions threatened to swell to a tide that would swamp everything they had labored for.

...

With this mission in mind, Haruka presented himself early to the prince’s office.

He met the royal tailor on his way out the door, trailed by a parade of seamstresses, fabrics, and jewels.

Many years had passed since the Wisterias had required a newly crafted costume for a formal occasion, but then there was nothing fitting available that featured only white.

...

Lord Haruka entered to find the prince in his undershirt.

Izana was easing into one of the creamy, long-sleeved blouses he wore under the heavier vests and coats befitting his station. He greeted the lord with a poise often absent in half-dressed men.

“Your highness,” Haruka forged ahead, determined to waste no time. “Forgive the intrusion; I would not have disturbed you, were it not for a matter of utmost--”

The next word stuck in his throat.

...

As Izana drew up his right sleeve, Haruka’s eye caught on an anomalous color: red.

An ugly red line bisected the field of white cloth and pale skin, marring the prince’s arm.

Haruka started forwards like a horse that felt a spur in its side. “Highness -- you bleed!”

Izana glanced carelessly, as if Haruka had expressed alarm over a dust mote. “Oh, yes. I passed too near the edge of a blade, you see...and the sword has left its mark.”

...

Had Haruka’s heart labored under the additional burden of another decade or two, it might have failed him.

A cut, a wound - evidence of hostile intent, engraved on their prince’s flesh: a blow struck at the head of Clarines, in the heart of its foremost fortress and safeguard.

Unable to articulate his feelings, Haruka warbled a protest.

...

The prince had paused to observe him; he seemed in no hurry to finish his toilette. At the lord’s vocalization, he arched an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

Lowering his voice to a rasp, Haruka managed, “What--what is the meaning of this, your highness?”

A pointing finger dispelled Izana’s remaining confusion. Following its course to the cut still exposed on his arm, he broke into a smile.

“Ah. It was a parting gift from our friend - the rogue messenger.”

...

The red pulsed, expanding until it filled Haruka’s vision. This confirmed all his worst fears.

That low life was not fit for civilized society; he should never have allowed him near the castle.

Haruka forced air in through his nose, fighting for mastery of himself. He had not understood the prince’s policy regarding that undesirable presence, but he had allowed it to pass unquestioned.

Now it was clear that sentiment or something equally insidious had blinded Prince Izana.

It was his duty as a peer of the realm to intervene.

...

“I will have him arrested, your highness,” Haruka rapped out.

Lazy as a cat, Izana slipped his shirt into place at last, hiding the offense from view. He seemed bored as he fastened the buttons - or perhaps amused.

“That won’t be necessary, Lord Haruka,” he dismissed the idea with all the weight he would afford a suggestion about adding yellow flowers to the table settings. “It was only a small matter -- a quarrel, you might say.”

...

Lord Haruka contained himself with difficulty. His fingers flexed, but he was too well-bred, his deference to royal authority and awareness of public image too deeply ingrained, to allow them to form into fists.

Every thought of the failed princess had fled his mind. His consciousness roiled like boiling water, overheated by the abrupt imposition of an offense long simmering under the surface.

“A...a quarrel,” he choked, “with...your highness…”

The notion itself was absurd: an outlaw, pursuing a disagreement with a prince - at swordpoint!

Haruka’s imagination failed him; he could not fathom it.

...

Izana must have sympathized with his struggle, for he showed no reluctance in offering an explanation. 

Now fully robed, his back to the brilliant morning sun, the prince looked kindly on his subject.

“I provoked him, you see…” Izana held Haruka’s gaze, unblinking, “...by proposing marriage to the lady Shirayuki.”

...

If he had announced the extinction of the sun, Haruka could not have been more confounded.

Mounting rage had aided him thus far in withstanding repeated blows to his sense of order, propriety, and thwarted urgency, but in this extremity, it deserted him.

When Prince Zen had announced his engagement to the red-haired girl, Haruka had not greeted the news with anything like approbation. 

Although he acknowledged that he had overreached, overstepped the bounds of his authority in his efforts to drive her from the castle, he nonetheless felt that the connection could not do the young prince credit - unless it were to his beneficence and broad-mindedness.

He feared Zen would one day regret choosing a woman for her personal qualities rather than bowing to the time-honored qualifications of rank and breeding.

Sooner or later, she would disappoint him by reverting to the life she had left behind.

...

Since the first prince had approved the match, however, there was nothing Haruka could do but keep his sour reflections to himself and perform his duty as required.

Still, it was a waste, he had thought - a wasted opportunity for the advancement of the kingdom, and for the improvement of Prince Zen’s material condition.

For an elevated commoner to marry the second prince, it would have been unfortunate.

If she married the first prince, it would be catastrophic.

...

Buffeted by a hail of disastrous surprises, worn down by overwork, conscious of his own impotence despite all his efforts to the contrary, Haruka had no recourse left but to wish the bad luck away.

He looked back at his prince pleadingly, almost childlike in his distress.

His eyes, lately hardened by conviction and then glowing with wrath, now beseeched Izana to take pity and contravene this news, as unsettling to the lord’s existence as the death of a parent would be.

...

Izana evinced no surprise or disappointment that the revelation of his glad tidings had received no answering felicities.

Serene, almost thoughtful, he seated himself at his desk and took up a pen - the picture of readiness to begin the day’s labors.

Moments before his inattention would have constituted a dismissal, Izana looked up and added, as if by afterthought:

“He wished to marry her himself, it seems.”

...

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place for Haruka, revealing an awful picture.

Her inexplicable absences, his flagrant trespassing, the outlandish gossip - it all became clear.

This was no freak of whim on the first prince’s part, no accident of fate.

It was nothing less than the inevitable working out of baser natures--and the imposition of a cure worse than the disease.

The rogue and the girl would disgrace them all, as they had always threatened to.

He had failed Clarines.

[maplevogel]

RECOMENDATION CHART IF YOU LIKE GIRLS WITH RED HAIR AND INTERESTING WORLD BUILDING (and are willing to watch some AWESOME old animes)

because we get so many new amazing shows that sometimes we forget that there is years of awesome hidden gems that might end up being your fave but that you don’t even know exist.

So lets start! 

A few years ago Akatsuki no yona came out and everyone was surprised by how deep it went into the ruling of the kingdom and political drama. So if you enjoyed this:

But want something with more action, less romance and more on character growth and and political drama (with a side of great world building and a isekai that is NOT a europe medieval fantasy world with a guy that is overpowered ) you might want to check this!:

The 12 kingdoms! 

Youko Nakajima has only ever wanted to be normal. She does what she is asked, gets good grades, is the class president, and even helps her classmates whenever she can—but because of her red hair, she has never fit in. With her pushover attitude, Youko lets classmates take advantage of her, so she has nobody she can really call a friend. But on an otherwise ordinary day, a man who claims to be from another world barges into Youko's classroom and bows before her. This elegant blond-haired man, Keiki, claims that Youko is his master and belongs on the throne of his kingdom. However, their first meeting is cut short as Keiki has been followed by otherworldly beasts called youma. He is able to escape with Youko into his own realm, but two other classmates—Ikuya Asano and Yuka Sugimoto—are caught up in the madness as well. Unfortunately, their troubles have only just begun, as the youma attack leaves them separated from Keiki. Alone in this strange new land, these ordinary students must learn to fend for themselves or die.

But now you actually wanted something with MORE romance and less action but still political drama! 

then nothing will please you more than...AKAGAMI NO SHIRAYUKI HIME!

Although her name means "snow white," Shirayuki is a cheerful, red-haired girl living in the country of Tanbarun who works diligently as an apothecary at her herbal shop. Her life changes drastically when she is noticed by the silly prince of Tanbarun, Prince Raji, who then tries to force her to become his concubine. Unwilling to give up her freedom, Shirayuki cuts her long red hair and escapes into the forest, where she is rescued from Raji by Zen Wistalia, the second prince of a neighboring country, and his two aides. Hoping to repay her debt to the trio someday, Shirayuki sets her sights on pursuing a career as the court herbalist in Zen's country, Clarines. Akagami no Shirayuki-hime depicts Shirayuki's journey toward a new life at the royal palace of Clarines, as well as Zen's endeavor to become a prince worthy of his title. As loyal friendships are forged and deadly enemies formed, Shirayuki and Zen slowly learn to support each other as they walk their own paths.

BUT now you kinda want something with still a new set of different fantasy world building and more medecine and less romance with a bigger focus on a character growing up in front of us into an amazing young woman. 

Then you want KEMONO NO SOUJA ERIN!

In the land of Ryoza, the neighboring provinces of Shin-Ou and Tai-Kou have been at peace. Queen Shinou is the ruler of Ryoza and her greatest general, Grand Duke Taikou, defends the kingdom with his army of powerful war-lizards known as the "Touda." Although the two regions have enjoyed a long-standing alliance, mounting tensions threaten to spark a fierce civil war. Within Ake, a village in Tai-Kou tasked with raising the Grand Duke's army, lives Erin, a bright girl who spends her days watching the work of her mother Soyon, the village's head Touda doctor. But while under Soyon's care, a disastrous incident befalls the Grand Duke's strongest Touda, and the peace that Erin and her mother had been enjoying vanishes as Soyon is punished severely. In a desperate attempt to save her mother, Erin ends up falling in a river and is swept towards Shin-Ou. Unable to return home, Erin must learn to lead a new life with completely different people, all while hunting for the truth of both beasts and humanity itself, with tensions between the two regions constantly escalating.

BUT now you kinda wish you had a story with a mix between all of these with a more serious tone. THEN YOU WANT : SEREI NO MORIBITO

On the precipice of a cataclysmic drought, the Star Readers of the Shin Yogo Empire must devise a plan to avoid widespread famine. It is written in ancient myths that the first emperor, along with eight warriors, slew a water demon to avoid a great drought and save the land that was to become Shin Yogo. If a water demon was to appear once more, its death could bring salvation. However, the water demon manifests itself within the body of the emperor's son, Prince Chagum—by the emperor's order, Chagum is to be sacrificed to save the empire. Meanwhile, a mysterious spear-wielding mercenary named Balsa arrives in Shin Yogo on business. After saving Chagum from a thinly veiled assassination attempt, she is tasked by Chagum's mother to protect him from the emperor and his hunters. Bound by a sacred vow she once made, Balsa accepts. Seirei no Moribito follows Balsa as she embarks on her journey to protect Chagum, exploring the beauty of life, nature, family, and the bonds that form between strangers.

BUT NOW YOU WANT TO GO BACK TO SOMETHING LIGHTER WITH LESS ACTION, MORE ROMANCE BUT STILL A BIT OF POLITICAL DRAMA AND MORE HUMOR. YOU THEN WANT: SAIUNKOKU MONOGATARI.

Most people think being born into a noble family means a life of comfort and wealth. That couldn't be further from the truth for Shuurei Kou. Despite the Kou family being an old and important bloodline, they've fallen on hard times. Shuurei's father works as an archivist in the Imperial library, which is a prestigious position, but unfortunately not one that pays much. To put food on the table, Shuurei works odd jobs such as teaching young children or playing live music in a restaurant―and even then, it's barely enough. Then, one day, a court advisor makes Shuurei an offer. If she becomes the concubine of the new, but lazy, emperor and teaches him how to become a good ruler, then she will receive 500 pieces of gold. Never one to turn down good money, Shuurei accepts the proposition. After all, the new emperor only prefers men so her virtue is safe… or so she thinks. The more time she spends in the palace, the more her old dream of becoming a court official is reignited. There's only one problem: she's a woman and women do not become government officials. Shuurei may be able to turn the emperor into a good ruler, but will it be at the expense of her own aspirations?

and thats it for now! and I still 100% recommend all those anime!

[ruleofexception]

Unheavenly Creatures

Somewhere in the distance, a bell begins to cry and the first rays of daylight stain the sky.

Time’s up.

Making quick work to clean and sheath his blade, Obi stares down at the pool of crimson slowly spreading through the cracks and crevices of the polished balcony, and chuckles sadly to himself.

For a man who liked to think himself a titan, the colour of Kain’s blood is unarguably human.

Truthfully, he’s a little upset that a monster like Kain is only human. Even if he was one of the Ancients.

When he’d accepted this job, he’d been half hoping that the colour to stain the marble floors would be the violet of a titan or the glowing cyan of ice rorcs.

Or, at the very least, it could have been burgundy. He could have been a hybrid and it still would have alleviated some of this dread that sits so heavily in his gut.

But, of course, Kain only bled red. The man responsible for so much heartache and destruction across the system, had only been just that. A man. Though, he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised.

Most monsters bleed red.

The pharmacy is quiet, this time of day - when the sun has only barely crept over the edge of the horizon and the only other beings awake on the grounds of Wistal are the night guards.

It’s peaceful. Relaxing.

And it seems it’s the only time of day she has to herself, anymore. Ryuu won’t be in for another hour - and Garrack another hour beyond that. However, after the doors open to the public, it’s anyone’s guess as to how many beings will come in with ailments or questions.

Taking a sip from the steaming mug of chlorophyll, Shirayuki smiles softly as her gaze flits about the vacant, dark office and her heart gives a gentle squeeze.

She may jest that she’s hardly able to find a moment to herself, but it doesn’t bother her. Not really. The work she does fulfills her and the people she’s met here have quickly helped to ease the pain caused by those she’d left behind.

Though, it’s still difficult to believe that it’s been a year since she’d fled the Tanbarun Colony and found herself here, in the Clarines system. Here, in one of the most powerful cities in all the realms, working for none other than The Wisteria family.

Sometimes, it doesn’t feel real.

If she hadn’t lived through it, she might think it some sort of lavish fairytale - complete with epic battles against space pirates and a blossoming romance with a prince. A human prince.

Well, perhaps not an actual prince. Although she’s not sure how much closer to royalty Zen’s family could be.

His father is an Ancient - one of the last three remaining, actually. Which is, somewhat of a big deal. Meaning Zen and his brother Izana are also somewhat of a big deal.

Not, that Zen’s lineage or status truly matter to her.

Nibbling at her lip and certain that a blush has started to work its way into her cheeks, she chuckles and starts to move about the office, turning lights on as she goes, signifying the start of a new day.  

Shit.

Gritting his teeth, Obi stares up at the wall of white stretching into the sky. The orb, gripped tightly in his left hand, seems to grow hotter and heavier by the second.

If he doesn’t think of something quick, he’s screwed - either he’ll be caught and arrested, again, or the star being held within the orb will start to meltdown, subsequently destroying everything within a star-sized radius. And judging by the size of the orb, it’s a big fucking star.

Ideally, he’ll find an escape route and then swing back for the containment cooler.

Not so ideally, he’s dead.

Maybe he should have studied that hologram a little longer. If he had, perhaps he wouldn’t be cornered like some common thief. But, naturally, he’s a total fucking dumbass and only memorized the easiest route to and from Kain’s chambers.

But it’s not his fault there was a morwick star just sitting there, ripe for the taking. They must know how much this sucker is worth in the Desolate and, yet, they’d carelessly left it unattended.

If anything, he’s doing them a favour by swiping it. If he didn’t steal it, he wouldn’t be teaching them a lesson in security, right?

Angered voices and hurried footsteps call after him, echoing through the small alleyway, and his sides ache pleadingly in response. The skin where his pydra emerge, ripples and stretches wantingly, but he locks his jaw and forces them to remain concealed.

If he wasn’t holding a goddamn sun in his hand or if he hadn’t committed actual regicide only hours ago, perhaps he’d entertain the idea of letting his extra limbs out for a little stretch. Let them get some much needed exercise and practice.

However, now is not the time to grow careless and expose himself as a pydramelia - if he did, it’s practically guaranteed that he’d be tagged and monitored for the rest of his life. Not to mention, they’d most certainly clip him - effectively forcing him to keep his pydra out at all times. There’d be no more hiding. No more walking about freely, blending in as a human or-

“There he is!”

Shit.

Spinning on his heel, Obi presses his back against the wall and casually moves to hold the burning star behind him. At this point, he’ll be surprised if this ends without his hand having nerve damage. This thing is dangerously hot. Even for a star.

The shopkeep he’d swiped it from stands quietly at the back of the alley - sweat drips down his forehead and his cheeks are puffed out and splotchy from having run halfway across the city. Probably the most exercise the man’s gotten in years. The jacked cop beside him, however, means business.

An uncomfortably large gun rests easily in his hand, its scope holding steady over Obi’s heart. The cop’s voice is about as gruff as he looks, “You’ve got nowhere to go, son.”

Think, idiot. Think.

“H-hand over the morwick and I won’t press charges!” the shopkeep is every bit as annoying as Obi’d figured; though, his voice seems far too nasily for his body. It’s an unpleasant whine. Like the elephant gnats on Yuris.

Eyes darting about the alleyway and hand screaming in pain, Obi grins when he catches sight of the containment cooler clutched in old elephant-gnat’s grubby hands.

It’s risky, but it could work. It’s not like he’s got any other options.

Taking a cautious step forward, he withdraws the star from behind his back. “Very well, I accept. Did you know this thing gets real fucking hot? Think I might have scorch marks.”

The cop snorts and lowers the gun slightly; something in his gaze tells Obi he wants to make a comment about stars being literal flaming balls of gas, but is trying to be professional about it. Which is fair. And impressive. If the roles were reversed, he’s not sure he’d be able to refrain himself from calling him a moron.

Another step and Obi shakes the orb in his hand, “C’mon, I’m gonna have no fingertips left for fuzz to ID.”

Standing straight, the shopkeep moves eagerly towards him - cooler open and ready - which is when Obi stops in his tracks, grinds his teeth and grips the star tighter.

It can’t be.

Beady black eyes stare at him greedily as the tip of the shopkeep’s barbed tongue slides out from between his curled lips like a silent threat. Skin twisting and yellowing, the telltale scales start to form - first around his eyes, then up his cheeks and across his forehead. In a matter of seconds, the shopkeep’s true form is revealed and Obi has to focus on keeping his breakfast from making an appearance.

Just his fucking luck.

Give him titans, rorcs or… or even a human. Just not a goddamn slinc.

Lowly, parasites of the system. Nearly undetectable just by looking at them. Real friendly, too, until they reveal themselves and fill your veins with a deadly cocktail of who-the-fuck-knows-what.  

Without so much as an inhale for warning, the slinc attacks and the cop slumps to the ground; a barbed stinger lodged in the back of his neck. The skin around the stinger instantly begins to swell and turn a putrid shade of green. Obi doesn’t bother to look for signs of breathing. He already knows the man’s dead.

Taking an uncertain step backwards as the slinc stoops down to retrieve the fallen gun, he desperately searches the alleyway for options. For an escape. 

A cruel grin twists the slinc’s features and his tongue slithers out from between pointed teeth; another stinger in place and ready to shoot.   

An edge of panic starts to worm its way into his mind as the slinc grows nearer and the star continues to sear his hand. 

Think faster, idiot.

Mug half empty and forgotten beside her, Shirayuki eyes the tiny supply containers before her, with a frown. If she’d realized how low they were on some of these, she’d have come in earlier.

But there’d been no indication or note as to how critical their supplies had grown. Ryuu hadn’t even come knocking on her door, as he so often does, asking if she could spare an hour to replenish.

It’s strange.

Usually, when there are this many containers below half capacity, Garrack has her drinking enough chlorophyll to sustain all of the watsi trees on Koto, just in preparation for the amount of replenishing she’d have to do. There’s been none of that, though.

And she could have sworn the containers hadn’t been this critical, her shift two days ago? Perhaps she’ll check with Ryuu when he gets in, to see if there’s something she’s not aware of - like a reorganizing or a contamination.

A sickening thought flickers through her mind and she refocuses on the purple hepril leaves growing steadily from the smooth emerald skin of her forearm. Brushing a careful finger along the tips of their leaves, watching as they shudder under her touch, her frown deepens.

If the supplies were somehow contaminated, it couldn’t have stemmed from her - she can’t be contaminated or polluted. They’d made certain of it. All of the trials Garrack had come up with - from pollutants to poisons - had had no effect on the health or integrity of her or what she grows. Which would mean a contaminant would have had to make its way into the lab some other way to infect their supplies.

Reorganization of the supply containers might make sense - it’d be just like Garrack to keep half of the supply within reach, where the entire pharmacy staff is aware of its whereabouts, while transferring the other half to a new system. And it certainly wouldn’t be the first time this year the supply room received an overhaul and new filing system.

If Ryuu would only get here, she might be able to settle this and put her mind at ease, because if it’s not reorganization - and it is contamination or just a natural depletion of supplies - they may run into issues by mid afternoon.

As it is, it’ll take her most of the morning to replenish the kerpa and lenyiz leaves - they’re always more difficult to grow and their development time is far longer than that of hepril leaves or gyron buds. And, after that, she’ll need at least another two cups of chlorophyll before starting on the daspir vines. Those are always the-

“Shirayuki?” Ryuu’s tired voice, accompanied by the light tromp of footsteps, floats through the pharmacy and she releases the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“In here!” taking a stand, being careful of the hepril on her forearm, she moves towards the doorway, eyes trained on the first sprout - only a few more minutes and they’ll be ready.

One down, only about 8 more species to go. She’s exhausted just thinking about it.

Rounding the corner, still focused on how the purple leaves are now edging with navy, she sighs dramatically, “Hey, Ryuu, how come you didn’t mention we were nearly out of-”

“Miss Shirayuki?”

A voice, not belonging to Ryuu, startles her into silence and she looks up with a squeak. Armed guards fill the hallway. Heavily armed guards. 

“Y-yes?” Confusion knits her brow and she tries to look discreetly past the man looming before her, in search of Ryuu, “How may I assist you? Are you, or your men, injur-”

“Take her.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, the guard turns and walks stiffly through the throng of soldiers, who seem to have come to life.

“Take me? Wha-” The two men closest to her, reach forward and seize her wrists, destroying three of the hepril leaves in the process and she cries out angrily. “Let go of me!” 

A weak attempt to pull her wrist free results in yet another precious leaf being crushed, but the men ignore her and start dragging her towards the exit.

Somewhere down the hall, Ryuu screams after her.

[thelionshoarde]

Obi, fall (verb or season, up to you)

I sat down to write you some fluff for your birthday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU’RE AMAZING, EVERYONE CHECK OUT HER FICS THEY’RE GORGEOUS AND AMAZING AND DESERVE YOUR LOVE) and instead what poured out was introspective and angsty, and riddled with violent obi backstory, and hints of obi as an assassin angst, and so much pain omg, WEIRDLY IT IS HAS A HOPEFUL ENDING, OKAY, but you may not want to read this today, (or ever!) D;

trigger warnings: physical violence to a child, sort of self-harm, twisty dark logic, violence, brief murder, a stupid saying that i’ve now officially overused, obi internalizing abuse and allowing it to inform his actions, not sure if i hit all of them but i really hope i did! pls let me know if i didn’t and i will add it!

A long, long time ago, in a realm that Obi, sometimes, wondered if he had made up, so distant and strange the memory of it, Obi had first tasted hurt at the broken end of a bottle.

“If it doesn’t kill you,” sang Boss, smirking. The fractured ochre light from the bottle -- warm and heavy, flickering madly on the floor where Obi lay, too shocked to cry -- was near hypnotizing. Was all Obi could look at, stiff and terrified, as Boss loomed overhead, flipping the bottle, blood flinging with little quiet splats all over.

A boot nudged Obi’s side, enough to make him curl up careful and frantic around his bleeding arm. All it did was make the boot return, harder. “The lesson,” Boss grit out, losing patience. “What is it?”

“I --”

The blood was seeping through Obi’s fingers where he was scrabbling to close over the jagged rent. Like if he could just press down hard enough it would erase the damage, dam the flood. Close up the hole in his flesh where he was leaking out, dizzy and dizzying, the world shaken loose from its moorings and terrifying all around him, no safe place to be found. 

“The lesson, boy!”

Obi gasped, blinked hard through tear-tacky lashes. “L-let it -- let it make you s-stronger...”

What remained of the bottle shattered against the floor near Obi’s face, and he flinched. Bit nearly through his lip to keep in his startled shriek, because Obi was a quick learner, he was, and he knew this game already, was feeling out the rules and the back doors and loopholes, looking for any and every opening, any and every way to do more than just survive it.

If there was no safe place, then Obi would learn how to move through danger, so that he could never be caught like this again.

“Good,” said Boss. “Remember that.”

*

He did.

Let it make you stronger.

It was a lesson Obi would never forget.

*

Obi had fallen out of a tree, once.

Actually, Obi had fallen out of -- and off of -- a fair number of things in his life. He had broken bones, torn ligaments, collected lacerations and abrasions, bruises and tenderness like it was all he knew how to do. Like all he had available was the ability to take a hit and keep on ticking, to control the pain, to learn the way his body failed, and failed, and failed, until he could circumvent it.

He wore scars so he could learn how to become immortal.

“Let it make you stronger,” he said to the first body he ever relieved of its final breath. To the first soul who screamed at the sight of him in the dark; to himself, each and every time the pain lanced in so deep there was no stopping it, no wound to be seen, and no remedy.

Let it make you stronger.

Obi did, because he was tired of feeling the hurt of it all.

*

But this --

This whatever it was, this free-fall into a pair of judging eyes, this wasn’t --

“Don’t you dare,” said Shirayuki, “speak about Zen that way. Don’t you dare.”

This was not the pain to which Obi was accustomed.

*

The wild thing -- the reckless, horrifying, masochistic thing -- was that it never got better. It never stopped. That hurt, that ache; that burning longing wedged into his heart, where he was weakest, that he had protected at all costs, where no blade had ever scraped or fist had managed to bludgeon, it never faded, it never lessened and never went away.

No, it got worse.

What is wrong with me, he wondered, dark and twisted up in confusion; lost for the very first time, which was stupid, because Obi had traveled lands foreign and strange and never stopped moving and had never once felt so adrift for direction. Lying on that bed in Raj’s palace, the sense memory of Shirayuki still clinging to his fingers, the heat and overwhelming terror of it -- the all-consuming desire, it --

Obi could scarce recognize himself, anymore.

All those years -- all those lessons -- all that falling, and tumbling, and breaking, learning how to take the pain and make it disappear, and then, what? All of a sudden the regard of a slip of a stubborn woman was enough for him tie a noose about his neck?

This was untenable. This was outrageous. He needed to go. He needed to leave. He needed to get out before he was lost, lost, lost, in a way that he could never be found again.

Because if he didn’t, then what next? Would he hand her the rope, ask her gently to never let go?

No.

He curled his fingers in to a fist, jaw tense. I won’t. I won’t fall that far -- I won’t.

*

He did.

*

Obi had been learning pain all his life. Had been born into it, trained by it, courted it just to spurn it, time and time again. It had led him here -- to Clarines, to Zen Wisteria, to Miss Kiki and Mister, to Little Ryuu and Lyrias, Suzu and Yuzuri and the knights, to laughter and affection and the strange rub of normalcy.

It had led here, to her.

Her hands gripping his, her eyes clear and steady; her regard and patience and kindness. To welcome home, and --

There were some falls you could never recover from.

Sometimes, maybe, all that could be done was to embrace it, to hold it tight and fierce within. Obi laid a hand against his chest, over the scar that had almost stolen his life, to press against the pain a thousand times more vibrant than any he had ever been gifted with before. Love, he thought, and couldn’t help the way his mouth twisted, not quite a smile.

Across the room, Shirayuki turned to him. Grinned, and said, “You ready for lunch?”

“Mm,” Obi agreed, moving, letting his arm fall -- not letting the pain show on his face, the crippling force of his emotion. He grinned, and held the door open for her. “Want to try that new place? The one near the Tent District?”

“Oh! Yes, Suzu won’t stop talking about their dumplings!”

He let her words wash over him; let them wear him down to rounded edges, reveal the cracks and crevices in him. Let the pain pool there, in all the shattered places, let it make him new, make him better or stronger or stranger -- make him something, something greater than he’d ever been, had known, had dared to imagine, he --

Let it make you stronger. 

He would. He was.

[sexysilverstrider]

my main 3 teams consist of:

Team Precious Flower and Three Free Brothers

sakura is always there to heal the 3 idiots. in return the niisans protect her. they are also trying Their Best to get rid of any tome users before being obliterated themselves. laslow especially gives sakura attention while gordin and sakura practices archery together. matthew rarely hangs out with them but sakura is secretly persistent since he needs the most attention in healing after the war. sakura was terrified of her new team at first but she managed in time. since laslow is a very shy man too they can relate and since gordin looks like her age sakura finds comfort when talking to him. however she tries to make small talk with him despite the fact that hes the hardest to talk to compared to laslow and gordin.

ironically enough due to these little meetups matthew starts to have Feelings for sakura because shes so persistent and yet so kind and gentle when treating him. this scares the spy because he knows they wont be in this realm for too long.

Team Happy Power and Messed Up Couple

both nowi and frederick are not only from the same realm but are also happily married to each other. any axe user nowi faces frederick will destroy before they can end her. any sword user fred faces nowi will annihilate without getting a scratch. serra is trying her best to get attention from them but she despises the attention she keeps getting from zero who constantly teases and mocks her due to her snobby personality and noble status. that being said zero protects serra when push comes to shove and while being healed he gets an earful from serra too.

oftentimes when frederick loses his horse nowi is always there to give frederick a ride. zero never ceases to make riding jokes out of this and serra is horrified.

Team Buff Armour Mom and Her Three Kids

sheena is a bit slow in the battlefield but she will destroy anyone who touches her. clarine is always close by just in case sheena is in trouble. meanwhile kamui is a tank and she chomps down any lance user before they can stab alfonse and alfonse in return stabby stabby any axe user. sheena is very protective of these royal kids. she also reminds kamui of her sister thus often practices together to improve herself. alfonse sometimes joins in the sparring session too. kamui also sees clarine as her little sister and the two often shop together for stuff.

alfonse is a kind bluebird so he oftens accompanies the ladies with their shopping. he finds kamuis petting habits a bit weird but he gets used to it.

[mark-lyn-and-friends]

Sacaen Summoners Log #7

Mark is Bold Lyn is Italics

Someone drew this picture of me looking at our Orb horde and I think I look pretty cute in it. But it did get me thinking that we could use some more Heroes around here so Lyn and I finally decided that before we go back to Marth’s world we should summon some.

We saw a setting that would focus on some Heroes that came from Elibe along with a few others so we used that setting. And wouldn’t you know it the first Hero we summoned was Lilina. She was older than I remember and riding a white horse while wearing a swimsuit, but she was happy to see us.

Hector would kill me if I commented on how she looked, but when Rutger passed by I saw his eyes widen by just a smidge and I knew what I had to do, they were getting supported together.

After that we summoned the Laguz Mordecai, Pent’s daughter Clarine, a strange priest named Azama, and another Niles. It was pretty exciting and we didn’t make too large a dent in our Orbs either.

We got Lilina some training and let Hector take a breather as we went back to Marth’s world. This time Tiki was under Veronica’s control but like all the other realms we breezed through. I wondered why the Askrians just didn’t guard all the portals, but they explained that there are infinite realms so they didn’t have the manpower, and that makes sense for now.

When we got back we got news that Ninian had showed up to the castle as well. She was a bit disorientated, but when she saw us she perked right up.

Image Link: https://twitter.com/zunbayasi/status/1161560846461358081/photo/1

[recentanimenews]

A Variety of VIZ

In which I cover several new(er) series and a digital one-shot!

Daytime Shooting Star, Vol. 1 by Mika Yamamori Fifteen-year-old Suzume Yosano has been going to school with the same kids in her country town for as long as she can remember, but when her dad gets transferred to Bangladesh for work, Suzume ends up transferring to school in Tokyo and living with her uncle. When she faints on the way to his house, one of his customers (he runs a café) helps her find her way. The next day, she learns that her savior is her homeroom teacher, Mr. Shishio.

I don’t generally like student-teacher romances, but Daytime Shooting Star runs in Margaret, a magazine that many of my favorites have come from, so I was willing to give it a chance. And, indeed, I do like it! Suzume is a fun lead character. She’s much more forthright than one normally sees in a shoujo heroine, particularly with how she deals with a mean girl (Yuyuka Nekota), and yet kind of humble at the same time. She’ll state clearly her position and unabashedly apologize when she’s wrong. I like her a lot.

Shishio is fairly likeable, too. Twenty-four years old and handsome, he’s popular with the girls, but rather than coming across as skeevy, so far he seems genuinely interested in helping out kids who might be struggling. It might be a little dodgy that he’s willing to come privately tutor Suzume after she spectacularly fails a quiz, but it’s apparently something he does for all of his students who need extra help.

What makes Daytime Shooting Star acceptable is that, so far, Shishio does not seem to have any romantic interest in Suzume whatsoever. Some promising retrospective narration adds, “At that time, even if I had known he was out of reach like that star, I was still drawn to him.” If this is the story of a girl’s unrequited first love, I am totally here for that. If Shishio starts to reciprocate, it’ll be time to reevaluate.

Daytime Shooting Star is complete in twelve volumes. VIZ will release the second volume in September.

Komi Can’t Communicate, Vol. 1 by Tomohito Oda Serialized in Shounen Sunday (and possessed of that unique charm that many series from that magazine possess), Komi Can’t Communicate is the story of Shoko Komi, a girl so lovely she’s seen as an unapproachable beauty possessed of cool reserve when actually she has a communication disorder and, though she would love to make friends, can’t manage to talk to anyone. One day, her timid classmate Hitohito Tadano happens to hear her talking to herself and ends up befriending her—over the course of a sprawling chalkboard conversation—and vowing to help her achieve her goal of making 100 friends.

The pacing of the series is very much like a 4-koma manga, but the panel layout is more like standard manga, so even though each page kind of has a punchline, it also feels like a through-composed story. Throughout the course of this first volume Tadano helps Komi make friends with Najimi Osana, his junior high friend of ambiguous gender, and Himiko Agari, a super-nervous girl for whom Komi feels particular affinity. Various hijinks ensue, including Najimi seeming to use Komi as an errand girl by sending her off to fetch a complicated coffee order—though perhaps this really was intended as useful practice for her?—and Tadano and Komi attempting to join in on some classroom games and faring terribly, with Tadano ultimately sacrificing his own reputation in order to spare Komi’s. I only laughed out loud once, but overall, it was pretty cute.

The elite prep school they attend has a reputation for admitting many quirky individuals, so presumably Oda-sensei won’t want for material any time soon. I shouldn’t expect anything deep from this series, or any sort of social renaissance for Tadano, so if I keep that in mind, I foresee this being an enjoyable, easy read for a long time to come.

Komi Can’t Communicate is ongoing in Japan, where the thirteen volume comes out this month. VIZ will release volume two in August.

Snow White with the Red Hair, Vol. 1 by Sorata Akiduki Shirayuki is renowned in the country of Tanbarun for her apple-red hair. When the infamously foolish Prince Raj decides that she’s going to be his next concubine, Shirayuki cuts her hair and flees. She winds up making the acquaintance of a boy named Zen, who turns out to be the younger prince of the neighboring Clarines kingdom. After they defeat Prince Raj’s henchman, they decide to stick together. Zen returns home to the Clarines capital city where Shirayuki starts studying to become a court herbalist.

I really liked the characters in this one. Shirayuki is smart and has a definite goal that she wants to earn for her own merits and not through Zen’s benevolence. She is never once spazzy. Although her unique beauty (and a developing reputation as a “treasure even a prince failed to nab”) makes her a target, which sometimes requires Zen to come to her rescue, she is suitably defiant and resourceful enough on her own that this does not play out like a typical shoujo trope. For his part, Zen is wonderfully supportive of her goals and, furthermore, demonstrates that he understands her when he dismisses someone’s suggestion that he should just appoint her to be court herbalist.

This is kind of a low-key series so far, but it’s exceedingly charming and I very much look forward to continuing with it.

Snow White with the Red Hair is ongoing in Japan, where 20 volumes have been released so far. Volume two comes out in English tomorrow.

That Blue Sky Feeling, Vols. 1-2 by Okura and Coma Hashii When friendly and outgoing Dai Noshiro transfers to a new school, he can’t help but notice that one student is always alone. Kou Sanada insists that Noshiro doesn’t have to go out of his way to talk to him, but Noshiro is convinced that Sanada is lonely and keeps trying to befriend the boy, even after hearing rumors that Sanada is gay. He chastises others for treating Sanada differently, but must confront his own reaction when, after Sanada backtracks after admitting the rumor is true and instead claims to have been joking, relief is his primary emotion. To his credit, he realizes the impact of his words and swiftly apologizes.

The bulk of these two volumes concerns these very different boys getting to know each other. Noshiro is big and loud but profoundly innocent in the realm of romance. He had notions of protecting Sanada, but soon realizes, “He’s way more grown-up than me!” (Sanada has had at least one boyfriend, Hide, who is 26. Seeing as how Sanada is in high school, this is a little creepy, but Hide actually proves to be a decent guy who gives Noshiro a lot of helpful advice.) Sanada is reserved and prefers to keep out of the spotlight, which is difficult when someone as boisterous as Noshiro is around.

Sanada is also pretty anxious, and I loved that every time he worried that Noshiro wouldn’t accept him or that he should continue to keep parts of his life separate, Noshiro would surprise him. One good example is when Sanada meets up with a guy he met online and Noshiro spots them walking around town together. Sanada expects the worst. “The more he gets to know me the more Noshiro will be weirded out by me. I just know it.” But the truth is… Noshiro is just upset that other people can make Sanada smile more easily than he can, and this bugs him for some reason.

By the end of volume two, it’s clear that Sanada is starting to have feelings for Noshiro, and that he’s jealous when another boy starts crushing on him, too. It’s unclear whether Noshiro is feeling the same—he’s so clueless romantically that he actually thought Sanada might start dating a female classmate simply because she is his friend—though he does at least realize that what he feels for Sanada is special. I do hope they get together in the end, but a more bittersweet ending would be satisfying, too.

That Blue Sky Feeling is complete in three volumes. The final volume will be released in English in October.

Will I Be Single Forever? by Mari Okazaki As a big fan of Okazaki’s Suppli, I was delighted when VIZ decided to offer one of her titles in a digital-only format. Based on an essay by Mami Amamiya, Will I Be Single Forever? features the interconnected stories of three unmarried and proudly self-reliant women in their thirties.

Mami is 36 and a successful writer, though her mother pities her for her singlehood. “I’m finally capable,” Mami laments, “but she feels sorry for me.” Reuniting with family for a funeral reminds Mami how others have assumed their places as wives and mothers, but it’s her free-spirited single uncle who really seems to be enjoying life. She wants to be like him.

Yukino has broken up with a guy who she didn’t really like that much, but is upset nevertheless. After a brief attempt at rekindling with an old flame—and realizing with horror that she was so scared of being alone that her memories of why they broke up temporarily vanished—she decides to go on the trip she and her ex had planned to take by herself and has a blast.

Shimizu has a lover she forgets about for weeks at a time and turns down a rendez-vous with him in favor of work, which she finds more fulfilling. She ponders if fixating on random projects is just protecting herself from something, but in the end concludes the work is honestly rewarding. “I want to keep going down this path.” (My one complaint here is that the exact nature of these projects is kept vague, something that also bugged me in Suppli.)

In the final chapter, the women convene after Mami almost gets married. Her fiancé was a jerk from a family of jerks, and she emerges from the experience literally and figuratively battered and bruised. The final scene is marvelous, as the trio creates their own definition of happiness: “Eating good food. Reading your favorite books. Telling yourself “Good job!” at work. Eating a whole bag of potato chips in the middle of the night. And getting those things for yourself with your own strength.”

In the interview at the end of the book, the creators assure readers they bear no ill will towards married ladies and stress that it’s the independence, the having of one’s own life that is most important. I think I would’ve preferred a much longer series fleshing out these characters, but it was a good, affirming read nonetheless!

Will I Be Single Forever? is complete in one volume.

By: Michelle Smith

[sabraeal]

Root & Vine

The third fic but the fourth most popular pairing in my Holiday Rare Pair poll; I wanted to give myself more time to work on the Zen/Kihal fic (which now has gotten moved to January, so I don’t skimp on the quality). When it came time to pick out a concept for this pairing, this canon-compliant prequel fic won in a landslide! The events in this are meant to parallel some that happen in @bubblesthemonsterartist’s Dead Men Tell No Tales: Long Live the King, only from the view in Lilias

“Mother?”

The second prince hovers just outside the threshold, book tucked against his stomach like a shield. He’s ten-- only a month ago he’d been trotted out in front of all the peers before being tucked straight back into his nursery so the lords could get on with their drinking and dancing and plotting-- but he looks two years younger. The runt of the royal litter, baby fat still clinging to his jaws and cheeks the way he still clings to Her Majesty.

Her Majesty, who hasn’t stopped looking south since they arrived.

“Mother?” he tries again, voice lifting, like a pup trying to get attention from his dam.

The queen doesn’t stir, doesn’t even give a sign that she’s heard. Just keeps standing with her back to him, hands clutched to her chest. He might call it praying, if her eyes strayed anywhere but at the horizon.

Zakura clears his throat, pointed. “Your Majesty?”

Now that gets her. She startles, the long hem of her nightgown whirling around slippered heels. Her gowns run large nowadays; the shoulder slips before she can catch it, baring a flash of flesh carved from ivory, a delicate rounding over the bone--

And yellow mottled with a faded brown. There’s so much vulnerable skin to take in, but that’s what his eyes fix on. Days ago, it’d been purple. Misjudged an entry, she laughed, the carriage rattling beneath them. That was how she always was, his queen: beauty and grace and never finding the door on the first go.

“Zen.” The tension sags from her shoulders. “I didn’t--” her lips close over her words-- “do you need something, darling?”

“My stories.” His cheeks flush all the way back to his ears. “I mean...would you read to me? I’m going to bed.”

Slim fingers tangle in the lace at her neckline. “Oh, do you need...?”

“No!” The kid looks ready to melt into the stones themselves. “I can read them myself. It’s only...Izana sometimes would.”

“I...” Her breath rattles in her chest. “I suppose...”

“Let me,” Zakura says, jumping to his feet. The prince stares at him with rounded eyes, and oh, His Majesty’s get he might be, but there’s more than a little of his mother in that blue. “Been a long while since I’ve read a good yarn.”

“Oh, they’re just-- just children’s stories.” His boots shuffle bashfully in the hall. “Tales of knights and such. Nothing, er, interesting.”

“Come now, Highness.” He gives the kid a grin, the sort he’d give any of the other men in the guard, the kind that says you’re one of us. “Who loves tales about knights more than a knight himself? And I’ve heard you’ve got an eye for the best.”

“Well.” That small chest puffs up behind his book. “I have read quite a lot of them.”

Zakura hooks his hands on his hips. “There you go then.”

His Highness hesitates. “All right,” he says after a long moment, “As long as you don’t mind.”

“‘Course not.” He hazards a glance over his shoulder, and she’s right here, his queen, her grateful gaze ready to greet him. His place is ever at her side, but for now--

Well, her son is a part of her too. “It would be my pleasure, Highness.”

“I hath invited you into my home, dear sir, and you throw these sordid accusations at me?” the foul lord cried as he set down his cup. “Do you not expect me to seek satisfaction from you?”

“Nay, my lord,” proclaimed the valiant Sir Akihiko. “I thought you too cowardly to meet my blade, though I relish in the honor--”

Zakura scowls down at the page. “Are they going to duel?”

The second prince stares up at him with those wide, guileless eyes, the very mirror of Her Majesty’s, and says, “Of course they are.”

“But why?”

“The Lord of Montivale is a villain,” the kid explains with beleaguered patience. “And good must triumph over evil.”

“I’m not saying he can’t kill him.” There’s an illumination that half the page, all fancy maile borders and knights with sabatons that look like socks, every one of them holding a chalice. “But look, he’s right there, drinking with him. Why not slip some poison into his cup and suggest a toast?”

The prince sputters. “He can’t do that?”

“Why not? It’d be cleaner.”

“A villain must be slain through righteous combat,” he shrills, “not through-- though--”

“Being smart?”

Chubby childhood cheeks puff out in distress. “Trickery.”

“There’s no reason for it.” It’d be rude to laugh in the face of a kid who could, with a few convenient accidents, become king, so Zakura restrains himself to a muffled chuckle. “Learn this now, little prince: a man should always fight smarter, not harder. The best way to win a fight is to never pick up a sword to begin with.”

Flannel sleeves cross over the bedclothes, his chubby face twisted away in temper. “That’s not what my father says.”

A king has men to die for him, he doesn’t say. Not like a prince would get the distinction. “If Sir Akihiko had any brain beneath that helm, he’d have dropped some arsenic into Duke Montivale’s glass and ended this whole thing before it started.”

“No!”

Zakura heaves a sigh, settling against the headboard. “Listen-- what would have happened if Akihiko had lost?”

The prince blinks up at him with his mother’s eyes. “He can’t lose. He’s the finest knight in the realm. No one can beat him.”

“Right, right.” Children’s tales always liked to muddle the point. “But I mean, what if something happened? What if he tripped over an uneven stone? Or misjudged one of those stairs? What happens then?”

His little mouth works, wrapping around words he can’t quite dare to say. “Then...Duke Montivale...lives?”

“And now there’s no better knight to defeat him.” He leans down, meeting that kid’s wide-open gaze. “When someone has to go, you don’t rely on chance.”

The prince chews on that for a moment. “But a knight can’t just...poison someone.”

“Why not?”

“Poison,” the prince informs him with the sort of gravitas most councilors only achieve in their twilight years, “is a woman’s weapon.”

“Hah!” Zakura grunts, smile widening into a grin. “And what if the knight’s a woman?”

The royal mouth purses into a disapproving bud. “That’s not possible.”

“Not now,” he hums, “but who knows about later...?”

The kid stares at him, impassive. “I’m tired,” he declares. Tired of you, his tone implies. “You may leave.”

“As my liege wishes.” He levers himself to his feet with a groan. The other guards had warned him-- it was a tough life walking the walls, and the knees were always the first to go.

“Blow out the lamps.” Quieter, His Highness adds, “And thank you, sir.”

Zakura smiles into the dark. “Anytime, Highness.”

Her Majesty is still awake, right where he left her half an hour before, gaze fixed out toward the horizon.

“His Highness is tucked in.”

The queen of all of Clarines and Yuris jumps. Startles right out of her skin, collar pulling just so, a mottled yellow bruise blooming at the base of her neck, and, ah, he hasn’t seen that one before. It’s oblong, decently sized-- he could probably fit it under the pad of his thumb--

“Ah.” The sound pulls her lips roughly into the shape of a smile. “Good.”

He ranges into the room with a saunter, pausing to perch on the settee’s arm. “I don’t think I impressed him with my skills.”

She blinks. “Oh, ah-- your storytelling, you mean. He does like them to be told as they are. No embellishments.” Her mouth bends into a rueful curve. “He’s comforted by their regularity. By his ability to anticipate the events.”

“Eh.” He twitches his shoulders in a shrug. “One day he’ll learn life is all about the embellishments.”

“Ah, perhaps. But I think...” Her Majesty’s gaze drops to her hands. “Some of us prefer the steadiness.”

There’s a strangeness to the silence in these rooms. Her Majesty has never been one to fill the air with empty noise-- he likes that about her-- but when it’s just the two of them she always has an occupation. Stitching, sketching, writing letters to place he’s never seen; her hands are never idle, and her chatter always pleasant. Not enough to seem like an imposition, but enough so that he doesn’t feel like the furniture. Comfortable, that’s what it’s like with his queen.

But not tonight.

“Missing home?” he asks, when he can’t stand the quiet.

Her eyes dart to his, blinking wide. “Ah..?”

He nods toward the window. “You haven’t stopped looking since we got here. South.”

“Oh...no.” Her lips rub together. “Wistal had never been my home. I mean, not until the children.”

Her children, with only one who came with her. With one who chose to stay behind. It only makes sense; an heir should favor his sire.

Doesn’t mean he needs to think better of that little prick. Zakura likes to save is charity for people who can’t afford it. “Not to worry, Your Grace. I’m sure His Majesty has everything well in hand.”

He could swear he hears her murmur, that’s what I’m afraid of.

But it can’t be, not when barely a breath later she says, “I don’t miss it. To answer your question, sir.” Her fingers clench in her nightgown. “It’s...important that I’m here.”

Now that’s a strange way to look at a holiday. “I guess it’s always good to take a rest.”

“Ah...” It’s half a laugh, half a sigh. “Yes. A rest. A respite.”

Zakura clears his throat as he watches the candles melt into wax caves. “May I ask what you’re thinking about, Majesty?”

Her breath rattles in the silence. “Gardening.”

“I think I’ll be up a long while yet.”

Zakura sways on his feet, blinking up at her with bleary eyes. Ah, a rookie move, nearly falling asleep on the job.

Her Majesty only smiles at him, kind. “You should get to sleep, sir. A young man needs his rest.”

“No, no.” he shakes his head. “I’m supposed to watch over you, Majesty. Can’t do that if I’m laying down.”

Her mouth bends into the barest frown. “I’ll be up a long time...”

He pushes himself off the wall, and comes to sit by her, the chill from the glass seeping into his clothes. “Then I’ll stay up with you. As long as you like.”

She stares at him a long moment, her eyes as dark as the night itself, and nods. “Thank you, sir.”

He offers her the softest smile a rough mouth like his can make. “I’m your man, Majesty. I always will be.”

Her hand lands on his, soft and cold and pale. “You will never know how much that means to me.”

“Could I ask you something, sir?”

Zakura blinks, dragging his gaze back to the woman beside him, the one who has not moved her hand this last half hour. He doesn’t think he imagined her palm warming over his. “Anything, Majesty.”

His queen hesitates, licking her lips before she asks, “Have you ever heard of hogstrife?”

“Hogstrife?” His mind strains to piece together the vaguest picture. “That’s a plant, isn’t it? Called it widow’s weed where I’m from, I think.”

“Yes.” Her voice is clipped, crisper than he’s heard outside of a scolding. “The pharmacists use it. Not for medicinal purposes, but because it releases a scent that keeps pests from eating the plants.” Her mouth takes a wry bent. “The bugs avoid her like people do a widow.”

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, then I’ve heard of it before.”

“They consider it essential to growing their gardens.” Her long fingers pick out an anxious rhythm on the arm of her chair; the hand in his is still. “To grow such large plots and harvest what they need for the palace...it would be impossible, if the pests could not be kept at bay.”

Zakura can only nod. Apparently, Her Majesty had not lied about having gardening on her mind.

“But hogstrife can’t grow unchecked,” she continues, gaze still riveted south. “It’s roots are thick and its leaves are broad, and if it is not regularly pruned what once protected against predation chokes the life out of the garden instead.”

“I...see.”

“And what does one do when such a thing occurs? When what one protected ruins instead?” Her voice creaks under the strain of her words. “Should it be left to destroy as its due?”

“No.” He’s never been much for plants, but he’s hacked down some overgrowth in his time. “They take them out, don’t they?”

He knows they do; the men talk about it sometimes-- stalks like tree trunks and noodle-armed herbalists with saws. They laugh at it over their cups.

“They do,” she says darkly. “Right at the root.”

Doesn’t seem so funny now.

He clears his throat, uncomfortable for no reason he can name. “I didn’t realize you knew so much about gardening, Majesty.”

“Oh...” Her mouth twists into a bitter smile. “It’s a recent interest.”

“Sir Zakura.” The hour is far too late for talk. Or rather, too early. “May I ask whose crest you wear?”

He stares down at his sleeve, the jeweled star of Clarines bright upon his sleeve. Some of the men said it was a flower-- for the Wisterias, of course-- but he’d never seen it, not really. “The crown’s.”

“Is that who you serve?” The words are very nearly slurred; Her Majesty cannot be far from sleep now, no matter how hard she tries. “The crown?”

“No.” The word comes out barely above a murmur. “I serve you, Your Majesty.”

There’s fatigue in every line of her beautiful face, but her eyes are sharp, focused on him. “Can I trust you?”

His hand presses to his chest, and oh, he’s too tired to keep himself from saying, “I’m yours. Always.”

She leans, so close that her breath ghosts over his skin. “Will you protect my family, no matter what storm may come?”

He blinks. “His Majesty charged me to--”

“No.” Fear burns bright in her eyes now. “If only my word compelled you, would you protect them?”

His hand tightens around her. “Until my dying breath.”

The moment is taut between them, her eyes searching his, and oh, he would give her anything if it would help her believe him, if it would prove his devotion to her, but--

“All right.” She leans back, breath rushing from her in a sigh. Her whole body slumps. “All right. I think...it would be best if I rest my head. I’ve kept you up...far too late.”

“Don’t think of it, my lady.” He smiles, though the humor no longer fits on his face. “Just doing my job.”

She hums, absent. “And let us hope you keep on doing it.”

He lingers, for a while.

With Her Majesty tucked in tight like a babe, his duty is lifted, his own head free to rest, but still, still--

Something keeps him pacing by the window. Only for a few minutes, no more than a quarter of an hour, but it’s enough. He’s here when the knock comes.

A nervous man stands outside the queen’s door, small and inconsequential, wringing his hands. A steward of Arleon’s, perhaps; he hasn’t bothered to keep track of all the clerks and maids and comings and goings.

“I presume,” he begins, drawing up to his full height, “that this is important.”

“My lord,” the man pipes, not quite meeting his eyes. “I must-- the queen--”

“Come on, man!” His grip on the door tightens with the knot in his gut. “Out with it.”

“It’s the king!” The man’s breath heaves, as if he’s run here. “The king is dead!”

“Dead?” A strange sense of cold certainty fills him. “How?”

“F-foul play.” He prays, in the breath the man takes, that it was a coup, a sword between the ribs, anything but-- “P-poison.”

If he could give his queen this one last, restful sleep, he would, but the death of kings does not keep. If anything it rots like the corpses themselves, growing ranker with each passing hour.

He steps into her room again, only moments from when he left it, watching the slow rise and fall of her back. The sun has begun to creep over the horizon, sending pale shafts across the bed, showing where the collar of her gown has ridden down in sleep, baring--

A bruise. A large, patchwork round at the nape of her neck, and the edges of another two, smaller, on each shoulder. A handprint.

“My lady,” he chokes, bending down. What are we to do, when what protects ruins instead?

She hums blearily, opening one eye. “Sir...?”

Who is it you serve? “It’s your husband,” he manages. “The king is dead.”

“Dead?” Still delirious from sleep, she smiles. Poison is a woman’s weapon. “Good.”

She turns over, burying herself more deeply into the pillows, and sleeps, deeper than he has ever seen her before.

Can I trust you, sir?

“Always, Majesty,” he murmurs, kneeling at her bedside, finger tangling with hers. “You will always have me.”

[sabraeal]

Hakizana dancing! Public and or private. Do either of them even like dancing? are they very good or just self conscious?

(Intended to fit after this prompt)

The dessert course is about to arrive when one of the footmen bends to her ear, informing her that Her Majesty requests her presence. A half dozen protests rise to her lips – it would be immeasurably rude to her conversation partner, it would make the table uneven, she knew for a fact that the dessert was her favorite custard, she was hosting this party – but there was no use making her excuses to a domestic. Tendering royal forgiveness was far above his pay grade.

Haki drips sapphires as she walks, the precious beading on her gown scintillating in the low light of the lamps. The halls between the dining room to the queen’s seem interminably long, as if they have stretches in the night to inconvenience her personally. Ah, what she would not give to not be beholden to another, forced to come whenever they call.

She shakes herself. There are worse mistresses than the queen of Clarines. A moth with ripped wings fills her vision, stretching across years, and she shudders. Far worse.

The doors open before she can give her name, but it’s only to be expected – she is Mistress of Lyrias now, but once she was just a handmaiden to Her Majesty. There is not a member of the queen’s staff that does not know her face.

“Your Majesty.” Haki bows her head as she enters. “I apologize, I was –”

Her words reign up short, tamping at the cliff of her expectations. It is not Queen Haruto who stands behind the divan. “Your Highness.”

She hardly recognizes him; he is no longer the long-limbed boy that had sat so smugly and called her a viper. A man stands before her, the heft of his fur-lined tunic unable to cover the lean strength that clings to his slender frame. The sharpness of his face in adolescence has deepened into a strong jaw, belying the almost feminine arch of his cheeks, the soft set of his mouth.

Oh spirits, he is handsome. If ever someone didn’t deserve it, it is him. Her knees are weak just looking at him.

“Mistress Haki,” he says, his voice no longer cloyingly reedy but pleasant and deep, a man’s voice. Ah, this is not fair. “I have taken you away from your party.”

Yes, you have. “It is no matter.” How she hates this, the bowing and scraping. “I am ever the crown’s servant. You may –” her eyes drop to his clothes – “whatever are you wearing?”

He, by all the spirits, laughs. It changes the entirety of his face, makes him almost seem the young man he is instead of ageless statue. Oh, how she likes the look of mortality on him.

“Ah, this old thing?” he drawls, brushing a hand over the lapel of his coat. She’s relieved to see he’s wearing it properly this time, even if it looks like the cheap things lesser lords’ sons wear at the university. “I find sometimes humility is the best policy.”

“I…see.” She does not, but there is something about him in those clothes, his hair tied back as if he is accustomed to benchwork, that intrigues her not a little.

“But I did not come here to discuss my sartorial choices, Mistress.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Did you not?”

“No.” His mouth curves in an almost soft smile. “I am here to discuss the conditions of our betrothal.”

Air leaves her lungs as suddenly as the blood leaves her face. “I…” Think of something. “I am supposed to be with my guests. The dessert course –”

He chuckles, deep blue peering at her from under fine eyelashes. “Of course,” he says, “I have interrupted your evening. This can all be discussed later.”

She nods, hoping it does not seem too eager. “Yes, thank you. I –”

“I will be there shortly,” he tells her. She does not let her expression crumple in panic, but it is a near thing. “I need only a few moments to change into something more…acceptable. I would hate to miss the dancing.”

Her hands shake as she stands from the table, her custard untouched. Curse that bastard for turning her stomach.

The dancing is about to begin, and he still has not arrived. Protocol dictates that she should wait – everyone is a servant to a prince, save the king. But if she does not, then she will dance with Lord Akihito instead of His Highness; after all, protocol dictates that the highest ranking lord in attendance, and if the prince does not deign to arrive, well…that’s no fault of hers.

“Shall we?” Akihito asks her, eyes crinkling kindly at their corners. Most see him as forbidding, as a monolith of the North, but not to her. “I think the others are eager for us to open the floor.”

“Of course, my lord.” She takes his hand, letting a soft smile pass over her lips. “I would hate to disappoint.”

It is only when she has laid her hand on Duke Rodatrad’s arms and the strings begin to keen the opening chords of a mazurka that the doors fly open, ans heralds announce the glorious entry of His Highness, Prince Izana.

Rodatrad’s fingers tighten on her sleeves. She does not think he means them to.

“I hate to interrupt,” the princes says, not anywhere in the realm of sincere.

“Not at all, Your Highness.” Rodatrad steps woodenly back. “The floor is yours. For now.”

She does not miss his flinch. She doubts very much that Rodatrad did either.

The prince’s hand comes to her waist, the other sending a brief signal to the orchestra before enfolding her hand in his own. Instead of a lively mazurka, a violin begins the first measure with a sentimental warble.

“A waltz.” Her eyebrows raise. “How forward of you.”

His mouth curves into an amused smile. “I have been told it is best to be bold in love and business.”

She wishes her heart would not pound so. She knows better; the prince is an ass, and though she will not turn her nose up at the power he dangles in front of it, she should not be sweating either. “And which of these am I to believe you have come for?”

His lips split in a flash of teeth as he guides her into a turn. Oh, he must have found that quite amusing. “Can it not be both?”

“Am I supposed to have forgotten the last time we spoke?” she asks archly, easily following his lead. It’s hard to hold a conversation with him so close, his chest so near her mouth. She can feel the cording of his muscles, even under his jacket.

“Perhaps I like a wife who could hold her own,” he says, so lightly. “Even against an entitled, arrogant child.”

It takes everything in her not to wither under the press of her own hasty words. She is glad he is such a strong lead; the dance would have faltered otherwise with how little her attention is on it.

“Am I to take this as a decline of my proposal?” he asks, and his tone is – strange. Not as removed as she would expect. His hand shifts just slightly on her waist.

“No.” She has little choice, if the rumors from Bergatt lands are true. She must protect her family. “I will have you.”

His hand tightens around hers. “Ah,” he sighs dramatically. “What a happy day for us both.”

The piece finishes, and he leans into a deeper bow than her position deserves. “I will look forward to dancing with you again, my lady.”

It is not until it is over that she realizes just how easy it had been. “We do make a good match.”

He lifts his head, mouth curved to one side in a soft smirk. “That is what I’m hoping.”